#often again with an empty email

[baejax-the-great]

When I was a kid, my dad used to cut out newspaper articles of topics he thought pertained to my interests (neuroscience and China mostly) and then he would mail them to me with no note. Every once in a while I would receive an envelope with an assortment of newspaper clippings from the five newspapers he reads a day.

And as I sit here sending star trek memes and mourning dove pics to friend 1, and knitting memes and terrible puns to friend 2, and sexy radishes to friend 3, never with any explanation or even an expectation of acknowledgement of receipt, I have to reckon with some hard truths about the person I have grown into and how it relates to my parenting.

[jeonstudios]

anatomy of a vampire | 01

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none in this part (maybe anatomy talk/vet talk?), but there's gonna be like... inspection kink-stuff later on 🤪 more detailed warnings to come <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/? 

<previous | next>

© anatomy of a vampire is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You’re halfway through your lunch when Namjoon pokes his head into the break room, a stethoscope around his neck and thick-rimmed glasses low on his nose.

“Reception just got a call about a home visit.”

“Today?” you ask, your mouth full of chicken sandwich as you glance at your wristwatch. You and Namjoon are way too close for you to care about being ladylike.

“Mhm.”

You pause. Not many clinics in your small town offer home visits, and even fewer do it on short notice. For your clinic, it’s usually about an old dog being put to rest at home—incredibly sad, but not an emergency. 

“Is it urgent?”

“Not on the minute, but needs done today.”

You glance at the patient chart on the table in front of you. “I think this’ll be quick. I’ll go after this one.”

“You sure?” Namjoon asks. “Technically, it’s my turn.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should see Oakley when he comes; he’s not very fond of me.”

Oakley, a returning patient with chronic stomach issues, has managed to spray paint you a yellowy brown on three different occasions. From both ends. It’s like he aims.

Namjoon snorts. He hasn’t been hit once.

Checking your watch again, you push the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth, chewing it while you grab the chart. Namjoon is already on his way to greet another patient and their owner, and you take a second to swallow and wipe any crumbs off your scrubs before you follow his lead, heading into the waiting area.

“Millie?” you call, smiling when a young woman rises from a chair, her red dachshund's nose practically glued to the clinic floor.

It’s two-thirty when you pull out of the clinic parking lot, the clinic’s old station wagon rattling faintly as you steer onto the main road. The address in the confirmation email is farther out than you expected but still technically within the town limits, and you watch the short apartment buildings give way to larger, more spaced-out houses as you drive.

You don’t often find yourself in this part of town these days, although you’re very familiar with at least one house here. Many Halloweens were spent here back in the day, kids dressed up as various creatures daring each other to fight through the overgrown lawn and peek inside the dark windows. Countless stories were told about the abandoned house, each one slightly more insane than the last. Of course, you were like… eight, and a large, seemingly empty white house with a big, black gable was doomed to be haunted.

Still, you’re very surprised when you stop at the red pin on your phone’s screen, and it’s outside that very house. Momo, who works the reception, must’ve forgotten to fill out the pet owner’s name on the confirmation form she sent you, so all you have is this address and a brief line of patient info.

Even though the sky is gray—fittingly enough threatening September rain—it’s not as scary as you remember. Probably because it’s not a dark Halloween night, and you’re not a kid anymore. It also doesn’t actually seem to be abandoned. To be fair, it was never really run-down aside from the lawn, but now there’s a big black SUV parked outside. 

Getting out of the car, you grab the rectangular veterinary kit bag, accidentally shutting the trunk a little too hard. The sound echoes down the quiet street, letting anyone who wasn’t already aware know of your arrival. A chilly breeze has you pulling your softshell jacket tighter over your light blue scrubs as you lock the car. When you turn back to the house, you pause to take it in once more. It’s a pretty house—two-story, painted white probably a long time ago but still holding up surprisingly well. Black shutters frame the dark windows, and the tall, black gabled roof reaches impressively toward the gray sky. The lawn has either been trimmed within the last few years, or your childhood imagination really exaggerated it because you can clearly recall it looking more like a thicket with tall grass than just… an overgrown lawn. You distinctly remember more... shrubs.

Climbing the shallow steps, you stop in front of the black-painted door and raise your hand to knock. As you wait, you tilt your head back, once again letting your gaze linger on the house. Who exactly are you here to meet? Maybe it’s some introverted old woman who rarely leaves her house? Or a grumpy old man? But then again, the SUV looked awfully modern. Maybe the ancient resident has a grandchild visiting?

A short moment later, the door opens with a slight creak.

It’s not an old lady; it’s a young man. A tall young man—probably the most attractive one you’ve ever seen—looking down at you. He’s broad-shouldered and lean, visibly fit even despite the thick, black hoodie and baggy jeans he wears. You try not to stare at the shadow created in the fabric between his pecs, or the way the oversized hoodie still somehow manages to cling to the top of his bicep as he keeps one hand on the door handle. His black, relatively straight hair doesn’t look styled, just like it naturally falls into its part, the sides of it a little shorter than the top. Everything about him screams effortless, like he just wakes up looking like that.

One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t who you expected to open the door.

“Uh, hi,” you introduce yourself, telling him your name, “Did you… call for a vet?”

For some reason, he looks almost as surprised as you. “Hey. I did, yeah. I’m Jeongguk.”

Though he smiles politely, he doesn’t offer his hand for you to shake. It’s not something you dwell on. Quite a few of the pet owners you meet prefer not to shake hands.

“Come in.”

You nod and step inside, having to almost squeeze past him in the narrow hallway as he shuts the door behind you. Like always when you enter a strange man’s home alone, you say a little prayer in your head. If it came to it, you’ve got a bunch of pointy things in your bag, but you’d still prefer it if he wasn’t crazy to begin with.

As you move past him, you’re almost surprised that you don’t… smell him. Men—at least in this town—are very fond of their colognes and sprays, but you don’t catch even the slightest whiff of him. You wouldn’t say that you particularly enjoy the strong… scents, but the total lack of one from a hunk like this is almost disappointing.

When you go to slip your shoes off, he stops you. 

“Keep them on,” he says, voice kept low due to the distance. Or rather, the lack thereof. “It’s… not very clean.” 

There’s something in the casual smile he gives you besides an attractiveness you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s a tad of… sheepishness? It doesn’t matter; your skin still heats under his gaze

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and professional while waiting for him to take the lead. Luckily, you don’t think he notices.

Even with the heads-up, you’re not sure what surprises you more as you follow him into the house—the layers and layers of dust, or the Edwardian, neoclassical interior design. The faded, beige walls are paneled, and as he leads you toward a staircase, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be the living room through an open archway. In it, you spot a pale green velvet sofa and two upholstered armchairs, fitting right in. There’s also a rectangular fireplace, a gold-framed mirror above it, and what catches your interest the most: a chandelier. Its size is impressive, and so is the fact that it looks like it was made for real, live candles. The same goes for the brass wall sconces placed on either side of the fireplace. You’ve only ever seen those in movies.

“They’re up here,” he says, and you nod, reaching for the wooden railing as you follow him up the stairs.

The steps creak loudly beneath your weight—another reminder of just how old this house probably is. At the landing, he turns, leading you to a bedroom. It’s surprisingly small for a house this size, but it’s cozy and warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You guess the clouds outside have eased up a little because the smallest ray of sunlight filters through the practically sheer beige curtains and highlights the dust particles floating in the air.

The four-poster bed is made from dark wood, its canopy rails bare and the headboard curled softly. Like most things, the white sheets appear pretty much untouched, and the only real signs of life are the footsteps disturbing the dust on the floor. You've followed a path all the way from the door, and when you look closer, you see paw prints venturing outside it.

Noticing your lingering gaze, Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here in a while.”

You figured. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since… the late 1800s. Although it’s certainly a stylistic choice—and one you wouldn’t have expected from someone so young and otherwise modern-looking—it has its charm. Even if you’re not sure there’s even electricity or running water.

“I arrived earlier today and found them here,” Jeongguk continues, approaching a standalone wooden wardrobe placed against the wall. One door is already slightly ajar, but when he carefully opens it wider, you see them. The cat with kittens. “I read that you’re not supposed to move them.”

The mother cat, who looks to be all black, has made a little nest on top of a crisp white shirt that’s fallen from its hanger above.

“Oh,” you breathe, crouching slowly to get a better look. “They’re brand new.”

“Yeah. And I think one is smaller than the others.”

Your eyes travel over the small beings, each with varying patches of white to go with the black. None of them, from what you can tell, have even opened their eyes yet. The mother cat stops licking one of the kittens to give you a warning hiss. You listen, rising to your feet and turning away, a plan already in mind.

“Okay, I brought some food that might help lure her out,” you say, setting the bag down on the floor and crouching to reach into it. “This stuff’s usually pretty irresistible…”

But when you look back at the man—a jar gripped in your hand—he’s already holding the mother cat. Just straight around her middle, as if he’s never held a cat before. She doesn’t seem to mind very much, just hangs there, looking around.

Jeongguk looks at you, a little surprised too.

“Oh, okay. She seems to like you better,” you smile. You can’t help but think that he looks… sweet. A big, clearly very muscular and attractive man who’s liked by animals? It’s definitely both a green flag and a personal weakness for you.

The food goes back into the bag, and you reach for the equipment you’ll need instead. With a stethoscope around your neck, a small kitchen scale, and a thermometer, you kneel in front of the wardrobe. In the meantime, Jeongguk sits down on the bed, the cat perched on his lap. He keeps his large hands around her, gently keeping her in place in case she changes her mind.

Very gently, you reach for the smallest kitten first. It squirms in your hands, mouth open and paws sticking out in a silent protest. 

“Sex is notoriously tricky to tell on kittens, especially this small, so I’m not even gonna try,” you say with a smile, giving the kitten a general once-over before focusing on its face. It’s a sweet little thing, crying a little as you inspect it. This one is mostly black but with two white front paws.

“Well, I’d definitely say they’re only a day or two old. This one has a suckle reflex but hasn’t opened its eyes yet. That usually happens between day five and fourteen. The umbilical stump is still attached too, and that usually falls off around day two to four.”

“So that’s… good?” Jeongguk asks, and when you look at him, the mother cat is bumping her head against his abdomen. He peers down at her on his lap, extending his veiny hand in a wordless offer. She accepts it, rubbing her head against his palm and letting him pet her.

“Yeah. That’s normal.”

You return your focus to the little being in your hands, carefully looking into its mouth again to check its gums and palate. 

“Pink gums and no cleft. That’s good, too.”

With one hand, you grab the stethoscope from your neck, putting the earpieces in place. Getting a clear heart or lung reading on kittens this tiny isn’t easy. Their heart rate is fast, making it easy to miss abnormalities, and their small, wriggling bodies make it hard to even position the chestpiece properly in the first place.

Focusing, you hold the kitten still, placing the stethoscope on the left side of its chest just behind the elbow. Then you listen closely, trying to ignore the soft purring from the adult cat.

It sounds… good. Alright, at least. Shifting the stethoscope slightly, you first listen to one lung and then the other. You don’t notice anything abnormal there, either.

“Heart and lungs sound okay,” you declare, slipping the stethoscope back around your neck.

“What’s next?”

“Temperature,” you answer, reaching for the digital thermometer.

“What should their temperature be?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-six point five degrees Celsius.”

“Isn’t that a little low? I mean, compared to a human?”

“Adult cats are more similar to humans, but kittens generally run a little colder,” you explain, focusing on getting the reading right. “They don’t have the ability to regulate their body temperature properly for the first couple of weeks.”

The thermometer beeps.

“Thirty-six point two,” you mumble. “So that’s within the range. A little low, but not necessarily dangerous.”

With one hand, you reach for the kitchen scale, setting it on the floor in front of you. It powers on, and once it’s ready, you place the kitten on it, keeping your hand floating above in case the little animal tries to wiggle off the tray.

The number settles, and you read it out loud. “Eighty-one grams.”

“Too small?” Jeongguk wonders.

“On the lower side, but not dangerously so. At least not yet.”

You take the kitten and carefully place it back in the makeshift nest for the moment. Before reaching for another kitten to examine in the same way, you grab a small notebook in your bag, quickly jotting down the numbers so you don’t forget them.

Jeongguk looks on as you inspect the rest of the four kittens, occasionally asking another question. It’s not unusual for pet owners to ask questions, but considering these aren’t even his cats—and from what you gathered, he only found them today—it makes your chest warm. Not everyone would go to such lengths for stray cats. It also doesn’t help your growing soft spot that you get to talk about animals and their anatomy to someone who seems to want to listen. After all, you’re a bit of a nerd, and this is your number one fascination.

One by one, the kittens get their clean bill of health and are placed back on the shirt, and then you shift your focus to their mother. She’s standing on Jeongguk’s lap, still headbutting his chest. While she’s preoccupied, you quietly reach into your bag for the microchip scanner, but the moment you try to get close, she notices and hisses. 

“Give it a try, please?” You hold the scanner out to Jeongguk, keeping as much distance as you can. “Press this button and move the scanner over her, focusing on her neck and back.”

Jeongguk takes the scanner from your outreached hand, doing as you instructed and pressing the button. It beeps, and he begins to move it over her.

“Like this?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed almost angrily as he focuses.

You nod encouragingly. “Yeah.”

“Is it to see if she has an owner?”

“Yes. But sometimes, even if they are microchipped, there's not a registered owner. But we can hope.”

He continues to search for a chip, but when nothing happens, he looks at you with those dark eyes, silently asking what to do.

“Try her belly and even her legs. Sometimes, they migrate.”

Adjusting his grip on the scanner, he moves it lower.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says a moment later, handing the scanner back to you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking it to put it back in the bag. Although disappointed, you’re not surprised. “Would you mind helping me check her out? She seems to really like you. A whole lot better than she likes me, at least.”

He matches the soft smile you give him. “Sure.”

“Okay, well, she seems to be in okay condition, but I need to rule out any birth-related injuries. 

“What do I do?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, the cat still happy to receive his attention. 

“Just… hold her like that… Yes, exactly. And with your other hand, move her tail away for me?”

A little awkwardly, he follows your instructions again, and while you don’t think the cat particularly enjoys it, she doesn’t fight it. You move closer, trying to get a better look while doing your best not to stare at his veiny hands instead. In any other setting, they’d be way too much of a distraction, but knowing that this cat depends on you to evaluate her health, you divert your gaze.

“Alright… I don’t see anything... unusual, no swelling, no blood, no discharge. If she were injured, you’d usually spot it, but she’s not thrilled with me, so I won’t push it,” you chuckle, leaning back.

Having animals dislike you is unfortunately part of the job. Sometimes, it hurts your heart a little, but when you remember that it’s easy for an animal to associate the scrubs or equipment with something unpleasant and maybe even painful, it makes more sense. Briefly, you wonder if this cat has ever been to a vet or if her dislike for you stems from something else. It’s definitely normal for new mothers to have a bit of an attitude, but you’d think that would include every human in the room. Or maybe she doesn’t dislike you in particular; maybe she just really likes Jeongguk. Which... you know, fair.

Almost as if sensing that the examination is over, the black cat jumps down from Jeongguk’s lap, leaping past you to get to her babies. 

“Alright,” you say, wiping your hands on your pants before you stand up. “It’s important not to disturb them too much, but they’ll still need some supervision—especially the small one—just to make sure they continue to eat and grow. And they’ll need a better place to nest, somewhere a little warmer, softer, and less… dusty. No offense.”

Jeongguk chuckles, standing up as well and brushing some cat hairs from his hoodie. “None taken.”

“So, if you want me to, I can take them with me. We have a foster program and a few great volunteers.”

Jeongguk looks down at you, his brows furrowed in confusion this time. “I thought they were too small to be moved?”

“Yeah,” you nod, bending down to quickly gather the rest of the used equipment and put it back in the bag. “Ideally, they wouldn’t need to be. But I understand if you can’t or don't want to look after a stray cat and her kittens.”

“No, it’s… uh… It’s fine,” he says, appearing to land in a decision and sticking by it, his eyes traveling to the little bodies nestled into the white shirt. “It’s not that hard, right? Just keep an eye on them? If you think I can do it, of course. I already have a litter box.”

You blink, a little surprised. “You just happened to have a litter box?”

“No, I asked some neighbors after I called you. I figured you'd have some tips about the other stuff. Like food and such.”

Your smile grows as you watch him. He is… oddly endearing. “Yeah. Of course,” you say, your voice softening. The fewer cats and kitten taking up the very limited space at the volunteers', the better. “Okay.”

You begin drafting an email to send to him. It includes everything you've talked about plus cat food recommendations for the mother cat and a link to a cat bed that’s cheap but comfortable enough for a nursing litter. While you write, you talk him through everything again, like what to watch for, when to weigh them, and what to do if anything seems off.

He asks a few questions, making it very clear—if it wasn’t already—that he doesn’t really have any experience with animals. While he’s never appeared scared or nervous during your visit, you can tell that he’s not quite sure what to do. He moves slowly, almost a little awkwardly around the cats, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to scare them.

“You really like animals,” he points out, watching you tuck your notebook back into the bag.

You glance up at him. His tone isn’t mocking but more... curious. Still, you nod, a little self-conscious of how nerdy you can be.

“Yeah, animals are incredible. Not only because they’re such good companions—some of them at least—but, they’re so fascinating? How they function and how they’ve evolved.”

But there’s something else in his curious gaze that you finally pick up on, and it dawns on you.

“You think I’m a freak too, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling the stethoscope you’d forgotten to pack from around your neck and tucking it into the bag as well.

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

You lift an eyebrow. “But you know about it? My paper?”

His eyes are so dark. “Yeah…”

You look away, trying not to let it affect your professionalism. Speaking about it brings up memories you’d rather not be reminded of. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here in forever?”

It’s weird, right? If he doesn’t live here and hasn’t been around in a long time, how would he know the gossip?

“Town called a few years ago. About the electrical wiring needing to be upgraded. So I came here to fix it.”

Oh. That makes sense, you guess. A few years ago was when it first happened. That’s probably also why the yard looked different from what you remembered.

“And you heard about it?”

He smiles apologetically. “Yeah. It’s a small town, I guess.”

“It’s not like I think Ariel is real. Or that dragons roam the sky or that Dracula lives in a dark castle somewhere, wearing a black cape over a white, frilly shirt,” you defend, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “I just wrote about how much we don’t actually know about the living organisms around us and how some of the 'supernatural' traits aren't really that crazy, anatomically speaking.”

“No, I get that,” he assures, sounding like he genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. “I found it very interesting.”

“So is that why you looked so surprised to see me? Because you recognized me?”

“No. Or… well, yeah. I spoke to the receptionist, and she told me a man’s name—Namjoon, I think—would come.”

“Oh.”

“But I did also vaguely recognize you, I think. From the image.”

Lifting your wrist, you glance at the watch. “I should start to head back. Lock the clinic up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeongguk says, and when you meet his dark eyes again, he looks genuine. “I don’t think you’re a freak, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” you say, offering him a quick smile. “I’m not supposed to be out this long anyway. I have to get back and finish up the bill. I’ll email it to you along with the advice, is that okay?”

He nods, clearly accepting that he did in fact upset you to some degree. “Okay. Thank you for the help.”

You smile again, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath. Maybe you should cut him some slack. Technically, he wasn’t even the one to bring your paper up; that was all you. And besides very, very handsome, you haven’t once thought of him as anything other than sweet.

"No problem."

The drive back to the clinic is quiet. You don’t even turn the prehistoric radio on. It doesn’t matter because your thoughts are loud enough anyway, circling back to one thing. One thing and one person.

The paper you wrote in vet school was a mistake. Not that it was bad per se—it was a perfectly science-based paper, focused on the more unusual biological traits found in the animal kingdom. 

Unfortunately, you made the grave mistake of connecting some of those traits to various mythical creatures and their ‘unbelievable’ biology. Some of your peers—predominantly men—found it absolutely ridiculous and teased you for it. The more you tried to defend yourself, the funnier they thought it was.

You’d think it at least would’ve stayed within whatever small circle vet med is, but when your small town happens to be known specifically for the vet med program, a surprisingly large chunk of the population has some connection to it. You’re lucky that not many wish to stay in town after graduating, or you would’ve been last on the list to get a job. You still remember your current boss’s inspecting eyes as she interviewed you, trying to make sure you weren’t actually batshit crazy. That was maybe five or so years ago, and you haven’t really had to think about the paper in probably at least a year. 

Until today. Again, it wasn’t Jeongguk’s fault, you don’t think he even meant for it to be brought up. It still caught you off guard, though, because even if you don’t know him, he didn’t give off the same vibe as the people who laughed at you. And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his build, and how the oversized clothes hung off his strong, muscular body. Or his large, veiny hands as he gently pet the mother cat. His dark eyes, sharp jaw, and strong eyebrows. Even his nose—with its straight bridge and softly rounded tip, creating such a striking, masculine profile—had a way of completely mesmerizing you.

Not only is he probably the most attractive man you’ve seen in a long time—maybe ever, but he seemed… warm. You wouldn’t expect a man like him to care for a stray cat and her newborn kittens, much less call a vet out to help, but he did.

Back at the clinic, you take a seat in front of the desktop computer, typing your notes into the chart and updating the bill. Besides the obviously tragic parts of dealing with sick and injured animals, the worst part is probably billing the owners. You need money to live just like everyone else, but you’ll always feel wrong charging worried owners to care for their family members. Even now, as you’re adding the services to… Jeon Jeongguk’s bill, you think about how the cats don’t even belong to him.

The cursor hovers over his name. Who is he? How did he come to be the owner of that house, and why own it if he’s not living there or at least visiting regularly? Why bother even fixing the electrical wiring if it’s just gonna stay empty? And just how long had it been empty?

The questions whirl in your head. Though it’s not really any of your business why he returned, maybe you could’ve at least asked him where he’s from? It would’ve been acceptable small talk, right? Could you also have asked why he felt the need to take care of the cats, even when you offered to take them off his hands, or would that have been rude? 

Realizing that you’re not getting anywhere, you bill him for a standard home visit of half an hour—even though you stayed closer to one—and for the gas just so you don’t lose money on the visit. You don’t add the same day fee or charge him for the used materials.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it and are excited for the rest because i think it's gonna be good!!! i also had some moodboard pics of the house made so let me know if you'd like to see them <3

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[maikaartwork]

Artists, let’s talk about Instagram commission scammers

There’s been a huge rise in commission scammers recently, mostly on Instagram. A lot of new artists don’t know what to look out for, so I figured this might help people.

How they begin

Usually the scammer will write to you asking about a commission. Something deceptively cute - mostly I encounter asks about pet portraits, with one or two photos sent. They’ll probably try to sell you a sweet little story, like “It’s for my son’s birthday”. They will insist that they love your artwork and style, even though they don’t follow you or never liked a single piece of your art.

What to look out for:

Their profiles will either be private, empty, or filled with very generic stuff, dating at most a few years back.

Their language will be very simple, rushed or downright bad. They might use weird emojis that nobody ever uses. They will probably send impatient “??” when you don’t answer immediately. They’re in a crunch - lots of people to scam, you know. 

They’ll give you absolutely no guidelines. No hints on style, contents aside from (usually) the pet and often a name written on the artwork, no theme. Anything you draw will be perfect. Full artistic freedom. In reality they don’t really care for this part.

They’ll offer you a ridiculous amount of money. Usually 100 or 300 USD (EDIT: I know it might not be a lot for some work. What I mean here - way higher than your asking price, 100 and 300 are standard rates they give). They’ll often put in a phrase like “I am willing to compensate you financially” and “I want the best you can draw”, peppered with vague praise. It will most likely sound way too good to be true. That’s because it is.

Where the scam actually happens

If you agree, they will ask you for a payment method. They’ll try to get to this part as soon as possible. 

Usually, they’ll insist on PayPal. And not just any PayPal. They’ll always insist on sending you a transfer immediately. None of that PayPal Invoice stuff (although some do have methods for that, too). They’ll really, REALLY want to get your PayPal email address and name for the transfer - that’s what they’re after. If you insist on any other method, they’ll just circle back to the transfer “for easiest method”. If you do provide them with the info, most likely you’ll soon get a scam email. It most likely be a message with a link that will ultimately lead to bleeding you dry. Never, and I mean NEVER click on any emails or links you get from them. It’s like with any other scam emails you can ever get.

A few things can happen here:

They overpay you and ask for the difference to be wired back. Usually it will go to a different account and you’ll never see that money again. 

They’ll overpay you “for shipping costs” and ask you to forward the difference to their shipping company. Just like before, you’ll never see that money again.

The actual owner of the account (yes, they most likely use stolen accounts to wire from) will realize there’s been something sketchy going on and request a refund via official channels. Your account will be charged with fees and/or you get in trouble for fraudulent transactions. 

You will transfer the money from your PayPal credit to your bank account and they will make a shitstorm when they want their money back, making your life a living hell. They will call you a scammer, a thief, make wild claims, wearing you down and forcing you into wiring money “back” - aka to their final destination account. 

Never, EVER wire money to anyone. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Use PayPal Invoice for secure exchanges where the client needs to provide you with their email, not the other way around.

You can find more info on that method HERE.

What to do when you encounter a scammer:

Ask the right questions: inquire about the style, which artwork of yours they like, as much details as you can. They won’t supply you with any good answers.

Don’t let the rush of the exchange, their praise and the promise of insanely good money to get to you. That’s how they operate, that’s how they make you lose vigilance. 

Don’t engage them. As soon as you realize it might be a scam, block them. The sense of urgency they create with their rushed exchange, and pressure they put on you will sooner or later get to you and you might do something that you’ll regret later.

Never wire money to anyone. Never give out your personal data. Never provide your email, name, address or credit card info. 

Don’t be deceived by receiving a payment, if you somehow agree to go along with it. Just because it’s there now doesn’t mean it can’t be withdrawn. 

Here is a very standard example of such an exchange. I realized it’s a scam pretty fast and went along with it, because I wanted good screenshots for you guys, so I tried going very “by the book” with it. 

Please share this post, make it reach as many artists as possible. Let young or inexperienced artists know that this is going on. So many people have no idea that this is a thing. Let’s help each other out. If you think I missed any relevant info, do add it as an rb!

Also, if you know other scam methods that you think should be shared, consider rb-ing this post with them below. Having a master post of scam protection would AWESOME to have in the art community.

[everlastingserenitys]

OFF SCRIPT! ☆

summ. after getting constant emails from a company sylus didn't want to work with, he finally gave in, and well...he might've went a little too wild on his first shoot with you.

pairing. sylus x f!reader cw. pornstar!sylus, pornstar!reader, p in v, masturbation, creampie, cumming inside, perv!sylus again yayy, he is practically in heat lol, kinda loving sex if u look closer a/n. sorry I love writing I dont mean to post so much !! anyway cool idea I thought of <3

It was often that Sylus would get requests by other companies to work with him.

Usually, he’d reject most of them and find other people on his own time and people that fit his standards.

But one day Sylus’ manager kept getting a bunch of emails from this company Sylus did not like, offering to do a shoot with him.

After the constant pestering for weeks and weeks, Sylus hesitantly agreed, it was just a little shoot with somebody, couldn’t be that bad right?

Well, both companies agreed on meeting up a week in advance so they could ‘get to know each other’ which was weird, because Sylus never did that before.

But a week passed and Sylus got ready at his studio to meet up with the other company. He sat in his chair, tapping a rhythm against his leg as he patiently waited.

A few minutes passed and the door clicked open, Sylus’ gaze averted from the ground to the figure walking in the room and…

Woah.

That was strange…for Sylus to feel like that with a person he just saw.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As you were walking in, Sylus’ eyes were everywhere but on yours. His gaze darted from your tight dress, suffocating your beautiful figure, to your breasts, to your hair. Oh how he was already so captivated by you.

Sylus got up from his seat and headed towards you, lifting his hand in front of you. The second your frail fingers slid against his rough ones, Sylus had to hold back a grunt that almost escaped his lips.

Fuck, just what was that reaction? It's not his first time he’s touched a woman anyway?

Your voice echoed through the empty studio as you introduced yourself to Sylus and his manager, did he even catch your name? Whatever it was, he wanted to get on with the shoot soon.

A quiet sigh escaped Sylus’ lips when he remembered he still had one more person before his shoot with you, but all he had to do was finish quickly when he was with the woman before you, then finally have his shoot with you, couldn’t be bad right?

After the brief introduction and a few ground rules that Sylus didn’t listen to–it was now finally time for you to leave. Sylus wished you stayed just a little bit longer, but he knew he couldn’t ask you that. So the second you left his studio an annoyed groan escaped his lips and he headed back to the dressing room to get changed.

Hours passed and he was now home. Sylus was finishing up a few emails on his computer but for some reason a little part of his mind was a little distracted by you, and of course, out of curiosity he decided to search you up.

And, well…fuck.

You were pretty popular, and had a bunch of views. All your videos seemed to be doing very well and Sylus couldn't help but feel something inside him, it wasn’t jealousy, but something completely different.

So, instinctively, he hovered his mouse over the play button of one of your most viral videos. Sylus leaned back in his chair as he let the video play out in front of him.

He watched as this fuckass purple haired man fucked you like a slut. The man's fingers digging deep in your hips as his cock pummeled deep into you, Sylus somewhat felt annoyed, but his fingers were definitely not annoyed.

Cause after barely being five minutes into the video, Sylus already had his fingers wrapped around his hard cock, he stroked slow movements on it as his eyes continued to stay locked on your pixelated video.

Rage fueled his eyes and he couldn’t wait for the day he gets to do the video with you to come soon. The last few minutes of the video played and a grovelling moan escaped Sylus’ lips as the last few drops of semen dripped out of him.

After he got himself cleaned up, he decided to watch your other videos, without getting off at them.

He was just going to watch them.

It was already the next morning and Sylus went through each and every one of your videos from that night, he didn’t get a wink of sleep since and his mind that had a faded memory of you was now completely filled with you.

As much as he tried to get you out of his mind, it was impossible for him to do so.

But while the days progressed, there was still a week until you and Sylus were supposed to have a shoot.

And each day, Sylus was asking the same question to his manager.

The first day he limped to his manager and played a dramatic act before he asked, “my leg hurts…is it possible we skip this person and i do my next shoot next week?”

“No.”

Okay, that didn't work out.

On the second day Sylus showed up to the studio later than usual, when he finally walked in, his manager was already bombarding him with a bunch of questions, asking where he was and such.

“My voice hurts a little and I lost my script, can we just skip this person?”

“Nope, I have an extra script if you want, also this script is for the person next week? So get on with it and make sure you’re ready tomorrow..” His manager pulled out some papers and shoved them towards Sylus, who groaned in response and walked away.

On the third day–also the day he had to shoot with the woman before you, he tried to make every possible excuse to avoid the filming but no one was listening to him.

And now, there was just an hour left before he had to start the shoot, so he decided to give in and just get it over with, and hope he’d just finish quickly. An hour passed and the woman showed up on set. His manager got the cameras ready and in a quick second the three second timer ended and the cameras started rolling.

Sylus’ fingers snaked around the woman’s waist as he aligned her pussy with Sylus’ cock, he pushed her down on it and rocked his hips against her ass, the sounds of his unrhythmic thrusts filling the room was getting him nowhere to release.

Sylus kept his eyes shut as he continued to pummel himself deep into the woman. He tried to think of anything that would get him to cum any quicker, then…ever so suddenly he winked open an eye and glanced at the woman's breasts, and then a memory of your cleavage appeared in his mind.

A whine slipped from Sylus’ lips and that's how he knew he was close, so close. Sylus’ fingers gripped tighter on the woman's waist and he pulled and pushed her, up and down, up and down, his eyes were locked onto her pussy that was clenching his cock in a respectful manner, now all Sylus needed to do was imagine it was your–

Shit.

A loud moan escaped Sylus’ lips and he pulled the woman out of him and sighed against the bed. Now that hack definitely worked out. A minute or so passed and Sylus’ manager walked towards him, a surprised look appearing in his eyes as he helped Sylus get cleaned up.

“That was… way too quick, don’t ‘cha think?” His manager chuckled awkwardly, patting Sylus down with a warm wet towel, but Sylus just shrugged and rested the warm towel against his eyes.

“I just need four more days to pass,” he said in the lowest voice he possibly could.

-

And finally, those four long, excruciating days passed and Sylus pranced around his studio as he waited for you to come as soon as possible. He bit his finger and sat on the bed as the seconds passing felt like minutes, and then hours, and then day–

The click of his door awoke Sylus from his stressing and he perked up on the bed, looking as the door opened up to reveal you walking in, a couple of papers in your hands as you glanced around the studio, and finally making eye contact with Sylus.

The faintest smile appeared on Sylus’ lips as he watched you walk towards him, his eyes quickly looking you up and down before you spoke up, “did you practice your lines?” your beautiful voice made Sylus stammer before he nodded.

“Mhmm, let's start now. Aye get the cameras ready f’me?” Sylus directed to the manager, who obediently listens to his orders and gets the cameras ready. As both of your managers were getting things ready, Sylus glanced at the busy workers before his fingers snaked around your waist, pulling you closer–

What was he doing? He didn't even know why he pulled you close like that…

Sylus cleared his throat before slightly pushing you away. And before either of you could speak, the managers hollered that they were ready. So you step away from Sylus and get in position.

The cameras started rolling and you walked towards Sylus in a seductive manner. Was that even a part in the script? Sylus was so dazed by you he patiently waited till you reached him. And so the final second you were just a few inches away from him, Sylus wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap.

His large fingers cupped the sides of your face and Sylus pulled you in an intense, needy kiss. His tongue darted towards your closed lips as he sought entrance, wanting–needing, to savour more of you.

A quiet gasp left your lips and you obediently parted your lips, letting his tongue slide right through, tasting everything. He slid his fingers through your hair as he pushed you down on the bed. Fuck, he might as well had forgotten the whole script, might as well wing it.

Sylus continued to devour you, acting like he hadn't eaten for a year. Moments later he pulled away to catch his breath and stare at your flushed face beneath him. Now, comes the fun part. Sylus grabbed onto your knees as he spread your legs apart.

His eyes darted at your bare pussy on display for him, you weren't even wearing anything under that dress and that just turned on Sylus even more. His hungry gaze lingered there for a few minutes before he removed his belt and his pants in a quick movement.

Sylus’ hard cock was on display for you, he wrapped two fingers around it, slowly stroking himself before pressing his tip against your drooling cunt.

“Ready?” Sylus asked, teasingness laced in his voice. You let out a desperate whine and he pressed himself inside you, his cock was stretching out your pussy and that's when his whole mood took a whole 180.

Sylus grabbed onto your hips, his short nails dug deep into them as he rocked you and him back and forth in an indescribable pattern. Moans filled the studio and he already forgot what he was supposed to do next, he just continued ramming himself into you.

“Fuck..” Sylus moaned, pushing himself balls deep inside you.

“S-slow down!” you whine, trying to slow down the pace he was rocking you in but Sylus’ grip tightened even more, his cold gaze, filled with lust was glaring down at you, he looked like he was trying to hold back his release, and that's clearly what he was doing.

But of course, he couldn't hold himself back. After his eyes mistakenly went to your bouncing tits, he immediately felt a wave of pleasure splurge through him. Sylus groaned, but that didn't stop him from continuing.

He flipped you over and continued pummeling his cock deep inside you, the creamy mixture was pooling out of your tight cunt on every thrust and your moans grew louder and louder on each one.

“You’re taking me in so–ngh good.” he moaned, quickening the pace even quicker, a whiny answer escaped your lips but Sylus was too much in a horny daze to even decipher what you said, this was probably the best sex he had.

“Sy! ‘m gonna cum!” you whine, arching your back and spreading your legs further apart as you felt the pleasure deep down you. Sylus let out a shaky response and tried to pull away, but he was so addicted, you felt way too good and he needed more.

You thought he had pulled out by the time you came, but when your flushed face turned to his large figure shadowing over behind you, and noticed he was still inside you, you knew you were done for. Pleasure blinded Sylus’ eyes as he pulled himself out of you, just to watch the mess pool out of you.

Sylus’ fingers pressed against your puffy folds and he slowly stretched them out as his eyes watched the mixture stream out of your tight cunt, a quiet whine escaped your lips when you felt his fingers dig inside your walls as he pulled out every last drop.

“Shit.” he muttered, pulling his fingers out to look at the dripping mess dripping from his digits. You pant heavily, not having any energy for an answer. Before Sylus could continue any further both your managers yelled out ‘cut!” and Sylus snapped out of daze and sighed. Hopping off the bed and helping you out too moments later.

“Sylus! Did you even read the script?!” His manager poked on his biceps and Sylus shook his head.

“Sorry.”

“Whatever, no retakes. We will just upload this and see where it goes, but…Good job today.” His manager patted his back and walked away to grab some towels and extra clothes. Sylus quietly chuckled, his gaze lingering on your figure beneath him.

He wouldn’t mind doing this again, in fact, he wanted to do another shoot with you, this time, with nobody around.

part 7 of untamed desires | sylus -> next work

[quarterlifekitty]

Promethean

Fuckboy!Soap x shy!reader x Ghost p.3

Soap likes to think of himself as someone who’s not just a fuckboy.

But it’s hard to think that when, right now, he’s literally checking his phone more often than he did when nana was touch-and-go in the hospital, with his train line experiencing heavy delays from inclement weather.

He tilts the screen to his face for the thirtieth time in the last two minutes. Nothing.

Well, not nothing. There’s never nothing. Social media alerts. Hearts in games refilled. Reminders of all the shit he’s left in his cart across various shopping apps.

The emails. My god, the emails…

But it may as well be empty, seeing as the one thing he wants to see isn’t there.

The fuck was your problem, lately? Not responding to his texts when he used to see the read checkmark within thirty seconds alongside a typing bubble. Yeah maybe he’s not your boyfriend, and he doesn’t act all lovey dovey the way you want him to when he fucks you, and he doesn’t even look at you when he passes you on campus, and he typically ignores it when you say hey— that kinda hurts, and….

Whatever. He’s not the one under examination here. You’re being the problem right now.

He should move down the contact list. He has options.

But first he needs to figure out what the fuck is going on with you. It’s gonna drive him crazy. He has a beautiful mind, that way. Should’ve been a detective.

His first clue comes with your next class together, right at the start of the week. It’s a little colder. The heat in this wing of the building has been kinda spotty at best. He himself is wearing pants longer than basketball shorts, which is cause to alert the media.

You’re wearing something big and faded and black. It swallows you. It’s familiar. There’s some cracked, plastic design on the front that used to be a logo, probably. But maybe it’s familiar because you’ve worn it before— it’s not like he’s really paid much attention to what you’ve worn in the past, not unless it was short or low cut.

Simon’s been around the house even less than usual. And when he is home, the door to his room is closed. Weird, considering he’s always been one of those door-open freaks. Whatever, maybe he’s taken up jacking off more lately. God knows he’s never let Johnny set him up with someone.

You’ve been different. Smiley. Not that Soap would know or anything. But your errant behavior warrants a closer look. Tapping away at your phone under the table. Rushing out of class like you have somewhere to be. Almost skipping.

Maybe he’d gotten a little too lax with baiting you. Needed to recast the enchantment. Make you remember what you were clinging to hope for. Even the most reliable trap will fail if it’s not baited.

“Gonna be a rager this wknd at the house, bonnie. Wanna see u there <3”

He was flush with confidence. Even if you didn’t respond now— he’d see you there. Where else would you be on a Saturday night? You’re not the dating type.

Someone call the Audubon Society about this man, because when it comes to predicting the migratory patterns of birds, he’s always right. You’re there before the party is even in full swing. You’re wearing that black sweatshirt again— not the sexiest choice, but he can’t blame you for getting a little sloppy when he hasn’t been around to keep your back straight.

He puts on his best, wolfish grin and leans against the bannister of the staircase so that you won’t be able to help but—

Brush right past him. Up the stairs.

Straight to his room, then? Well, it had been a while since he’d given it to you, huh? Poor thing— suffering from withdrawals. Maybe that’ll teach you not to ignore him when he’s trying to magnanimously grace you with a dick appointment.

He follows, hot on your tail, just in time to feel the tickle of a breeze from the quick closing of a door.

And the door to his room stares back at him.

Wide open.

[lightlyblooming]

What if it wasn't a joke?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: What if Natasha’s teasing wasn’t a joke? 

Words: 2.1k

I tapped my fingers on the glossy wooden table in front of me, following the tempo of the conversation around me. The cacophony of voices flitted through my mind, going in one ear and out the other. 

What was supposed to be a swift debriefing with the rest of the Avengers had stretched into its third hour. I’d lost my patience two and a half hours ago when Tony Stark started talking about possible technological improvements he could add to the Avenger’s headquarters. It had only gone down from there.

I stared down at my leather folder opened on the table, letting out a slightly too-loud sigh when I saw the two sentences of notes I’d managed to put down. Only two sentences of actually useful information. Three hours, two sentences. Three hours for two sentences. 

My fingers curled into a fist. I picked up my pen, if only so that my frustration wouldn’t show. I hovered the pen over the clean piece of paper, but that only caused my anger to grow because there wasn’t anything to write.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dropped the pen, grateful for the distraction.

I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my phone, ignoring the sidelong glance I got from Steve Rogers. Phones technically weren’t allowed during meetings, but confidential information had stopped being shared hours ago. I doubted it’d matter if I leaked a conversation over what type of flavoured water they wanted in the lounge this month.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I read the notification that lit up the screen. 

Natasha: Busy daydreaming about me?

I raised my eyes to Natasha, my smile growing further when I noticed she had already been watching me. Her blue eyes twinkled with humour, but her features betrayed nothing. Her expression was just as blank, severe, and stoic as it had been for the last few hours.

Natasha only held my eyes for a handful of moments before she turned away, returning her steady attention to the conversation.

I texted back: I’m just thinking about how this meeting could’ve been an email.

Natasha picked up her phone a few moments later. Her expression didn’t change, and I was too far away to notice any other minor changes. I looked back to the nearly blank paper in front of me. 

Every second I spent waiting for her response felt like an eternity. I started to tap my fingers again.

After what felt like forever, my phone buzzed.

Natasha: I wouldn’t have seen you if it was an email.

A second later, she added: And I do enjoy watching you when you’re frustrated.

My eyes shot to her. She merely stared back at me, watching, waiting. I blinked at her, hoping she’d offer any kind of reaction for me to read. Instead, she picked her phone up, her fingers moving across the screen.

I lowered my eyes to the paper and put my phone on the empty sheet. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. My leg, the traitorous thing, started to bounce. My body tensed with every moment that passed. My breaths grew shallow as I waited for that screen to light up.

What was taking her so long? She had to be writing an essay if it was taking her this long to finish. I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked leaving me waiting.

My heart skipped when the screen lit up, only for it to drop deep into my gut when I read the text.

Natasha: It’s even better when you get flustered and start blushing.

I shut off my phone and shoved it into my pocket.

My head thundered in my chest as heat prickled on my cheeks. I silently cursed myself for playing right into her hand. 

It wasn’t like it was a surprise. She’d joke far too often about how easy it was to throw me off and the enjoyment she got from it wasn’t a secret. She always pushed it and tested it, seeing what measure of responses she could get. One glance. One smile. One whispered word. One step too close. A touch that lingered too long. For fuck’s sake, one sentence that toed the line between friendly banter and flirtatious teasing would leave me dumbed down and unable to speak for hours.

I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, hating the way I shook. I focused on my breaths, reread those two stupid sentences written on the paper. I willed the heat to fall from my face. I counted through my breathing. I picked up my pen and clicked it over and over again.

I was a fool for being affected by her. It was nothing. It meant nothing. It was a game to her, just a way to fill time and push away excruciating boredom.

I reminded myself of all those moments Natasha had toyed with me, only to pull away a moment later. 

I remembered the hours we had spent crouched in some dark hole, waiting out a mission, her faint touches oh-so-clear in the pitch black. I recalled the way she had looked at me days later when I had brought it up, her face flush with confusion and eyes so cold it was like looking at a stranger. 

I remembered the first time we’d exchanged personal numbers after becoming part of the Avengers. It had only been a handful of years since we’d worked together in the Red Room, yet she treated me like she’d never seen me before.

I remembered the hours of texting we’d do in those fluid hours of the night when time lost all meaning. Then the absence of contact in the morning, followed by stilted small talk that’d build a chasm between us. 

I glanced over at Natasha. My heart stung when I saw her stoic expression fixed on Wanda Maximoff.

I closed the folder and got to my feet. The rest of the Avengers at the table glared at me, but I ignored them. There was no reason for me to stay. The important parts of the meeting were done. I hadn’t needed to chime in for well over an hour. And I didn’t feel like torturing myself with Natasha’s cold distance for any longer.

⧗

I stirred my half-melted cocktail with the metal straw. The metal clicked against the glass. A chill wind brushed over my skin and rustled my hair, causing goosebumps to prickle along my arms. 

The Avengers compound had long since settled into its peaceful night operations. All the lights had been dimmed, the large mass of day staff had been sent home or to their rooms, the headache-inducing sound of jets coming and going had finally stopped. These small hours of the night were the only time I got any solitude. 

I watched the tarmac from the balcony, taking in the quinjets that had been left out and the skeleton crew that maintained them.

They always had to be ready, waiting, should the sky fall open and the Avengers had to be on the other side of the world in an hour. I always had to be ready to answer the call, be prepared for anything at any moment. I hadn’t even left the compound for a non-Avengers related reason for… months. It was too risky.

I looked down at the cocktail in my hand and braced my arm against the balcony railing. I sighed and pursed my lips at it.

Despite the small amount of alcohol I’d had, I could feel the warmth of drunkenness spreading through my limbs and a delightful buzz that clouded my mind. I was already too far gone to fly, or fight, or do any amount of strategic thinking. Drinking more would only multiply that and make my recovery take longer. If there was an emergency and I got called out--

The door to the balcony softly clicked open and I whipped my head around, muscles going taught. 

The moment I laid my eyes on Natasha, who stood silently in the doorway, I let out a breath and allowed my shoulders to slump. The warm glow of the Avenger’s lounge silhouetted her form and took the sharp edges out of her appearance. 

She almost seemed vulnerable there, in her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid. The light caught the loose strands of her hair, making it look like strings of spun gold. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to the smooth plane of her neck. I couldn’t stop the prying thoughts that wondered how it would feel, how it would taste, if she’d just let me get close enough.

I pressed my lips closed and squeezed my eyes. I gave myself a moment to breathe and settle my system before I turned around and fixed my eyes on the cocktail cradled in my hands.

The stupid drink, wiping away every ounce of self-preservation I had.

The door clicked shut and Natasha walked up beside me, bracing her arms on the railing, mirroring my position. A beer bottle hung from her fingers, dangling precariously over the distant ground. Natasha took a swig and from the sound of it, she was quite far into her drink as well. At least I wasn’t the only intoxicated one.

I sipped at my now fully melted cocktail. I winced at the overwhelmingly sweet liquid. Without the ice to break up the taste, it had turned into a cloying mixture of syrup and rum.

“Too hard for you?” Natasha’s voice was low and heavy. 

Her voice tugged at something deep in the pit of my gut. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breaths shuddered. Heat prickled at my cheeks, and I prayed that Natasha thought it was because of the alcohol. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes and knew my prayers had fallen upon deaf ears when I saw the teasing tilt to her lips.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the illusion of sanctity the darkness granted, but the truth came out before I could even consider filtering my words, “A bit.”

Natasha’s ghost of a smile grew into a full-on grin. Her voice dipped into a sultry drawl that raked along my bones, “You should let me buy you a drink some time. I can show you what hard feels like.”

My hand tightened around the glass. I opened my mouth, prepared to spit out one of the million scripted rejections I had tucked in the back of my mind, but stopped short.

I schooled my features and turned towards Natasha. I took in her stance: her relaxed shoulders, fingers that fidgeted with the rim of the beer bottle, her ram-rod straight back, her attentive eyes, her welcoming smile, the way her head tilted just-so. She was expectant, waiting, and… nervous? A furrow ghosted in the space between her brows. Tiny fragments of uncertainty flashed across her face.

I swallowed and stared into her eyes. I tapped my thigh with my free hand. Silence stretched between us. My muscles tensed with every second that crept by.

I was such an idiot. A fool. My hesitation revealed more than I ever wanted Natasha to know. My growing silence stripped me bare and made me more naked than I would’ve been if I had merely removed my clothes. 

“Or--” Natasha’s words were slow, hesitant, searching, “--you can buy me one of those cocktails you always get, we can get drunk, and I can stop calling you a lightweight.”

I pressed my lips together and searched Natasha’s expression. All I found was a gentle vulnerability. There was teasing, yes, but behind all that was an openness I’d never seen in her before. 

What if, this time, it was a genuine offer? What if I said yes? Would she take me to a bar, let me order her a drink, and end the night with more than a painfully professional handshake? Or would she laugh and back off, making me look like a fool for even considering the offer?

My mind was too clouded to make a clear choice. I couldn’t discern anything more from her expression. I couldn’t calculate all the possible responses. 

I let out a shuddering breath and, with the type of courage I could only get from the alcohol coursing through my system, said, “Only if you promise to show me the best places.”

Natasha let out a breath and straightened. All signs of tension smoothed from her face. A light seemed to spark in her eyes, bringing a glowing warmth to her features. 

“Promise,” Natasha said, her voice strung with the softness and truth in her oath. 

[mephisto-reporting]

Dinner's Ready - Caleb Version

About: After a long and exhausting day filled with chores and responsibilities, the reader finds unexpected comfort and support from someone unexpected

Pairing: Reader x Caleb

Other men versions: Link

It had been one of those days.

Not just the kind that wore you down, but the kind that gnawed at your bones — the kind that made you feel like you were being pulled through molasses by invisible strings of responsibility, one painful inch at a time.

It started with a backlog of reports at work — documents you were sure you had submitted last week that had somehow disappeared into the void of a shared server. Your manager wasn’t accusatory, but the disappointment in their voice stung like a slap. Then came the broken office printer, followed by the passive-aggressive email thread from the finance department, and a series of back-to-back meetings that bled into your already overdue lunch hour.

By the time you wrapped up, your head was pounding and your muscles were stiff from sitting too long. But it wasn’t over. You still had to stop by the grocery store, where of course the one item you really needed was out of stock. The walk home felt twice as long as usual, even though it hadn’t changed in distance. The weight of your laptop bag pressed hard against your shoulder, the straps digging into your skin, and your feet dragged with every step.

Living alone had its perks, sure. Independence, freedom, the luxury of decorating your space just the way you liked it. But on nights like this, when the exhaustion from work melted into the ache of loneliness, it felt like you were shouldering the world with no one to lean on. And of course, Caleb was off-planet again. Some assignment on the outer rim of Deepspace Tunnel that required his presence as Colonel. He always promised to check in, but transmissions were often delayed, and more often than not, all you had were old messages and fading voice notes to fall asleep to.

Your apartment complex greeted you with silence. The lobby lights flickered, and even the elevator seemed to groan as if sharing your fatigue. When you finally reached your floor and unlocked your door, all you could think about was collapsing on the couch, laundry be damned.

But as you pushed the door open, something… strange happened.

Instead of the stale, slightly musty air of a home that had been empty for days, you were hit with warmth. Not just physical warmth, but the inviting kind — the kind that curled around you like a soft blanket. And there, threading through the air like a gentle whisper, was the most tantalizing aroma.

Spices.

Cardamom, clove, cinnamon — rich, earthy cumin, and the savory tang of turmeric and ginger blending together in a melody that made your stomach growl on instinct.

Your boots hit the entryway mat with a dull thud, your breath catching. The apartment, which you’d barely had the energy to tidy in recent days, looked pristine. Shoes neatly lined up. The living room throw folded just right. Even your desk, usually a chaos zone of papers and snack wrappers, was cleared.

And then you heard it.

A familiar voice humming low, off-key but unmistakably comforting, drifting from the kitchen.

You blinked as you stepped inside, and there he was.

Caleb.

Tall, solid, dark haired haired and still in his uniform—though his jacket was thrown over a chair and his sleeves were rolled up. He stood at the stove, spoon in hand, carefully adjusting the seasoning in a simmering pot of chicken curry. Beside it, a small pot of cumin rice steamed gently, the grains fluffy and fragrant.

He looked up just as you stepped fully into the doorway, and his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Hey, princess,” he said, voice soft, eyes scanning you with immediate concern. “You look wrecked.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. The sight of him—here, impossibly—hit you harder than anything else that day. You felt your body tilt toward him as though magnetized.

Caleb set the spoon down and crossed the kitchen in two long strides. He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you in his warmth.

And suddenly, everything snapped. The dam cracked. The tears you’d been swallowing for days welled up and spilled silently into his chest as he ran a hand over your back, slow and grounding.

“You’re home,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“I am,” he murmured into your hair. “Got back early. Thought I’d surprise you.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair from your face. “You’ve been doing too much,” he said simply. “I could feel it, even when you pretend over the phone that everything is fine.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. His hold tightened.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do everything alone. Not tonight.”

The words cracked something open in you. For the first time in weeks, the ache in your bones eased. The heaviness didn’t disappear, but it shifted—no longer yours to carry alone.

“Oh,” you whispered, shoulders sagging. “Caleb, I’m so tired…”

“I know,” he murmured “I know, princess.”

You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of spices and Caleb — warm, earthy, home. His fingers threaded through your hair, one hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“I cleaned up, too,” he said softly into your ear. “Ran a load of laundry, changed your bedsheets, and cooked something familiar. Chicken curry — with cumin rice. Just how you like it.”

You both settled onto the couch, plates balanced precariously on your laps. Caleb’s leg nudged yours, a small but grounding contact. The chicken curry steamed on both your plates.

He scooped up a generous bite of the chicken curry, the sauce clinging to the spoon with all the richness you craved. “Here,” he said, voice low, teasing, “try not to make that face again. It’s the one I love the most.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, opening your mouth for the offered bite. The spices danced on your tongue, comforting and familiar. Caleb grinned. “Like it, princess? Only the best for my favorite.”

The scent of dinner lingered in the air long after you’d finished, but for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel the crushing weight of being alone. Not tonight.

Tonight, Caleb was here.

And that made all the difference.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom @lucifers-silhouette @sunsethw4 @kthehoeforfictionalmen @mentaltrouble2201 @seris-the-amious @cheezeandkrackers

[synity]

I just had a dream about this and please consider writing about it haha

Woozi (idol//svt woozi) suddenly gets a red string tug while at a concert/event. Y/n is like a fan and it was their first time attending an event. Woozi doesn’t do anything about it at first but he suddenly sees her EVERYWHERE HAHAAHAH u can do whatever u want with it..thank you❤️‍🩹⚡️

RED THREAT

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Fate, Romance, Slice of Life Soulmate AU*

Y/N’s POV

The screen blinked again.

That same cursed blinking cursor at the top of my Google Doc. The blinking mocked me a reminder that I hadn’t typed a single word in over forty-five minutes. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I couldn’t feel my brain anymore. Everything inside me was heavy, like molasses had been poured through my skull and was slowly dripping down into my spine.

It was 3:07 a.m. again. Another night that bled into morning without permission.

My office was technically my apartment, but the line between the two had long disappeared. My desk was littered with empty mugs and sticky notes full of passive-aggressive reminders to eat. I hadn’t touched my paints in a month. My house plants were turning gray. Even the playlist I usually loved filled with SEVENTEEN’s songs that once felt like warm sun through glass had begun to feel distant, like music from another lifetime.

I loved my job. Or… I used to. I worked in design. Logos, branding, pitch decks, ad campaigns clean lines, color psychology, subtle messages. I was good at it too. That’s what made it worse. Because being good meant people kept asking. Deadlines kept piling. And somewhere along the way, being good became more important than being okay.

I blinked again, staring at my laptop. My to-do list had bullet points so long they needed sub-bullets.

Client proposal

Fix formatting

Adjust color scheme

Make it “pop” whatever that means

Call with team lead at 10 a.m.

Email Sophia back

Try not to cry before lunch

That last one had been added half as a joke and half because I wasn’t sure I’d make it otherwise.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. My knees cracked. When did I last move?

My eyes scanned the apartment. It looked like someone had moved out halfway and never came back. The easel near the window stood bare, canvas untouched. My coat still hung on the door from a week ago. The mirror across the room showed a girl in an oversized hoodie with hair shoved into a messy bun and dark circles that looked like shadows under her eyes.

I didn’t recognize her.

I sighed and grabbed my phone. I scrolled without looking, out of habit, not intention. Just numb thumbs moving. Doomscrolling. Nothing new.

Until I paused.

SEVENTEEN WORLD TOUR: SEOUL FINAL NIGHT – TICKET RELEASE (LIMITED QUANTITY)

The header burned like neon into my dry eyes.

I’d been a fan since college. Lee Jihoon Woozi was a name I used to whisper into the night with awe. His songs made me feel understood in a world that often moved too fast. His lyrics reminded me I could still create beauty when I was tired. But concerts were always too far, too expensive, too risky to plan. Until now.

I stared at the post. My finger hovered over the link.

“You need to sleep,” I muttered to myself.

But I didn’t move.

I thought about the endless Zoom meetings, the moments where my chest hurt from holding my breath. I thought about how I hadn’t painted in weeks. I thought about how much I missed... feeling something.

What if I just went?

I blinked again. My heart pounded in my chest.

“Just one night,” I whispered. “You can work around it.”

It felt like madness. Like buying a parachute before checking if the plane had crashed.

But something deep in me something that still had color was whispering: Go. Please, just go.

I bought the ticket before I could change my mind.

The next day, I didn’t tell anyone. I just sent in my work, rescheduled one meeting, and packed a bag.

I took the train to Seoul, sat with my forehead pressed against the window. The city rushed past, buildings like blurs, light and metal and motion. For the first time in months, I didn’t check my emails.

When I arrived, the air felt different. Not freer, not magical. Just… clearer. The kind of air that reminded you you’re still alive.

At the hotel, I let myself take the longest shower of my life. I curled my hair loosely, put on light makeup, wore the SEVENTEEN shirt I bought two years ago and never had a reason to wear.

I still wasn’t sure what I was doing. I felt stupid for running away like this.

But when I looked in the mirror again, there was a flicker of someone I remembered.

I looked… a little more like myself.

And somewhere in Seoul that night, a red thread waited in silence, ready to pull.

I hadn’t realized how loud a concert could be. The bass shook my ribs in time with my heartbeat, the crowd’s cheers layering like crashing waves. It was almost overwhelming almost. But there was a strange comfort in being surrounded by people who felt the same rush of adrenaline and joy. People whose eyes sparkled at the same melody. Whose voices lifted in the same chant.

"SAY THE NAME!"

"SEVENTEEN!"

The stadium roared.

My seat wasn’t too close somewhere in the middle rows. But honestly, it didn’t matter. Even from here, the members looked like stars dipped in light. The screens gave glimpses of their sweat-soaked dedication, the way their eyes scanned the crowd, and how their bodies moved like music was born in their bones.

And then there was him.

Woozi.

Lee Jihoon.

His dark black hair was slicked back just slightly, revealing his forehead. His face was flushed, skin glowing beneath the lights, eyes sharp and focused as he sang his verse with that voice that had once saved me without knowing. A voice that felt like a hug around my tired heart.

Every time the camera zoomed in on him, I found myself breathless. Not in the silly fangirl way I thought I’d grown out of, but something quieter. Something deeper. Like looking at a lighthouse you’ve seen in your dreams.

It had only been two songs, but I already felt myself loosening. The tight, brittle shell I had been dragging around for months was cracking in the best way. I let myself scream, sing, wave my lightstick. For once, I wasn’t the girl behind the screen or the project. I was just a person here, alive, overwhelmed, free.

They started “Don’t Wanna Cry.”

My heart squeezed.

This was the song I played when deadlines piled up, when my breath caught in my chest and I didn’t know why I was crying at 2 a.m. It wasn’t just the lyrics it was how it sounded like someone else knew that same quiet ache.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt it: warm tears rolling down my cheeks.

I laughed softly and wiped them, embarrassed even though no one around me noticed.

Then came the bridge. And for a moment, the stage lights dimmed.

And that’s when it happened.

I looked up just as Woozi’s eyes swept across the crowd—and stopped.

Because for the briefest moment in this world, I swore he looked right at me.

I froze.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even doing anything dramatic. He just… paused.

His gaze slowed.

Sharp, aware eyes.

And somehow, my heart knew.

He sees me.

We were so far apart. There was no way he could truly make out my face. I told myself it was just a coincidence. A flicker in the lights. My imagination reaching for fantasy in a place designed for dreams.

But something told me it wasn’t.

Because his stare lingered just a second longer than it should have.

And then he blinked. Just once.

Almost like

Recognition.

My lips parted.

And then the music swelled again, and the moment passed.

But I couldn’t move.

The crowd jumped, lights flashed, chants continued and I stayed frozen, clutching my lightstick like it anchored me to earth.

My chest rose and fell too fast. My ears buzzed. I didn’t understand it. There was no logic here. No reason for my soul to stir like that.

Unless…

Unless there was more to this night than I had expected.

The song ended. The members bowed. Woozi turned away.

But I could still feel it.

Like an invisible thread had tugged at my chest, unspooling from somewhere deep within and reaching across the stage. Wrapping around him. Wrapping around me.

Tying something neither of us could see.

I took a shaky breath and pressed my hand against my heart.

And for the first time in months, I smiled without effort.

Woozi’s POV

I’ve always said the stage feels like a dream.

The lights blur. The voices of thousands melt into one long, echoing ocean of sound. Everything becomes rhythmic: the beat, the steps, the inhale before a note leaves your throat. Time doesn’t pass normally here. You don’t think you just perform. You move. You feel.

But then it happened.

Right in the middle of Don’t Wanna Cry.

I looked into the crowd like I always do. We’re trained to. Engage with the fans. Make them feel seen. Keep your eyes moving, let them believe you're looking just at them. And sometimes you are.

But this time

This time, I stopped.

A flash of a lightstick. A girl with tired eyes. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The kind that goes bone-deep. A sadness that felt hauntingly familiar.

Her gaze was soft, but full of something I couldn’t name. Something real.

It was her.

I didn’t know how I knew that. I just did.

For a moment, the song faded behind me. The crowd fell away. And there was only this stranger whose soul looked like it had lived through the same kind of silence I carry. Who looked like she didn’t expect to be seen.

But I saw her.

And then the tug came.

Not literal not like some ghost hand yanking my shirt but inside. A tug in the center of my chest. Sharp. Sudden. Unignorable.

My brows knit together slightly before I caught myself. I blinked once. I moved on. I had to. There were still verses to sing, cameras trained on me, fans watching.

But the feeling remained.

Even after we left the stage for a quick break, I couldn’t shake it. I tried to distract myself joking with Seungkwan, drinking water, adjusting my in-ears. But my head kept turning toward the crowd, scanning, searching.

I didn’t even know who I was looking for.

Just that I needed to find her again.

Was she really there? Was I making it up?

But no. That look. That feeling. The way my heartbeat stuttered when our eyes met that wasn’t nothing.

I’ve never believed in fate.

I’m a realist. A skeptic. I make music because I trust structure, not signs. I believe in effort, not destiny.

But now?

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I’ve looked out at the crowd a million times. Every night, it’s a sea of lights, signs, and faces all blurring together in flashes of color and sound.

But tonight, it’s different.

Because somewhere in that crowd… she’s still there.

I’m supposed to focus on the stage, on the fans, on the performance. But my eyes keep drifting. Searching. Yearning. For what who I don’t even fully understand.

“Hyung, you okay?” Dino’s voice cuts into the darkness backstage as we get ready for the next set.

I nod, almost too quickly. “Yeah.”

But I’m not.

I’m off tempo. My heart is drumming too fast. My thoughts won’t settle. It’s like I’m being pulled from the inside as if someone tied a thread around my ribs and is gently tugging, asking me to come closer.

A red string of fate.

That old legend I never believed in it. But now? With how my entire body tensed when our eyes locked, how her face keeps replaying in my head like a looping melody i’m starting to wonder if the universe is trying to write something I can’t read yet.

I step back on stage, microphone in hand.

The next song is slower. More vulnerable. And when the music starts, my eyes instinctively search the crowd again.

Please be there.

A flash of silver. A movement in the middle row.

There she is.

She’s standing still not waving a lightstick like the others. Her hands are by her sides, clutching the edge of her sleeves, her eyes wide as if she’s just as startled as I am. I can tell she’s trying not to blink, like if she does, I’ll disappear.

And I’m doing the same.

There’s a second where we just stare.

A second where I forget how to breathe.

I sing, but I don’t remember the lyrics. I move, but my feet feel heavy.

Because something’s happening.

Something important.

And I can’t ignore it anymore.

When the concert ends, the others are buzzing with energy laughing, wiping sweat, taking selfies in the dressing room. I’m quiet. Distant.

“Yah, Woozi! We did great!” Hoshi claps my shoulder.

I smile or try to. “Yeah. It felt good.”

But my head’s somewhere else. Out there. Still on her.

Who is she?

Was she alone? Did she come for us, for me? Or was she just a face I was meant to find today?

I grip the towel tighter in my hands.

This shouldn’t be happening. I don’t know her. And yet it feels like I’ve always known her.

Like her soul knocked on mine and it finally answered.

I look back toward the stadium one last time before leaving for the car.

She’s gone.

But I know this isn’t the last time I’ll see her.

The thread’s been tied.

And I’m going to find out where it leads.

I didn’t sleep well last night.

My body was exhausted from the concert, but my mind was wide awake trapped in that moment where her eyes met mine. I replayed it in my head over and over again. The stillness in the chaos. The way her gaze softened, even from a distance. Like she recognized me first.

Like she’s been waiting too.

I wake up before my alarm. The sky is still tinted with early morning blue. I rub my eyes, drag myself out of bed, and brew coffee, trying to shake the fog in my chest.

It doesn’t work.

She’s still there in my head.

I’m not one to believe in fate, but what if…?

No. I need to get out.

I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee when my phone buzzes.

From: Hoshi Bro come out. I’m near the river. Let’s walk.

He’s one of the few people who won’t accept “no” for an answer, so I toss on a hoodie, sunglasses, and head out the door.

The Han River’s quiet at this hour. Runners, a few people walking their dogs, a couple teenagers with takeout sprawled on a bench. I spot Hoshi ahead and start walking toward him

And stop in my tracks.

No way.

There. Sitting under a tree. A small sketchpad in her lap, headphones on, eyes focused like she’s capturing something nobody else sees.

It’s her.

I almost laugh or scream. What are the chances? How?

Hoshi calls out to me, waving. I raise a hand, but my eyes are stuck on her.

Maybe she feels it. The weight of my gaze. She turns slowly.

And for the second time in two days, our eyes meet.

This time it’s closer. Sharper.

I swear my heart drops into my stomach.

She blinks. Her lips part. She knows.

She knows me too.

I force myself to keep walking past, my pulse hammering in my ears. I hear Hoshi say something, but I barely catch it.

“Hyung, you okay?”

I nod.

But I’m not.

Because now I’m sure this isn’t coincidence.

Later that day, I decide to stop by a café I used to go to when I needed peace. One that doesn’t play my music. Where the ahjumma behind the counter always adds extra honey to my tea without asking.

The bell chimes as I step in. It’s quiet thank God.

I place my order and walk toward my usual booth.

And nearly trip over my own feet.

Because she’s here.

Again.

This time sitting by the window, stirring something in her cup absentmindedly, notebook open, pen tucked behind her ear. The sun paints a warm halo around her.

I freeze.

She hasn’t seen me yet.

What are the odds?

I sit down in a booth across the café, out of her sight. My tea comes. I don’t touch it.

Instead, I keep watching.

She hums something. A melody. Barely audible, but familiar.

My own song.

She was there for me.

And now she’s everywhere.

Over the next few days, it keeps happening.

I walk into a convenience store late at night she’s standing in front of the ramyeon aisle, biting her lip in concentration.

I pass a bookstore I haven’t visited in months she steps out with a tote bag full of art books, looking up at the sky like she’s wishing something would fall from it.

I run into her again in a quiet alley near the company when I’m coming back from practice. She’s crouched beside a stray cat, offering it her sandwich. When she hears me approach, she looks up startled. But not afraid.

Just… confused. Like I am.

“Hi,” she says softly, like she’s not sure if I’ll hear.

I do.

But I can’t speak. I just nod and keep walking my throat full of words I can’t say.

Yet.

Back in the studio, I can't focus.

I try mixing a new track can’t get the layers right. I open lyrics I’ve been working on for weeks every line starts to sound like her. Everything I create feels tangled up in her presence.

It’s not just obsession.

It’s recognition.

I take a deep breath and look down at my wrist.

Invisible. But undeniable.

The thread is still pulling.

And I’m not going to fight it anymore.

YN'S POV

The morning after the concert, I woke up sore. Not just from standing on my feet for hours, but from… something else. Something deeper.

Something had shifted last night.

I couldn’t explain it not even to myself but the moment our eyes met, something ancient in me stirred. Like I had known him before. Like the universe had whispered his name into my soul long before I’d ever heard it.

Lee Jihoon.

Woozi. The name so many knew him by. But last night, in that split second when our gazes locked, it didn’t feel like I was seeing an idol.

It felt like I was seeing him.

Still, life had to go on.

Or at least, I tried to pretend it did.

I was back in my studio that morning, surrounded by canvases, brushes, and the faint smell of coffee and oil paint. Deadlines loomed like storm clouds. My manager had texted me three times, reminding me about commissions I hadn’t finished.

I needed to work.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I shook my head and dipped a brush into crimson.

Focus.

I painted in silence for hours, only moving when my stomach grumbled or my hands started to cramp. I must’ve been hunched over for too long, because when I finally stood up, the entire room spun for a moment. My shoulders ached. My vision blurred a bit.

You need fresh air, I told myself.

So I grabbed my sketchpad and headed to the riverside.

It was quiet just the way I liked it. The wind brushed against my cheeks, cool and gentle, a stark contrast to the sticky summer nights that had been weighing the city down. I found a tree I liked, tucked myself beneath it, and began sketching whatever came to mind.

At some point, the pencil in my hand started drawing him.

I frowned at the realization trying to erase it but the outline remained.

His side profile. The delicate curve of his nose. His brows, knit in thought. His lips, slightly parted.

I groaned and leaned back against the tree, covering my face with my hands.

“This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered.

But then…

That feeling again.

That static in the air. That tug in my chest.

I looked up.

And there he was.

Again.

Walking. Hoodie pulled low. Sunglasses on. But I knew.

I knew.

His eyes found mine like magnets unmissable, inevitable.

And this time, it wasn’t a concert. It wasn’t a crowd.

It was just us. Him. Me. The tree. The wind. The silence.

Time didn’t freeze, but something inside me did.

Then he passed. Just a nod.

But that one second unraveled me for hours.

Later that afternoon, I decided to stop by my favorite café a tiny place near my old art college. The owner, an older woman with dyed red hair and endless gossip, always made me laugh. I needed normalcy. Something grounding.

I walked in, ordered a chamomile latte, and picked a sunny seat by the window.

The bell chimed again shortly after.

I didn’t look up at first.

But then I felt it.

That same weight in the air. That thread tightening around my ribs.

I lifted my gaze, and sure enough there he was.

Again.

This time sitting at the far end, barely moving, eyes hidden behind dark lenses. But I could feel his presence like a fire in the room.

I looked away quickly, heart pounding.

What was happening?

Why did I keep seeing him?

Was I just noticing him more now?

Or was the universe playing some strange trick?

The next few days were… eerie.

I saw him everywhere.

At the bookstore near the station standing a few shelves down.

At the boba place I swore no idol would ever set foot in waiting quietly with his cap low.

Even in a quiet alley near my building, where a stray cat always waited for me because I usually brought it leftovers.

I was crouched beside it, tearing off pieces of a sandwich when I felt someone approach.

I looked up.

And there he was.

He looked just as surprised.

I said hi, unsure if I imagined the whole thing. He just nodded lips tight, eyes unreadable.

Then he walked away.

And I was left there, surrounded by silence, a half-eaten sandwich, and a cat that meowed like I owed it answers.

That night, I lay in bed, eyes wide open.

I didn’t believe in soulmates. In fate. In red threads.

But now I was starting to wonder.

What if something really was pulling us together?

What if this was more than coincidence?

What if for once I wasn’t imagining things?

Woozi’s POV

He saw her again.

Fourth time in less than a week. It couldn’t be coincidence anymore.

She was crouched next to a stray cat, feeding it bits of her sandwich with a gentle smile. Her coat was too thin for the late evening breeze, but she didn’t seem to care. The wind tugged at her hair, and he caught the softest hum in her voice. She was talking to the cat like an old friend.

Jihoon stood frozen just around the corner.

He wasn’t wearing anything that would scream "idol" today. Hoodie. Beanie. Mask. Even so, she recognized him he could tell. Just like at the concert. Just like at the riverside. At the café. At the bookstore. It was always the same:

Her eyes would meet his.

His chest would tighten.

That damned invisible thread would pull.

And he’d walk away.

But not this time.

He stepped out.

She looked up, startled. Her lips parted in surprise.

They didn’t say anything for a second. The cat meowed and pawed at her knee, breaking the stillness.

“Hi,” she finally whispered, almost as if unsure whether he’d speak back.

Jihoon swallowed.

He wanted to say something smooth. Collected. Something that didn’t sound like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest.

But instead, he muttered, “We keep meeting.”

Her brows knit together in a small, amused frown. “Yeah… I noticed.”

He smiled slightly beneath his mask, then pulled it down just enough so she could see his face see that he wasn’t here as Woozi the artist, but as Jihoon the man. The stranger who felt inexplicably drawn to her.

“Listen,” he began, walking closer, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but… are you feeling it too?”

She blinked. “Feeling what?”

He paused. Looked up at the moonlit sky. “That pull. Like… there’s something connecting us.”

There. He’d said it.

She stared at him, silent. He could see the hesitation in her eyes — the same hesitation he’d been wrestling with all week.

Then she nodded, slow and careful. “I thought I was going insane.”

His heart skipped.

For the first time in days, the confusion in his head settled. He wasn’t imagining this. She felt it too.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” she asked softly, standing up and brushing off her coat. “All those times?”

“I didn’t know if it was real,” Jihoon admitted. “And I didn’t want to scare you. I’m… not used to this kind of thing.”

She smiled a little, tugging her coat tighter around her. “Neither am I.”

They stood there, under the orange halo of a streetlamp, neither quite sure what to say next.

So Jihoon just blurted it out.

“I want to get to know you.”

Her eyes widened.

“I don’t know how this works,” he said, voice quieter now. “But I keep thinking about you. Not just because I’ve seen you everywhere. It’s something else. Like… I already know you.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly flustered. “I’m just a regular person.”

“Maybe that’s what I need,” he said, smiling.

The cat meowed again, circling their feet.

Jihoon looked down at it, then back up at her. “You want to walk for a bit?”

“…Sure,” she said, smiling and he could tell it wasn’t forced.

They walked slowly through quiet streets, the cat trailing behind for a block or two before giving up. Jihoon listened to her talk about painting, about overworking, about chamomile lattes and messy deadlines and getting yelled at by her manager.

He found himself laughing more than he had in weeks.

And when she teased him gently for being nothing like his stage persona, Jihoon flushed.

“I get that a lot,” he mumbled.

“Because on stage, you’re intense,” she grinned. “But off-stage? You’re kind of…”

“Kind of what?”

“…Adorably awkward.”

Jihoon groaned. “Don’t say that.”

She laughed, that soft, bell-like sound he already knew he’d chase if she ever walked away.

When they stopped at a vending machine, he bought them each a warm drink. She got milk tea. He got black coffee.

As they stood there sipping, Jihoon looked at her profile again.

The way her lashes curled naturally.

The smudge of graphite still on her fingertips.

She wasn’t just pretty.

She was real.

And for once, he didn’t want to walk away.

As they reached her building, Jihoon hesitated.

“I want to see you again,” he said.

“You will,” she answered, smiling.

“But not just by chance.”

She looked at him.

“Let me make it intentional this time.”

She bit her lip, eyes flickering with something soft. Hopeful.

“…Okay.”

That night, back in his apartment, Jihoon stared at the ceiling long after the city fell asleep.

The red thread tugged again.

And this time, he tugged back.

Y/N’s POV

Jihoon asked her out the next morning.

Not a fancy, over-the-top plan like she might’ve expected from someone famous. It was simple quiet.

“Would you… want to go somewhere? Just us?” “Anywhere in mind?” “Somewhere you don’t have to think.”

So that’s how she ended up in a small corner of Seoul hidden away from the main streets wearing her softest cardigan and sneakers, hair loosely tied. Her phone buzzed.

Jihoon: I’m two blocks away. Stay warm.

A smile slipped onto her face. She hadn’t stopped smiling since last night, honestly.

She tugged her coat tighter and waited on the bench, heart jittery. This wasn’t like the casual cafe sightings or shared glances. This was a real moment. Something that had intention. Choice.

And when he finally turned the corner hood up, mask on, hands in pockets she recognized him instantly. Not because he was famous. But because that invisible thread between them practically glowed.

“Hi,” she greeted, standing up.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice quiet.

They stared at each other for a second before both laughing. A little awkward. A little nervous. But it felt good.

“Ready?” he asked, nudging his head toward the sidewalk.

“Yeah.”

They walked.

No crowds. No managers. No schedules.

Just them.

Jihoon led her through narrow alleys and tiny shops she’d never even noticed before. They stopped at a bookstore so cramped it barely had space to turn, and she caught him watching her run fingers along the spines of old novels.

“You read romance?” she teased, holding up a worn-out paperback.

He made a face. “Only if someone forces me.”

“Oh no, you’re one of those.”

“Hey,” he chuckled. “Mystery and sci-fi have feelings too.”

She giggled, slipping the book back onto the shelf.

Then they stumbled into a vintage vinyl shop, and she caught him humming along to something under his breath.

“Is that your own song?”

Jihoon froze, then looked mortified. “Maybe.”

She grinned. “Cute.”

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, cheeks pink.

“Why?”

“Because I never let anyone see this side of me.”

She looked at him then. Not Woozi the producer. But Jihoon the man who hid behind beanies and sarcasm and long working nights. The man who felt like home.

“Maybe that’s the side I like best.”

By afternoon, they ended up at a rooftop café tucked above an old building. The sky had turned soft with sunset, spilling orange light across Jihoon’s face as he sipped a caramel latte she’d made him order.

“You like caramel,” she said.

He blinked. “I do?”

“You made a face when you saw it on the menu. The good kind of face.”

He looked down at the drink, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re observant.”

She shrugged. “Only with people who matter.”

Jihoon grew quiet.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in tissue careful, like it was breakable.

She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“It’s… nothing huge,” he muttered, handing it to her. “Just thought of you.”

Inside was a tiny charm. A silver paintbrush.

Her breath caught.

“It’s silly,” Jihoon added, nervous now. “I saw it while walking past a craft store. Reminded me of you.”

She stared at it this small, thoughtful token and felt her heart twist.

“No one’s ever done that for me,” she whispered.

Jihoon reached across the table, brushing his fingers against hers.

“You deserve it,” he said.

They didn’t rush the day.

They let the silence breathe. Let the tension settle between shy glances and nervous laughter.

And when they got back to her apartment, the sky already dusted with stars, she hesitated at the front door.

Jihoon did too.

“Thanks for today,” she said softly.

He nodded. “I’m glad you said yes.”

She opened her mouth to say something else but he stepped forward suddenly.

Not too close. Just… enough.

His hand gently brushed her cheek, and for a moment, he looked like he was thinking too much again. Always overthinking.

So she leaned in first.

Just a little.

And that was all it took.

His lips met hers soft, warm, unsure. Not urgent. Just enough to whisper I’m here.

When they pulled back, he didn’t speak.

He just rested his forehead against hers and exhaled.

“I’m really glad I followed that thread.”

She smiled, heart racing.

“Me too.”

4 days later

The city felt different today.

Less rushed, softer somehow.

Maybe it was because Jihoon had asked her out again.

Not for a fancy dinner or a show, but something more low-key a quiet picnic by the Han River. Just the two of them, away from the noise, the cameras, the crowds.

She had spent the morning preparing snacks in her tiny kitchen. Nothing complicated, just sandwiches, venoiseries, juices, some fresh fruit, and her favorite iced tea. As she packed the basket, her hands trembled just a bit nervous anticipation fluttering like butterflies in her stomach.

When Jihoon arrived, he was carrying a folded blanket and a small portable speaker. He smiled at her, that same shy warmth she was starting to recognize.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, slipping her hand into his as they walked to the subway station.

The riverbank was peaceful when they arrived, soft breezes playing with the autumn leaves. Jihoon spread the blanket carefully, and they sat side by side, sharing food and stories.

“Do you ever get tired of all the attention?” she asked quietly.

He looked out over the water, thoughtful.

“Sometimes. But it’s not the attention. It’s the expectations. The pressure to always be... perfect.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand.

“You don’t have to be perfect with me.”

He turned to her, eyes sincere.

“Really?”

“Really.”

For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, the rustling leaves, and the golden sunlight.

Jihoon pulled out his phone and played a soft melody one of his unreleased songs. She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her.

“I wrote this for you,” he confessed.

Her heart skipped.

“Me?”

He nodded, cheeks pink.

“Every note is a promise.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He smiled and brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

“You make me want to be better.”

They spent hours talking about fears, dreams, and the little things that made them who they were. Jihoon told her about his childhood, the loneliness he’d felt despite the crowds, and how music had been his only refuge.

She shared her own stories how painting saved her on dark days, how she sometimes felt lost in her own kindness, like the world was too harsh for someone like her.

Jihoon listened. Really listened.

And that made all the difference.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting pink and purple hues across the sky, Jihoon reached into his pocket again.

“Wait,” he said, pulling out a small box.

Her breath caught.

“Open it.”

Inside was a delicate bracelet silver, with a tiny charm shaped like a music note intertwined with a paintbrush.

“It’s for you,” he said softly. “A reminder that we’re connected, even when we’re apart.”

She slid it onto her wrist, feeling the cool metal against her skin.

“I love it.”

He smiled, eyes shining.

“So... about that kiss last time.”

Her cheeks warmed.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Me too.”

Jihoon leaned in slowly.

This time, the kiss was deeper full of the promise of more moments like this, more days spent discovering each other.

Later, as they packed up to leave, Y/N felt a warmth she hadn’t known she was missing. Maybe fate really did pull strings, and maybe, just maybe, those strings were leading her somewhere worth going.

[universefcb]

since you asked for Max Verstappen you shall receive xD

so first idea is divorced!dad!Max x only parent!reader and basically their daughters are in the same grade and are close friends so there are many playdates so the two meet quite often and it starts to develop

TOGETHER AND GLUED, MAX VERSTAPPEN.

→ Summary: You are single parents and develop feelings.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff/angsty. Romance.

→ Author's note: Thank you for your order, dear! I was very happy.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The sound of children’s laughter filled the house. The living room carpet was covered with dolls, pillows, little pots of Play-Doh, and two half-empty glasses of grape juice. Clara, her daughter, was sitting on the floor next to Sophie, her new best friend at school. The two had only known each other for a few months, but from the first day they seemed inseparable.

Sitting on the sofa, with a bottle of water in his hand and a light expression, Max Verstappen watched the scene with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. He didn't usually smile so much, not anymore, but there... there was something in that house, in that calm energy, that made his chest slow down.

You appeared in the living room shortly after, wiping your hands on a dish towel while trying to fix your loose hair. Max looked at you with almost no attempt to hide it. There was something comforting about the way you walked around the house, as if every movement had intention and calm. Unlike his world, where everything was rushed and controlled.

“They’re having fun,” he said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt and adjusting it at his elbow. “This is the third Saturday in a row that Sophie wants to come here. I think you’ve become part of the routine.”

You smiled, that kind, real smile, like you understood exactly what this meant to him. “Clara too. Since she made friends with your daughter, she’s been sleeping better. She’s happier, more confident. So… I think we’re in the black.”

“I should be grateful, actually. Sophie was pretty closed off for a while after the divorce. I didn’t think she’d smile like that again.”

There was a pause, and their eyes met. For a moment, the children's sounds in the background seemed distant.

“I think... we both know how lonely this role can be,” you said, your voice a little lower, but still firm.

Max nodded. His blue eyes lost focus for a moment, returning to his daughters on the floor. It was true. He knew.

The girls' friendship became routine. Over time, the get-togethers stopped being just about them. When Max arrived, you had already left the coffee brewed, knowing that he liked it strong. Sometimes, he would bring croissants or cakes from the bakery he discovered near his house. The conversations would go on and on. They would start laughing together at their daughters' stories, then at school situations, after everything. And, little by little, they started laughing at each other.

One rainy afternoon, while Clara was crying after being teased by a boy at school, Max showed up uninvited. He was holding Sophie by the hand, a tub of ice cream, two Disney movies and had that protective and affectionate demeanor that few people knew.

“If he messes with you again, I can send an official email from Red Bull Racing. We have lawyers,” he said seriously, before winking at Clara and laughing through his tears.

You watched him the whole time. It was amazing how he could be both firm and sweet at the same time. How he brought comfort without making any effort. That night, after the girls had fallen asleep side by side on the couch, you sat on the floor with Max, your backs against the couch, and you just sat there, side by side, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you miss it?” he asked suddenly.

“Of what?”

“To just be... you. Without having to split yourself into a thousand pieces all the time.”

You looked at him, feeling your heart skip a beat.

“I do. But I also feel like I found myself in this. I wouldn’t trade it. I just... sometimes I wish I had someone to hold my hand when everything was too much.”

Max said nothing. But he reached out, slowly, and let his fingers find hers in the silence of the room.

The invitation to go out came weeks later. Natural, unpretentious, but full of intention.

“There’s a new restaurant near the marina. I thought I’d take you. Just you. No school bags, no dolls on the floor, no fighting over vegetables. Just us.”

You laughed, surprised by his courage. 'A date?'

“If you want to call it that. I call it breathing.”

You accepted.

That night, she saw a Max the world didn't know. No pressure, no fame, no armor. He laughed easily, listened to her every word with attention, and touched her hand with a tenderness that said more than any conversation.

On the way back, he hesitated at the door of your house. You did too. It wasn't haste, it was respect. A rare kind of care.

“Is this going too fast?” he asked, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.

“No. It’s going the right way,” you replied, approaching him.

The kiss was calm, full of tenderness and security. And yet, it carried all the intensity of something that had been growing day after day, amidst scattered toys and small gestures.

You separated, both with silly smiles on your lips, foreheads touching.

“I hope I’m the best for you, dear.” He said.

“You already are”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[insomniumstella]

coffee, Tuesdays, and f*** you | ceo!bucky x reader

summary: James Buchanan Barnes might just be the worst man on earth—too bad he's the only one who can help you out of a sticky, sticky situation.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity + contact, sarcastic!bucky, explicit language, alcohol consumption

word count: 1,970

author's note: this is a possible teaser for a series i kinda want to write after over a year or so long hiatus😭 anyway, would anybody even read this??

“Huh,” his voice is like nails on a chalkboard on the gloomy Tuesday morning after your non-boyfriend boyfriend dumped you with an ‘I’m bored, sorry’ text the night prior. “It’s actually happening. The world is healing again.”

You shove yet another journal that is as unnecessary as it is cute into the cardboard box perched atop your desk and glare at the looming man. James is wearing his usual middle-of-the-week sallow grey shirt, which somehow manages to dull his sharp features more than Thursday’s yellow, and Prada trousers. Always with the Prada trousers. He loves Prada more than Rebecca Bloomwood and that is saying something. 

He’s a… fashionista like that. 

“I’m not quitting.” Why James has yet to successfully fire you is a miracle. The pair of you are like Tom and Jerry. Dracula and Van Helsing. Pandora and her box. Surely he must have tried to sweet talk his daddy into terminating you for good. “This,“ you motion to the empty (besides the wine opener, stress balls, and an emergency tube of red lipstick—obvious essentials) drawer, "is called organising. Learn it, live it, love it. It’s after organise and before o-fuck you in the dictionary.”

“Real big talk for someone who keeps a diary.” 

“That was…” you take in a deep breath in hopes to maintain at least an ounce of sanity. It doesn’t work. Why would it work? It never works. James and peaceful work hours is only a concept in a hypothetical world full of other ridiculous things such as your neighbour quitting drums and affordable Manolo Blahniks. “That was not… this is not a diary. It’s a journal. A journal I use for very important business meetings. And calls. And conferences.” 

“Right,” he quips with a hint of a smirk and sits down on the edge of your desk, the wood creaking underneath his weight. Journal my ass, he ponders but stays surprisingly quiet about it. 

“Not a diary. A journal is different from a diary. Maybe there’s no shame in keeping a diary, but I do not have a burning desire to write down every reason why the Wicked Witch of the West would make a better boss than you.” The words keep spilling out of your mouth before you can realise his painfully infuriating sneer is only growing. You hate that stupid smile of his. James knows you hate that stupid smile of his. That makes it all the more alluring for him to torture you with it. “I talk about it with my therapist like an adult.” 

“Not a diary. Got it.” James nods as his eyes flicker to the open (and totally unfinished) Word document on your work laptop before slowly raking across the wrinkled cotton of your shirt until they find yours again. “I was wrong to assume this box of trash on your desk,” he vaguely gestures to the cardboard and smirks just a fraction more, “is for diaries. Though you definitely have the look of a girl who keeps one. But anyway. Why are you organising when the entire PR department is having a meeting?” 

A… silence settles between you. It’s neither awkward nor peaceful, like it often is with James—he asks a somewhat reasonable question and you can only stare at him like he’s the biggest idiot on planet earth. Because sure, there is an important meeting happening on the forty fifth floor of Dioro right this moment. After all, you are a goodie two shoes of an employee with a busy Google calendar and a functional corporate email. You would know. But it is so like James to assume you would organise over attending, as the freaking head of public relations nonetheless, that you can only stare at him with those blank, are-you-serious eyes.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Yes?” James cocks his head to the side as if expecting you to say something, anything, else in addition, and when you don’t, his eyebrows furrow, too. 

Yes. Yes. Yes is not remotely an answer to my question, you infuriating woman, he thinks, and though he knows he should not expect anything less than for you to be as annoying as his shoelaces coming undone on a bright and early morning run, “yes” still takes him off guard a little. 

“Yes,” you shrug, promptly closing the laptop because James has no place to see the opened Word document that is half a plan for next year’s PR strategy and half a series of good lunch places around the office, and straighten up. He’s not the only person that’s confident in their words around here. 

“I sincerely hope you know the company does not pay you to look cute and gossip in the break room. If that was the case, you would’ve been let go a long time back.” It’s his turn to flash you the blank, dead, are-you-serious eyes. 

Exasperated stares are one of the many love languages between you. 

“I don’t just look cute and gossip. I also take precious time to share all of those memes in the company’s group chat. Good for morale.” You quip and James pinches the bridge of his nose. 

He should have managed to fire you a long time back. But to his credit—he has tried. Once. Twice. Thrice, if somebody was to count the time he got drunk at the annual Christmas party and pettily tried to end your employment over a disagreement about Creedence Clearwater Revival. Surprisingly, it stuck. For a whopping total of twelve hours. Before you stepped through the elevator doors once more, his father exasperated, and right beside you. To this day, James finds it a mystery you’ve managed to charm the man because you’re as charming as a wet towel. But his father is also a fan of Raisin Bran, so there must be something wrong with his judgment. At least when it comes to choice of breakfast cereal and the annoyingly annoying girl’s personality. You are great at PR, much to James’ frustration, and Dioro is habitual with scandals. The very last name Barnes is habitual with scandals that you make go poof! So don’t get it twisted—James is gra… gra… grateful for your talents in PR. At least until the glorious day when he takes over the company completely and can finally make you go poof! A flute of Dom Pérignon in hand as he stares at your empty desk out of his glass office is a nice dream, one to keep him from full blown insanity. 

James just might need a hobby. 

“Team-building activities are good for morale. Recognition programs are good for morale. Social events are good for—“ he starts listing on his hand, his features dark with disappointment, aggravation, and a hint of resignation. Good. Maybe you could break him before autumn.  

“Stop. Nobody cares about a lecture on morale from Dolores Umbridge.” You wave a dismissive hand and place last year’s Dean Winchester themed calendar atop the abyss of journals and trinkets. He’s fine and all, but Sam’s much more tempting to go back to. There’s just something about a strong man with longer hair and a kind heart. “I know about the meeting, Sophie’s leading it because I’m taking the rest of the week off. Plus maybe Monday. Probably Monday. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, do NOT expect me back on Monday.” 

“I expect you to find another job, but y’know. Tuesday’s fine.” He deadpans, not that you pay much attention to his tone. You’re much more interested in the fact his ass leaves the anguished, abused edge of your desk. “Why are you taking time off? It’s like the middle of July. And who the hell approved it?” 

“So there’s this Linda us lowly employees visit when we need time away from work,” you drawl out and cover Dean’s smouldering face with an old February issue of Vogue. “And it’s July second, which is not even remotely the middle. I hope you know that. It’s important to me that you know that.” 

His eyes drop to the magazine and the calendar that peaks out from beneath it, but he’s suspiciously silent about it. Instead when he speaks, his voice is a deep, almost frustrated rumble on—surprise, surprise—the HR department. “I’m aware of what a Linda is.”

“Good, boss. Glad to know you’re following, boss. And before you say anything, Linda approved my request for time off months ago, so there is nothing you can do about it, boss.” A lazy smile curls your lips as you stack more publications of Vogue until Lady Gaga’s staring back at you from the top of the pile. 

“Linda loves you, employee. She would give you a raise without hesitation if she could, employee. I specifically instructed you to come to me for these things.” James pinches the bridge of his nose before his arms fold over his chest. “Employee.”

Pet names are another one of your love languages. 

“We have been at each other’s necks for the past three miserable years.” You shove the flaps of the box closed and when they pop back up, you wrestle with the cardboard as elegantly as a girl on merely three hours of sleep can manage. “And it’s like you don’t even know me.”

James rolls his eyes, but not because you always find loopholes and roundabouts when it comes to his demands—you just… bring out his unprofessional side. You are a lunatic in business casual clothes.

“My apologies.” He leans forward, abusing your poor desk again as his hands grip the edges. “I should have recognised you would go on a vacation when your department is in the midst of a crisis.”

“Thank you,” you flash him a smile as sweet as sugar, a mighty contender to his infuriating smirk, and lean over the acrylic divider to steal a tape dispenser from some underpaid intern’s desk that’s been abandoned all morning, not that you blame him. You consistently avoid President Business, too. “You had me scared for our marriage there.” 

“It may be for the best you start looking into divorce lawyers,” James comments dryly, watching as you tape the box shut. Mostly. Lady Gaga’s still peaking through the crack a little.

“Whoa. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t fight for us.” The reply is almost absentminded as you cover Gaga with a bright pink Post-it—she’s remarkably eerie in the blue, whatever-it’s-made-of coat on past September’s issue of Vogue. “Besides. It’s possible my heart will yearn for you after the long, long six days Linda oh-so-graciously approved, despite July shaping out to be busy.” 

His baby blues flicker from your face to the bright Post-it, fingers curling around the oak of your desk as he ponders different ways to snap you out of whatever realm of professional defiance you seem to exist in without forcibly shaking you by the shoulders. Though the latter is an appetising thought. 

“Earth to James. Somebody’s spacing out again.” 

James pushes the wooden ruler you use to nudge him out of his face before his stare slowly returns to your features, hard and narrowed, and most likely unimposing given that he’s talking to a whack-a-doodle. “Sorry, honey. Got lost in curating the perfect celebratory afternoon for your inevitable demise.” 

“Oh.” A slight raise of your eyebrows accompanies the soft reply. The perfect celebratory afternoon for my inevitable demise? In his world, it could mean a gazillion possibilities. After a healthy beat, you settle on the most likely based on nothing, but vibes and the fact the man’s an asshole. “Bourbon, cigars, and a flock of hookers?” 

A sardonic smile curls his lips as James straightens up and shoves his hands into the pockets of those damn Prada trousers. “Golf, caviar, and setting your desk on fire.”

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(your girl is back and better than ever with a new chapter. took me a while to make this but please don’t hate simon💔 I think i accidentally made his internal monologue very conflicting, plus reader is going THROUGH IT, hate to leave yall on a cliffhanger but…enjoy?)

tw: mentions of rape, forced injection, punching, doctor, implied assault, panic attack, derealization, fighting, dysfunctional pack dynamic, omegaverse, lying, manipulating, illegal medicine, drugs??, mental breakdown/spiraling

Simon Riley was used to being alone.

It was the way he’d grown up, surrounded by nobody but his hateful father, his quiet mother, and his troubled brother.

He’d been the quieter one in school, though rowdy and easily riled up. Minding his business, for the most part. He didn’t need an unnecessary fight, especially not when he had too many at home already.

Broken glass at home stained the walls, seeping into the brick until not even the fresh start of his recruit days, the long bus ride to his very first training camp, where he stared out the window and wondered if this was the right path for him. The sky had been dark that day, raining hard, hitting the windows and slamming into them with a force beyond the punch his face took, the pain slamming him back into the moment suddenly.

“You left them!”

Johnny had come into his room late at night, not the nest, Ghost hadn’t slept there for a few days now. From what he heard, the alpha was still hiding away in the room, plagued by parasites of a weakness they couldn’t control.

Soap had almost been avoiding Simon.

Of course, he’d noticed, the previous bright-eyed smiles replaced with little glances, judging, piercing, as if trying to find the answer. The hugs and pats, the kisses, the little scenting, replaced by an eerie emptiness that made Simon, hell, made Ghost feel entirely alone.

Price was cooped up in his office. Working himself to death, doing background checks, and research, when he wasn’t hanging onto Kyle with a desperation Simon hadn’t seen before.

Kyle was maintaining a subtle distance from him. The two of them hadn’t always been the closest, but this was different, he knew.

At least Ghost tried telling himself Soap was simply affected by the bullet in his brain, that differences in behavior and cognitive functions had been put down as symptoms, that PTSD could play a role, panic attacks, that the Johnny he knew may never be back again.

He’d been assigned as the handler of Soap, with Price already under enough stress handling the aftermath of the mission.

“It’s likely he may have outbursts of violence, or sudden displays of unusual behavior or activity.”

The doctor’s voice had explained, monotone and flat, not particularly interested at all. As if this wasn’t a miracle. As if it wasn’t good enough.

Simon never liked doctors.

There was a difference, in his eyes, between being unaffected by death and killing, it was easy to kill someone, but then saving someone? It was incredible.

To bring a corpse with glossy eyes back to life and bring a human being back from wherever you go after you die, was a feat that Simon had never thought possible.

But they’d done it to his Johnny. And here this doctor was, acting as if it was his normal 9-5.

Simon had swallowed his feelings down, his pride down as well, as he found himself doing much too often these days, and nodded stiffly. Jaw clenched and fingers in tight fists, itching for something.

The man droned on, pulling a small card from his white coat pocket, the card having an email and number, something Simon could recognize as contact information, and handed it to him.

“If he has any serious episodes, where he poses a risk to himself or others, contact us and we’ll take him back into the hospital indefinitely.”

Simon had pocketed the card, later setting it under his thin mattress for later.

“They needed you! And you left!”

Soap’s fists pounded into Simon’s chest, the height difference almost laughable in any other situation.

Johnny’s scent was dark, deep like molasses, with a bit of a sour tang to it that made Simon’s nose wrinkle. He could still smell your scent wafting off of Soap, the man had spent nearly an entire day sitting in your room with you.

Too attached too quickly, if you asked him. You may never recover, at this rate. Not with the past trauma, or the consistent symptoms despite nearly a week having passed by now.

“They had a goddamn panic attack because I scented them, you think they wanted me there? They didn’t need me.”

Simon knew what he’d done was wrong. He’d been forcefully scented before and knew what it felt like to have handprints burned into your skin that would never leave. He didn’t know your full past, but he knew enough to understand your reaction.

You wouldn’t have wanted him there. Surely.

Price should’ve been there, he was their main omega, strongest scent, the leader of their pack. Price should’ve been there.

It snuck into his tone, the subtle accusation, and Johnny paused just to step back a moment, tear-stained eyes, that sent a pang through Simon’s heart he didn’t acknowledge, staring in disbelief.

“You’re blaming this on Price?”

The angry Scot yelled, launching a fist forward that Simon caught, carefully moved his arm to his side, and forcefully held it there. It was for his own good.

“Stop. You’ll rip a stitch.”

Simon muttered, glowering as he moved, looking around at where he knew by heart where the wounds were.

He knew he was overcompensating, doting, and looking strictly after Soap, watching his every move, because his instincts wanted him to make sure you were okay first and foremost. It was a truth he couldn’t ignore.

Except, well, he could ignore it.

“You’re worried about me? I’m not the one bedbound, hardly eating, that hasn’t left the same room in a week.”

A moment of silence as Johnny stared at him in fury, shoving him off, and turning to storm away.

Your scent was left lingering in his room. He’d grown to hate it. It wasn’t unpleasant, simply a harsh reminder of the fact that Soap, his Johnny was drifting away from him.

Simon was used to the bitter taste of loneliness on his tongue, but he wasn’t used to having something so sweet given to him, only to be stolen away.

It wasn’t fair.

He’d become friends with Soap through missions, saving each other’s asses, stupid jokes, bleeding wounds, and bullet holes, but you were drawing Johnny near just because you were some sad little alpha, taking advantage of his instincts.

Taking advantage of him.

And now Simon Riley was losing his friend, comrade, lover, all because of you.

If he thought about it, maybe that had been your plan all along. Plant the seeds against him, draw the others in by manipulating their instincts, till you slowly replace him.

The door slammed shut, and he was left alone in his room, thoughts spiraling in a harsh whirl until he stumbled over to his medicine cabinet, grabbing his heat suppressants, a blacked-out list of risks and symptoms (he didn’t ask questions, it wasn’t like he got them legally anyway), and popped some in his mouth.

The others thought he had simply had many of his omega qualities tortured out of him.

A lie.

Unimportant, though, compared to what they all faced now. Simon needed to stop this, whatever was happening between you and Johnny, whatever you were doing to him, changing him.

He walked to his mattress, the floor spinning slightly until it stopped, and lifted his mattress, grabbing the business card and giving it a closer look.

Grabbing his old, cracked phone, he decided he had a call to make.

~

Johnny had been coming to visit often, staying the night more often.

The thin military blanket was beginning to smell like him, it helped that he scented it as often as possible when he wasn’t busy gently inching his way closer to you, testing the limits.

The lights weren’t as bad now, but the primal part of your brain still itched and clawed at your every action, controlling and demanding, convinced you were in danger.

Constantly being in a state of fight or flight was exhausting.

Not to mention that the state of fight or flight meant reduced saliva production, deeper breathing, dilated pupils, increased heart rate, and more symptoms that made surviving harder than it had been before.

It was like you were hibernating. Sleeping all day, waking up in a haze with fog in your brain, drinking nearly a gallon, and eating as much as Kyle could get you to, before collapsing again.

Your Sympathetic nervous system was working overtime.

Johnny had stayed with you, told you stories to pass the time when you had been even semi-conscious and not trying to fight him.

“You know, Simon, the big assface who made you freak out in the first place?”

You vaguely remembered him. The big boy with the skull mask.

“He’s not tha’ bad, really. I mean, fuck, I’m pissed at the bastard, but I love ‘im, you know?”

It had made you shift up a little, foggy brain clearing a bit in the present moment as Johnny sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he’d been crying.

For some reason, you didn’t like that.

The emptiness of the room seemed to disappear for a moment, as you inched forward just a bit, moving towards him. You hadn’t been in control of yourself in quite a while, instincts running your body in order to survive.

Johnny didn’t seem to notice, sniffling, rubbing at his eyes, and leaning back as he stared at the concrete ceiling with 8,738 freckles of darker grey. You’d counted.

Being stuck in your head meant you had a lot of spare time.

“I just—he’s always tryin’ to act tough, never wants to talk with me, I just wanna help him, you know?”

The crushing atmosphere of the room seemed to lighten, like you’d been pulled suddenly from the bottom of the Marianas Trench, and were floating high above it all now, as you reached him, wrapped your hands around him.

This time, it wasn’t instincts making you do it. Protective mode kicked into overdrive by something you couldn’t control. No, this was because this was your friend, your family, your pack.

And he was hurt.

By “Simon”.

Your tongue lay uselessly in your mouth like lead, eyes sullen as they draped down onto the floor, eyelids slowly swooping down until you could simply smell his salty tears and his scent, upset, troubled, anxious.

It didn’t make you lean away, or wrinkle your nose in disgust or distaste. Your scent had been worse, you knew, and he’d never shown a lick of judgment for it.

It lifted for a moment, the haze, the feeling of being in danger and needing help, as he leaned into you, and you cradled his warm body, the slightly overgrown ridiculous mohawk, the scruff of his face rubbing gently against your arms. His warm tears pooled on your shirt, body leaning limply into you, sobs shaking his body.

For just a moment, everything felt all right.

Good, even.

A moment of silence came, where both of you seemed to simply melt into the world, only to be shattered moments later when he wiped his tears, going to try and hold you back, only for his brows to furrow when he touched your face.

Your head cocked slightly sideways at the confusion in his expression, and he moved, sitting up, seeming suddenly alert as he hurriedly wiped any remaining tears away and laid the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Hell’s bells, you’re burning up. Gotta call the doc’—“

You went to object, panic building up, scooting away from him. You didn’t want to see the doctor. You didn’t like doctors, how they poked and prodded, touched what wasn’t theirs, did their fancy tests with their gadgets, so desensitized to it all.

Before your mouth could even open, the door slammed open, and Johnny was on his feet in half a second, staring down the man in a lab coat, accompanied by two armed men.

“Sergeant MacTavish, we would appreciate your cooperation in this matter,”

Johnny sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand gesturing towards you.

“Good, you’re here, they’re burnin’ up, doc, something’s gotta be wrong, I mean with their sickness and all that shite—“

The look on Soap’s face visibly changed to confusion and a hint of anger when he saw Ghost lurking behind the three men up front, mask on, deep brown eyes watching everything happen as the armed men moved forward, taking Johnny by surprise as they shoved him against the wall.

He struggled, kicking and flailing, eyes widening as one of the men pulled out a syringe.

“The fuck is this-? Ghost, call ‘em off! I didn’t do a damn thing, tell them!”

He yelled frantically, struggling as the needle was pushed into his neck, fluid injected as he grunted. He glanced over at you, huddled in the corner of the room, watching with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth.

“Ghost!”

He glanced at Simon once again, confusion in his cloudy gaze as his limbs slowly began failing him. The doctor stepped forward, pressing a hand against your forehead, frowning when you clawed the hand off.

“Simon?”

His vision went blurry, shapes turning to blobs of color, until everything went black, the last thing he heard being,

“…them as well. We’ll need to find the cause of the fever.”

~

Kyle hadn’t seen either Ghost or Soap all day, which was odd, considering they were usually wondering about the base, especially Soap at this time.

Usually, Ghost would’ve hit the gym on base by now, maybe gone to Price’s office, where Kyle was currently seated, savoring the scent of his Captain before it faded in the coming week.

The door opened, and Ghost walked in, pace just a bit faster than normal. Kyle perked up, brows raising in surprise as he set down the file he’d been browsing over, the alpha’s extensive background, and psychological testing results. He’d read it until it was burned into his skull.

“Gaz.”

A gruff greeting, but a hint of surprise in it. Kyle studied Ghost for a minute, his stiff posture, clenched fists, the look in his eye. It was odd, but they all had their own ways of coping with the recent events, he supposed.

Everyone was stressed.

“Ghost.”

A tense moment of silence.

“Where’s the Captain?”

Gaz casually set the folder back in its designated filing cabinet, as if it hadn’t been high above his clearance, high enough to get him disciplinary action even from Price. A little snooping never hurt, after all.

“Out on a mission, surprised he didn’t tell you. Short notice, I guess, he’ll be gone for a week’s the word.”

He mentally reprimanded himself for making an excuse for Price. That wasn’t his job, nor his place.

Ghost gave a slow nod, clearing his throat, and almost seeming to hesitate before speaking.

“Soap’s been…admitted.”

Kyle raised a brow at that. Soap had been doing well up until now, as far as he’d seen. Bonding with their alpha, slowly healing pack relations.

“Any particular reason why?”

“Had an episode. A bad one.”

Kyle grimaced at that. They all had their fair share of PTSD, but he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to be shot in the head, maybe have an entirely different personality, to deal with the aftermath of that. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was on Ghost to have to make that call.

“Guess that means the rut-partner responsibility’s shifted.”

Price had originally been in charge of any rut a potential team-alpha went through, as long as both parties were comfortable with the arrangement. With Price gone, and your closest contact here, Soap, clearly not in the mental state to do anything, it was between Ghost and Gaz.

Ghost was a higher rank than Gaz, meaning the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

Kyle watched the realization dawn on the man, the way he unconsciously almost seemed to fiddle with his fingers, as if nervous. The Ghost was never nervous. He’d shared heats with Soap before, albeit after a bit of warming up to each other.

His behavior had been strange all day, for quite a few days, now that he thought of it.

Something was off. But he didn’t know what yet.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART EIGHT

summary: a week of silence should have been relief, but instead it was absolute torture. until you coincidentally run into thanos at a restaurant and he takes you home.

parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader, lee myung gi x f!reader

warnings: swearing, stalking, cheating, smut, p in v, fingering, choking, hair pulling, face slapping, dom thanos but also dom reader.

bad investment masterlist

It had been a week since you last saw Thanos.

A week since his hands had been on you. A week since he had looked you in the eye while you gagged on his cock, praising you like you were something worth worshipping. A week since you told him to stop messaging you.

And he had.

No texts. No DMs. No sightings of him lingering outside your work. Nothing.

You should’ve felt relieved. This was exactly what you wanted. You had a boyfriend, one who, despite his flaws, loved you. One who had taken you out on a sweet little date just two nights ago, surprising you with flowers and some dumb little bracelet you hadn’t taken off since.

And yet.

Yet.

The silence was driving you fucking crazy.

It was humiliating to admit, even to yourself, but you had started checking your phone more often. Every time a notification popped up, your stomach twisted with something close to anticipation. And every time it wasn’t him—just some stupid email, some stupid Instagram story from Myung-Gi—you felt that sharp, irritating disappointment clawing at you.

You didn’t miss him. You weren’t waiting for him to message you. You were just—just—

Fuck.

You needed to get out of the house.

You grabbed your phone, shooting Myung-Gi a quick text.

You: Craving Italian. Gonna pick up takeout. You want anything?

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Myung-Gi: Nah, just get me a coke. Love you.

You: Love you too.

The small takeout place was nearly empty, the neon OPEN sign flickering above the entrance. You placed your order, taking a seat by the window as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone.

You were so focused on pretending to be busy, pretending your thoughts weren’t spiraling to him, that you didn’t even register the message when it first came through.

It wasn’t until your order number was called that you finally looked.

And then you froze.

Thanos: Where are you right now?

Your heart skipped a beat. Your fingers twitched.

Slowly, you typed back.

You: Home.

You don’t know why you lied. Maybe because you didn’t want him to think you’d been waiting. That you’d noticed his absence.

Your phone vibrated again.

Thanos: No, you’re not.

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed, standing there in the middle of the restaurant, clutching the plastic bag of food in your hands as you stared at the message.

How did he—

“Lying’s a bad habit, babe.”

A voice in your ear. Low. Amused. Familiar.

You jumped. Nearly dropped your food. Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped around, only to find yourself face-to-face with him.

Thanos stood there, smirking, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just fucking snuck up on you.

“Then again,” he mused, tilting his head as he scanned your expression, “you’re the queen of lying, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard. Your pulse was racing.

“Thanos—”

“What, baby?” he drawled, stepping closer, crowding you against the counter. “You looked so shocked to see me. Like you weren’t just thinking about me.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to step around him, but he blocked your path easily.

“Move,” you muttered.

He ignored you. “A whole week and not a single message? Thought you told me to stop messaging you, not the other way around.” His smirk widened. “Couldn’t even ask how I was doing?”

Your face burned.

God, you hated him.

You tightened your grip on the plastic bag, fingers trembling slightly. “Move, Thanos.”

He didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, breath fanning against your cheek. “Make me.”

You swallowed hard.

It had been a week. A week since you last saw him, since he had his hands on you, his mouth on you. You should’ve been relieved that he kept his distance. Should’ve been grateful that he let you breathe, let you pretend that none of this ever happened.

But instead, all you felt was a frustrating, sickening pull toward him.

You tried to dodge him, slipping past the crowded tables and out onto the sidewalk, but Thanos was faster. His hand caught your wrist, and before you could protest, he yanked you into the shadowy alley beside the restaurant.

“Come on, baby, don’t tell me you’ve been good all week. Haven’t thought about me once?” He mused, fingers trailing lazily along your arm.

Your mouth opened—ready to deny, ready to lie.

But his smirk said it all.

“You have,” he answered for you. “I knew you would. You needed that, didn’t you?”

You clenched your jaw. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Myung-Gi, Myung-Gi, Myung-Gi. It’s cute how much you like saying his name. Too bad he doesn’t fuck you like I do.”

“You don’t fuck me,” you snapped.

Thanos grinned. “Not yet.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.” He reached out, gripping your wrist just enough to make you stop.

Your breath hitched.

“I’m not playing this game, Thanos,” you murmured.

His grip loosened, fingers sliding down to your palm instead. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin. “Aren’t you?”

Your throat bobbed.

Because maybe you were.

“You should go home,” Thanos murmured, voice dripping with mock concern. “Back to your boyfriend.”

Your body tensed at the way he said it, like the word itself was a joke.

You yanked your hand back, glaring. “I will.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Then go.”

Your feet didn’t move.

Thanos grinned. “Thought so.”

He stepped closer, until your back nearly hit the alley wall. The streetlight above flickered, barely casting enough glow to make out his face. But you didn’t need light. You knew exactly what kind of look he was giving you.

“Tell me,” he mused, eyes flicking lazily down your body. “Did you fake it with him this week?”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice low. “Did you have to force it? Had to picture me just to come, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Or maybe you didn’t come,” he continued, smirk deepening. “Maybe you tried to—maybe you wanted to, so badly—but Myung-Gi just didn’t cut it, did he?”

Your nails dug into your palm.

Because he was right.

And he fucking knew it.

Thanos reached up, tracing a single finger along your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to make you meet his gaze. His touch was featherlight, teasing. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured, “how long has it been since you really, really came?”

You swallowed. “I should—”

“Go home?” He chuckled, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

Your breath hitched.

You should walk away. You should.

But when Thanos leaned down, lips barely ghosting over your ear, when his voice dropped into something dark and silky and irresistible—

“Or… you could come with me.”

Your stomach twisted.

Your legs should’ve moved in the other direction. But instead, they betrayed you.

Instead, you followed him.

—

Thanos guided you through his apartment with an ease that made it feel like you belonged here. His hand never left you, a firm, possessive touch on your lower back as he led you straight to his bedroom.

The moment the door shut behind you, he turned, caging you in. His eyes flicked to your lips, then lower, dragging over every inch of you as if he were memorizing the way you looked in this moment—hesitant, but wanting.

“Sit,” he murmured, nodding toward his bed.

You obeyed, but your hands fidgeted in your lap.

Thanos smirked, reaching for you, fingers trailing up your arms before settling at the hem of your shirt. His touch was slow, teasing, as he peeled the fabric over your head, exposing more of your skin to the cool air. Your bra came next, then your pants and underwear, and then he stood back, watching.

That’s when you felt it. The weight of his stare.

Your fingers twitched, a knee-jerk reaction to cover yourself, but he tsked, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said. “Let me look at you.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to shift under his gaze. But the way he was staring—like he was savoring the sight of you, like he was seeing something he didn’t think he’d get to—made you feel both powerful and vulnerable all at once.

“You’re real pretty, you know?” he finally said, stepping closer, tilting your chin up with his fingers. “Too bad you waste yourself on MG fucking Coin.”

You didn’t reply. You just stared at him as he reached out, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make you gasp. His free hand trailed down, cupping your breast, thumb grazing over your nipple.

“Why the fuck are you with him, hmm?” Thanos asked, bending down to kiss the edge of your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “You could be with me, baby.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” you whispered.

“Then help me,” Thanos sighed dramatically, sitting down beside you. He pulled you into his lap with ease, his fingers stroking lazily through your hair. “Tell Thanos all about your relationship struggles.”

You shifted on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to ground yourself, but it was useless. He had you right where he wanted you.

He pushed two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, feeling just how drenched you were for him.

You swallowed hard, nails digging into his shoulders. “He’s a good guy—”

“Nah,” he chuckled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be spread out on my lap, drippin’ all over my fingers.”

You clenched around him at his words, and he noticed. “Ohh,” he grinned, “so you like that? You like knowing how fucking filthy you are?”

You looked away, your face burning, but he wasn’t having it. His free hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” he ordered.

Your breath shuddered. “I like it.”

“Yeah, you do,” he smirked, curling his fingers inside you just right.

A broken moan left your lips.

“Keep talking, baby,” he urged. “Tell me what he’s missing. Tell me why you needed me so bad.”

You hesitated, but Thanos didn’t give you a choice—his thumb found your clit, circling slowly, coaxing the words from your lips.

You told him everything.

How Myung-Gi was good to you, how you couldn’t fully fault him, but at the same time, he just didn’t give you what you craved. How he flaunted you around to strangers, how one time you caught him showing his friends a video of him fingering you. How sometimes you felt like nothing but an object to him, a prize he had won. How his family never liked you. How he talked about marriage and kids, but you weren’t sure if that’s what you wanted. How the thrill, the excitement was gone, how you didn’t want comfortable—you wanted chaos, you wanted fire, you wanted danger.

“He… he doesn’t excite me anymore,” you admitted breathlessly. “I don’t want comfortable. I don’t want safe.”

“What do you want?”

Your nails raked down his arms as he sped up his fingers. “I want someone who wants me, someone who makes me feel something.”

Thanos hummed. “You’re feeling it now, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

“Good,” he growled, dragging his lips over your throat. “Because I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”

He pulled his fingers from you abruptly, shoving them into your mouth before you could protest. “Suck,” he ordered.

You did.

He groaned, watching your lips wrap around his fingers, your tongue swirling over them. “Fuck, you’re a dream, you know that?”

You flushed, embarrassed.

Thanos laughed. “What, you can let me finger you, but you can’t take a little compliment?”

You huffed, and he grinned, gripping your chin and tilting your face up His free hand trailed down your body, rough fingers ghosting over your breast before giving it a firm squeeze.

He chuckled. “You know what would be really dangerous?”

“What?”

His lips ghosted your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If you let me fuck you.”

Your breath hitched. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew this was crossing a line you could never come back from. But the second you met his eyes—dark, burning with something dangerous—you were already lost.

“I…” You swallowed hard. “You have to use a condom.”

Thanos laughed, low and rough, like you had just said something funny. “I’m a condom kind of guy, baby,” he smirked. “Takes someone real special for me to fuck them raw.”

Something about that twisted inside you, more than you wanted to admit. You had never had sex without one before—you weren’t reckless like that. And yet, suddenly, you wanted to be that someone real special. But tonight… tonight you’d settle for the condom.

You exhaled sharply, gripping his shirt. “Don’t make love to me.”

Thanos snorted, shaking his head. “I’ve never made love in my entire life,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “And I don’t plan on starting tonight.”

He leaned in, voice dropping into something dark and promising.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t fucking handle it anymore.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

And then he was on you.

His mouth crashed against yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. His hands gripped your thighs, forcing your to straddle him. You gasped as you felt him—hard and thick beneath his jeans, pressing right against where you needed him most.

He kissed down your throat, biting, sucking, leaving bruises like he wanted to mark you as his.

And then, just as you were starting to lose yourself, a sharp crack echoed through the room.

Your head snapped to the side. Your cheek stung.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He had slapped you.

Hard.

And it sent a shockwave of heat straight to your core.

Thanos tilted his head, watching you carefully, fingers still gripping your jaw. “You like it when it hurts?”

Your lips parted, breathless. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

“Me fucking too.”

His grip on you tightened, and then he did it again.

The sharp sting of his palm against your cheek had your head spinning, had you letting out a breathy, desperate whimper. And fuck, that sound must have done something to him, because he growled, grabbing your face with both hands and kissing you like he wanted to devour you.

“You’re filth,” he murmured against your lips, voice dripping with sin. “And you fucking love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He chuckled, dark and low. “That’s my girl.”

He shoved you onto your back, crawling over you, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread you open. His eyes darkened at the sight of you—slick, dripping, already ruined for him.

“Look at you,” he mused, dragging a finger through your wetness, teasing. “Fucking soaked. You gonna take me like a good girl?”

Your thighs trembled. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He pressed a thumb against your clit, circling lazily, watching as your breath hitched. “You gonna let me use you?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Thanos grinned. “Then spread those legs wider, baby. I wanna see you take it.”

And you did.

And fuck, did he make it hurt in all the best ways.

Thanos didn’t waste time. He gripped the backs of your thighs so hard you were sure he’d leave bruises. He didn’t ease into it—no, that wasn’t his style. He pushed in fast, hard, making you take every thick, stretching inch at once.

You choked on a moan, head falling back against the mattress.

“Fuck,” Thanos groaned, his head dropping forward, eyes locked on where you were wrapped tight around him. “You take cock like a fucking whore.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, making your walls clench around him.

He let out a dark chuckle. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He snapped his hips forward, making you cry out. “Bet your little boyfriend’s too much of a bitch to talk to you like this.”

You let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t wrong. Myung-Gi never fucked you like this—never handled you like he owned you. He always wanted soft, slow, controlled. And yeah, that was fine. But this—this was what you fucking needed.

Thanos grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. “That right, baby? He treats you like some delicate little princess?” His voice dripped with amusement. “Bet he’s never made you fucking scream.”

You whimpered as he started to move, rough and relentless, pounding into you so hard the bed shook.

“I—” You gasped. “He—he’s not like this.”

Thanos scoffed. “Yeah, no fucking shit.” He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me—when was the last time he fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk the next day?”

You moaned, nails digging into his back.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “God, you were wasted on that little prick.”

And then, suddenly, you couldn’t get enough.

You needed more.

You needed him.

Your hands slid up his chest, gripping his shirt, yanking him down so you could kiss him. He groaned against your mouth as your legs wrapped tight around his waist, holding him close. You tugged his shirt over his head, nails dragging along his skin.

“Thanos,” you panted, lips brushing his ear. “Let me ride you.”

He stilled.

You dragged your nails down his back, voice turning into a desperate whine. “Let me fucking show you how good I can give it to you.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. His hands flexed against your thighs, like he was debating it—like he was this close to losing his fucking mind.

And then he pulled out, flipping onto his back, dragging you on top of him with ease.

“Go on then,” he drawled, resting his hands behind his head like he wasn’t already throbbing. “Show me what Myung-Gi’s dumbass doesn’t appreciate.”

You wasted no time, sinking down onto him with a breathless moan, rolling your hips like you were fucking made for this.

Thanos’ hands shot to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh. His jaw clenched, eyes dark and wild as he watched you move.

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “You know what you’re doing.”

You smirked, dragging your hands down his chest, grinding against him in slow, deep circles. “You like that?”

He groaned, head tilting back. “I fucking hate how much I like it.”

You leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “You mad that Myung-Gi has this all to himself?”

His grip on your waist tightened, and then suddenly, he slammed you down onto his cock so hard you gasped.

“Mad?” He let out a dark laugh. “I’m fucking pissed.” He thrust up into you, making you cry out. “That fucking idiot doesn’t deserve this filthy little body.”

You moaned, nails dragging down his chest.

“Keep riding me like that, baby,” he murmured, watching you with pure hunger. “Make me forget that you’re someone else’s fucking girl.”

And you did.

And you made sure he fucking felt it.

You could feel the control slipping from his grasp.

Thanos thought he had you figured out, thought you’d be like every other girl who melted under his touch, who let him take the lead. But you weren’t every other girl.

And the moment you slapped him across the face, his whole body tensed.

His head snapped to the side, a stunned silence stretching between you. His cheek flushed red where your palm had landed, and his jaw ticked as he turned back to you, lips parting in disbelief.

“The fuck was that?”

You smirked, dragging your nails down his chest, leaning in so your lips brushed against his ear. “What?” you purred. “Thought you were the only one who gets to play rough?”

His hands flexed against your thighs, like he was debating throwing you off—but he didn’t. No, he let you take it.

And that alone made you even wetter.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back, making him bare his throat to you. His breath hitched, eyes flickering with something almost… unsure. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Oh, you like this,” you teased, licking a stripe up his throat before sucking a bruise into his skin. “Big, bad Thanos—letting a girl take control?”

His hands tightened on your waist, but he didn’t push you off.

Instead, he let out a low, ragged breath. “You’re pushing it.”

“Oh yeah?” You rolled your hips, watching his lashes flutter as his grip on dominance started to slip. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

He clenched his jaw, trying so hard to hold onto his usual arrogance. But when you slammed yourself down onto his cock, riding him like you were fucking starving for it, all he could do was groan, head tilting back against the pillow.

You grinned.

“Yeah,” you murmured, dragging your nails down his stomach, watching his abs tense. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

And then you slapped him again—lighter this time, just enough to make his eyes snap open.

A growl rumbled in his chest, but he didn’t stop you.

No, he let you do it.

And that’s when you knew—he liked this.

“You don’t let girls dominate you, do you?” you taunted, grinding against him in slow, filthy circles. “Bet you’re always in charge—bet you always take.”

You leaned in, biting at his lower lip.

“Well, guess what, baby?” You rocked against him, dragging a desperate groan from his throat. “Tonight, you fucking give.”

His hands dug into your hips, nails leaving angry red marks in your skin. “Fuck,” he gritted out. “You’re insane.”

You dragged his face up to yours, pressing a bruising kiss against his lips before whispering, “And you love it.”

His hips bucked up hard, slamming into you, making you gasp.

His voice was low, guttural.

“I fucking hate how much I do.”

[godzilla-barbie]

SunKissing

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of sex but no actual smut xx

Notes: again, ty to @roleycoleyland this one is dedicated to you &lt;3 Title from the Hailee Steinfeld song <3

Masterlist

Jake had stopped listening to the others the moment you nervously walked through the back gate. He’s off on the other side of the yard, so Penny reaches you long before he does, smiling kindly as your eyes flicker to her, then down at the covered plate in your hands when she gestures to it. Jake shakes his head internally. He’d told you that you didn’t need to bring anything, but of course you had anyway.

You smile sweetly, but unsurely as Penny welcomes you, and Jake is glad it’s her who saw you first, not one of the others. He hadn’t told anyone about you yet, let alone mentioned that he had invited you to this post-deployment barbecue Mav had all but ordered.

Eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet.

There were very few things Jake liked more than flying, and almost nothing in the world was worth it to him to give it up. Yet, the past eight months hadn’t gone by in their usual halcyon blur of adrenaline and speed, instead, Jake had found that the time to dragged, the days clung and the weeks hanging on like they had made it their personal mission to torture him.

He didn’t get to make phone calls that often, but you’d given him your email before he’d left, and despite staring at an empty document for three days too long, he’d sent you a short, somewhat conservative update, only to breathe out a sigh of relief when not too long after, he’d received your reply.

Jake hadn’t done this before, not even with his family. He preferred the months at sea with no ties and no tethers to anything or anyone on land, completely unattached and free from responsibility. That was the Hangman promise after all, ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’, which had been working out just great for him the past couple of years, right up until he met you.

It was at the Hard Deck of course, where he’d first sidled up to you, all charm and casual cool, certain that he’d found his night's paramour, only to be thanked for the offer of a bought drink, but dutifully informed immediately that you wouldn’t be going home with him. Jake hadn’t been completely taken aback, sometimes he set his sights on a woman who was taken, or just plain not interested, and that was always fine, but that hadn’t exactly been the case with you. You’d simply gone on to inform him that you didn’t do one night stands, which, in Jake's mind hadn’t made you off limits yet, so he’d bought you a drink anyway, this time free of expectations, and to his own surprise, after starting a conversation with you properly, he hadn’t wanted to end it. 

Only after you’d checked the time and told him you’d needed to go had Jake realised just how much he’d enjoyed your company, and so taking a step out of his own usual comfort zone, he’d asked you out on a date.

You’d been unsure at first, like you could read his usual antics all over his face, and told him that you didn’t sleep with people on first dates either, but Jake only laughed at your bluntness, and assured you he’d just wanted to see you again, sex or not. Even now, he’s not sure how much of that was just a line, but in the end he supposed it didn’t really matter, because only three dates and eight and a half months later, it was the most truthful fact about him.

For the past two-hundred and fifty-nine days, Jake had wanted to see nothing but you, and when that couldn’t happen thanks to his deployment, he’d settled for weekly emails. He’d never admit it to anyone, but for the first time in his entire life as an aviator, Jake had come to look forward to your weekly updates more so than he even looked forward to flying.

You’d been so surprised when he’d called you less than an hour after getting boots on the ground at last, even more surprised when Jake had immediately invited you to the Dagger’s welcome home party that night. Which is the reason why you’re currently looking around nervously, and letting Penny take your plate from you.

Jake is fully checked out of the conversation by the time he starts moving, ignoring any calls after him as he makes a beeline toward you, finally drawing your attention when he’s only a few feet away. Much like him, you seem to cease all other focus when you see him, your eyes never leaving him as he quickly closes the distance between you.

“There you are,” Jake all but gushes, sidestepping Penny and immediately wrapping you up, pulling you in firmly with both arms in a hug he doesn’t intend to let go of any time soon.

“Jake!” You barely get out before you’re engulfed. Jake feels his eyes prickle just a little bit when your arms link tightly around his neck, but he forcibly blinks the sensation away, focusing instead on how good it feels to hold you again.

“I’ll take this inside…” Penny says softly, knowingly, but neither of you really notice her slink off. You also don’t notice Fanboy nudge Phoenix, or how the rest of his squad slyly stop their talking to watch the two of you with various levels of interest.

“God, I missed you,” Jake hears himself say before he can really stop and think about it, his heart thumping rapidly away in his chest at the possibility that you didn’t actually feel the same. You laugh a little, and sniff, burying yourself deeper into his neck.

“I missed you too!” You say muffled into the collar of his shirt, tightening your hold on him slightly. Jake lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and squeezes you closer.

“You alright sweetheart?” He asks quieter than before, feeling a few spots of wetness seep through his shirt, as well as hearing the way you sniffle again.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you try to reassure him, despite the shake to your voice. Jake can only hum, and adjusts his hold on you so he can sweep one large hand up and down you back in soothing motions, something he’s pretty sure he’s only even done once before, to his mother before he left for the Academy damn near seventeen years ago.

Jake just holds you there for a few minutes more, until your sniffling finally stops and you begin pulling back. He’s glad you don’t go far though, keeping your arms around his neck still as you lean back to get a proper look at him. He doesn’t comment on the redness of your eyes, but he does have to blink rapidly to stop his own prickling once again.

“God, look at you!” You say softly, not really explaining what you mean, but you’re smiling brightly, so Jake doesn't care. He sorta gets it, when he runs his eyes over you. You’d gotten a haircut since he saw a picture of you last, he thinks you might’ve changed the way you did your eye makeup. Just little things he wouldn’t have noticed had he seen them day by day, but all at once carry over to be much more noticeable.

“I’m glad you came,” he tells you honestly, leaning back in to press a quick kiss to your mouth, which turns into two quick kisses, which turns into a third, longer, more substantial one. Behind him, someone wolf whistles, and Jake can’t help the grin that covers his face when he pulls back and gets a look at your flushed features.

“Come on, lemme introduce you to these idiots, or they’ll get even more annoying.” He rolls his eyes, but really, Jake can’t get enough of the way it feels to sling his arm casually around your waist and tug you into him as he guides you back to the otherside of the yard. He smiles widely, taking immense pleasure at getting to show you off for the first time in front of his friends. He loves the way you sink into him, hand resting naturally against his sternum, the place where you are feeling like exactly the place you belong.

In fact, Jake believes so firmly that the place you belong is right by his side, he doesn’t let you leave it all night. He’d gotten a lift to Penny and Mav’s with Coyote, so he drives your car back for you, taking your hand and bringing it across the console to rest on his thigh, coving it with his own and giving it a squeeze every twenty or so seconds as he sees fit.

“Come back with me?” He’d asked before pulling out of the curb side parking, glancing over at you meaningfully. It had been you who’d squeezed his hand then, and smiled softly at him in the dark of the early evening.

“If you want me to.” You’d said to him. Considering right up until his deployment you’d been taking it slow, he understands the trust your acceptance really imparts, and feels a warmth spread through him at the mere suggestion.

It’s ironic to Jake that eight and a half months ago he would have be raring to go at your agreeing to come back to his home after a party, but now, with so much time between you and with Jake still firmly in recovery mode from his deployment, sex is really the last thing on his mind. It’s even more ironic to him that once he’s tucked your car away in his garage for the night, and dragged you inside, it’s him who puts the breaks on things escalating, something he’s fairly certain he’s never done before in his life.

“Mmphf… baby, wait, wait…” Jake hears himself say breathily, forcing himself to pull his lips away from yours entirely. He’d been kissing you the moment the front door was shut, shoving you gently against the wall so that he could really savour how you tasted after all these months, but your hands grasping at the front of his shirt, pulling him in, begging for more nearly has him giving it to you right there in his entryway. He refrains, though, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, though indulges the both of you by pressing himself into you, letting you feel his weight on top of you.

“What’s wrong?” you all but whine, brow furrowing sweetly, like perhaps you thought he wanted to stop because of something you’d done. Jake lifts his hands to cup your jaw, tilting your chin higher and plants two more less-than-chaste kisses to your already swollen lips.

“You’re not going to believe me when I say this,” Jake starts, a wry smile already pulling at his lips and he rolls his eyes at himself this time. You blink up at him questioningly. “Lets just go slow for tonight,” he says, your disbelief confirmed when you stare at him utter in confusion, your frown deepening. “Listen, darling’, I’d love to continue this line of thought you’ve got,” he can’t help but lean against you harder then, something in his abdomen stirring when your eyelids flutter and he sees you swallow thickly. “But… I’m exhausted, honey… let me just hold you, alright?”

He says the words without much question to them, knowing that you’d respect his request without thought. He’s rewarded for his honesty by you mirroring his hold on your cheeks, your own hands cupping his face as you coo.

“Jake, you don't need to entertain me if you’re tired, I can go home…!” you try to tell him, but he ends that idea with a sharp narrowing of his eyes, his hands gripping you harder.

“Baby I haven’t seen or touched you in months, I’m planning on calling you out of work sick tomorrow,” he jokes, though, the thought does strike him as actually a good idea. You laugh, and for a moment he feels slightly light headed because of it.

When he regains himself again, he drops his lips back to yours slowly and maybe a little too hotly, but he doesn’t regret it. “Come on,” he says eventually, tugging you from against the wall, but keeping the line of your body flush to his. “Let's go to bed baby.”

–

You wake in the early hours of the morning with a small start. At first you don’t recognise your surroundings, which makes your sleepy brain panic, but a few seconds later, a dim light to your left reminds you of where you are and who you’re with.

You peel your eyes open and find Jake lying next to you, his head resting in his palm as he leans up on his pillow, phone in hand, his brightness turned all the way down you suspect. You wake further upon realising he’s wide awake, and clearly has been for some time, but at feeling you begin to stir, the arm he still has draped around you tightens, like he’s trying to soothe you in your sleep. He looks up from his phone then, and it makes your heart flutter something wild that even when he thinks you’re asleep he’s remaining attentive.

“Shh, close your eyes baby,” he whispers, clearly not realising you were fully conscious now. You shuffle closer though, curling into his side, and using the opportunity to take him in fully. Jake always looked beautiful, and you aren’t shocked to discover he was even more so at this hour of the day, with his hair completely mussed from your earlier making out, and his features totally relaxed in a way you’re almost certain you’ve never seen before.

“Why’re you awake?” you ask with a yawn. Jake sighs and runs his hand up and down your back a few times.

“Did I wake you up?” he replies, frowning. You shake your head and stifle another yawn.

“What’re you doin’?” you try again. Jake puts his phone down, tucking it under his pillow.

“Lookin’ up mattresses,” he tells you, pulling you in closer, so you’re facing one another. Neither of you raise your voices above a whisper, and despite everything that has happened tonight, this moment feels more intimate than anything else.

“Jake, I wasn’t bein’ serious!” you faux-scold, but he only shrugs. His hand brushes absently over your spine again, and you’re once again surprised by just how touchy Jake has been since his return.

Before he left, the two of you had been out together a whole three times, only two dates of which had ended in brief, but breathtaking kisses, but despite that, you’d initially been a little surprised when he’d told you he was leaving for the better part of a year, and then proceeded to ask for your contact information. To be perfectly honest, you’d expected Jake to break up with you, not somewhat flusteredly explain to you that emails were the best form of regular contact at sea, and ask if it were okay if maybe he sent you some.

You reach a hand up and smooth down some of his hair. Jake leans into you and closes his eyes.

“The springs in this thing could kill someone,” he whispers, shuffling so that his knee slots between yours. “And if my bunk on the carrier is more comfortable, then I definitely need to upgrade.”

You watch him closely. Usually, in the past, you’d had trouble telling whether or not Jake was being honest with you, but for some reason right now you have absolutely zero doubt he was lying.

You suppress your smile, but only because if your emails over the last eight and half months had taught you anything, it was that Jake found it hard sometimes to be vulnerable just for the sake of it, and often hid it under the guise of other thingsv. You don’t believe him about finding his carrier bunk more comfortable, but you understand this is his way of making room for you, asking you in his own way to stay, much like his asking for your email had been all those months ago now.

Jake shifts and peeks one eye open at you.

“Maybe we can go to the store tomorrow,” he says lightly. You hum, and try not to give your insight away.

“The weekend perhaps? I don’t finish until late tomorrow,” you tell him, only for his head to begin shaking.

“Nope, not working tomorrow,” he insists, at last opening both his eyes when you can’t help but giggle.

“Oh, you were being serious!” you laugh, just as Jake draws you closer, so his breath ghosts over your lips teasingly.

“I won’t be so tired in the morning… and maybe you can help me test out the new mattress.” his voice is low and sends a thrill down your spine at his implication.

“Well, I can’t let you test it out on your own…” you concede, just as he leans in and presses a kiss to your jaw, shaking his head.

“After eight months of ‘testing it on my own’, that would just be cruel.”

You can't help but laugh, scrunching up your nose and lightly smacking his chest. Jake grins, and kisses another spot along your jaw, higher this time, making you barely suppress a shiver. He chortles to himself and adjusts his positioning to wrap an arm around you. You settle in against his chest and for a few minutes the two of you just lay in comfortable silence.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” Jake whispers eventually, making you pull back a little to look up at him. He’s still referencing your much earlier comment about his old mattress, but you really had been mostly joking.

“As long as you’re here, I will be.” you tell him  in just as quiet of a whisper. Jake shuffles, and shifts his eyes away from you, to look somewhere over your head.

“But I’m not always here…” he says even quieter than before, still not looking at you. You want to question why you would be at his house when he was away, but it strikes you then, that perhaps in the future, that's exactly what he wants.

You pull back even more, but only so you can cup his cheeks and force him to look back down at you. Kissing his lips briefly, you lean in and brush the tip of his nose with yours.

“Then let's go mattress shopping in the morning.”

[moonlight-records]

Christmas via letters| OP81 (HAC #10)

pairing: op81 x reader

summary: after you break your phone and waiting to buy a new one, you decide the only logical way to contact your boyfriend is via letter for the holiday season.

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: ??

a/n: I FINALLY CAUGHT UP!!! day 10 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | current day | day 11

My dearest Oscar,

Oh my dear, Oscar, I do hope this letter finds you well. How these are very troubling times we have entered. I write this letter to you in the darkest of nights as slumber is near impossible. With you thousands of kilometers away my bed is so terribly big and empty and I am so terribly cold when I’m not in your embrace. Oh how I long for your embrace and to see your handsome face again.

Seriously though, hi babe! Did you like that opening? I hope so because that opening put a LOT of brain cells to work and we both know that I typically never have the brain cells. Now, you’re probably wondering why the hell am I sending you a letter when we can text or video call even though you barely answer your mom or me though since you’re always napping or flirting with Lando or Logan but I’m letting that go right now.

I am so glad you asked because my phone is…broken!! Isn’t that SO fun?! Before you ask, I am already one step ahead of you. Imagine it: a cold, bitter, and rainy Tuesday morning. I’m heading to class. Am I running late to class? Yes. Was it because I got myself a sweet treat? I am just a girl babe, just a girl. Anyway, I am making up for a great time and I will be early to my 8:30 class. Well, about that. I’m looking at my phone and I trip over my feet. Phone goes into a pothole puddle and is completely ruined so I have to wait till my next paycheck to buy a new one while trading in my old phone to get like a piss poor discount off my new phone.

I think I sent you a message on Instagram and TikTok from my laptop about it. I forgot that you aren’t on social media often like me which is very valid so I decided to send you a letter! Besides, I’ve always wanted to write Christmas letters but nobody I know wants to write letters anymore so you, my most loyal subject, are going to write Christmas letters with me! If you want, that is but I hope you do! Unless you want to be on social media to talk to your totally amazing, beautiful, funny girlfriend because I would not complain about that. Maybe you’d finally look at all those super funny cat memes I keep sending you! Well, hope to hear from you soon love

With much love,  Y/N

My sweetest Y/N, 

I will not be talking in the 19th century. I don’t think I can do justice compared to you but I can confirm that this letter has found me well and I will cherish it deeply.

Listen babe, you knew that when you decided to accept the first date you gained a very sleepy and polite cat from what the fans are deeming me. This should not be a surprise to you or my mom. Though I am not ignoring your text messages to flirt with Lando! Babe, how could you ever think that I would do such a thing? Lando is just a dork that needs constant supervision. Now Logan, on the other hand…babe that is my emotional support American. Are you telling me I CAN’T flirt with my emotional support American? Come on Y/N, you should’ve known that when you said yes to being my girlfriend that it was me AND Logan. We are obviously a package deal.

You dropped your phone in a pothole puddle? That’s…disgusting oh my god. I actually almost gagged at the thought of you reaching into the puddle to grab your phone. No wonder why my phone hasn’t been blowing up as much, babe I am so sorry. Both about your phone being ruined but also for my lack of checking in. Honestly I’ve just been recharging socially to answer emails and stuff. It’s taking much longer since you’re not here to cuddle me…still not an excuse. I wanna emphasize that I’m not excusing my lack of check in for the past few days. Promise to get better on that.

You know what, when you get your new phone, I will not only have opened all your wonderful videos but I’ll even send some back. Just you watch. Though in the meantime since you do want to send letters this holiday season, I guess we can so, do you have anything fun planned for the holiday season?

Sincerely, Oscar Piastri

Dear Oscar,

You answered!! Oh my god, baby you don’t know how excited I am for this. Also god, please do not remind me about the puddle. The thought still makes me shudder and gag. Though babe, you know me. I am not upset at all with you not answering all the time because it doesn’t really upset me. You know that because I know that you answer when I really need you to, which is like once in a blue moon. Like when I got the flat that one time and you so graciously got me an uber home. That was like what? Three months ago? Besides that, babe, show me a sign of life and I’m content for the day. Though are you admitting that Logan gets more attention than me? I might have to find our dating contract and revise that I get equal amount sir sleepy Piastri. But you’ll send me silly Tiktoks?! Oh Oscar, if you want to marry me, you should just ask me but this is so much better.

Oh! I don’t know. I’m helping mom this weekend decorate since it’s going to be the warmest weekend to handle the outside decorations. I’m going to attempt to help with the inside decorations since mom got grandpa’s Christmas village since we finally cleaned his house out. After that I’m kind of going with the flow, you know? Though mom has trusted me to do all the online shopping this year AKA she sends me screenshots and then tells me to order it with her credit card and hoard everything in my room, so. Eventually I will sit down one day and attempt to wrap though mom will probably redo it.

I know one day my friends want to go ice skating and see Wicked again. Now I am all for seeing Wicked again but ice skating? Babe, I fear if we go ice skating that you’ll get a call from me with all of us in the hospital. We can barely stand on our own two feet on a regular day and I know you’ve seen us. You know how clumsy my friends and I are but ‘tis the season, I guess!

Oh! We’re hosting Christmas this year, which will be very interesting. I mean, we got the space for sure but now that means fighting my cousin’s off so they don’t steal my plushies. Gotta defend ‘Mr. Artbag’ and ‘Sir Giggles’ you know? Do you have any plans for this upcoming holiday season?

Waiting for these cat memes, Y/N

To my darling Y/N,

Oh my dearest Y/N, the thing about our dating contract is that it has sadly ended up with me back in Australia so you cannot have it. Though I am willing to revise the contract to make sure you get an equal amount of attention as Logan, though I need something in exchange. Luckily, I have found the contract and as I review our agreement, I think if I give you an equal amount of attention, you have to let me buy you one thing you want every month. Would you be willing to agree to those terms? I’ll throw in 5 cat memes a week free of charge.

Oh that’ll be fun. My sisters wanted to go shopping and since I haven’t seen them I decided to go with them. I really became the bag holder though I wasn’t that upset because I did manage to find some of your Christmas gifts and actually get them with the assistant of my sisters. AKA they asked me what I was looking for and they found it by some miracle. I wish I had that special touch to find things I need–like mothers do you know? Anyway, besides that I don’t know. Mom’s almost done decorating and dad got the tree since ours sadly broke (we’ve had it for almost 10 years, we needed a new one) and they already decorated the tree. Though I might take Rosie and Basil out to grab some gifts.

Wait, you guys are going ice skating? Well, surprise, I’m actually coming out to visit for a bit. Logan and Lando want to hang out before Logan heads back to the states for the holidays so if you guys could try to schedule that about two weeks later when I’m around, I would love to go with you guys, though I would ask if Lando and Logan could possibly join? I have no issue in becoming a personal ambulance, especially if Lando is going to go ice skating. Save us all.

What are you doing for New Years? If you’re not doing anything, mom and my sisters would love to have you over. They miss you and they’re going insane without you having a phone to text them life updates. To be honest, I also miss waking up to all your messages and memes and getting real time updates about your life. Can I buy you a phone? Please?

Hope you get your new phone soon, Oscar Piastri

To the polite sleepy cat,

I talked to my lawyer about this new agreement in our contract and we have agreed to the terms you are requesting. Though I am not exactly happy with the terms about buying me one gift a month but you promise to send 5 cat memes so it’s fine. Though I will say, I am okay with it just being 5 memes a week free of charge if you cannot find any good cat memes. As long as it is a meme of any sorts I will overlook the buying me something for once a month.

Though on a serious note, YOU’RE COMING TO VISIT?! Oh my god, babe this is the best news I have ever heard. Yeah of course! I already asked the group and they would love to have Logan and Lando join us with ice skating! We were planning on getting dinner after if that’s okay with you guys? We’re not sure where we want to go yet but I’m sure we all can figure something out when we all meet up! Also, yes I made sure I was all bundled up, I’m not that crazy! Besides, I want to be able to smooth my dear boyfriend before the season starts without getting him in trouble for starting the new season a bit under the weather. 

Ha! Jokes on you, I already ordered my phone. I’m just waiting for it to ship because of course it wasn’t in stock when I went to get it in person. You know me, I just need a simple phone so I was going to get the same one as before. Sadly, it seems that my phone has become popular because they sold out in person! Oscar, do you know how devastated I was to venture out on my weekend to find out it’s out of stock? Truly, a dark day for me but my phone should be here before this letter is sent out. Promise that I’ll send you all my funny memes to make up for these lost times.

 As of right now, I don’t think I’m doing anything for New Years. I don’t know what the group wants to do yet but I think they’re all spending the holiday with their significant others so I would love to stay with you and the Piastri family! Are you kidding me? How else am I supposed to see Rosie and Basil? 

Well, this is probably coming around the holiday so, merry Christmas my love.

You’re probably napping, Y/N

To the golden retriever,

Hopefully, this reaches you before I arrive. I’m glad to know that your lawyer agrees with these new terms. Do you accept memes via powerpoint presentations? I have taken some time out of my very very very busy schedule to compile a list of the top ten, not five but ten memes that I have seen this week that I believe you will enjoy. Most of them are from the same meme trending on TikTok but I think these stories are right up your alleyway along with some cat memes. 

I’m glad you were all bundled up. Not that I would personally care if I got sick if it meant getting my mandatory kisses and cuddles that I’ve been longing for. Any trouble is worth it if it’s so I can see you. I’ve spoken to Lando and Logan and they have agreed that planning for dinner would be the best. Lando has done his usual request of no fish please and thank you. Damn. I was hoping that you didn’t order it so that could’ve been the free gift of the month on top of your Christmas presents. Whatever. Buying you a book will be a great second option and you can’t yell at me!

Oh haha, very funny. I knew this was going to be an issue when I brought you home but I’ll let it go, only because that means you’ll give me extra cuddles later for feeling bad. Kidding, kidding, but seriously. I’m glad that you can come over for New Years. It’ll be fun and everyone will be glad to see you.

Also, I appreciate what you did with the lipstick on this letter. Y/N, you truly flatter me. You think so highly of me that you’ll give me a kiss through the letter? Oh, be still my beating heart. I hope you like my washi tape decorations. I know it’s not on the level of kissing a letter but I think for the first time, it’s great. I also hope you like the polaroid attached as well, if it stays attached. Mom is pretty proud at capturing my failure of trying to build a gingerbread house.

See you soon & at New Years Eve, Oscar Piastri

[mattluvr]

CEO!matt, a concept.

💸 what if. . . matt sturniolo was CEO of a company?

at the grand old age of 21, matt sturniolo is the world’s youngest CEO, having inherited his father’s finance company in light of his untimely retirement.

he doesn’t complain; matt has a team of seniors to make his decisions for him, the only thing he insists on chipping in on every year being the annual christmas party. which, naturally, is infamous. it’s what most of the company’s budget gets blown on after all.

in his third year as the owner of sturniolo finances, income in the billions as the company thrived, matt threw the biggest, loudest, craziest christmas party of what he was sure was history, the entire floor of a fancy hotel packed with employees.

and some stragglers. including you.

your brother had dragged you along, overly excited about the first sturniolo finances christmas party of his employment, and had swiftly got drunk and left you to stand like a lemon by the drinks table. which is where matt found you, words slurring from one too many tequila shots, appointing you his newest secretary. one of the only decisions he’s made for the company.

and today is the day you start your new role, which matt obviously can’t remember offering you, but lets you sit at the desk outside his office, head still pounding from the party over a week ago.

“are you sure i gave you this job?” he mutters, running a hand over his face. you nod, tucking a loose strand of your bun behind your ear, hoping you’re still retaining the sophisticated look you tried to construct this morning when getting ready.

“mhm. at that party.”

“yeah, but i did a lot of things at that party.” matt says with a grimace. “like swing from a chandelier…”

you laugh, reminded of the last image you saw before you left the hotel, supporting a tipsy brother on your hip, matt dangling from the structure above you with one arm, hair messy and shirt loose. “that was pretty funny. and impressive.”

“thank you. but not the point.” he frowns, folding his arms, trying to act serious. “i don’t even think i’ve given you any paperwork to fill out. shit, i’ve not even interviewed you.”

“well, you’re the CEO, aren’t you? you can just interview me now.”

matt furrows his brows again, eyes darting to his office behind him and eventually gives in, opening the door for you with a shrug. he often doesn’t interact with any of the people he employs, the whole process too mindnumbingly boring for him, but is now starting to realise why drunk him even offered you a job position in the first place.

you’re fucking unreal, mini skirt a tad too short, shirt just slightly too low cut, and matt is drinking it all in. professionally. of course. he clears his throat, dragging his eyes back to your face with a soft blush as he gestures to the empty room. “take a seat.”

you smirk at him over your shoulder, sitting down heavily in the armchair facing matt’s desk, your skirt riding up as you cross your legs, thighs on display. matt rolls his neck; you’re trying to kill him, he swears. he follows you over nevertheless, sitting opposite and offering you a polite smile.

when your dimple shows in reply, matt doesn’t even think about the interview. “yeah, i don’t know why i did all that. you’re hired.”

“but…?”

matt holds out a hand. he knows this is a bad decision, hiring based off of physical attraction only, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he just wants you out before he blows a load in his underwear, semi poking him each time he shifts.

“you can start tomorrow morning, 8am. i’ll email the paperwork down to reception.”

shocked, you slowly stand up, and matt leans forwards, concealing a groan into his hand. “uh, well, thanks. i’ll… see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” matt nods, grinning weakly. “yep, tomorrow.”

and then you’re gone, leaving matt alone with his thoughts. fuck. hiring you? he’s screwed.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274 ) is open!