#Package Deal (Noah's Day Off)

[nocofamilyau]

tyler (7/8)

[starrysymphonies]

You might not have any, but if you do and you want to, I'd love some Alenoaheather headcanons 👀

Ooo ty for asking!! I’ve got a few headcanons I’ve been thinking of (some are within the bounds of canon and others are set in my AU where Noah returns in Niagara Brawls instead of Blaineley)

Alejandro and Heather are cat people, while Noah is a dog person

Before Noah got eliminated, he’d sometimes fall asleep on Alejandro’s shoulder. After he rejoined in the AU and made an alliance with Heather, he’d sometimes fall asleep on her

Alejandro and Heather have their own very in-depth, complicated skin routines, Noah washes his face with water and calls it a day

Noah is a package deal with Team E-Scope and Owen. Since he’s dating Heather and Alejandro, that means Heather and Alejandro are friends with Eva, Izzy, and Owen too by proxy. Both of them hate it (or at least that’s what they say)

In the AU, Alejandro never got burnt by the lava and kept in the robot suit. Instead, Heather and Noah were able to half-drag half-carry him off the island after he got trampled when the cast was fleeing

In the early parts of WT, Heather and Noah had a mutual respect stemming from complaining about some of the other cast members, which sparked their friendship and eventual relationship

Post-canon, they all ended up going to the same college together

Heather’s main love language is gift giving, Alejandro’s is physical touch, and Noah’s is quality time

[yumikitten]

Things were going from good to bad in the blink of an eye. You'd been given a job offer you couldn't possibly refuse—one that paid better than the job you were currently at—but you'd need to relocate for it. And Noah was going to absolutely rage at knowing you'd be moving away from him. The two of you had been inseparable for the past ten years now, one always moving with the other.

You felt a slight panic as soon as you'd gotten off the phone with the hiring manager. Even though you knew you should take it, there was still one thing holding you back: Noah. The feelings you had for him had only grown with each passing day over the last decade, but how long were you supposed to follow him? At some point, you rationalized, you'd need to grow up and start thinking for yourself. If nothing had happened with you two in the last ten years, nothing was bound to at this point.

Still, there was that niggling feeling in the back of your mind that remained hoping something would eventually spark. Which is was part of the reason why your anxiety was slowly reaching its limit. That, and because Noah was always close by for anything. It would be like losing part of yourself with the move.

You needed a ride to work? He was there within ten minutes to take you.

Your garbage disposal stopped working? He fixed it for you the same day.

You were having an off day? Noah was sure to bring over your favorite snacks and watch your favorite movies to help perk you up.

No matter what the circumstance was, Noah was always there by your side. And it wasn't like the relationship was one-sided. You'd had your fair share of helping him, too.

He lost his voice from tour? You were there with home remedies to help him.

He had writer's block? You'd tell him crazy stories to help spark his inspiration again.

He wanted to walk around the neighborhood at 2am to think? You'd drive over to walk with him so he wasn't alone.

So your panic wasn't all for nothing. Whatever Noah did, you did too and vice versa. Just like him and Nick, you and znoah were your own package deal. At least until you moved.

If you moved, because you hadn't given an official answer yet. You knew that as soon as you told Noah, you'd gauge his reaction and let that make your decision for you. It was stupid to leave it up to someone else like that, let alone just with their reaction, but leaving him was just a huge as taking this job. Your breathing started to become shallow just thinking about it.

Looking to the time, you noticed you were five minutes late in leaving for dinner. Jolly wanted everyone to get dinner together at least once a month when they were home, and here you were trying to slow your breathing down. Honestly, you didn't know how you were going to school most of your expressions tonight, but you'd die trying if it meant you wouldn't cause a scene.

"No, I have to pull the Band-Aid off," you reasoned, knowing if you kept it to yourself any longer, it would only cause chaos. Besides, you told the hiring manager you'd call them with your answer by the end of the week and it was already Tuesday.

The boys were already prepping the grill by the time you showed up, earning an astonished glance from Folio.

"You're normally here before us, and we live here," he said with a chuckle, but your stomach was in knots. The drummer wasn't wrong in saying that, which only hurt you more. Even he knew how close you and Noah were; everyone knew.

"Y/N, are you feeling okay?" Nick asked gently, eyes searching yours to see if you were sick or anything.

"Mhm, yea. It's just been a weird day." You offered up a lame excuse, breathing in slowly to reign in your emotions.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Noah appeared from behind you, offering up a shooter glass that likely had whiskey in it to sip. Looking from the glass now in your hand to Noah, you had to make a quick decision. He was giving you a reason to tell him about this afternoon and all you had to do was take it. He was your best friend, he would understand, right? His eyes were filled with controlled concern, but you knew he wouldn't pester you if you weren't ready.

"Actually, yea. Can we really quick?" The words tumbled out of your mouth like vomit, Noah nodding and telling the guys you'd be back before the food was done. He led you to his room, shutting the door before sitting down at his desk. You had his full attention, and all you had to do was speak. Your nerves were starting to shoot through you painfully, the glass coming up to your mouth to drink the couple fingers of whiskey down completely.

"Woah, Y/N. What's going on?" This was a bad idea, you thought. You couldn't do this. What made you think you could do this? The whiskey burned through to your stomach, only making you feel more ill. "Hey, talk to me." Your eyes landed on Noah's again, the warmth of his tone bringing you back to reality.

"I um—have something to tell you. It's good, so there's no reason to freak out or anything." You finally said, but you know it was only half the truth.

"Okay, so why does it look like you're freaking out?" He laughed uneasily, clearly questioning why you seemed so rigid. Leave it to him to try and keep the atmosphere light.

"I got a job offer today and I'm thinking about taking it." You set the empty glass down on the nightstand so you could clasp your hands together. The nervousness was radiating off you in waves which was only sending weird signals to him.

"That's great news! Was it the one you were telling me about the other week? The one—"

"Yea, that one." You cut him off, even though he was genuinely so happy for you. Your heart was starting to crack little by little watching his pearly smile light up the room you were about to dampen. "They called me this afternoon, and I told them I'd give them an answer by the end of the week."

Now he seemed confused, his brows downturning and head cocking to the side. "You didn't tell them yes? Y/N, you've been waiting for something like that! Jump on it!"

Swallowing, you looked around his room. You remembered helping him move in when they got the place. Over time, he'd only added more and more to the white walls that used to be so blank. There was even a picture of the two of you celebrating your twenty-first birthday back home in Virginia. Just a couple years later, he was moving to Los Angeles and you followed him without a second thought.

"It is what I've been waiting for, but there's a couple things I need to think about first before accepting it." The alcohol was starting to make things a bit easier to talk about, Noah seemingly not understanding your vague choice of words.

"So, what. They won't match the pay? You have to wait a while for the start date? Whatever it is, you shouldn't sit on it. Take it; you've worked so hard and deserve it." Heat was building in your eyes from the unshed tears. Noah was being so supportive just like always, and all you could feel was guilt. His words were true. You had worked hard, you did deserve this chance. Yet there was still the one thing holding you back. Your one reason.

Shaking your head, eyes glistening by now, you finally told him, "The job is in Portland. I'd need to be there no later than the first of the month to start." That was only a couple weeks away, and you knew if you did accept the offer, you'd need to leave sooner to look for apartments in the area.

There was a wide range of emotions crossing Noah's face, all of them as clear as the last before he closed his eyes and smiled. He looked up from where he sat, blinking his eyes a few times. "And that's keeping you from answering? Y/N, this is an amazing opportunity for you."

Your heart was falling, but for a different reason now. This wasn't one of the mental scenarios you had come up with when you were running through them earlier. "It is, but Noah—I'd need to move."

He nodded, "Yea, but Portland isn't so bad, right? It isn't the cleanest anymore, but neither is LA. And it isn't like that's far, right? Just a quick plane ride." He was trying to reason with himself through trying to reason with you. His tone was calm, collected, and that only made you feel worse. Was he sad at all that you'd be leaving? That you wouldn't just be a car ride away anymore?

Did he care?

That question surfaced, and try as you might to shake it away, it still sat there demanding attention. You had been so worried to tell him, and for what? What did you expect was going to happen? That he would retaliate and beg you not to go? Your eyes sat on his still calm demeanor wondering if your friendship meant as much to him as it did to you. Well, at least you got your other answer; he didn't seem to have any hidden feelings for you like you did for him, which probably hurt a bit more.

"Was this why you were acting so damn squirrely?" He shook his head with humor, "let's get you another drink."

Instead of moving to follow him, you stood there mortified. Your stomach was churning, your nerves past their limits and all you wanted to do was curl up and hide from the world. Of course, Noah wasn't going to stop you from doing something you wanted. Of course, he'd support you. Of course, he'd want what he feels is best for you. The sir around you felt thick and heavy, as if it was beginning to weigh in you.

"I think—I think I'm gonna head home. I'm actually not feeling very well." It was hard to speak when you trying to hold back your tears.

"Can I get you anything?" His concern was back tenfold, his body standing in his doorframe. You hadn't even realized he'd opened the door.

Beg me to stay, you wanted to yell. But you shook your head, "No, my stomach is just kind of hurting. Guess I shouldn't have downed the whiskey." You laughed, but it was clearly fake. There was a panic attack rising and you just needed to go home to sort it all out. You moved past Noah, who was clearly still processing your answer, and made your way down the stairs to the front door.

"You're leaving already?" Jolly asked from the kitchen. It looked like they were done grilling, both Folio and Nick peering from around the corner to get a better look.

"I told you she didn't look well," Nick commented as Noah was walking down the last few steps toward you.

"Are you okay?" Jolly finally asked through the tension.

Smiling through the unshed tears, you nodded, "Yea, apparently I'm moving," you started to say, "I got offered a job and I'm moving to Portland."

"Y/N, what's wrong?" Noah's hands griped your arms gently, but his question felt like it was too loaded to answer. If you didn't leave now, you'd regret anything you'd have to say in an anxious rage. By now, the other three had stopped what they were doing to watch what was happening. You and Noah arguing let alone fighting in general wasn't something that happened often.

"I'm not feeling well, Noah. I'm heading home." Turning, you walked out the front door with your footfalls feeling heavier with each step you took.

As soon as you'd gotten home, you finally allowed your tears to fall. Looking around your apartment, you couldn't imagine trying to pack it up to move states. Least of all without your best friend. Your best friend who apparently didn't care if you left at all, the one who was only being supportive. He knew this job meant a lot to you, but what he wasn't aware of was how much more he meant to you. And you couldn't fault him for that. It wasn't like he could move with you like you did for him anyway. His job was here with the band. At some point, you knew you'd need to go your separate ways.

Your throat was burning as you groaned with anguish. How pitiful you felt by this turn of events. Honestly, you shouldn't have overthought this so damn hard. You ran out on dinner and away from Noah.

It had been a couple hours by the time you heard knocking on your door. The time was only nine at night, your phone long since been silenced so you could ease your mind and merely be. Maybe if you stayed in bed long enough, the person would assume you were either not home or asleep and just leave.

Another series of knocking had you getting out of bed. Throwing the door open, you saw Noah standing there in the clothes he had on earlier. His hair was in disarray and his eyes seemed red-rimmed like he'd been crying.

"You can't leave," he blurted out, his expression pleading with you.

"Why?" You moved so he could come in, closing the door behind him. "You said it yourself, I've been waiting for something like this. I'd be dumb not to." Your response was angrier than intended, but you weren't in the mental state to care right now.

"And that's true, and I know it's so fucking selfish of me, but you can't leave." His voice was rising, his eyes wild. This is what you wanted, so why were you fighting it so hard? He was telling you not to go, but somehow in your mind it was too late.

"You were so supportive of me earlier, so what changed?" You threw your hands up in anger.

"It doesn't matter as to why. What matters is none of us wants you to go!" He shouted back with the rising tension.

"It does matter!" You yelled back. "It fucking does, Noah! You can't just tell me to go and make it sound like it would be easy and then come over to tell me not to! So what the hell changed in the last two hours—"

"—because I fucking love you and can't stand the thought of you leaving me!" He screamed, veins popping out of his neck. You were speechless, utterly so as his eyes started to shine brighter in the dim lighting of your living room. "I can't stand the thought of you living so far away. And if it makes me the worst human on this planet to tell you to not take this job for my sake, then I guess I'm the fucking worst." You could hear the pain in his voice as his tone was starting to drop with emotion.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear the pulse in your ears. The tension was so thick around the two of you, it was amazing how you were still breathing. Noah said he loved you. It was something you'd only ever dreamed about saying to him but were so afraid of the outcome. Yet here he was laying it all out in front of you.

"You can't fucking go, Y/N. I know I've been so selfish—what with you moving here with me and always supporting me—but I can't just let you leave. Not without me pouring my heart out, anyway. If you don't feel the same, then forget it. It'll be like it never happened and we'll make it all work out. I'll help you move and get you settled—"

"Noah, shut up." You cut him off again, tears falling for a new reason now. How could you leave with hearing all of that? He remained quiet, watching you like he would truly let you leave if it was what you really wanted. But what you really wanted was right in front of you. "Why did it take us so long?" You began laughing, Noah's eyes widening at the change of tone.

"What?" He questioned seriously, unsure of what you were talking about.

"I told myself there was only one reason I'd stay, and it was if you asked me not to leave. When you didn't earlier, I gave up all hopes and that was that. I didn't think you'd ever tell me you loved me."

There was a blush running up the side of his neck as he grasped at what to say. "Listen, you don't need to make this decision purely because I told you not to go. This should be something you want."

"Noah, you don't get it." Now you were smiling, still sobbing here and there. "The one thing I've wanted for a while now is to hear you tell me you love me." Without a second thought you pulled him to you, your lips crashing against his like he was your lifeline. The astonishment seemed to pass quickly from Noah as he began kissing you back eagerly. His lips tasted of salt and rum; it was mildly addicting.

"Fuck, why did this take us so long?" He asked when he pulled away from you, forehead leaning against yours. "If you still want to go, I won't stop you. However, I'm not letting you leave without establishing whatever this is."

"Noah darling, I'm not leaving. Not just because you asked me not to, but because I can't stand the thought of leaving you behind."

[domesticated-feral]

small town AU where:

Scott and Melissa moved there after losing the house during the divorce and she's working at the rural clinic while he's working under Dr. Deaton.

Stiles is still the kid of a sheriff and the sheriff's department takes care of beacon hills as well as the surrounding other small towns in the county :)

Four words, Livestock Veterinarian Alan Deaton! Four more bonus words Livestock Veterinary Assistant Scott!!! A bunch of more words Deaton and Scott with cute little baby farm animals!!!!!!!!

(if i truly had the energy to do so, i would love to continue writing my livestock vet Scott + farmhand Stiles fic, but that's a different AU)

Derek Hale is a city kid turned farmhand on an old man's farm (the old man in question is Elias, Stiles' grandfather)(and to the question why is Stiles or his father working at the farm is because 1. Elias lets his son work as a sheriff because whatever and 2. Stiles is a walking disaster no way is he letting that boy in charge of farm chores nuh uh not even on a lazy almost fall summer day where there's not much than the usual morning feeding also 3. Derek was only hired after Elias accepted that he was not as young and capable as he used to be and Noah and Stiles put themselves in charge of finding a farmhand)(Derek was the only one to send in a reply to their job ad) and the farm primarily raises sheep for meat and wool but I'd like to think that after Derek started working there a few years back he'd regularly add in new animals every summer or so. Sometimes he'd raise poultry, sometimes it's a small drove of pigs, sometimes it's not even animals but just a crop of pumpkins and squash and tomatoes and cucumbers!!

Derek loves the sheep. He's a shepherd through and through.

Jackson is not a whittemore but a miller, except his parents just died a bit later into his life and he lives with the whittemores on their large scale hay farm where there's an added bonus (to me)! h o r s e s !!!!

(all of this is just a way for me to write my fav characters interacting with my longest running obsession of all time, horses)

Lydia's mother owns the town's bistro/bar, her father owns the lodge built next to it. It used to be a whole business but it split with the divorce but there's still the whole B&B package deal to this day as it's wayyyyy too popular to risk losing business by stopping it.

Allison moved there pretty recently and the guns business her family owns fits in pretty well with the need for safety of the farmer and their livestock from predators and also for the wild game hunters in the late summer through fall hunting season.

Scott and Lydia bonding over being two kids from a divorced family. Scott and Lydia bonding over having pet dogs (Roxy is alive and Prada and her are absolute besties). Scott and Lydia being partners in science projects. Scott and Lydia spending wayy too long staring into each others eyes than how much friends would. Scott and Lydia realizing they want to be more than friends.

Stiles spouting off cool animal facts that Scott 100% already knew but acts like he didn't because both of them are stupidly in love with each other.

Scott meeting Derek when on the job. He can't help but crush over Derek and his enthusiasm over regenerative agricultural practices.

Jackson trying to impress Scott and Stiles by trotting up and down the main street on his horse. (I live laugh love by my Scott/Stiles/Jackson agenda) He also gets his dad to bring his horse over to school so he can just ride on it back home, in hopes of impressing Scott and Stiles but Scott is too invested in Stiles animal facts that they only way Jackson really has a chance was when Scott came over with Deaton for an emergency check up on a rogue cow on their property that was limping bad. Jackson straight up embarasses himself because he's a loser :P but Scott finds the attempt endearing and asks if he'd want to hang out with him and Stiles. It's the beginning of a slippery slope of 'Oh. Oh.' realizations for the three of them.

Scott and Allison meeting each other at the bistro and it starts a blossoming relationship that tugs at the heartstrings. It's cute little notes during class and hanging out at the bistro over hot chocolate even on hot days and going over to each others house to watch TV to cuddle under the same blanket and quick glances at each other and it's so goshdarn cute.

BASICALLY, SCOTT/EVERYONE because I can't choose which ship to go with this au because Scott DESERVES everyone and everyones ALSO DESERVES Scott :D

[bluebeetle]

You’re flesh and blood, but what’s underneath?

AO3 Link

15k words.

Summary:

Three years in the life of one Tyki Mikk, from his brother’s Noah awakening to his own.

-- “Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked.

Tyki paused, hand lingering over the glass he had been about to clean. “No,” he said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps once he had, but that hatred had cooled after the years to indifference--even if a part of him still wanted to paint the walls with that man's blood.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their father wasn’t special.

Warning for animal death, blood, gore, abusive themes.

It was uncharastically cold that winter.

Living by the Mediterranean usually guaranteed a warm December, with the weather rarely even approaching freezing.  His mother had told him that a cold winter was an ill omen, as frost swept across the country during the worst nights, bringing only death. 

Tyki hadn’t thought much of it--his mother was a superstitious woman most of the time. But as he traveled out into the city, bundled up like never before, he sure wasn’t grateful for the chill. At least the snow had held off--unlike some of the inland towns, according to the gossip he overheard from shivering lips.

Cold as it was, while they had been burning more wood and oil than usual, they were doing fine; he didn’t know why his mother worried so much. It was long past harvest time, with Christmas fast approaching. 

Which brought him to the market--sheltered in an old church for the winter, where it was just a little warmer than the streets. He frowned at the list, written out in his mother’s too-fancy writing. Why did she have to make it so hard for him to read? But he wouldn’t remember it anyways, and his mother was always scared he’d forget how to read, or something. Better than nothing. 

“Tyki! I was worried when I didn’t see you yesterday,” Isabel greeted, as Tyki approached her stand. There wasn’t much available this time of the year--mostly things that kept well, like dried meats, jarred vegetables, and handmade goods. He had already stopped at the general store, but his mother had asked for a few extra things, and with Christmas coming up…

“Something came up with the Kamelots, so we had to deal with it,” Tyki said, watching as she packaged the dried meats for him carefully; she knew his order by heart. 

“I see, you’ve become such a busy young man,” Isabel continued, her hand out for Tyki’s money. He gave her the few escudo coins he had left. Money was always tight, but his mother was good at budgeting. They managed. Isabel handed him the meat, a soft smile on her face.

“Um… this is too much,” he said, blinking. He turned the package around in his hands, the paper crinkling as he inspected it. 

“Consider it a present,” Isabel replied. “For Christmas, and your birthday.”

Tyki blinked. “Thanks,” he said, giving a casual wave goodbye.

“And tell your mother I said Merry Christmas!” 

   The Kamelot manor was quiet when Tyki returned. He squeezed past the gates, heading through the dying gardens towards the servants entrance by the kitchen. After dropping off a few things, he headed to the room he shared with his mother, stashing the rest of their shopping away from sticky hands.

He sighed, sitting down for a moment on his bed, staring at his mother’s neatly made one across the room. It wasn’t much of a room, sparsely decorated and much too small now for the two of them, but it was what they had. It was all Tyki had ever known.

But his break was short, as he pulled himself up and out the door. He was sure his mother was busy with her usual housekeeping duties, so he wouldn’t bother her, instead heading to the kitchen once more to clean up, mostly biding his time for the day. 

“Tyki,” a scullery maid said--he thought her name was Aurora, maybe--”Can you bring this tray to the sitting room? The Master has some guests over, and I’ve got to get working on helping with dinner.”

Tyki glanced up from the dishes he had been slowly working on, trying to hide his distaste. He hated dealing with the Kamelots; his mother was well aware of his distaste, often sending him off on errands off manor grounds or finding ways for him to avoid being in their presence. It was just for the best, for everyone involved.

But he couldn’t avoid them forever, he knew. And Aurora had probably been told to get him specifically; Lord Kamelot liked to remind Tyki of just where he belonged whenever he could.

“Alright,” he said, giving her a sliver of a smile. It wasn’t her fault.

 He dried his hands, movements slow out of pure spite, before he took the tray gently in his hands. The tray was ornate, silver plated, the type of thing Tyki could never afford in his life, even though he was the one who kept it from being tarnished.

He moved through the winding halls of the manor with practiced ease, the building burned into his memory. 

Tyki stopped in his tracks at the door to his destination. He could hear voices, light laughter--a mingling of voices familiar and not. 

He didn’t want to go in. 

It wasn’t fear that kept his feet rooted in place. It was hatred, spite. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to see that man. 

He didn’t want to see his father.

Tyki sucked in a deep breath, cooling his nerves. This was a show of power, Tyki knew, or intended to be a way to get a message across to him, though he wasn’t sure what for. He hadn’t done anything to get his father’s ire recently, as far as he was aware; he had long learned to stay out from under the man’s feet and off his toes, as much as he wished to make the old koot suffer. 

Tyki entered the sitting room, as silent as a ghost. 

Lord Kamelot was in his usual ornate chair, chatting with his wife. He said nothing as Tyki sat the tray down on the table they were gathered around; normally gatherings like this would have been on the terrace, but the cold weather brought everyone huddling inside by the fire. 

His father glanced at him, an uncaring look in his eyes as he met Tyki’s. Tyki returned it with a disinterested glance. He wouldn’t be riled up, he wouldn’t give the man an excuse to get rid of him and his mother. 

There was a family Tyki was sure he had seen before opposite Lord Kamelot. The blond woman with them, small and pale looking, seemed familiar, but Tyki didn’t bother with remembering who was who in the world of nobility and socialites. It didn't matter to him.

Tyki turned to leave, his job done, and whatever message his father had been trying to send him ignored.

“Ah, before you leave, stoke the fire, well you?” 

Tyki stopped, blowing a curl out of his eyes. His expression stayed flat, despite the frown trying to tug its way onto his lips.  “Of course,” he said, curt, turning to face the speaker.

Of course it was Sheril . His brother. His half brother. A blood bond neither was all that happy about. Sheril was as bad as nobility got; egotistical, entitled, and easily enraged. Tyki hated the man more than anything, and he knew it was mutual.

It didn’t matter to Sheril that Tyki was a child, being 7 years his junior, nor did it matter that they shared a father--if anything, that made his ire towards Tyki stronger. Sheril did not get along with most of the servants of the Kamelot household, but he had a special hatred for Tyki, like he had any control over the circumstances of his own birth. It wasn’t his fault Sheril’s father had more than a passing interest in some common maid, all while still married to Sheril’s mother.

Lord Kamelot’s infidelity was an open secret. Tyki was sure there was not one person in the household who didn’t know. The obvious nature of Tyki as a bastard was one thing--his mother still unmarried at her age, too focused on her work and raising her son. That was impossible to hide. 

Perhaps, in some alternate world, they would have been able to dance around the topic of who Tyki’s father was, but as it stood it was nearly impossible to--not with how much Tyki was cursed to resemble his father, to resemble Sheril, with the same cool eyes, the same curly dark hair, and the same sun-kissed skin.  

Everyone knew. Though his mother rarely spoke of his father in anything but the most professional tones, even Tyki had known from a young age. Sheril hadn’t let him live without that knowledge, had made it clear why he hated Tyki so much from the beginning. 

Realistically, Tyki knew it was Sheril’s own faults showing through; misplaced anger about his father’s actions, fear about Tyki somehow swooping in and stealing his inheritance (which Tyki knew that would never happen).

He turned towards the fire, the flames hot against his skin as he grabbed the poker, stoking them higher. He glanced towards Sheril, noting the closeness the man had to the daughter of the family visiting. Ah.

“He seems rather young,” the woman said, voice soft. 

Tyki busied himself with cleaning up the ashes, but his ears were always open, prying for information around the home.

“He’s about 16, that’s a perfectly fine working age,” Sheril replied. He was wrong; Tyki was pretty sure he was about 14, almost 15, but Sheril got it wrong so often that Tyki was sure he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he just cared that little, that such a small detail wasn’t worth even trying to remember.

 “He’s the son of one of the unmarried maids; father was kind enough to let them stay here. ” Kind? He was the one who caused the “problem” of her having to deal with a young child by herself. Tyki wasn’t even sure if his mother had been seduced or coerced, considering the power his father had over her as her employer. 

“Oh, that’s good,” she said softly. 

“Yes. You’ll be seeing him around a lot shortly,” Sheril replied. “He’s our errand boy most of the time.” 

Ah. This was a courtship. Was this Sheril’s plan, then? To what, remind Tyki he was the bastard son, and Sheril was the heir apparent? He already knew that, but Sheril probably got some sort of joy from rubbing it in his face. 

Perhaps, too, it was to make sure his future wife would remember Tyki as a servant first, not Sheril’s brother. He wondered if she’d even notice the resemblance; it was hard to miss.

But Tyki didn’t bother with the Kamelot's mind games and petty drama. He had long since learned to not rise to the bait, even the subtlest of it, if he could.

So he finished tending the fire in silence, before leaving as silently he came, even with Sheril’s glare burning into his back.

   People had asked him, before, if he hated having his birthday on Christmas, but to be honest, Tyki preferred it that way. It was less strain on his mother, since she felt the need for things like gifts, even if Tyki didn’t really see the point. 

Christmas morning was always a quiet affair. Focus first was on making sure things were ready for the Kamelot family the night before and in the early hours of the morning. However, by noon, the servants were left alone, allowed to celebrate in their quarters with each other. The cooks, despite the work they had put in and would put in for Christmas dinner, would usually help the scullery maids whip up a smaller, less decadent meal for everyone.

It was the same every year; they’d attend midnight Mass, prepare for the coming morning, and then rest in the afternoon. 

Tyki stretched out onto his bed like a cat, giving a sigh of content. With the Kamelot's busy for the day, it was nice to just be able to rest.

“Good afternoon, Tyki,” his mother, Dionísia, said. She was pale, her brown hair tied up tight, only the darkness under her eyes betraying the long hours she worked the day before. She headed towards her bed, just across their shared room, and dug around in her chest. “I have a gift for you.”

She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, but that was normal for her these days. Her movements were slow, wracked with coughs as her frail form was. She had been sick for years by that point, probably around three or four. It was tuberculosis; the white plague was a “good death” they said, but it didn’t feel that way to Tyki, watching her slowly wither away. 

Despite her illness, she was still expected to work if both her and Tyki were to stay fed and housed. It made Tyki’s blood boil, but at the very least she was often given work where she could be isolated and keep from spreading the disease, as much as one could anyways.

Supposedly some American had found out it wasn’t genetic and could be prevented with good hygiene. So, Tyki often had to wash his hands due to his close proximity to her, to reduce the risk of getting others in the manor ill. She would always remind him to clean under his nails--always worried about him getting sick.

Tyki sat up, bare feet ghosting the cold wood of the floor. His mother turned back around, revealing a glinting object between her hands. 

“A pocket watch?” he said, gingerly picking it up. It was rather plain, so unlike the intricate metal work on the ones he saw his father with. 

“Yes. I got a good deal on it. It’s made of brass, and the gears are all nice and cleaned up,” she explained.

He opened it up, greeted with a simple, plain clock face. It ticked away, already wound up by his mother. 

“I thought it would be useful; I know you don’t like extravagant gifts,” she said softly. “I was saving up for it all year.”

Tyki nodded, closing it gently. He sat it aside onto his bed, pulling his mother into a hug. She felt cold. He knew, he knew that she had a feeling this could be their last Christmas together. She had been sick for so long, getting so weak… He hadn’t cried in years, but in that moment, he felt like he could sob.

“Thank you.”

    “Where’d you get that?” 

Tyki sighed, snapping his watch closed. He really did not want to have to deal with Sheril. “Gift. For Christmas.” It was still cold outside, so he had been hoping Sheril wouldn’t come out of the manor. He was wrong, as always.

Sheril quirked an eyebrow at him, looking at his distorted reflection on the watch’s metal. “Did you now?“

“Yes,” Tyki replied, annoyed. “It’s also my birthday, so my mother got me something nice.” 

Sheril merely scoffed in disagreement. Whatever. Tyki found Sheril’s watch rather gaudy anyways, with a confusing pattern and an inlaid stone. Ugh. 

“She’s probably going to die soon, you know,” Sheril said offhandedly. He wasn’t looking at Tyki.

Tyki gritted his teeth. “I know,” he said. Stay calm, he thought. Don’t rise to the bait.

“Which will be a good thing. I don’t know why we kept her around when she’s coughing blood everywhere,” Sheril continued. Tyki bit back a comment about how Lord Kamelot clearly only did it out of guilt for siring her son and nothing more. “We could all get sick from that filth, and from you too, I bet; Probably got Tricia sick as well.”

“Huh?” Tyki said, glancing over. “Who?” It was a better topic than his mother’s death, even if he really didn’t care. Sheril liked the sound of his own voice. Tyki merely had to play along. 

“Tricia. My wife-to-be. Or she was, until he called the whole thing off because she’s apparently seriously ill now,” Sheril hissed, pacing now. Great. Tyki hated it when Sheril decided to rant to him; he had to pretend to care, and it was annoying.

But Sheril was clearly upset, so he had to try. “...I’m sorry. About Tricia,” he ground out.

“Sorry?” Sheril snapped. “It was probably you who got her sick, with your… everything!” he threw his hands up in the air. Sheril was such a child, despite being so much older than Tyki. “And then they called it all off! I couldn’t care less if she dies, that wedding--the power her family has here, all politicians… All of that, lost because she’s a little ill!” Ah. Of course. Why would Tyki expect Sheril to care about anyone but himself? 

A sharp sting snapped Tyki out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he said, rubbing his cheek. Sheril had slapped him. Sheril had slapped him? 

“Don’t give me that look,” Sheril hissed, grabbing Tyki’s wrist like he was worried Tyki was going to run. “Like you think I’m nothing.” “I wasn’t--”

“This is all your fault!” Sheril snapped, claw-like nails digging into his skin. Tyki hissed, trying to draw away. Blood pooled where they were connected. 

Sheril took in a deep breath, cooling his anger. “I don’t have time for filth like you,” he said, pushing Tyki’s arm away. Like he wasn’t the one who had initiated the contact. Then, he left, back to the relative warmth of inside. 

Tyki was alone in the gardens. He was the only one out, with even the gardener and groundskeeper preferring the indoors over the evening chill. He sat on the dying grass, knees to his chest as he glared at the decaying opulence; the wilted rose, the browned hedges, the fountains on the edge of freezing.

He hated this place. He hated everything about it. He leaned back, the buildings stucco rough against his back.

Small squeaking reached his ears, and to his surprise he noticed some brown rats to his left, sniffing at damage to the building.

I should kill them, Tyki thought. Part of it was because he knew how Lord Kamelot would react if he knew there may be rats in his home. But there was another part of Tyki, a darker part, that felt visceral glee at the very idea of it--of adding to the death around him.

He stood slowly, not wanting to spook them. They didn’t seem to notice him before it was too late, his hands scooping up the biggest one. Its brethren ran away, disappearing from his sight, as his prisoner struggled against him, worm-like tail whipping around, its overly long teeth trying to dig into his skin. Sheril’s nails had felt worse.

It would be so easy to break its bones , he thought, to snap its neck and take the thing apart--

His mother didn’t question the blood he washed off his hands when he came back into the kitchen. She merely reminded him to clean under his nails.

Perhaps he could ask the cook about getting live traps in the future.

That would be fun.

  The rest of the week passed without any affair. Snow fell, glistening in the low light spilling out from the manor windows. Tyki scrubbed at the porcelain dish in his hand, staring off into the window. How dull , he thought.

He heard Sheril and Aurora just outside the kitchen, visible in the corner of his eye. Sheril was holding his weight on the wall, talking with Aurora in harsh, quiet tones. Tyki couldn’t pick up his words, so moved his attention back to the window.

A mistake, really.

“Master Sheril!” Aurora cried, the man’s stance faltering as he stumbled. His hand caught the kitchen door frame, knuckles white, shaking. Her hands hovered over him, unsure of what to do.

Tyki glanced up from his work, a frown on his face. Was the idiot drunk?  

Sheril growled, face flushed red. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let go of me--” he hissed, reaching up to wipe sweat off his brow. 

His hand came away red with blood.

“Wh-what?” he gasped, staring at his trembling fingers in horror. Sheril put his full weight on the wall, his breathing ragged with fear and fever. 

“I--Tyki, go to town, get a doctor, I’ll get Master Sheril to his room, and tell Dionísia to go get Lord Kamelot and inform him that his son has fallen in,” Aurora said, finally taking charge as she ushered Sheril to his room. 

He must be in a lot of shock , Tyki thought, to allow himself to be manhandled by a lowly scullery maid so easily.

Tyki ran out the door. Distaste for his half-brother aside, if he didn’t do anything, god knows how his father would react. It was better to bow for them, as much as it killed Tyki to do so, than get him and his mother thrown out onto the streets.

He really hoped the doctor could help.

    Sheril seemed so different in his sleep, his face flush with fever, and twisted slightly in pain as opposed to disgust. Staring down at him, Tyki could see himself in the man more than ever.  He didn’t like it.

He didn’t want Sheril to die.

It was an odd thought for him to have. Had someone asked him before, perhaps he would have said he’d celebrate if the man died. 

But now…? He supposed mostly it was selfishness that made him worry. If Sheril died, their father would probably send Tyki out on the streets out of grief--his face a living reminder of the child lost. Plus, it would keep Tyki from even thinking he was privy to any of the Kamelot fortune.

And it’d be trouble, too, if Sheril died, dealing with the funeral and everyone else’s grief despite how terrible the man was. Ugh. He’d rather die himself than have to praise Sheril, even in death. ‘ He was such a kind master ’--bullshit, he was a bully and a coward through and through.

Then there was always the worry of more things going wrong; death was always a bad omen, and it seemed to only bring more with it whenever it happened. 

Or so his mother always said.

He just hoped he wouldn’t get sick with whatever it was Sheril had caught. Was it some sort of plague? God, that would just be what they needed.  The fever looked bad enough, leaving his brother twisting and turning in his sleep… But when Sheril did wake, he complained of the pain, of the aches in his body, of the unclosing wounds on his head.

The wounds themselves made Tyki feel sick. He wasn’t sure why-- blood wasn’t new to him. But the shape of the broken skin was odd, too uniform. He had heard someone call them stigmata--but that was stupid. Sure, his mother dragged him to church every Sunday, but he had never considered himself that strong of a believer. 

He doubted this was anything to do with God--nor the devil.

He worked slowly, changing Sheril’s bandages, careful of his brother's sweat slicked and overly sensitive skin. Tyki laid a cool cloth down, watching as it soaked up the bright red blood, before removing it and applying new bandages. Sheril sucked in a sharp breath as he worked, feeling the sting from the water and alcohol, but his eyes stayed closed, even with the rapid movement behind them.

Tyki wondered if his mother would outlive his brother.

      Someone was touching him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. His back ached, unhappy with the position he had been in, curled up uncomfortably on the chair as he was. He had been having a nice dream, of warmer weather in big open wheatfields and being far, far from the Kamelot Manor.

He cracked open his eyes, blinking sleep out of them as his gaze met with Sherils. His brother's hand was on his shoulder as if to shake him awake.

“...Sheril?” he murmured, mouth dry. 

The man seemed better; no longer flushed with his fever seemingly down, and his bandages were browned with old blood as opposed to red with fresh--like it had been despite everything they had tried.  He was on his feet, even, without assistance (something Tyki was sure hurt his pride in ways he would never recover from). 

Tyki thought that he’d be happy Sheril had recovered, or at least feel relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of his death. Instead, ice settled in his stomach as he continued to lock eyes with his brother. 

Sheril was different.

He looked the same, sure, but there was something about his expression, his eyes--like he had a divine experience. Like his life was forever changed.

Tyki felt shivers down his spine. Something was wrong.

“Sheril?” Tyki repeated. 

Sheril’s hand cupped Tyki’s cheek, thumb stroking where his mole was. “You helped watch me?” Sheril said. 

Tyki felt like he had made a grave error. 

Why had he offered to help Sheril out? At the time it had seeed pragmatic; a way to get into the good graces for his father and to make sure Sheril didn’t die lest all of Tyki’s worries about his own fate come to pass.

“...yes,” Tyki replied, glancing at the door. He moved to stand, but found himself rooted in place. “Should I go get Lord Ka--”

“No, no, no, it’s alright. I’m alright. They already know, the doctor and some visitors were already here. I thought it was best if you keep sleeping.” Sheril’s voice was sickeningly sweet; just like it always was before he was about to hurt Tyki.

Tyki stiffened in the chair, frozen. Sheril’s hand on him felt like it was burning. “...I should go--” he started, trying to move away. 

He didn’t get far. Sheril’s hand moved, grabbing at his curls. Sheril smiled and Tyki felt like a fly caught in a web, with Sheril as the starving spider. Sheril tugged, uncaring about--or perhaps even reveling in--Tyki’s pain. “Were you planning something?” he asked. “I bet you’d just love to have me gone, wouldn’t you?”

Tyki glared up at him. “I didn’t do anything to you--” he said, wincing as Sheril tugged harder. “I didn’t! I don’t--I didn’t want you to die!” it felt odd to say that outloud, especially with Sheril smiling at him like that. It only reminded him more of why he avoided the man.

Sheril scoffed at Tyki. His free hand cupped Tyki’s face once more, in that faux caring way that made Tyki’s skin crawl.”Oh, Tyki… I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised with how spineless you are.” He clicked his tongue. “Yet you seem to struggle to understand your place, even now, tsk tsk.”

 Tyki frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Tyki lied. He kept staring at the door.

Sheril ‘s hand slipped to his chin, using both his hands to force Tyki to meet his eyes. “Oh, Tyki… It occurred to me, how worthless of a person you are,” he said, humming as his hand slipped to Tyki’s throat, but his grip stayed light. Tyki swallowed, his heart hammering in his throat. No one was around, from what he could tell, and if Sheril did try anything, who would believe Tyki over him? 

“But,” Sheril continued. “Perhaps I am being too harsh. After all, it’s only natural to worry about your older brother, hrmmm?”  Sheril was toying with him, or something--but Tyki didn’t know why.

“...yeah, I guess,” he breathed, voice small. 

Sheril let go of him, pulling away. “Don’t come in my room ever again, you understand? I don’t want you around here, or going anywhere that isn’t for the servants without permission.”

“But they said I could--”

“I don’t care about that, you listen to me , alright?” Sheril said, smiling once more, gripping Tyki’s shoulder tight enough to bruise.. “Because of all the people here, I am the only one worth listening to.” 

Tyki’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. Sheril squeezed down, his nails digging into Tyki’s skin through his shirt. “Well… I better go, we have an Earl visiting now that I’m better,” Sheril announced, standing up with a flourish as he removed his bandages. 

Tyki stayed where he was, unsure of what had just happened. He moved cautiously slow, leaving the room. He could hear voices from the atrium, mostly unfamiliar; the Kamelots and the guests Sheril had mentioned, he supposed. It really did seem like he had slept through Sheril’s awakening.

Odd… he was a light sleeper by nature.

It didn’t matter. He rubbed at his neck, heading towards his room. It didn’t matter, because Sheril saw him as nothing but trash. He was a fool to think anything else.

    Sheril’s odd mood continued into the spring. Tyki wished he knew what had changed Sheril--if only to make him stop the cruel streak he had developed, far worse than before.

Or even to make him stop being so cryptic.

“Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked. 

Tyki paused, hand lingering over the glass he had been about to clean. “No,” he said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps once he had, but that hatred had cooled after the years to indifference--even if a part of him still wanted to paint the walls with that man's blood.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their fathee wasn’t special.

Tyki was sure his mother would have hated him, if she knew about the thoughts he had. Tyki didn’t mind, however. It was almost fun, in a way, having his own little secrets and fantasies no one else was privy to. He was so used to so much of his life being out in the open, spoken in hush tones around the manor,  that it was freeing to keep things to himself. It was a fun--a game.

“No?” Sheril repeated.

“Why are you so surprised? I’m not going to bad mouth the man who keeps me fed,” Tyki said, clicking his tongue. He knew he was pushing it with Sheril, but his patience had begun to wear thin since the day his brother had woken up. Sheril hummed. “I see, I suppose that isn’t that odd for a parasite like you,” he replied. Tyki’s grip tightened on the glass, and for a moment he feared it would shatter in his hand. Maybe he could use the shards to slice open Sheril’s neck then--

“I was just curious, I suppose,” Sheril continued.  “Seeing as how I fear he may not be in this world for much longer, with his age… I just thought it’d be awfully sad if he were to go with you hating him so.”

Tyki sat the glass down to dry, moving onto his next one. He was silent, just letting Sheril speak as the man cleaned his monocle. He wasn’t sure what Sheril meant; as far as everyone was aware, Lord Kamelot was fit as a fiddle, and the man was only 50. Certainly not young, but ancient either. 

“But it’s good to hear that isn’t the case,” Sheril finished, his smile twitching. Had Tyki said something wrong? Probably, considering Sheril always seemed to find some fault with him. 

Tyki watched Sheril leave out of the corner of his eye. Odd. 

    He supposed it shouldn’t’ve been a shock, then, when Lord Kamelot died not half a year later. His wife had grieved heavily, and after the funeral, seemed to go into a near catatonic state, locking herself in her room, and going off on walks late at night. Often, Sheril had Tyki bring her meals--which was stupid, she hated Tyki as much as Sheril did--but he was turned away more than he was not. She wasn’t hungry, she said. Not yet. Her actions seemed so stiff, her voice without emotion. Broken, Sheril lamented, by the tragic death of his father. 

But with Lord Kamelot gone, Sheril rose to the role of head of the family, and inherited all the wealth and power that came with the title. His mother was mostly left forgotten in a wing of the house, but she always seemed to be there when every Sheril called for her, listening with a patience to him Tyki had never seen from her before.

Tyki felt nothing. Not even a tear at the man’s death. He knew that Sheril likely had done something, power hungry man as he was, but Tyki could not will himself to care.

Tricia and Sheril began to court each other again not long after. Apparently her illness was no longer of any worry--it seemed perhaps only Lord Kamelot had really cared about it, as it apparently left her infertile. Or so Tyki had heard. But his father had worried often about the prospect of grandchildren and future heirs--from Sheril only, of course.

Now he’d never see any, being six feet under.

       “Tyki?”

“What?” he asked, gritting his teeth. It was Sheril, it was always Sheril. When before the man had often avoided him, now it seemed more than ever he sought Tyki out. Ever since the sickness…

“Is that any way to address the Lord of the Manor?” Sheril asked, hands resting on Tyki’s shoulders. He jumped, unsure when Sheril had gotten so close. 

“...sorry, sir, ” Tyki replied. “What is it, sir ?” He felt sick, but he’d tamper down his pride for the time being. 

“I was hoping you could help me with something,” Sheril said, letting go to grab Tyki’s wrist. 

Tyki winced, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

“...what’s with that grimace? Not very professional,” Sheril said.

“...Just bruised.” From the last time you dragged me around , he thought. “I’ll be fine.” It was a lie. It was always a lie now, around Sheril, who seemed to be delighted with each and every injury he could inflict on Tyki. It was always small; too small to make anyone else worry too much, but Tyki feared it’s escalation now that their father was dead.

No one would save him, he knew. Everyone bowed for Sheril, especially the newer maids. Sheril liked that, loved the control and made sure to see just how far it went. He was the type of man who hated things not going his way to the letter, and he micromanaged Tyki and his mother in a way Lord Kamelot never had.

Tyki’s mother never once complained. She worked diligently as usual, following every order to the end. Tyki tried his best as well, yet Sheril always seemed to find some fatal flaw, something to berate or slap him for.

The bruise still healing on his cheek stung in reminder.

But no one could do anything. Or, rather, no one dared.

“...sorry,” he said softly. “Sir.”

“Do better,” Sheril said, with a cheshire smile that told Tyki he was the source of all the boy’s problems. He probably was, honestly.  “Now help me with the new dog.”

A dog?

 …ugh, as if Sheril needed something louder than himself around.

      “He’s sooooooo cute,” Sheril cooed. “Purebred, of course, the most adorable little--”

“Uh huh,” Tyki replied, wishing he was deaf.

        Tyki sighed as he entered the manor, shaking himself off. It was hot and dry, and his trip to the city had been extra dusty. It’d probably be bearable with a horse or carriage, but he was usually left to his own devices on foot. He sighed, checking his pocketwatch. He was on time, if nothing else. Whatever. He had gotten what he was told to get, even if he wasn’t sure why. Sheril definitely had something planned, but Tyki hadn’t cared enough to pry. So long as it didn’t involve tormenting him, that idiot could do whatever he wanted. 

He wiped sweat from his brow, stopping in his tracks as he entered the kitchen.

There was a girl by the counter.

A little girl. In a dress probably worth more than what Tyki made in a year. And she was getting into the fresh bread made for whatever Sheril had been cooking up.

Tyki’s eye twitched. He was going to get blamed for this, he just knew it. Who even was she? Did Sheril have guests over, ones who apparently could not keep an eye on their child? 

The girl turned to him, her hair trimmed oddly short. “Hello,” she smiled, looking him over, before recognition showed on her face. 

Right. Tyki supposed he looked more like his brother than ever, now that he had lost what little baby fat he had been holding onto as a teenager. 

The girl smiled. Familiarity tugged at his heart. He ignored it. “Who are you?”  she asked, voice saccharine.

“...Tyki. I work here,” he said curtly. He didn’t want to make her cry, or anything. That’d be a pain to deal with. 

“Ah~ I see,” she said, climbing up to sit on the counter. Tyki felt his eye twitch again. He sat down what he had bought on another counter, careful of the eggs precariously perched at the top. 

“I’m Road,” the girl replied, kicking her legs as she stared him down.

For what it was worth, Tyki did have a soft spot for children. He was only human. So he bit back a sigh, turning back to his groceries to unpack, letting her stay and bother him. “Nice to meet you, then, Road,” he said. 

“Have you worked here long?” she asked, looking at him like she was trying to peer into his soul. “How old are you?”

“My whole life, basically,” he said. “About 15. 16.” 

“15? I see,” she said, sounding oddly distant for a moment. “Do you like it here?”

Tyki hesitated. “I guess. It’s home,” he said idly. 

“Hmm… well it seems nice,” Road continued. “I think I’ll like it here.”

“...huh?” Tyki turned, blinking at her. Road grinned, looking coy and innocent all at once. It was scary. “Sheril’s getting married, you know! This is the engagement party, and after that I get to live here.” 

“...Are you Tricia’s kid?” He didn’t know she had a daughter. Actually--no that didn’t make sense, Sheril would never marry a woman who had a child out of wedlock. He was an asshole like that.

Road took joy in his confusion. “No, but I will be soon. Officially, anyways, if not by blood.” 

“...oh,” Tyki murmured, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course. Of course Sheril would adopt some poor little girl to seem all special and kind, so giving, while letting his own half-brother suffer as his servant. He was going to get out of here. One day. One day he’d put this whole damn place and everyone in it behind him for good. 

“Well, anyways, he was showing me the new tutors I was gonna get and--” 

From there, their conversation hit a lull, Tyki was content to let the girl tell him about the things she was excited for or had seen that day. Honestly, despite the biting jealousy in his heart, he found himself enjoying listening to her. She was surprisingly insightful, and had a good sense of humor--enough to get a laugh or two from Tyki as he worked on cooking lunch for himself and some of the other servants. It felt easy to talk to her--like they had been friends for years.

“You’re kidding, you actually said that to his face?” Tyki was saying, snorting as he flipped his eggs. 

“Of course! You should have seen his face, and then he--” Road continued, words broken up with giggles.

He found himself not minding the idea of her being around. Maybe Road would be the one shining star in the blackness of his life at Kamelot manor.

Of course, Sheril had to ruin things. He was especially talented at it.

“Tyki,” Sheril began, voice curt. He paused, noticing Road still perched on the counter. “Ah, Road! There you are, what are you doing here? You’re going to get your adorable dress all dirty.”

Like a completely different person at the drop of a hat , Tyki thought. He occupied himself with his lunch again, staring hard at the sizzling oil. He hoped Sheril would forget about him; he was tired of dealing with his brother’s constant abuse. 

It was hard not to let his mind wander about all the terrible things Sheril had done to him. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the man coming up behind him. “Did I tell you to talk to Road?” he hissed, suddenly in Tyki’s ear. Tyki jumped, flushing red in embarrassment for not even noticing him. “I--” What was he supposed to do? Ignore her? Leave? He knew not to say anything--this was the type of situation where nothing he could do or say was the right option. 

Sheril grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard. Tyki tried to pull away, but all that got him was Sheril twisting it in such a way that hot oil spilled from his pan, burning his skin. It hurt, the pain seering and constant. “Fuck--” A smile played on Sheril’s lips. Tyki let go of his pan and spatula, finally pulling his hand away. 

“You really need to be more careful, Tyki,” Sheril said, mocking worry laced into his words.

“Go to hell,” Tyki hissed, cradling his burned arm to his chest. 

“Tyki, why are you being so harsh?” Sheril chided, shaking his head. “I know it hurts, but there’s no need to take it out on others.”

Road said nothing, watching them like a statue. Her eyes glinted with curiosity--not horror. Tyki couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

Tyki gritted his teeth. Fuck this, he was done. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room and up the servant's stairs. Belatedly, he knew he should have gotten water--but whatever, the wonders of indoor plumbing meant he could cool off his wound upstairs. 

Anger and frustration clouded his vision. It blocked out the pain from his burn, leaving him with nothing but an empty feeling of bloodlust.

The dog that Sheril had adopted--he couldn’t remember its name--stood in front of him, sniffing around for food. Clearly it had been forgotten about since Sheril had gotten a new thing to adore. Tyki’s hands twitched.

   He made sure to clean under his nails, just like his mom always said to.

     “Soooo, what’s with you and Tyki?” Road started, twirling around in the garden. It was lush and green; a sharp contrast from the wasteland it had become during the winter months. Even as Akuma, the gardeners tended to it diligently.

“What do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his monocle. It wasn’t too warm, yet, with summer still rolling in. Just the right type of weather to enjoy a short walk under the sun.

Road hummed, shaking her head. “Come on now, I can tell you don’t like him but you keep him around anyways. You really seem to like to torment him.” Her face broke into a grin, all teeth and cruelty. 

Sheril shrugged, saying “Maybe I do, why does that matter?” 

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to face him. She kept on walking, not careful of where she was going. Sheril found himself fussing over her safety internally--sure, she was older than him, but she was so adorable that he found himself slotting into the overprotective father role easily. 

With a sigh, Sheril replied, “...he’s my bastard half-brother.” And that was all there was to it, really. He had no attachment to the boy other than a frustrating blood tie.

“Ahhh, I suppose he does look a little like you,” she said, sounding distant. With a shrug, she turned back around. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.” Her hands folded behind her back, her face wistful as she glanced at the clouds sheepishly passing by in the sky.

“Does he now?” Sheril asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hmmm,” Road hummed, eyes slipping closed for a moment, voice almost somber. “But they died a long time ago, it’s nothing important.” 

Silence floated over them. They reached the edge of the manor grounds, surrounded by treeline and old fences. 

“Sooo,” Road began, speaking very much unlike a girl would to her father. “You have an inferiority complex when it comes to your brother, then? Or is it jealousy?”

Sheril squawked. “I do not! It’s nothing like that,” he said, hands moving wildly as he denied it. 

“Really?” Road asked, grinning at him as she tapped her face. “Because it seems his existence has struck some sort of chord in you, for you to hate him so much for it,” she laughed.

“You’re too cute to be saying such mean things,” Sheril muttered, deflating.

Road just shrugged, skipping along. “Well, we’ll see how long he lasts around us and the new servants, I…” 

Sheril hummed, but he stopped walking as Road’s voice tapered off.  She had stopped in her tracks, staring off at something in the distance, among the trees. “Road?” he asked, following her line of sight. 

It was a gruesome view--the viscera strewn around the body, half charred, leaving him unable to identify what it was--at first. Then his eyes fell upon a familiar collar.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry; shocked, more than anything.

“Would an Akuma do that?” he asked Road, noticing her lips twitch into a concerned scowl.

“...maybe a higher level one, I guess, but they usually don’t care about animals and this is… very theatrical. Whoever did this was clearly emotional,” she said. “Do you think maybe your brother…?” 

“He’s not my brother,” Sheril cut in, anger flaring up finally. “And no. Never. He’s a coward. He has no backbone, he’d never do a thing. It was probably someone from off the grounds. The dog liked to escape.”

“If you say so,” Road replied, voice light like she was laughing at him.

“I’ll get Dionísia to clean it up,” Sheril said, anger bubbling inside him.

        Poetically, it rained the day his mother died.

It had been raining heavily for awhile, though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood there, in front of her grave, staring with dead eyes. It was a humble stone, but more than he could afford. It was the only thing Lord Kamelot had ever really given her, aside from a son and working herself into her own grave.

“Are you going to come back?” 

Tyki turned, his face neutral as he locked eyes with Sheril. The man was dressed in black, but he looked more like he was going to a gala than a funeral. 

“Does it matter?” Tyki asked, turning back to her grave. 

“It does. I need to know if I need to fill two positions, or just one,” Sheril replied, clicking his tongue.

Tyki balled his hands up into fists. He wanted to punch Sheril, wanting to make him suffer and bleed. “I didn’t think you’d want me around.”

“Hrm. I like having you where I can keep an eye on my beloved baby brother, I suppose,” Sheril said, voice dripping with fake saccharine. 

Tyki gritted his teeth, his mind supplying gorey images of what he could do with Sheril, if he could get away with it. “....I’ll be back later today,” he said finally, glaring hard at the mud at his feet. His hands gripped his pocket watch until his knuckled turned white. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and the manor was better than the streets. For now, anyways; Tyki didn’t intend on staying there forever. He’d look for work elsewhere, a new place to live even, and then he was gone--never to see that smug face again.

He was sure Sheril was smiling at him, that cruel, cold smile he had come to hate. He didn’t dare look back at the man, lest his anger get the best of him. He had been working on cooling his temper over the years, but it had come back red hot in the wake of his loss. 

“That’s good to hear. It must be sad to lose her so close to your birthday. What are you now, 18?” 

 “16, almost,” Tyki replied. “Probably.” Sheril just hummed.

Thunder rolled, distant, as the sound of the rain filled in the silence. 

“Do you hate Him for it?” Sheril asked, closer to Tyki than before. He nearly jumped. Nearly--Tyki had adjusted to Sheril’s sneaking, his need to be too close. 

“Huh?” Tyki replied. Sheril titled his umbrella, keeping Tyki out of the rain, as futile as it was by this point. Still, even while already soaked with rain, the gesture made Tyki feel weird. But for once, not a bad weird. 

“God,” Sheril clarified. “Do you hate God for taking her from you? Do you think you’d bring her back if you could?” He spoke with a soft tone, one that could be mistaken for caring. But Tyki knew Sheril, knew him well enough to catch an edge to it that sent chills down his spine. 

Despite that, Tyki didn’t answer right away. He kept silent, thinking Sheril’s words over carefully. “No,” he answered. “I don’t. It’s hard to hate someone who was never there for me anyways. It’s why I don’t hate our father. They’re both nothing to me.” He paused. “No, I wouldn’t bring her back. She’d… she’d probably just work herself to death again.” 

Sheril blinked, surprised, before he burst into laughter. “I see, I see… Perhaps we’ll talk again soon, then,” he said, moving away to leave Tyki to the elements once more. “If you’re still around.”

Tyki frowned at the crypticness of Sheril, turning to watch the man slink away back to his carriage. 

      “Aurora?” Tyki said, knocking on her door. She was staring at her hand mirror, eyes glazed over. It was a gift from her fiance, she had told him.

Aurora didn’t answer, still staring. Tyki moved slowly, sitting down beside her on her bed. “You doing okay? I know you were excited for the wedding, but then… with my mothers death and now this…”

“I’ll be fine,” Aurora replied, voice monotone. “Thank you, Tyki.”

Tyki frowned, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry about Ramiro, for what it’s worth.” 

Aurora gave a stiff nod. “I…” she reached out, hand hovering over his arm. She closed her mouth, grinding her teeth. Tyki felt something odd in the pit of his stomach, but the feeling soon passed as she placed her hand back on her mirror. “I think I should be alone.”

Tyki nodded, standing up. “Okay. I am always around, if you want.”

“Thank you, Tyki.”

    Aurora barely talked to him after that. Actually, now that he thought of it--none of the staff really did. Most of them were new; Sheril had fired so many at the drop of the hat. Brought in new ones. Aurora had been the last light in Tyki’s life after his mother died, but she, too, grew distant. Sad. Monotonous.

Without her or his mother, Tyki felt so very alone in the manor’s walls. Faces blurred together, names barely sticking in his mind as he lived one day at a time. Work bored him, cleaning the same things again and again and again; listening to each of Sheril’s barked orders with a clenched jaw and tension headache.

He was isolated; no one to talk to during meals, no one to joke along with while he scrubbed the floors. No songs, no stories by the candlelight. No talk about ill omens and the weather. No reminders to clean under his nails.

Nothing.

His heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. He missed his mother. He hated the manor more than anything. He hated Sheril and his family; everytime their laughter carried through the halls it was like a ghost, haunting Tyki’s mind. Reminding him of how pathetic his life had become.

He was going to leave by the age of 18, he decided one sullen grey day. He stared at his reflection in the windows, cleaned by his calloused hands. He had never been planning on staying, of course, but the idea of leaving had always been a far off fantasy; an idea without a when or how. But now he had a when. As for the how…

Tyki walked through the streets of the town. It was summer now, the sun burning bright. With the warm weather came more people--seasonal workers and rich tourists. The city was bustling, but Tyki moved through the crowds with ease, as though he was just passing through the compact bodies.

He had gotten very good at avoiding being touched. It was useful for his continued survival in the Kamelot home. Still, he could never truly get away from Sheril’s malice when the man had his full attention on him. It was like being held by strings, controlled by a cruel puppeteer. 

Tyki was only human--and under the blistering heat, he found himself sweating. A drink, then…. He stopped by a small cafe, fishing out some change. 

“Sir… you wouldn’t have any to spare?” came a small voice. Tyki glanced down, seeing a small child, face dirty with grime. “Please, I--” the child continued, but without a word Tyki handed him a few coins. It wasn’t much, but Tyki’s meager pay didn’t leave him with much in the way of savings. He had enough for what he needed, and that was enough. After all, he was always weak to children. 

The child ran off, thanking him profusely. Beside him, some men sitting in rickety chairs laughed. “You got any to spare for us,” they asked, looking just as worn and filthy as the child.

“You’re adults, don’t you have a job?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but the mines don’t pay much! Come on,” the man continued, before getting an elbow to his ribs from a friend.

“Sorry ‘bout him, he’s just tryin’ to get more to lose to us in poker, s’all,” the second man said, shaking his head.

Tyki blinked, now noticing the cards splayed on their table. It made sense, he supposed; something to keep them occupied on their break.

“Am not!” the first man snapped. This broke the group into another bout of laughter. “S’just that I ain’t got that much, s’why I took this job even though it’s so far from where I usually am!”

“Ain’t our fault you got piss poor luck, Bruno.”

“Shut up, Mauricio!”

Tyki turned away, getting his drink. He thought for a moment, wondering if maybe that was his way out. Seasonal work in the mines wasn’t the best--it was a lot of physical labour, dangerous conditions, going where the work was and hoping for the best. But it was a guaranteed way out of Kamelot manor, out of the city. Maybe even out of Portugal. 

Tyki’s eyes sparkled, plans forming in his head. He turned back to the men, eyeing them up and down. He wasn’t built that different from them, other than being taller. 

“...there wouldn’t happen to be any extra work at the mines that needs doing, would there?” Tyki asked, leaning towards the men playing poker.

With a blink, the second one who had spoken glanced up at him. “Hrm… I dunno, but I could always see if there’s anything to be done, kid,” Mauricio said, voice surprisingly gentle. He seemed to understand, at least, the desperation for work that laid underneath Tyki’s curious gaze. 

“Thank you,” Tyki replied, and he found himself meaning it for once.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy, but you can find us here most days around lunch,” the man continued, waving him off. “Now go on, I gotta game to play.” 

Tyki returned to the crowds feeling lighter than he had in months. People weren’t so bad, he supposed. When those dark, awful feelings weren’t settling inside him, he found himself enjoying the company of other people, of gentle words under the sun. 

He missed his mother.

       “You asked the Akuma to leave Tyki alone, hrm?” Road asked, kicking her legs as she idly flipped through a book. Diagrams of flowers and insects filled the pages, colourful and detailed. 

“Maybe.” Sheril’s tone was curt, his focus on the documents in front of him. With a flourish, he signed his signature, moving onto the next with robotic movements. 

“Why?  You seemed almost excited at the possibility of him becoming one after his mother died, but then that never happened.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, gaze burning into the back at Sheril’s head.

Sheril twitched. “No, which surprised me, is all,” he replied, voice clipped. “But it’s good to have some humans still around, for appearances sake, especially since some of the Akuma aren’t the best at playing along with their disguise.” He gave a huff of annoyance at that. There had been an… incident, not long ago, but that faulty akuma had been dealt with swiftly. 

Sheril blamed the dog’s death on it, but Road still disagreed. It felt too… human.

“Hmmm, you just like tormenting him. How cruel,” she laughed, closing her book.

“Does it matter? He’s just some lowly human,” Sheril said, turning slightly to stare her down. 

“Who shares your blood, though,” Road pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter to me; you and the Earl are all the family I need,” Sheril replied, the cold, serious look on his face melting away to a smile. 

“It seems like it does matter, though,” Road pressed.

Sheril sighed, abandoning his work for a moment. “It’s about control. I just want to keep control of this manor, of this family, eventually of the country. And Tyki… he has always been hard to keep in line. It’s about making a point, is all. He’s really not that important, just a toy to play with. Nothing more.”

Road hummed, seemingly content with that answer.

For now.

      Running errands was always thankless work. The foreman at the mine always seemed to need something done, as fast as possible, but never once did any thank you slip from his lips.

So. No different from work at the manor.

Whatever ; the miners were kinder, when he did interact with them. It was hot, the sun blistering, but it kept him busy. Sheril seemed to have lost interest in him--occupied with running the manor more efficiently than his father ever did, and often Tyki fell to the wayside. 

Having money that Sheril didn’t know about was only a bonus. If he got enough, then maybe-- maybe --he’d finally be able to leave that horrid house.

It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

“Hey! Tyki, kid!” one of the miners, Mauricio, called. 

“..Yeah?” Tyki murmured, moving towards them.

“Yer workin’ yer ass off! Come, sit, have a break,” Mauricio said, tapping the wooden table he sat at with a deck of cards.

“I--”

“Come on, everyone gets at least a lunch break,” Mauricio continued, as Tyki slowly sat down. “Anyways, you know how to play poker, kid?” 

“Not at all, no,” he said.

“Then allow us to teach you,” Maurico replied, shuffling the cards with a flourish.

“Cigarette?” Bruno asked, offering him one already rolled from a worn-looking tin.

“Thanks,” Tyki said as he took it, using a match to light it. He wasn’t really allowed to smoke at the manor, but no one was here to stop him. It burned his lungs, but he managed to not cough all over Bruno.

“Well then, poker. This is a game of chance, but also skill--the skill of lying,” Mauricio continued, still shuffling the cards. “First, there’s one dealer and at least two players, who are after specific winning hands--some worth more than others--and then--”

        Tyki’s first few games were terrible.

They didn’t have chips like in casinos, only a few belongings and spare coins between them for betting.

Tyki had lost every bet he had made.

“C’mon, Mauricio, go easy on the kid,” Bruno said, kicking the other man under the table. Mauricio yelped like a cat, causing the other players (Tyki had neglected to learn their names-- oh well .) to burst into laughter.

“Fine, fine…” Mauricio sighed as he dusted himself off. He leaned in, close to Tyki’s ear, hand blocking his words from the others.  “I’ll let you in on a few, ah, beginners tricks then,” Mauricio whispered, flicking his wrist to reveal cards stowed away under his sleeve.

Tyki stared, suddenly realizing why he was struggling.

They were all cheating.

A grin crept up onto his face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said.

Maybe this could be fun after all--especially if he got better at his bluffs.

        He ended up staying after the work day ended, playing with the other men even as the sun sunk lower in the sky. It was easy, talking to them--no walking on eggshells, no balancing act of trying to figure out the right thing to say. He could be his lighter self, his human self--all that darkness that seemed to swirl inside him dissipating, even if only temporarily. 

It didn’t last.

“So this is where you’ve been running off too?” Sheril’s shrill voice cut in. The laughter died off.

Tyki frowned, hand gripping the bottle of alcohol he had won the last hand--opened to taste his sweet, sweet victory, his cheeks dusted pink and warm. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, turning around to glare at his brother. For once, it was Sheril who looked out of place--all prim and proper, tight seams and wealth--not a hair out of place--contrasted with the rough looking miners dusted with coal.

“What am I doing here?” Sheril asked, grabbing Tyki’s bicep and yanking him onto his feet.  “What are you doing here, in an awful place like this?” 

“We got a problem here, mate?” Bruno asked, glaring up at Sheril from his hand of cards.

“No, we don’t,” Sheril spat. “I’m going to be taking this idiot now.” He tugged Tyki towards the door, clearly not caring about letting Tyki even put one foot in front of the other before moving. 

Tyki staggered after him, swears spilling from his lips. “I see you’ve spent far too long talking to them,” Sheril hissed. “Why the new friends? Where did you even get the money to gamble? Did you steal it--?”

“Shut up!” Tyki snapped, forcing Sheril’s hand away. “Leave me alone, you creep! I made the money on my own, with my own fuckin’ job that is waiting on you hand and foot!” 

“What do you want money for?” Sheril asked. “Are you trying to leave me?”

“Of course I am! You want nothing to fuckin’ do with me, so why the hell would I continue to put up with that shithole and all your little games when I don’t have my mother keeping me there anymore?” Tyki yelled, glaring daggers into Sheril’s skull

“I own you ,” Sheril hissed, grabbing a fistful of Tyki’s curls. “Know your place--and it’s one you cannot leave.”

“Fuck you! I’m not your anything-- not your brother, and not your fuckin’ thing-- ” He ripped his head away from Sheril, not caring about the stinging from the scalp, the blood wetting his roots--and pushed Sheril back with his all his strength.

Sheril hit a wall with a look of shock painted on his features. Tyki took his momentary surprise to run- -run , run away from all of this, away from Sheril.

“Follow him,” he heard Sheril say--but to whom Tyki didn’t bother to look back and see.

He heard no footsteps behind him.

       No place, it seemed, was safe from his brother. At least no place that didn’t cost money to get to. Tyki wasn’t sure how long he had run, how far--just until his lungs burned worse than from smoking, just until his legs could barely hold his own weight. 

He heaved over, panting, hands on his knees as sweat ran down his face. That rat bastard. Tyki screamed in frustration, his throat hoarse. He punched a wall, not caring about the skin on his knuckles splitting at the seam, blood beading. 

Everything hurt. His head, his body, his heart. 

“Are… are you okay, sir?” a voice came--a man, around his age, eyes wide and bright. He was well dressed--not as well as Sheril, but clearly better off than Tyki was.

It wasn’t fair.

Tyki turned to him, bloodied hand twitching. “I will be,” Tyki replied, voice dark as he rounded on the other man. The stranger backed up, fear sparking in his eyes--but even then, he was too slow to react as Tyki’s hands clamped around his throat. 

Tyki couldn’t make out the strangers words--focused solely on the whimpers he made, on the rush of the blood in his veins, thumbing with his heart beat--his pulse jumping against Tyki’s fingers, following the rhythm of blood that dripped as he dig his nails into the skin. 

“Help---!”

       He was going to have to replace his boots.

After he cleaned his hands, of course.

Tykis breaths came heavy, laboured, as he scrubbed at the blood on his skin like it was acid. It didn’t do much good, though, stained as it was on his clothes. He knew hew must look like a mess--like a murderer --but it was late in the manor. He only had his own oil lamp to light his way, everyone else long asleep as he cleaned under his nails, just like his mother said to. 

His heart thrummed with adrenaline still, the high from what he had done lingering still. If anything, the idea of going back to work the next day--like nothing had happened, pretending along with everyone else, comforting others--was exciting in its own way too. It kept things interesting, to lead these two paths. 

He had come back to the manor.

Tyki wasn’t sure why he had. But even as he had hidden the body--dragged it to the closest body of water he could think of--he had felt like someone was watching him. Like Sheril would know if he had tried to leave town.

So. He had gone home, the response almost automatic as he entered through the kitchen door, and began to scrub his skin raw in the sink, illuminated by only the moon and a single lamp. 

Tyki paused in his cleaning, the wood creaking somewhere in the manor. It was probably nothing; maybe Road or someone unable to sleep, or needing the bathroom. Hopefully no one would question the running water--

“Tyki?” 

Tyki jumped. He stared at the doorway, a deer in the headlights, wide eyes meeting Sheril’s.

“Yeah?” Tyki said, with a casualness that didn’t quite fit the situation. 

Sheril’s lips fell into a frown as his eyes looked Tyki up and down, taking in the obvious blood splatter on his white shirt, the red dripping down his arms into the drain of the sink.

“I cut myself. By mistake,” Tyki said, stare still unbroken. “After I got back here.”

“...you… cut yourself?” Sheril repeated, looking at Tyki’s hands--then to the splatter on his clothing. “On what?”

“Yes,” Tyki replied. He didn’t dare look away yet, like a dog unyielding to submission.

“I see. You… cut yourself,” Sheril said, nodding a little. “...right.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“...perhaps avoid cutting things at night, then,” Sheril said, leaving then. “Or. Whatever you did on your way back.”

“Okay.” Tyki blinked, finally, but his eyes never left the spot where Sheril had been standing.

How… had that been one of their most civil conversations?

Tyki turned the water off, and stripped off his shirt. At least he had others, but a pity it was to have ruined it. He dried his hands on it, worrying his lip. Was Sheril going to go to the police? He didn’t have much in the way of proof sure but people would take his word over Tyki’s, he knew, with the type of political power and money Sheril possessed.

He headed back to his room, laying down on his bed, even though he had no intention to sleep. His veins buzzed too much to allow it, a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling within him.

 At least rewinding his watch gave him something to ease his mind with, for a few moments.

      Sheril had slept uneasy that night himself, to his own surprise. He was not easily bothered by blood--quite the contrary in fact. But he hadn’t expected to find Tyki covered in it--he had been expecting to find Road stealing snacks from the kitchens, not his spineless bastard brother covered in what was obviously not his own blood. 

There was too much for it to have been a simple injury, either. The answer was obvious: Tyki had killed someone. Probably. Maybe Sheril was too morbid, jumping to that conclusion, but it had looked like a lot of blood, and if it had been a simple injury from someone else, why lie? 

A murder… Who, Sheril didn’t really care that much, since everyone in the manor was accounted for. Honestly, it didn’t affect him at all. Most of the servants were Akuma anyways.

He couldn’t even be mad that Tyki ran off--he had come home like a loyal dog, after all. 

Which brought him to his actual concern. Was it accidental? Self defense? Or... “The Earl wouldn’t have happened to have turned Tyki into an Akuma without telling me, would he?” Sheril asked, glancing over at Road.

She looked up from the book she was likely only pretending to read. “Hrmmm? No, he wouldn’t. Plus, didn’t Tyki’s mother die a while ago now? Did someone else die?”

“No… well…” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. Why had he decided to keep that kid around? Tyki was such a headache. Sure, the sadistic part of Sheril loved having Tyki around to torment, but now things were getting tiring.

“Well? Why do you ask, anyways?” Road said, flipping down in her chair. 

“He killed someone last night.”

“He did?” Road replied, blinking, surprise on her face. “Did you see it happen?” 

“No, but I saw the aftermath of him trying to get the blood off him. Too much for just cutting his hand, like he told me,” Sheril said.

“Hrmm… interesting. He didn’t strike me as the type. Maybe he accidentally killed one of the miner friends he has?” 

“No… I don’t think so. There was this look in his eyes, under the surprise. It was bloodlust. I think he murdered them.” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Hopefully it’ll be nothing of any worry. We can kill him if you think it’ll be an issue.” Sheril paused. "You knew about him sneaking off and didn't tell me?" 

Road gave a grin. “I don’t think it will; I think it just makes things more interesting.” She hummed. “Plus, it confirms what I thought about the dog. And yeah, I thought it was more fun not to share."

“The dog--?”  Sheril started, before realising. His lips twitched. “It seems so. I suppose people don’t always start with other humans. He has more of a spine than I thought.”

A knock at the door. “What is it?” Sheril asked, frowning as he glared over the back of his seat.

An akuma poked her head in--Aurora, he thought the maid’s name had been, before her death. “Lord Sheril, sir,” she said, dipping her head in a curtsey. “I followed the boy like you asked, last night. He killed someone and returned home after running towards the merchant district.”

“Old news. Is that all?” Sheril asked.

“No. He hid the body on the Kamelot estate. I can take you to it,” she said, raising her eyes to meet Sheril’s. 

     Road whistled as the akuma lifted the corpse from the estate’s pond. “He really did a number on him, huh? Looks like he was attacked by a dog,” she said. “So much for him being your ‘meek little brother’. I'd be glad it wasn’t you.”

“Yes,” Sheril agreed, voice uneasy.

      Tyki was on edge. 

He hadn’t seen Sheril since the night before. As he robotically went through his day--running errands for the manor, odd jobs around the mine and town--he had a feeling of dread settle in his stomach, ice cold contrast to the excitement of the night before.

But nothing came. No police, nothing.

He frowned. Sheril had to have something planned. He wasn’t that stupid (or so Tyki hoped) to have believed the lie had given without thinking, nor did he think Sheril would just leave it be. Something was up.

He sighed, leaning against a wall, taking a drag from a cigarette. A cheap brand, but it was good enough for him. His mother had never been a fan, but she wasn’t around to curb the habit any longer--the other night had reminded him of that.

It did help him relax a little, as he brushed his curls out of his eyes. He needed a haircut.

It was a warm winter, so very different from the previous. Even warmer than usual, but it was a welcome change of pace. Still, Tyki could feel himself sweating already, outside under the bright sun. He groaned, moving to wipe sweat from his brow--only to hiss, his head suddenly pounding. Must be the sun , he thought, as he put out his cigarette. He almost wished for snow to lay face down in.

He found himself wandering back to the same pub he had been with before, with Bruno and Mauricio.

They were still there--enjoying their single day off, laughing with each other. Bruno spotted him, waving him over. “Tyki! There ya are, I was worried about you. Who was that bastard, anyways?”

“....someone I really hate,” Tyki said, not wanting any association with Sheril. Brother wasn’t the right word, not anymore. “It’s fine now.”

“Right,” Bruno replied, but his poker face was never very good--and it showed now, too, his expression unsure and worried.

“You okay there, kid?” Mauricio asked, frowning. “You look awfully pale--” he reached forward, fingers brushing Tyki’s sweat-slicked skin before he could pull away. “Yer burnin’ up.”

“M’fine, just overworked myself,” he lied. His head felt like a nest of angry wasps. “How about another hand? Never got to finish the last one.”

“Only if you’re prepared to lose, kid.”

      His migraine persisted throughout the night, and the next day. He did his best to ignore it, at first.

But on the third day, it was hard to not to notice--not with the blood seeping down his face. Tyki stared at the mirror in horror, open wounds so much like Sheril’s all those years ago adorning his forehead, blood flowing freely in red rivets along his features.

It hurt; it hurt like hell, but not in the way he felt such open cuts should. His hands shook as he washed himself of the blood. It wasn’t like Sheril had died from his illness, but if it went the same way… Tyki knew this was only the beginning of the pain, that fever and shakes and awful, awful aches would follow. 

Maybe he wouldn’t make it. 

After all, people could survive TB, but his mother didn’t. 

Blood continued to fall into his vision, no matter how much he wiped away.

He stumbled back into his room, breathing heavily--from fear or fever he did not know. He gripped the side of his bed, trying to will himself to stay calm; the Doctors never found out what had made Sheril sick. Was it familial? A horrible sickness inherited from their shared blood, their shared father? 

Tyki swallowed back acidic bile. 

Would Sheril even care, get a doctor like Tyki had gotten for him, or just let him suffer? Who was he kidding ; Sheril would probably delight in watching Tyki waste away, suffering in pain until he died.

So.

This was alright.

No one had to know. He’d deal with it on his own, and go to the doctor on his own if he had to.

He stood up straight, his movements wooden, as he scrubbed at his face once more, bandaging the wounds and brushing his bangs to cover them. The blood seeped in, warm and sticky against his skin.

No one has to know , he thought, staring at his flushed face in the mirror. He’d be sick for a while, maybe, but it wasn’t like anyone would notice; he did less and less around the manor these days, and even Sheril had seemed to become bored with harassing him after their conversation in the kitchen that night. His eyes had been watchful, but not omnipresent.

No one had to know, he thought as he washed the blood out from under his nails.

       Doctor’s visits cost money, and Tyki hadn’t budgeted for one. He couldn’t miss work, not yet. 

For what it was worth, Tyki had managed pretty well that day with his usual work. He had gone slow, trying to not exert himself, and luckily none of the errands he had seemed that urgent. Returning to the Kamelot estate, he was bone tired--but not collapsing.  A win in his books.

Of course, while Sheril hadn’t noticed his sorry state (thank God), Road had.

“You look sick,” she said, lips twitching.

“I’m fine,” Tyki replied, downing water from the tap.

“You don’t look fine,” she said, looking him up and down. He was sure he looked like shit; he sure felt it. 

“I’m fine,” Tyki hissed, bracing himself on the counter. “You shouldn’t be in the kitchens anyways.” He did not want to deal with Sheril’s incessant worrying over Road’s safety. His migraine already felt like he was being stabbed with hundreds of nails.

Road gave him a doubtful look, opening her mouth. She paused, her face scrunching up into a frown. “Is that blood?” she asked.

Tyki blinked, before he noticed it; the feeling of something warm dripping down his face. He swore--his bandages must have become too saturated, even though he had changed them--

He heard his glass shatter on the ground before he realised he had dropped it.  His world spun, and it took him far too long to realise he was on the ground too, his mind hazy with fever and pain.

“Tyki,” Road said, surprisingly calm for such a young girl watching a man dying of illness right before her eyes. She knelt down, reaching for him, brushing his sweat drenched curls away. He heard her gasp--the sound small, but yet hard to miss in his muddled mind--and he didn’t blame her. It probably looked demonic, the markings on his forehead. He remembered all the murmurs of demons and the devil when Sheril had fallen ill.

Maybe there had been more to it at the time they had thought. He supposed, if any people in the manor were to be cursed by Satan, it would be the two of them; they were both fucked up enough for it, and Tyki knew it.

In reality, as much as he liked to pretend it wasn’t true, he and Sheril did have things in common about their personalities.

Road called for someone, he wasn’t sure who--the name sounded like nothing but noise to his ears, as the pain consumed his thoughts and his world went black.

 “I didn’t think--”

 “Not common, for siblings who aren’t twins--”

      His sleep was restless. He dreamed, dreamed of things he could not quite remember in the morning, of a world destroyed, of a pillar that gave him fear he had never experienced before, all swirling around in his head in a sea of overstimulation--pain, heat, voices and sounds, images he couldn’t understand--all mixing together into white noise.

He dreamed of golden fields of wheat, of old trees with beautiful names, of a mother who was still alive and a brother who loved him.

He wasn’t sure if he slept through the night, or had woken up intermittently. Perhaps he had. Maybe even talked, but the words said were lost to his mind.

    Tyki opened his eyes. 

The world was blurry, unfocused as he looked around. It was a room in the manor, but not his room--far too opulent to be. One of the guest rooms, maybe? Perhaps Sheril had thought it was a better place to die.

No. That didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t want Tyki’s blood getting on the sheets. Why was he here?

“Tyki,” a voice said, close to his face. He groaned, managing to look over, meeting eyes with his half brother. “Good morning,” he replied, a genuine smile on his face.

Ah.

Tyki had died in his sleep, and this was his hell: Sheril. 

Tyki groaned, laying his head back down on his pillow as he closed his eyes. “Let me suffer in silence,” he said, his throat parched, his voice like sand.

“Here,” Sheril said, pouring Tyki some water. He still sounded far too kind. 

But, Tyki himself had been worried, genuinely worried, when Sheril was sick despite everything, so perhaps it was like that. Didn’t make it any better, though. Tyki still despised that man.

Though his body felt stiff and unnatural, he reached over to take the glass. He downed it easily, not caring at the cool water that split and dripped down his face. 

Sheril took the glass back without hesitation, and settled back into his chair, gaze still locked on Tyki.

There was a lack of malice in his brother’s eyes.

Tyki stared back.

“How are you feeling?” Sheril asked, titling his head. Sheril’s hair was messy. Odd. He was so used to it being perfectly kept--Sheril hated being seen disheveled. Violently so. 

Tyki kept staring.

“Tyki?” Sheril repeated, looking concerned. Real concern, not the fake act he usually had put on when he wanted something from Tyki, or was mocking him.

“....what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyki replied. “You’re acting all weird and creepy.”

Sheril blinked at him, before he smiled. “I’d say you’re feeling better then,” he said, clapping his hands together with a tilted head. "Oh! And I had Aurora clean up and fix your watch, the one you always have," he added, presenting it to him. It looked as nice as the day his mother had given it to him, three years ago.

Tyki glared at him. Oooookay. Something was very, very wrong here. Sheril just kept smiling back.

“Sheeeeeeril~” Road sang, coming into the  oom with a flourish. “I think you’re scaring him.” 

“What’s going on?” Tyki demanded.

“Just a friendly welcome!” came a third voice--jovial, light, belonging to a scruffing looking man Tyki had a vague recollection of. He came over often, to see Sheril. Maybe. Tyki had long since given up paying attention to the faces in the hallways.

“Don’t worry, the Millennium Earl’s here to help!” Road cheered, putting out her arms as to present the weird man to him.

“....the who?” Tyki asked, eyebrows raised. He glanced at Sheril--still smiling--and decided that yeah, he was dead. Definitely dead and in hell.

Road laughed, walking over and pinching his cheek. “Oh c’mon now! Don’t play stupid, you know who Adam and I are,” she said, pouting.

“No. No I really do not know, and I have no idea what is going on with all of you suddenly acting like you, y’know, like me? ” Tyki retorted, feeling like he was going insane. What was going on? He tugged at his hair, wondering what he had done to deserve such a hellish punishment. Damn you, God.

Road blinked, her eyes wide as she took a step back, looking him up and down. Her eyes scrutinized him, as though she was trying to see into his very soul to decipher what he meant. Then, her expression turned serious, dark--far too mature for someone her age.

“...is he just joking with us?” the ‘Earl’--Adam, was it?--stage whispered to Sheril, who’s smile had dropped for a confused frown. 

“No,” Road cut in. “No, he really doesn’t remember. In his dreams… I saw very little but... I… I think… with the 13th--I think he might not be able to access his Noah Memory. Not anymore.”

Tyki blinked, feeling like he was missing even more than before. “My what?”

         Turns out, he actually did like the Earl--and Road--a lot, once he got to know them, and their weird plans, and everything else. 

Sure, it had taken a bit for it to sink it--for him to really accept this was all real. But it felt real, and his skin sure was grey now, and his eyes sure were gold. 

Plus--ever since he became a Noah, things had been better. As annoying as Sheril was--he, and the others, all started treating him like an equal. He supposed maybe he ought to have a little more resentment, but… it was hard to stay mad at the Earl and Road!

Sheril, on the other hand…

Well. At least watching the world be destroyed would be fun enough to put up with him. And he got to relive the thrill of killing that stranger, again and again, all while balancing his normal life, his life with the miners--his humanity and his noah side, intertwined, light and dark.

He could get used to this life.

       “Let go of me,” Tyki ground out.

“No! You’re my cute little brother.”

“I think I miss it when you hated me.” Tyki struggled to get away, fighting against Sheril’s arms. He felt his world shift, and soon as he could blink he found himself on the ground. 

Sheril stared at him, his hands still positioned in a pantomime of his suffocating hug. 

Tyki stared back. He had… gone through Sheril’s arms? He had just thought about not wanting to be touched by Sheril and then…Tyki climbed to his feet, making a run for it--right through the wall.

Oh.

He could get so used to this.

[inkovert]

Find the Word Tag

ooo boy. find the word tags are such a beast to compile which is why I've been delaying responding to this one. Thank you @pertinax--loculos for the tag! My words were yell, hand, deal, wait, and lose (rearranged the order of some words because coincidentally some of the scenes I chose are connected :^)). I'm tagging @dallonwrites, @ladywithalamp, @lady-grace-pens, and @akindofmagictoo (pls do not feel any type of pressure). Your words are whisper, blood, speak, and tear.

yell

“So let me get this straight,” Mira said, hacking me in the chest with her weapon. “A guy you’ve never talked to before came into the Yard to buy something. You accused him of nearly running you over with his car. He didn’t respond well to that. And somehow he’s the asshole?”

I wiggled the joystick to dodge her attack. “It’s the way he responded. He was so…smug.” 

“If a random stranger came up and yelled at you —“

“I didn’t yell at him.”

“— for being a danger to society, you’re telling me you’d be all namaste?”

I pressed a random combination of buttons to attack. “You go off on people while driving all the time. You’re telling me you wouldn’t sieze the chance to tell them off to their face?”

Taking her eyes off the screen, she turned to stare at me. “I’m a semi-single brown bisexual female in a predominantly red state. There are actual maniacs out there. So, no. I prefer to yell from the safety of my car.”

hand

“Hey.” 

Spencer's eyes shifted from the page over to me.

I huffed a breath. “Look, I’m sorry for coming for you the other day, okay? It wasn’t cool.” 

Taking out an earbud, he squinted at me like I was an unexpected package that had arrived at his doorstep. “Do I know you?” 

I scoffed. The only shift in his expression was a minimal raise of his brow. Right. He hadn’t spent the past seventy-two hours cursing me and violently raging against my existence. Of course he didn’t remember me.

“The Yard. You came in and bought a Kooks and Rolling Stones CD? I rang you up at the register.” 

All I got was a stiff nod and a one-word response. “Cool.” He returned to his book. 

I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Don’t hurt yourself.”

deal

Catching my curious look, he said, “I also was, uh…well I wanted to check on you too, see if you were alright. You seemed kinda out of it earlier. Like you had something on your mind.”

I crossed my arms, retreating into myself. “I’m fine. Just had something annoying happen today. It’s not a big deal.”

Eli searched my face. “I know I’m not the first, or second, or even third person you’d go to if you needed to talk, but,” he shrugged, “I’m always here if you need someone to listen.”

I lifted my gaze to his, narrowing my eyes. What was it with people? First Noah, now him. 

“Can I ask you something?”

His brows shot up. “O-of course. Anything.”

“At the risk of sounding rude and completely self-absorbed, is there something about me that screams ‘come get to know me’ or are you just naturally this friendly?”

He looked taken aback. I realized the question was a little peculiar and slightly aggressive but I needed to know.

“Well, I like to think I’m generally a friendly guy. But speaking for myself personally, I just think it’s strange that I’ve known you all these years and I still don’t really…know you. Which, to be honest, shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. You’ve always been kind of untouchable.” A crease formed between my brows. “I mean you were rarely home and surrounded by people constantly. You were always kind to me, don’t get me wrong, but you were this elusive thing and that only made me want to know you more. So, I suppose, going off that, there’s probably always been something about you that draws in other people.” 

I clenched and unclenched my jaw, eyes downcast. “Well, I’m not that person anymore. There’s nothing left worth getting to know.”

“I’ve never thought that for a second.”

wait

I smiled. Lifting my gaze, I spotted Spencer walking toward us and immediately tensed. I pretended not to notice him, nodding along as Noah spoke. In my periphery, he drew closer, approaching us. A look of utter bewilderment was on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, staring at Noah and flicking his gaze to me. 

“Uh, having a conversation. It’s this thing normal people do when—“

“Wasn’t talking to you.” He didn’t spare me a glance, eyes still on Noah. 

My brows furrowed. “Wait…you two know each other?”

“That’s what I wanna know.”

Noah glanced uneasily between the two of us, clearly unsure who to address first. He turned to me. “Yeah, Spence and I have known each other for years.” Then, to Spencer, “and I met Cami in my coding class the other day. I take it…” he hesitated, “…you two also know each other?”

“In the loose definition of the word,” I mumbled. “So I’m assuming you’re also from Southview?”

He nodded. “Small world. How did you two meet?” 

I parted my lips to answer but Spencer cut me off. “She’s been harassing me because she thinks I tried to run her over with my car. It’s a whole…thing. I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“I’m not harassing you. I tried to apologize. You’re the one acting like a stubborn ass.”

“Again, wasn’t talking to you.” His attention remained on Noah.

“Okay…” Noah interjected, trying to clear the tense air. “Well, this is really convenient, us being all acquainted. How about we all go out for lunch and — ”

Spencer said “No” at the same time as I said “Absolutely not”. 

Raising my hands, I took a few steps back. “Look, as much as I’d love to entertain this bizarreness, I think I’d better go.”

“First thing you’ve said that I actually agree with,” Spencer replied.

“Bite me.” I sneered.

“You’ll be missed. Truly.” 

lose

“Yo.” Jeremy stepped into the room. “Where’s Mom?”

“Upstairs taking a call.” The sound of footsteps pressing into the carpet, and then an outstretched hand in my periphery. “Touch my food and you lose an arm.” 

He grunted. “You’re not even eating it.”

“Jer, there’s food in the kitchen literally ten steps away from you.”

“Yeah, but then I’ve gotta open cabinets and grab a plate and utensils then scoop it out the pot. That’s a lot of work.”

I twisted around, pouting at him mockingly. “Oh my god, you’re literally living the hardest life. Would you like me to play you a song on the world’s smallest violin?”

A laugh came from behind me. Jeremy threw a glare to his right. 

“What? That was funny,” Eli said.

Muttering under his breath, Jeremy left the room. 

[iwasntstable]

n.s. | never just friends

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT/NEVERJUSTFRIENDS [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | [one-shot] | blurb | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ fear-of-failure | nightmare | [never-just-friends]

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➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

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summary: your best friend had a bad day, you know how to help fix that. but are these hook-ups too much for your heart to bear when you desperately want more? content tags: best friend!noah, descriptive smut, he edges her like once, multiple orgasms, praise, body worship, aftercare word count: 5.6k. note: gonna write a sfw part 2 (that can be read as a standalone) where these two IDIOTS talk about their feelings :)

+[MSG : second part available now - stay 'til morning.]

+[WARNING : this work is 18+. minors do not interact. NSFW content below cut.]

Your friendship with Noah had to be one of the strongest and longest-standing friendships you ever had. It was a given that you’d be with each other all hours of every day, that he’d come with you wherever you were invited, and that you’d go with him on the wildest outings and music video shoots. Joined at the hip, you two were a package deal.

It got to the point where people stopped asking you if you were dating, or if something was going on between the two of you. The insistent ‘No!’’s every time just made people more confused when they’d then see you pressed against each other in the corner, or thinking you were being subtle teasing each other in public or sleeping wrapped up in each other in the same bed.

You had no idea what you would label your relationship with Noah. He was your best friend, but calling it friends with benefits didn’t feel right. It was something different when you’d get tangled on the sofa, it was different when he’d fuck you better than any of your past boyfriends had, it was different when you’d suck his dick so good his legs would shake and he’d see stars. It was special between you two, but it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t love but you’d stopped dating people just after the hookups started. It wasn’t love but he insisted he wasn’t ready for a relationship with how busy he was with work. It wasn’t love but he comes straight to your house every time he has a bad day.

And that’s where he is now, coming in through your door at just past 6pm after storming out of the studio in a huff. He takes off his shoes and leaves them next to yours by the door. Shedding his coat and bag, tossing them over the back of the sofa and finding you in the kitchen after just finishing unloading the dishwasher.

“What’s up?” you ask, instinctively knowing by his demeanour that something was wrong.

He comes straight to you, seeking comfort. Long arms wrap around your waist with his face nuzzled into your neck. You automatically loop your arms around his shoulders, running your fingers through his hair in an easy and natural motion, reflective of just how many times you’d done it before.

“Nothing’s going right,” he mumbled into your neck, words muffled, “Jolly’s pissing me off ‘nd I can’t get my vocal takes right. Support band pulled out of the fuckin’ tour,” he sighs out his frustrations, caressing your waist with his thumbs.

You can tell what he wants—what he needs—but you want to hear him say it.

“What can I do to help?”

“I’m just so worked up. Honestly, I just want to fuck you,” he sighs again, hands sliding under your shirt. “I need to get this energy out and I can’t stop thinking about making you come on my cock over and over again.” 

You feel your heart rate accelerate as he begins to brush his lips against the skin of your shoulder and neck. “Okay,” you whisper.

He pulls back, standing up to his full height and looking down into your eyes, “are you serious?”

You search his eyes for any signs he was joking and find none, you nod, “yeah, I’m serious.” You scratch your nails against the back of his neck, feeling his hair—which had grown longer over the past few months—between your fingers as you pull him in. “I wanna help you feel better.”

Noah can feel your breath against his lips as you speak and he can resist no longer, pulling your hips flush against his and crashing your lips together. He pushes you back against the wall and wastes no time taking your shirt off, your bra following immediately after, allowing him to grope at the flesh roughly while his lips work against yours.

You can't help but breathe out a sigh against him, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, slipping his tongue into your mouth and biting at your plush lower lip. You kiss him back with just as much energy, pulling him hard against your body by his shirt, lifting it and indicating to him you want it off. 

He breaks away for just long enough to rid himself of the garment and you instinctively move your hands to the next piece of clothing. Making light work of his belt and the buttons on his jeans, you slip your hand inside and slide your palm over his already sold erection.

It was his turn to moan into the kiss now as you pushed his jeans and boxers down, allowing just enough access to let you pump him with your hand. He, in turn, slips his hand past the waistband of your sweats and underwear, immediately running his long fingers through your folds. Noah breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as you both pant.

"So wet for me already," he teased, "have you been thinking about me?" Your breath catches in your throat as he begins to circle your clit precisely where you like it with two fingers. "Hm? You been thinking about how good I can make you come?"

You already feel the heat building between your legs, squeezing your thighs together and trapping his hand, trying desperately to grind down harder on his fingers.

"Does that feel good, baby?" he brushes your hair back behind your ear and cups the side of your face, tilting it up to meet his. You feel his hot breath against your lips when he speaks, "Are you gonna come for me already?"

You can only whine and nod, the hand that was gripping him slowed to broken movements. Noah pecks your lips lightly again, and again as he continues rubbing your clit.

Until he jerks his hand free from inside your pants, denying you the release you were so close to achieving.

"A-ah, fuck! Noah," you whine.

"Shh, it's okay baby," he pulls your face to his and kisses you deeply, "I want you to come on my tongue first." He picks you up with ease, and instinctively you wrap your legs around his hips as he carries you to your bedroom. He barely even needs to look where he’s going to navigate his way through your home, thinking you need to start charging him rent with how much time he spends here.

He nips and bites at your bare shoulder before lowering you to the bed, climbing over you and moulding your lips together once more. You can't help but run your hands through his soft hair, scratching at his scalp and down the back of his neck again.

You’ve been in this position with Noah more times than you can count. You told each other it didn’t have to happen again after the first time, hurriedly dressing and anxious to get back to life as usual. But then you couldn’t stop thinking about him, and you ended up back in his bed, then he ended up in yours. Unbeknownst to you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you either. You both should’ve known that the agreement wouldn’t last. He longed more than anything to feel you that close to him again. To feel your breath against his lips, to touch your skin and hold you, to make you feel good in ways he prayed nobody else could. He was determined to ruin other men for you, and if he’d ask, you’d tell him he was successful.

He told you he was too busy with work for a relationship, that’s why there were no new girlfriends introduced to the group, but that was a lie. He didn’t want to go out on dates and get to know any new people when the only person he wanted to devote himself to and dedicate all the love in his heart to, was you. But he couldn’t pursue it. You were his best friend. He couldn’t bear the risk of losing you, so he resigned himself to only having part of you. It was enough. It had to be enough, he had no other choice.

Noah groans into the kiss, his desire to have you reaching a critical peak. He peppers kisses across your cheek, then down to your jaw, your throat, all the way down your neck and across your collarbones, down your chest where he stops to tease your nipples with his teeth, kissing firmer, harder, until he’s sucking at the skin hard enough leave dark marks all over the tender flesh of your breasts. He peppers kisses down your stomach and across your hip bones, to where he pulls your sweats down the length of your legs, your underwear along with them.

“So beautiful,” he whispers so quietly into your skin. You barely heard it over the sound of your heavy breathing. He kisses your calves and across your knees, he kisses over your thighs and around, into the sensitive skin on the inside, up towards your burning core where you need him the most.

"Spread your legs for me. That's it, good girl," he praises, resting your thighs on his shoulders, a place they've been many times before as he kneels before you at the edge of the bed. Ready to worship you like an idol.

Teasingly, he kisses everywhere except where you need him most, and you're just about to complain when you feel his lips press to your clit. Your hands instinctively go to their place in his hair, running through the dark strands as he intensifies his motions. Working his lips harder against the little bundle of nerves before teasing you slightly with the tip of his tongue.

The sensation makes your hips jerk, but they can't move far. Noah has his arms wrapped around your thighs, palms spread over your hips, pinning them down and holding you so tightly you can feel the muscles of his biceps flex beneath you. You feel him smile, before sucking harshly and unexpectedly on your clit.

"Fuck, Noah!" you cry, your hands tightening in his hair, already highly worked up and close to the edge from earlier.

But he doesn't relent. He continues sucking and expertly running his tongue over the bundle of nerves, repeatedly, rhythmically, until your breathing is laboured and you feel a sweat break out across your skin.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck Noah, don't stop." You move one of your hands to where one of his rests on your hip, entwining your fingers together.

Desperately you try to rock your hips against his face to no success as the heat burns and builds rapidly, hotter and hotter. More intense with every passing second.

"Fuck, Noah! I'm getting clos- I- Ah, fuck!"

He doesn't relent even when your words become incoherent cries. You tighten your grip on his hand and he squeezes back, knowing you’re about to fall apart. Just the last few swipes of his tongue across your clit and that's it. You can't stop your hips from jolting and shaking when you come, the pleasure washing over your entire body like a cool breeze on a hot day. Noah holds you there as you ride it out, slowing his movements gradually until he pulls away, peppering wet kisses to your inner thighs.

He busies himself as you catch your breath, sucking deep red marks into your skin. Ones that'll turn an intense plum purple by morning, but that's alright. The only person who would ever see them is him. You feel your heart rate slow, and your breathing returns to a more even pace. Your hand still holds onto Noah's at your hip. 

Satisfied with the marks he’s made on your inner thighs, Noah trails more kisses higher up, back towards your core.

Just now you realise exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into tonight.

He wastes no time diving right back in, licking a stripe from your drenched entrance all the way up to your swollen and red clit. Automatically you flinch when his tongue makes contact again. Noah however, is not deterred. He goes right back in, lapping at your entrance and teasing you with the tip of his tongue.

You grip the sheets by your head this time, circling your hips against his face as he probes inside deeper and deeper. With your heart pounding again, high-pitched cries slip past your lips and your breath catches every time his nose brushes your sensitive clit.

He pulls back to leave open-mouthed kisses against your entrance, "I've missed this," the sounds he’s making obscene, "missed the way you taste." He drags you down closer towards him, gripping one of your thighs and pushing your legs wider to give himself more space. 

"Oh fuck! Noah!" you cry when you feel his tongue enter you, the hot muscle teasing your walls in ways only he knows. You grip the sheets tighter, pulling on them and grinding your hips down, trying so desperately to make his tongue reach deeper.

Noah’s breath is hot between your legs, and a sweat breaks out over your skin once again. You pant desperately as he builds your second climax, tongue rhythmically stroking your walls, and his nose—the perfect shape—bumping and rubbing against your clit. His hand holds onto your thigh in a grip you were sure would bruise, and you could hear him moaning against you as he worked. 

He was so hard but he resolved to get you off at least once more before making you fall apart with him inside. 

“Oh, Noah… Fuck, don’t stop. Please I’m so close again, I’m so-” You gasp and can’t speak anymore, the heat becoming too intense. You feel your muscles tensing again, twitching uncontrollably against Noah’s face as your climax takes over your body. He loves hearing you cry out his name while you’re at the mercy of his control.

“Come for me,” he moves so fast you barely feel the absence of him against your body.

Everything tightens and tightens, reaching an apex until there’s nowhere left to go, and then you finally snap. You cry out his name as your orgasm wracks your body, thighs trembling, Noah holding you through it. His hand, still holding yours tightly.

He helps you ride out your orgasm again, tongue easing in and out, lapping up your arousal unabashedly while you catch your breath a second time. Noah eases your thigh down, smoothing his inked hand up and down the soft skin, rising from his place on the floor to join you on the bed, covering your hips in sweet, affectionate kisses.

“Good girl,” he praises between pecks, “you did so well for me. So good. My beautiful girl.” He kisses his way up your body until he reaches your lips, pecking them gently before deepening the kiss and allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He kisses down your jaw again to your neck, biting and sucking marks that match those on your breasts and thighs. Knowing he wasn’t yet done.

You card your hand through his hair, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. His lips on you, feeling the solid muscle of his bicep flex under your hand and his soft hair between your fingers. You want to feel this all the time, you think. You want to kiss him every day and have the privilege of touching him like this whenever you want.

But that's not what best friends do.

This isn't what best friends do.

Unwillingly, you think of him doing this with someone else, and your heart seizes at the intensely bitter envy you feel. Someone else running their hands across his skin like you do, someone else being marked by him, someone else coming undone under his touch, someone else folding at the feel of his lips.

You can't bear it.

But then, really, you were never just friends.

"Hey," he says softly, leaning over you, "what're you thinking about?"

You shake your head as though to shake away the picture of him with someone else, "nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He chuckles and kisses your chest, "you can't be completely brainless already, I haven't even fucked you yet."

"Why don't you fix that?" smirking and raising your eyebrows teasingly. A grin spreads across his face, his bad day at the studio already long forgotten.

Noah kneels up in front of you and wraps your legs around his hips, his length resting against your abdomen. You can see just how far inside you he'll reach like this, and the thought makes you clench in anticipation. He leans down and captures your lips again, taking his length in hand and guiding himself through your slick folds, you gasp into his mouth every time the head of his cock bumps your now oversensitive clit.

He poises his head at your entrance and pushes in slowly, teasingly, inch by inch until he bottoms out and holds his hips still, pressed against yours.

"Fuck," he groans, his head tipped low, face shrouded by his hair. You notice his breathing has become laboured already. "You always feel so fucking good around me," he leans on one hand by your head, holding your hip with the other and pulls out achingly slow. Pushing back in, and pulling out again. You can feel every ridge and vein against your walls, your mouth falling open in a silent cry, gripping onto his forearm to ground yourself. Despite the numerous times you two have connected, you feel like you’ll never get used to the stretch as he enters you. Noah pulls out once more, almost all the way, before thrusting back in sharply, with enough force that the sound of his skin connecting with yours resounds throughout the room with a SMACK.

"Ah! Fuck!"

He sets a steady pace, leaning back on his knees and holding you by the hips with both hands. He can’t help but stare at where your bodies connect, watching shamelessly as he penetrates you over and over. Groaning out a string of curses and ‘oh God’’s, and feeling a surge of pride that goes straight to his cock. Already so close from entering you alone, he knows he needs to slow down or he won’t last.

Noah’s eyes trail up your body, becoming fixated on the way your breasts move with his rhythm, realising now just how many marks he’s made across your body. He hopes you don’t mind. He loves to see you covered in the evidence of him, be it love bites left across your skin, or your make-up ruined and running down your face from him fucking your throat. You’ve never complained, never stopped him, but he can’t help but wonder.

“Oh my God, Noah…” you breathe, gasping for another breath sharply and gripping your sheets in your hands.

His eyes flit to your face, twisted in pleasure with your eyes squeezed closed. But Noah is selfish, he knows it. He wants your eyes on him. 

He bows his head and leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses in the valley between your breasts, pushing your thighs further apart as he bends to reach deeper inside, the steady rhythm of his hips never faltering. His hands trail up your sides, pausing to caress the plump flesh of your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples and smiling to himself when you arch into his touch with an unabashed moan. Trailing his kisses higher he meets your lips again, briefly, before leaning down on his forearms over you. Your face is so close he can feel your breath fanning across his as you pant beneath him.

He calls your name, “open your eyes, baby.” You obey instinctively. Trying to smile—as best you can with his dick pumping into you—when you meet his eyes. You tip your chin up towards his face and he reciprocates instantly, crashing your lips together in a series of passionate kisses. You lock eyes again when he pulls away, knowing he likes it when you look at him.

“Good girl. So good for me.”

You loop your arms around his neck, hands gravitating back to his hair. He leans his forehead against yours, eye contact maintained when he pulls out of you slowly, enjoying the tight squeeze of your walls as he goes. He wants to stay here forever, tangled up in you. Noah thrusts back in, fast and harsh, enjoying the way your eyes widen when he hits you deep. He does it over, and over. Your legs jolting and tingling every time the head of his cock impacts your cervix.

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open, desperately wanting to squeeze them closed and tip your head back, to cry out his name and arch back into the bed. But the desire to be with him runs deeper. Your mouths are barely an inch apart as your breath falls against each other. His eyes—the deepest most beautiful brown—concentrated on yours, like he’s seeing the very essence of you. With the heat between your legs intensifying and you writhing back against his hips, you feel a deep pang in your chest, like something was squeezing your heart tightly in its grip. 

Noah’s chain sways above you, tapping against the skin of your chest with every stroke of his hips. Rhythmically bumping above your heart. It’s him. Of course, it’s him. The thing that holds your heart in a vice-like grip. It’s always been him.

Needing him closer still, you pull on his hair, and dig your nails into the skin of his shoulders, arching your back into him to chase the high. He bumps his nose against yours, fingers tenderly brushing your hair. “You close again?” his voice low.

You nod quickly, foreheads still pressed together, fingers grasping for any purchase they can find against his body, “kiss me,” you whisper. 

And there’s no way he can resist when he sees the pleading look in your eyes. He obliges and immediately closes the gap to crash his lips to yours, tongue automatically exploring your mouth, pressing against your own, teeth nipping at your lips. Your soft cries encourage him further.

“Noah,” you whine desperately into his mouth.

“I know, baby. I can feel you,” Noah groans, “be a good girl and come again for me.”

He grunts as he maintains his pace, the building ache in his thighs and lower back burning tighter than any leg training day in the gym, but he does not stop. Sweat drips from his hair onto yours, droplets rolling down his back, and crawling down his silver chain to drip onto your chest. The coil tightens and tightens inside you, the pleasure building higher and higher as your cries grow louder and louder.

“Come for me, I wanna feel you come.”

Until a jolt shoots through you, and your release washes over you with a cry of his name. Back arching drastically up into his body, your hips rolling and spasming against his.

Noah slips his hands underneath your arched back, holding you to his chest and flips the two of you over. He rests upright, his back against the headboard, gripping your hips and bouncing you ferociously on his cock, giving you no time to come down from your post-orgasm high.

"N-Noah! Ah!" you don't know where to put your hands as he hammers into you; holding your breasts as they bounce with the force of his thrusts, gripping his arms, holding onto his broad, stable shoulders, opting finally to lean backwards and grasp onto his thighs.

"That's it, baby," he grunts, "come for me again, I know you can. Come on beautiful."

You feel your climax building rapidly, following on from the last one like rocks tumbling down a hill in a landslide with nothing to stop them from crashing into the ground. The friction of your clit rubbing against his hips is enough to push you over that edge, with your voice choked back in your throat, your legs shake as this orgasm—your fourth—wracks through your entire body.

"Good girl," Noah's soothing voice a sharp contrast to the relentless nature of his fucking. "Good girl, that's it. So good for me. Feel so good…"

You lean forward and rest your hands against his chest, coming down from the intensity of your double high.

"C'mere," he pulls you into him, looping your arms around his neck and holding you by the waist.

You’re unable to stop yourself from crying out into his shoulder when he holds you up by the strength of his arms and thrusts up into you from below, unrelenting as he chases his own high. "Oh my God, Noah!"

"'m so close baby," his voice muffled into your neck, "I'm so fucking close, just- fuck," he whines and pants into your skin, his hips snapping up relentlessly as though he'd never run out of energy.

The burn between your legs never felt so good. You reach a hand down to circle your clit, knowing you can push yourself over the edge again and wanting to come with him. Just one more time.

Your grip tightens on the back of his neck, your chests pressed together and sticky with sweat. Feeling your peak, your walls begin to uncontrollably clench around him. Noah curses under his breath and grips your waist tighter, hips still snapping up into yours and never once faltering.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you come again. Feeling your walls spasming around his length one more time all the stimulation he needed to push him over the edge. Noah slams you down against his hips once, then again, then pinning you down against him a final time, holding you tight as your hips grind back and forth against his.

With his head thrown back, it's your turn now to mark his neck with deep, dark bruises as he groans while he finishes inside you. You feel him twitching deep, his thighs tensing beneath your own, and his abdomen flexing against yours as he comes. Both of your chests heaving, you continue to rock back and forth against him, helping you both to ride out your highs.

Noah cups the back of your head and brings your lips to his once more, kissing you with a slow intensity. One that said 'Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for looking after me.' You kiss him back with just as much fervour, not ever wanting to separate.

You love him. 

You know deep down you've always loved him but now you feel it with such an intensity that you might just tell him. But you can't. You can't ruin the precious friendship you already have so instead, you kiss him.

You try to show him how much you love him through the kiss in the hopes that he'll realise it too and tell you he loves you back. He wraps his arms around you, gently caressing the soft expanse of your back and pulling you close as your hips maintain their rhythm against his. You can feel he’s still hard inside you.

Noah takes your hips in both of his hands and encourages you to move, grinding up into you. He kisses you deeply, sucking and biting on your lower lip until it’s red and swollen and he’s moaning deeply, breathing heavily, against your lips.

For the sixth time since he walked in through your door tonight, you feel the heat building between your thighs. This time it spreads out gradually, throughout your entire body, spreading out from your core until you feel it tingling in the extremities of your fingers and toes, seeping throughout your chest where your heart hammers inside your ribcage like it’s trying to break through to reach his, and when you come, it feels like falling softly onto a plush, down bed.

Noah buries his face into your neck and thrusts up into you, with stuttering hips and hands holding you firmly, tipping over the edge easily and coming with you for a second time. Finally relaxing all at once after the rush passes.

He kisses your shoulder as you hold his head tight to you, tangling your fingers in his hair which is now soaked through with sweat, "spend the night?" you whisper.

He nods, hugging your waist tightly, arms wrapped entirely around you, holding you as close as he possibly can before you merge into one person. 

Your breathing slows, and you feel a chill run down your spine as the sweat evaporates from your hot skin, allowing the cool air of the night to tickle you. You stay there though, in his arms with your eyes closed, running your fingers through his hair and dreading the moment you have to leave the comfort of his embrace.

Noah’s chest heaves against yours, the dopamine surge making him feel lightheaded. He’s glad you asked him to stay the night. He has before, many times, but always sneaks out of your bed before you wake up in the morning. He hates it, he doesn’t want to do it, but the guilt that comes from denying the fact that he loves you when he wakes up tangled in your embrace and yearning to press kisses all over your face eats him alive. He’s finding it harder and harder every time though. Scared these indulgences may have to stop altogether if his soul gets any weaker. Trying to convince himself again that having just a small part of you was enough. It’s enough.

“Noah,” your voice comes hoarse and quiet against the skin of his shoulder, “can we move? This feels nice, but it’s too much,” the overstimulation from being pressed against him crossing the line into uncomfortable territory.

He nods again, trailing his lips across your skin much like he did in the kitchen earlier. Kissing your collarbones he rolls you both over, lowering you gently into the sheets, continuing to press his lips across your skin as he pulls his length from you slowly. Your nails dig into his arms with a groan at the loss of contact, with him sighing deeply.

Through his kisses he murmurs, “I’ll be. Right. Back,” crawling off the bed and taking a moment to stretch out his long limbs, before heading into your bathroom. You hear the tap run briefly, and then he returns with a towel, damp on one side. He kneels back over you, spreading your clammy legs with soothing hands, cleaning the mess from between your thighs with the damp side, then drying the area with the other. He bundles it up and throws it into your laundry basket after wiping his hands, pumping his fists in the air when it lands perfectly in the centre of the basket. 

You chuckle lightly, watching as Noah stretches out on his stomach beside you, laying his head on his arms, watching you breathe through heavy eyes. You roll over onto your side to face him directly, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead and caressing his face. He closes his eyes to relish in the touch. It’s moments like these that blur the line between friend and lover for you both, even more so than the sex.

“You feel better?” you ask quietly, trailing your fingers through his hair and down the side of his face again, taking note of how much more visible his freckles had become from the recent sun exposure.

He hummed and nodded, enjoying your affections.

“Good, I’m glad.”

Noah cracks his eyes open, feeling the insatiable urge to be closer to you. The lines can be blurred just for tonight. He rolls over onto his back, shuffling higher on the bed and pulling the sheet out from underneath him. He slides down beneath it, holding it up and patting the bed beside him, “c’mere.”

Eagerly, you crawl closer to him, curling into his side as he pulls you closer, holding you with an arm around your waist. You rest your head against his chest, trailing your fingers up his abdomen to his chest and back down, following the linework of his tattoos.

“Thank you,” he whispers, sighing and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “are you okay? Wasn’t too much?”

“Hmm, no. No, it was good,” the fatigue catching up to you quickly now that you were relaxed against him.

“I know it was a lot, and you never complain but I want to make sure you really are okay,” his hand trails up and down your spine.

“I’m okay Noah, really,” you gaze up at him from where you lay, his expression saying something you can’t quite read. “I don’t complain because I like it. I like everything you do. I’d tell you if I didn’t, even if it’s something small.”

He smiles down at you, pulling you close and kissing your hair again. “Okay, I’m glad.” You sigh again, struggling to keep your heavy eyes open. “Sleep. I’ll stay right here,” he whispers into your hair.

You feel that tug on your heart again, knowing he’ll be gone by morning like he usually is, but grateful to have him in your arms tonight. You snuggle closer, trying your best to savour the moment. To file it away in your mind with all the others. It’s all you have. It’s all you’ll ever have of him and that has to be enough. To be the best friend he can turn to for whatever he needs, whenever he needs it. Even if you know deep down, you were never just friends.

[soul-controller]

Becoming His Prince Charming

“Look at that adorable face, he’s trying so hard to understand…” Drew thought, his face turning into a slight grin upon his most recent revelation. When Drew first suggested a trip to Disneyland, Michael jumped at the idea to go to the “Happiest Place on Earth” with his boyfriend of three years. However, Michael was completely unaware of the fact that the Drew he was talking to wasn’t his real boyfriend. 

After a few days of exploring the park, the faux Drew finally revealed the fact that Michael’s real boyfriend wasn’t in control of his body anymore. Understandably, Michael’s face contorted and formed a look of confusion as he asked what Drew was speaking about. Both wanting to toy with his new beau and be open and honest, the imposter soon began to detail what had happened in the last month.

Two weeks prior, Michael had been having an interesting couple days at work. Despite only starting about two months ago, there was a sudden whirlwind of drama at his job that was only increasing in intensity every week. Although he was originally flattered by the fact that someone at his workplace had a crush on him, those feelings soon turned sour the longer he was at his job. Originally, there was just office gossip about Noah, the rail-thin blonde nerd that worked in IT. However, those deep puppy dog eyes that his coworker used to give him began to cause intense worry for Michael. He’d come back to his desk after the weekend and find mysterious gift-wrapped packages waiting for him. By the third humongous basket, it was clear that Noah was completely unaware of the fact of Michael’s boyfriend. Both wanting the shifty eyed looks that his other coworkers were giving him to stop and prevent Noah from further embarrassing himself, Michael asked to speak to the dorky man in private to explain the situation. Upon telling him that he was flattered but in a relationship, Michael grew incredibly nervous as the nerd’s face began to grow redder and redder by the second. “You may have him now, but I’ll be with you one day…” Noah ominously said before stomping off in a fit of rage. 

Childishly, Michael had thought that this was the end of the situation, however, this only caused Noah to lash out more. Salacious rumors about Michael and his boyfriend soon began to spread around the water cooler, threatening to harm his reputation in the company. To rant about his annoyance, Michael informed his boyfriend about the creepy co-worker and the trouble he’s been facing at work. While Drew had a calm exterior while talking to his partner, his blood was boiling underneath. He was pissed that his boyfriend had to deal with that creep and that the asshole was attempting to jeopardize his position at the company. Although Michael was ranting in a way of processing and trying to move on from the event, Drew was beginning to figure out a way to remedy this situation and protect his boyfriend.

It didn’t take much searching before Drew was able to find Noah’s social media profiles late that night. With his boyfriend silently sleeping to his side, Drew struck up a conversation with the creep and demanded to meet with him. To his surprise, the nerd immediately agreed and told him where to meet the next day. Growing up, Drew was raised to face his problems head-on, so the thought of speaking directly to the man and telling him to leave his boyfriend alone seemed like the best idea to fix the drama. Unfortunately for Drew, Noah had some more nefarious plans in mind for their meeting.

The next day, Drew headed out to meet with the strange co-worker, although he kept this meeting a secret from his boyfriend. Walking out, he informed Michael that he was going out for a late-night workout at the local gym and quickly headed out. Drew jumped into his car and immediately drove to the designated meeting place. 

Upon his arrival, Drew stepped out of the car and took note of the strange surroundings. Eerily, almost every house on the block was abandoned and surrounded in the pitch black of night due to the lack of any working streetlights. The only source of light came from the house that he was currently parked in front of, with a bright lamp in the window inviting him into the house for the confrontation he demanded. 

Trying not to seem scared, Drew paced towards the front door. However, upon attempting to knock on the door, he was denied the opportunity as a burst of wind forced open the door. Moving into the house, he stared into the living room and caught sight of the blonde-haired frail man waiting for him on the couch.

“Well, hello there” the man said, his thin and frail voice perfectly working with his small frame. Despite the creepiness of the scene, Drew was not fazed by the situation at all. “Hello to you too, you fucking creep” he responded, crossing his arms to try and seem strong on behalf of his boyfriend. However, the man was not intimidated in the slightest, instead chuckling to Drew’s confusion. “Coming in strong huh? It’s no real use though, you’re in my home now. I have the advantage…” the man said with a smile, which caused Drew to ball his hands into fists at the man’s cockiness. “This may be your home, but I have no problem beating your ass in it…” Drew said as he began to move towards the dweeb and teach him a lesson. However, Drew looked down in shock as he found his feet firmly remaining in place despite every attempt to move. Grabbing his legs and attempting to pull them up and away from whatever sticky substance he must have stepped into, Noah chuckled with each failed attempt to grow closer to him.

“Stuck huh? I can’t say I didn’t warn you.. I do have the home field advantage here Drew” Noah responded, which caused Drew to finally stop his struggles for the time being and look up. “What do you mean asshole?” Drew responded, now growing increasingly filled with rage. “This house is enchanted to prevent anyone from hurting me. In fact, I can control everything that happens here today” Noah matter-of-factly stated, causing Drew to look at him in confusion. “That’s the power of magic, dumb ass” Noah continued, chuckling as Drew’s fists clenched once more after hearing his cursing. “As soon as you passed through the threshold of the doorway, you became completely under my control. You’re quite literally my bitch now Drew…”

“Magic isn’t real, that’s just some bullshit used for Disney films and fairytales…” Drew responded, which made Noah jump up to his feet. “Oh really, if magic isn’t real… how can I do this?” Noah said as a devilish smirk spread across his face. As Drew watched the man, his eyes grew wide as the dweeb’s body changed before his eyes. At first, the changes started small, with the nerd gaining several inches of height to now stare eye-level with Drew. As soon as this occurred, Drew gasped in shock as the man’s skin began to quickly change. The pasty pale complexion began to tan before his eyes, growing darker and darker until the man’s skin matched the light brown hue of Drew’s own complexion. 

Upon this change finishing up, the nerd’s body soon began to slightly grow muscular as it gained the same toned muscle that Drew had on his body. He wasn’t incredibly buff, but as the slight arch of a bicep emerged on Noah’s body, Drew understood what was going on. Noah was turning into him!

Underneath the layers of Noah’s clothing, his body was becoming the spitting image of Drew’s. His feet grew longer as he gained Drew’s size 13 feet, with his leg soon being adorned with the same birthmark that Drew had on his own leg. Moving up on his body, his crotch soon underwent its own changes, which was made clear to Drew as he watched the outline of a thicker and firmer dick begin to press against the confines of Noah’s pair of sweatpants.

His torso finished gaining the exact muscle on Drew’s body, which was then giving the cherry on top with the emergence of Drew’s modest body hair poking through the collar of Noah’s shirt. The final section of the unbelievable transformation progressed as Noah’s entire head began to reshape into the spitting image of Drew’s. As Drew’s features appeared on Noah’s face, the finishing touches of hair reinforced the end of the transformation. While Noah’s blond hair grew darker and drew into his scalp, his previously shaven face began to grow dotted with the appearance of Drew’s trimmed stubble.

With this completed, Drew was now completely staring at the spitting image of his body. Looking up towards Drew, the good-intentioned boyfriend was alarmed when a scowl appeared upon his duplicate’s face. “Well, do you believe me now?” Noah said, now with Drew’s deeper velvety voice coming out of his mouth. Attempting to flee, Drew thrashed in place, hoping to eventually get himself freed and away from this madman. However, his desperate attempts were of no use and only caused his doppelganger to laugh louder. “Why are you doing this?” Drew responded, trying to understand how and why this is happening to him.

“Well, I want to be with your boyfriend. I figured that he would tell you about me, and with the level of machismo I had heard Michael describe you as having, it wasn’t shocking that you reached out to most likely beat my ass. However, it’s unfortunate for you that my family has had a long history with the dark arts. I hadn’t really used it much, but I figured now was as good of an opportunity as ever to put that innate ability of mine to use.” Noah said, pacing around the stationary Drew whose face varied in different expressions throughout Noah’s detailing. “Well, what are you going to do now then?” Drew said, unsure what the warlock’s plan apparently was. “I’m going to become you Drew. I told you I want to be with your boyfriend, so if I can’t be with him as Noah, I might as well be with him as you…” Noah stated, causing Drew to gain a look of shock as he understood the threat of being completely replaced. 

“So, what about me then? I’m not going to let you get away with this! I’ll find a way to get revenge and stop you!” Drew sneered, instantly going into defense mode. 

“Oh I’m not worried, I have plans to make sure you’ll never get the chance…” Noah said, which caused Drew to cower in fear, his attempt at standing strong being completely shattered. 

Before Drew could respond, the man began to grow increasingly numb as his entire body lost the ability to move. Looking down, Drew watched in fear as he watched himself growing smaller and smaller, with his eyes having to constantly dart upwards towards his doppelganger. Looking down at his body, he could only stare in disbelief as his skin was growing several shades lighter and gaining a complexion that was even lighter than Noah’s previous complexion. Unable to move still, he could only cry out in fear as he begged for his humanity back. To further humiliate the man, Noah moved towards him and placed his hand on the top of Drew’s head, pushing down to help accelerate the changes. Now only a few inches off the ground, Drew took what would be his last human breath as he lost all of his humanity and slumped onto the floor. Noah moved over to him, looking down at the piece of fabric he had now become. To Drew’s surprise, his body shivered in pleasure as his former hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to him. “Thank you Drew, I was in desperate need of a new jockstrap anyway.” Noah chuckled as he dropped his shorts and underwear. Upon this revelation, Drew grew incredibly afraid and grossed out about the concept of being wrapped around his own crotch and ass. However, every possible attempt to scream for help and freedom was completely muted and his pleas were unable to be heard by anyone. 

Sticking his legs through the new jockstrap, Noah pulled Drew up and allowed him to settle over his crotch and ass. Despite Drew’s anger and disgust, he couldn’t help but moan in pure ecstasy as he felt the innate warmness of a human body wrapped around him like a passionate hug. This hug soon grew more and more erotic as Drew could feel his own hardening manhood now beginning to press against his new fabric body. 

Despite the fact that Noah just put the rest of his clothes on and left the house, Drew was constantly stuck in an eternal moan as every possible movement sent shivers through every fiber of his being. As Noah got into Drew’s car and began to drive towards his and Michael’s apartment, Drew was losing more and more of his desires to gain his humanity back with each passing pothole and crack in the road sending earth-shattering shivers through him. 

As Noah exited the car and walked into his new apartment, a wide grin formed on his face as he heard the rumblings of someone else in the apartment. “Honey, I’m home” Noah said as he took off his shoes and began to pace into the bedroom. Before Michael could look up from his computer, Noah had brought him in for a passionate kiss that soon turned into something more. Drew was soon ripped off his old body and thrown on the floor near the corner of the room as he could hear the moans of his boyfriend and his old body showcasing a night of intense pleasure for the couple. 

Falling back into bed after their passionate love-making, Michael grew surprised by the new attentiveness that his boyfriend was focusing on him. He was staring at him with an intense set of puppy dog eyes that made his heart flutter and his dick throb. As they laid back engaging in small talk, Michael’s eyes widened upon the sudden suggestion from Noah to go on vacation. He immediately said yes upon his boyfriend’s suggestion of visiting Disneyland. Michael always had a soft spot for the films that defined his childhood, so the opportunity to travel the two hours to visit the theme park with his boyfriend seemed like a dream. It was no surprise then that the couple agreed to the idea and impulsively bought a three-day vacation at the park.

Two weeks later, Noah and Michael were in Disneyland, having the time of their lives as they rode every ride and fully immersed themselves into the magical world of Disney. To Noah’s amusement, Michael often brought up the concept of his job while they waited in the various lines. Throughout the several hours of rides, Noah was kept up to date about any workplace drama, Michael’s successful presentation, and the sudden disappearance of the weird workplace creep that had constantly bothered Michael. 

It was at this point that the fairytale life that Noah was imagining for him and Michael was starting to crack. Hearing Michael hurl so many insults about him left Noah feeling incredibly pissed off and eager to punish “his” boyfriend. Asking to take a break, Noah led Michael to a nice patch of grass in the park where they sat down. Upon looking into Michael’s eyes, Noah revealed his bombshell. “I’m not Drew, Michael…” 

Upon this revelation, Michael became confused with his boyfriend’s announcement, which caused him to ask for clarification. “I’m not Drew” his boyfriend calmly stated once more, which caused Michael to inquire for further details. It was at this point where “Drew'' began to reveal all of the several events that had transpired over the past couple weeks. Noah revealed every possible tidbit, detailing how he transformed into Drew and turned the real Drew into the jockstrap that was currently wrapped around his body. 

With this revelation mixed with the reminder of Noah going missing, Michael cried out in shock as he realized that this was truly real. Despite his pleas to turn his boyfriend back and give him back his life, Noah refused, which only angered Michael further to the point where he threatened to leave. However, Michael began to stop himself from running away upon Noah’s threat. “I mean, if you don’t want to be with me, I suppose I have no reason to stick around. I could also always destroy this precious jockstrap or donate it somewhere too…” Noah stated, with that continued smirk widening upon Michael’s immediate return to him. 

Demanding the real Drew back, Michael asks what it would take for him to get his real boyfriend back to his humanity. Noah, of course, stated that he enjoyed Drew’s body too much to give it up, which caused Michael to ask for any form of humanity if he agreed to remain in the relationship and be with “Drew”. After thinking it over for a bit, Noah agreed to these terms, stating that if Michael plays his cards right, he might be able to get his real boyfriend back. “Who knows, it could be fun to turn him back into a human and give us an option for a three-way…” Noah slyly said with a chuckle. 

With the terms of the deal set, Noah gave Michael a peck on the cheek, which caused him to frown in response. Even though Michael would forever hate Noah for what he did, he couldn’t deny the fact that he had a way of influencing him with the way he used those stolen lips of his. If he had to play along and be the ideal boyfriend to get his boyfriend back, Michael was determined to do it. Turning towards “Drew”, Michael pulled his boyfriend in for a long passionate kiss and hoped that one day soon, he’d be reunited with the real Drew…

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[nocofamilyau]

finally (8/8) just letting y'all know I raked in tons of asks so asks are gonna be shut off for now, really sorry to those who are still waiting on getting a response post, I will answer them, its just writing out scenes/dialogue takes me a bit more time since writing isn't really my strongpoint at the moment (weirdly enough, I think in a way this au is helping me with that)

[wexhappyxfew]

Top 5 Stranger Things moments and characters ❤️

THANN YOU SM FRANCY!!!! i am *beyond* excited for friday; between stranger things and kenobi i’m more overwhelmed for those two combined than my exam tmr LMFAO 💀

stranger things moments

-> ok these genuinely are a mix of sad and happy but they’re moments that really remind me of the beauty of the show :,) [in no specific order]

1. Hopper’s Letter. LEGIT WILL ALWAYS SOB! even three years later i still cry over that letter. i’ve related to the letter even more in recent years so by far, that scene will always get me.

2. Finding Will’s ‘Fake’ Body. Heroes by Peter Gabriel in the background, the emotion from all the young actors, just absolutely everything completely tore me up when i first watched and it still remains so poignant for me.

3. Steve vs Billy. steve became one of my absolute favs throughout season 2 and the constant gag of steve getting beat up and losing fights has been i gotta say, a favorite thing of mine, and the way he just walks out when billy is there SENDS ME FOR A LOOP. idk why it’s just i love it sm; the kids in the car with him after just make me cackle 💀 any steve scene really is the best

4. Scoop’s Troop Caught in Elevator. I feel this needs no explanation; the group was *hilarious* and with the addition of Erica and Robin made it EVEN FUNNIER to watch and overall whatever banter and chaos they had was always my favorite.

5. That One Scene where Joyce, Hopper and Mike Recall Memories with Will + Mike talking about Will being his best friend (ie EMOTIONAL). idk what it was about that scene but i felt SO MANY EMOTIONS. between knowing how insane noah’s acting was to all the recollections of memories to try and help will remember, it just will always stand out to me as to how important it was. (i could go on truly!)

stranger things characters [in no particular order tbh lol!]

1. will byers. he was a fav since day one bc i’m someone who goes for the underdogs or the softer characters (that’s just who i am naturally lol) and plus his whole connection to the upside down has ALWAYS intrigued me and i hope they dig more into it

2. STEVE HARRINGTON. i was not a fan in season 1 but season 2 really brought forth my love for steve and i will continue to love his character until the series is over. he’s just !!!!!! there’s no words, he’s just the best :)

3. dustin henderson. the star wars references. the curiousity voyage. the random knowledge. the excitement and compassion. what’s not to love. he’s been a fav since day 1 too and his friendship with steve is one of my favorite things ever so….package deal!

4. eleven. it goes without saying, she’s a queen and she pops off and millie’s acting has always been something i’ve loved with how she portrays the character. she’s also incredibly mysterious even if sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. as if knowing she knows things the viewers don’t; it makes me so intrigued!

5. joyce byers/hopper. they’re a comedy duo together but i also LOVE them together and so i’m at a tie with them. winona’s acting as joyce is INSANE, it reminds me of my own mother and the way david portrays hopper makes him so lovable bc of what he does to protect the people he cares for. i truly couldn’t pick between the two and so i tied them :)

THANK YOU AGAIN FRANCY! IM SO HYPE FOR FRIDAY!!!

[marvelousell]

The Agreement (Part 1.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 2k

A/N: ahhhh so this is my first series that I’m posting here! I’ve went for the fwb!au but I will do a mob one soon too. It will be full of angst, smut, friendship, love, heartbreak, absolutely everything. I hope that you all will like it, and I would appreciate it if you comment, reblog or send a feedback!🥰

Also my tag list is open for the series!

Warnings: mentions of smut, swearing

It was a Friday night and that meant party all night.

Well not for you.

You weren’t a party girl. Sure you went here and there on some frat parties with your friends, but every Friday? Hell no.

The Friday nights were reserved for a book and a cup of tea.

You were a shy one, you kept your circle small. Tom, Harry, Anna and Amelia.

You were a big bookworm, and hopeless romantic. A great duo for sure.

Sometimes you felt like an ugly duckling. Amelia and Anna were gorgeous and appealing brunettes, just like other college girls, but with a great personality. They were a whole package if you asked me.

You would say that you were an average looking girl. Nothing to special.

You just wanted a guy that would love you for who you are on the inside, not outside.

Too much books, I know.

“Maybe it’s time to head to bed.” You said to yourself, after you caught yourself overthinking, again.

-

“Jesus Christ.” You sighed, the doorbell waking you up.

It was 20 minutes past midnight, and you were now worried who is at the door at this time.

“Again?” You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I really needed a break.” Tom spoke, running his palm through his messy hair and massaging his scalp.

You motioned him to the living room, styling your hair that was sticking out everywhere, as much as possible.

“Great, I look like a zombie.” You murmured to yourself as you went to the couch where Tom was seated.

“Want anything to drink or something else?”

“Yeah…something strong?” He said, pushing his back flat on the couch.

“You know that I only have wine here.”

“It will do the job.”

-

“So..will you tell me what is tonight’s reason for your visit?” Your figure sat next to Tom’s, enjoying a late glass of wine as well.

“She saw me with Stassie today, so she went bonkers.”

Ah. Typical Tom.

Well let’s go back to the start shall we?

If you were honest, there was a lot, but still nothing to tell that wasn’t familiar to everyone.

Tom. Your typical frat boy.

Hot guy, astonishing body, soft curly brown hair followed with the dark brown eyes that had every girl drooling. His charming smile that he flashed to every single girl, covered up his conceited behaviour. Although he was a very charismatic person, he was a bit big-headed.

Did I say a bit? I meant a lot.

Parties were his scene. Tom loved the attention he got from the people almost immediately when he would enter the party place. Girls were basically throwing themselves on him, waiting for him to acknowledge them.

Tom was aware of the effect he had on the ladies, and he sure took advantage of that.

Every weekend there was a new one in his sheets.

He didn’t do feelings, some girls knew, some didn’t. So the morning after he would throw them out of his room half naked, all shattered and with the disgusting feeling that they were used.

He had a reputation, after all he was the most wanted boy out here, everyone’s dream was to become something to him.

Unfortunately no one had succeeded.

Did Tom say she a minute ago? Oh yes.

She was Sophie. And no, she wasn’t his girlfriend, but she sure didn’t think that way.

Sophie was your classic example of a girl that doesn’t understand the word no.

She was one of Tom’s flings, a beautiful, but fake girl. They got together at her 20th birthday party, it was just a one time drunk sex. Tom waited for her to feel asleep after a long session, so he could just go home and get at least a little amount of sleep.

However the next day at college, Sophie was like a limpet.

She didn’t let him breathe, even though Tom explained how he worked.

To be rejected or not interested in her was a unknown term for Sophie.

“Look, we shared a night, had sex and that’s all. It’s how I roll sweetie okay?” He desperately tried to get her off of his back.

“Tommy, I know how you do things, but you can’t lie about the chemistry. We just need to be together. And the sex is amazing.”

And that’s how it started.

Tom was loud and clear, not just with her, but with his friends and other ladies that she isn’t his girl, and never will be.

He really hoped that Sophie would let him be after a while, and she really did, but Tom just couldn’t keep it in his pants.

The Spring party.

Everyone got shit-faced, Tom was super turned on by a sweet brunette that clearly wasn’t interested in his lame flirting.

Sophie came in for a refill in the kitchen, but she was a godsend for Tom at that moment.

“Soph, sweetie mind if I get you a drink?”

“Thought you were clear about your feelings for me Tommy?” She answered, playing with the end of her dress.

“Yeah, yeah..How about I get you that drink, and we could catch up on things, ya know like old times?” He crossed his arms on purpose, flexing his biceps.

“I knew you would come back.” Sophie laughed, wrapping her slim arms around him.

It happened again. And Tom left like the last time, but once again Sophie didn’t get the message.

It became much more harder for him to avoid her, she was all over the place. She ruined his possible hookups, tried to meet his friends, brothers. It was getting on his last nerve, and even though he said that he doesn’t do relationships, she didn’t give up.

Sophie just wanted to be in the spotlight, and Tom was a great opportunity.

-

“Dear God. I told you that this lifestyle of yours would cost you. You should’ve refrain yourself for one night. Now you have a fake and crazy girl on your back, and no freedom as well.” You said, secretly eyeing him, he was hot you couldn’t lie.

“Thanks for not helping Y/N. Fucking hell I just want her to disappear, she is hundred percent crazy!”

“Why don’t you for once think rationally. Call her, take her for a coffee, tea whatever, sit down. Talk. Like normal people, tell her how things are, use your magic. But be nice and direct, she needs to get it in her head.” You tried your best to help him, after all he was your best friend and crush since preschool.

Stupid choice I know.

“I think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised that she spreads the news that I took her on a ‘date’, not a ‘can you please fuck off’ coffee.” Tom spoke clearly annoyed, filling up his empty glass.

He was tipsy already, and so were you. The wine absolutely did the job.

You were now nervous, your heart thumping against your ribs, the silence wasn’t an issue between the two of you, but tonight something was different.

“Why are you laughing?” You questioned, looking at Tom.

“Nothing darling, just remembered the day at elementary school.”

“Oh God. Which one?”

“You know, when you almost punched Elizabeth when she said I gave her a flower, and that I’m her best friend now.” He looked at you smiling like a child.

“Hey! You couldn’t blame me I loved you, you were my bestie I thought you betrayed me!” You stated, turning your body to his.

“Oh loved?” He grabbed his chest, trying to look hurt, but failing after a loud laugh escaped from his lips.

Your hand slapped his chest playfully, as an answer.

“This wine is crazy, I’m definitely going to consume it more.” He spoke.

“Well you for sure will if Sophie freaks out again.”

“New bottle?” You asked, standing up, your legs wobbly from the alcohol that was running in your system.

“Sure, it’s a long night after all.”

You tried to be as relaxed as you could be, but Tom’s presence tonight didn’t let you be.

Tom was also tense, the wine messed with his mind, he didn’t got laid for days, and the silky white shorts of yours didn’t help him at all.

You were in front of him, opening a bottle, but he just couldn’t control himself. His eyes were glued on your slim legs and tits.

He knew that under those hoodies that you wear on a daily basis was an incredible body.

Tom finded you attractive, absolutely stunning. He thought about you on his bed, whining for him, he really did wanted to have sex with you, but he couldn’t. You were his best friend and Tom didn’t want to hurt you.

But fucking hell. Tonight you were making him go nuts.

“I’m worn out.” You said exhaling the air.

“Live a little Y/N. Your nose is 24/7 in those books, give yourself a break, don’t be so boring.”

“Me boring? Oh excuse me that I don’t have such a dynamic life as yours.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hell yes you are, when was the last time you had sex?”

“What?!” Your cheeks were burning, and you couldn’t believe he asked you that. Sure you two had conversations about sex, but only about his sex life, and by that I mean who he slept with not how and where.

“You heard me, c’mon we’re friends you can tell me everything.”

Stupid Tom.

“Yes we are, but I would love to keep the informations about my sex life to myself.”

“So you’re a virgin?”

“TOM!” You almost chocked on the wine.

“Well?” He smirked, feeling how you got more and more shy from the conversation. God he wanted to fuck you so bad.

“No I’m not a virgin!”

“Then you can tell me when was the last time hm?”

“I don’t remember ok?! Jesus, the last time was probably the week before me and Noah broke up.” Your voice almost a whisper, realising that you were presumably too boring.

Tom just whistled the ‘wow that’s tooo long’ whistle, earning an annoying look from you.

“If it helps you I didn’t bang a girl for like a week, maybe more?” His answer turning into a question.

“Yeah, that helped me a lot, thanks Thomas.”

“Always here to help you.”

You once again slapped him playfully, but with the arm where your glass of wine was, spilling the beverage on his shirt and sweatpants.

Shit.

“Fuck, sorry! I’m drunk, I-shit.” Yes, you were absolutely drunk, because the sober Y/N wouldn’t try to dry Tom’s crotch with her hands.

Tom’s eyes opened widely. The feeling of your palm rubbing his now hard dick, speeded up his breathing.

Your knees were on the couch, and your body extremely close to his. You still didn’t have a clue what you were doing.

“If you’re gonna clean me up like this, I might spill some of this by myself darling.” He groaned, raising the glass in the air.

That was enough to send your mind to reality.

“OH GOD. I’m so sorry, oh my God this is so embarrassing right now.” You tried to sit back down, but Tom’s hands stopped you.

Before you could fall on the purple carpet in your living room, his grip brought you into his chest.

Your hands were on his thorax, his arms on your lower back.

“Shit, am I on his lap right now?! What the fuck is happening?” You thought inside your head. What a great situation to be in.

“You’re making me so hard now Y/N.”

You were speechless. This wasn’t happening.

“I think it’s a big shame that you don’t have any kind of relief after a long day.” He whispered in your ear, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo.

“Tom.” Your mind was hazy, you tried your best to resist this, but holy shit you wanted this since forever.

“How about I suggest something to you darling?”

[slothgiirl]

maybe together we can get somewhere (noah x mc)

the gang finds out noah is alive. he and mc have built a life together while no one was paying attention (12k)

this was fun and experimental to write, trying to build a relationship through the limitations of the gang only getting snippets of noah and mc and hopefully giving enough information to piece together a plot without being to expository. hope u enjoy (noah x mc are soulmates change my mind)

Stacy.

It's a family vacation. Only the second one after her college graduation since she's only living an hour from Westchester.

It's her mom and dad and Connor and his girlfriend and her girlfriend.

Sofi laughs easily, fitting right in at some story Connor is telling and Stacy’s still annoyed that her brother brought up what she and her friends had found in the woods as children when they were at the airport: when anyone could have heard. She doesn't want to deal with it ever again. And she'll get up and move across the country if she has to.

Connor catches her gaze and offers a small smile and just like that; Stacy let's it go.

“Oh a farmers market,” her mom cries out, “we should check it out!”

Her dad laughs, “alright but don't expect me to eat any frankenstein fruit.”

Stacy snorts, finding Vancouver both amazing, and like any other city she's been to. Canada is hardly an exotic travel destination, but it's nice, waking up to a view of the pacific ocean. She wonders if she should visit her old friend since she's in town.

She'd last talked to you on the phone a month ago, surely she could just drop in.

Sofi slides her hand into Stacy’s, before asking, “what are you thinking about?” It's the first time Sofia's really spent time with her family. And her girlfriend knows about her tendency to overthink and now is one of those times.

Stacy's sighs, “just-I have a friend who lives in Vancouver. I was wondering whether I should visit them or not.”

Her girlfriend smiles, leading them into a stall with lots of fruit samples, “You should! If they're your friend I bet they'd be really happy to see you.”

Stacy shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you're right. It's not like I'm going to be in Vancouver again anytime soon.”

She grabs a second sample of the blood oranges, before telling Stacy as she decides to get a few for the road, “so who is this friend?” Because Sofi doesn't know about the whole Redfield thing and she'll never know because Stacy doesn't want to burden her with Redfield and also doesn't want to talk about it herself. It's over: in the past. Finished.

“One of my childhood friends like Lucas. There was this whole group of us,” Stacy explains.

“Like Dan,” Sofi nods, understanding. “Do you guys still talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should totally drop by! Personally, I could skip the biking tour.”

Stacy laughs, “my parents really just got us all the types of tour.” It was nice, how much things had changed and the boat tour had been fun even if she’d gotten pretty cold over those two hours, it had just been the perfect excuse to snuggle up with Sofi and a cup of warm coffee inside. Connor and Vy could be outdoorsy together, taking millions of photos of the water and skyline.

“It’s cute,” Sofi comments, “my dad would just grumble about the expense and lead his own tour, no doubt getting us all lost.”

Stacy shrugs, “that’s why we have google maps.”

Sofi laughs, and pays for her oranges.

Stacy’s tired of the crowded stall, so she steps outside to wait. Canadians may be polite, but there’s only so many people brushing past her she can take. She takes out her phone and asks Lily for your address because of course Lily has it; she had sent everyone care packages and birthday presents without fail. Stacy had just sent an electronic gift card and called it a day.

There’s a good crowd but this isn't a sad little farmers market like the one back home that has like nothing but a stall or two.

She finds that she does miss the small town feel of the city she lives in even if she has to drive everywhere and living close to her family is nice even if she’ll forever hate the woods, any woods. Andy and tom had confirmed nothing was out in Westchester but she won’t chance it.

It’s second nature to go through her emails while she’s on her phone.

She scans the crowd, seeing if she spots her family somewhere. And sure enough Connor and Vy are sniffing at some tea samples, looking disgustingly sweet together and Stacy makes sure to take a picture because she went with Connor and Tom to pick out the ring. He just has to pop the question.

Wait! Was she or Sofi going to ask the question? Oh god, Stacy wanted to marry this girl. It hits her like a ton of bricks and they’re only 23, been dating two years so they have time, but Stacy’s sure. This is the one.

The panic subsides as she realizes, yeah, this is the woman she wants to spend the rest of her life with and that’s no big deal. They’ll take it day by day.

She locks her phone, glances around, ready to go get Sofi who probably struck up a whole conversation with the vendors and is getting invited over to their house for dinner as Stacy stands out here, waiting, and sees. . .well not Noah Marshall because he’s dead. So that’s not possible. And it’s not like she’s in Westchester.

But-but it certainly looks like Noah at a glance.

She can’t actually make out the man’s features, just the back of his head, which wow-Stace, she might just be losing it if she’s starting to see Noah Marshall walking around, but there’s something about the way the man walks and the shade of hair even if the haircut has changed. . .she shakes her head.

She’s imagining things.

“Ready to go,” Sofi asks, putting her hand on Stacy’s arm, “Your mom texted, she said to meet in front of Whole Foods wherever that is. Also, hilarious that there’s a farmers market in front of Whole foods.”

Stacy snorts, nodding, “yeah, let’s go.” And then looks back because it’s been five years and she still wants to kick Noah’s ass even though he’s dead so it’s a non issue at this point.

The man’s gone.

*

Stacy soon forgets among trying to keep up with the itinerary that her family had made on google docs over the past few months.

*

They take a ferry in the general direction of the address Lily gave her because it’s a fun way to travel. Connor comes along but Vy stays behind in the hotel because she wants to call her parents.

“Did they go to school here,” Connor asks, because it had been a few years and he hadn’t really kept in touch with you the way Stacy and the others had.

“No,” Stacy explains as she double checks the address while Sofi points out cute houses as they walk down the street google maps is saying the house is on. “They went to UWash. I think they studied something boring like finance which I know Ava made fun of them in the group chat about.”

Sofi, a current law student, asks, “what’s wrong with finance?”

Connor snorts, “you’re talking about the same woman that helped organize supplies for her campus’ black lives matter protests.”

“Ava’s very anti-establishment,” Stacy explains because Sofi hasn’t met Ava. Her old friend had transferred to Berkeley before Stacy started dating Sofi, but not before showing everyone her minor magical abilities. “You know, the whole break up the banks, give native americans their land back, will definitely end up a granola anthropology professor in some university after her goth phase.”

Sofi nods, “Ah, I get it. She’s not wrong about the banks. Did you watch the big short?”

“You have the most boring taste in movies,” Stacy teases because this woman made her watch Dunkirk which was long and boring and the soundtrack gave her a headache.

Her girlfriend shrugs shamelessly, “I did do a film studies minor so. . .”

Stacy knocks on the door. “I hope they’re in.” It’s a cute if small house on the edge of the city, close enough to still be part of Vancouver without being in the middle of traffic. There’s a subway station just two streets over, but taking the ferry had been much nicer. Subways had lost their charm in new york after all the times Stacy had been an hour or two late because of some issue.

“Wait,” Connor asks, raising a brow, “you didn’t text them?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Stacy admits. She hadn’t seen you in over two years. You had even less of a reason to be in Westchester compared to everyone who’s family still lived there. Your house had sat empty since you left for college.

“I think it's cute,” Sofi says, wrapping her arms around Stacy’s waist from behind.

Stacy smiles, blushing slightly.

The door opens up and holy fuck.

Stacy gasps, her mouth forming a wide O because she can’t even form a coherent thought.

A very much alive and happy Noah Marshall opens the door, wearing a pink apron that says something inane “kiss the cook”, with more than a bit of food stains, and flour on his chin. He’s not wearing a beanie, but it’s summer and Stacy is sweating even in shorts, and his hair is cut and styled instead of long and greasy like it had been in high school. His eye color has somehow changed from brown to a strange shiny blue that seems too catlike to be natural but that’s whatever when he’s apparently risen from the dead.

What the hell!

Connor is just as flabbergasted as she is.

And Noah’s caught off guard, the easy smile dying on his lips as he realizes who’s at the door.

It’s Sofi that spares them, asking Noah if you’re home, because she doesn’t know anything about what went down in your senior year of high school.

Noah nods wordlessly, “yeah, yeah, come in,” even though he looks like that's the last thing he wants to do looking as grim faced as he had been in school, sitting in the back and refusing to talk to anyone.

For once, Stacy wishes Sofi wasn't here because she wants nothing more than to kick Noah’s ass. She took kickboxing lessons, she totally could. Noah's taller, but not exactly built in the same way Andy is after all the years of exercise; though he's not exactly a scrawny teenager anymore.

How long has this been going on?

You're sitting at the kitchen table, a cheap flimsy thing from Ikea that at least has the decency to look nice, laptop open while wearing a moth-eaten oversized t-shirt of the beastie boys. You don't even look up, when you ask nonchalantly, “so who was at the door?” You reach a hand from another chip, eating straight from the bag.

“Stacy,” Noah says faux cheerfully. And Stacy did not miss how annoying he could be. “And Connor Green.”

You finally look up. A couple thousand emotions running through your face: surprise as you open your lips to speak and then close it without a word, your brow furrows as you frown, then you exchange glances with Noah, then you're blushing red as you meet Stacy's questioning gaze, caught red handed. After a second, you can't meet her gaze, instead looking at Connor the same way you had that year as if he could single handedly save you from everything and no wonder you asked him to the dance, oblivious to Stacy's crush on you at the time.

“Hey Connor, long time no see,” you get up, crossing the length of the small kitchen to hug him, “Andy's always going on about you, you know.”  

Connor manages a smile, “it's good to see you, too.”

“Hi, I'm Sofi,” she says, extending a hand, “Stacy’s told me a lot about you.”

You shake her hand, inviting her to down sit, “all of you. Dinner’salmost ready.” You glance at Stacy asking. . .

She shakes her head. Of course she hasn't mentioned Noah. She's tried to erase him from her memories the same way she's tried to forget all about the ruins in the woods and Dan disappearing.

“Not that you helped,” Noah quips, proceeding to slip back into the kitchen.

“Self care.” You smile back, confirming her suspicion that this had been going on for a while. And you haven't mentioned anything. Not once. But then, you stopped bringing him up when you realized everyone was on the same page, the page you weren't, after what he had done, no amount of childhood tragedy could excuse the fact he had been willing to kill all his friends for some monster. Stacy couldn't find it in her to forgive him, even in death.

Meanwhile, you had spent too much time after everything that happened crying over this jerk.

“What are you making,” Sofi asks as Stacy takes a seat, everything clicking together as you offer everyone something to drink, exchanging lovesick smiles with Noah even as he bats you away from the stove with a spatula.

You loved him.

Despite everything he had done, you loved him. Stacy couldn't understand: had been closer to Dan and you than Noah even as kids. The way you looked at him said everything; the way you'd chased after him, unwilling to let him go into the woods alone.

It made sense why you were so willing to forgive him, and why you had spent so much time mourning him.

“Vegetable pot pie,” Noah explains, starting to roll out the dough, “This one decided to become vegetarian.”

“Since when,” Connor asks, deciding to just go along with it all. Maybe Connor was just mentally stronger, better able to cope with all the supernatural weirdness having helped Tom out at the lake, and still trying to understand the power from all of Pritch’s journals.

“Just a few months ago,” you admit. “It was this whole vegan challenge at work for the month but I missed yogurt a lot but giving up meat was pretty easy.”

“Where are you working now,” Stacy asks, taking a seat carefully, making sure not to turn her back on Noah.

“Oh,” you smile, closing your computer, resting your chin against your hand, “UBC, at the anthropology museum. It's why I-we moved here. I do financial analysis for their investments. Ava found it really funny that I got a job at a museum before her.”

“Oh,” Stacy wonders, glancing at Noah again, who's just as tense if the line of his shoulders is anything to go by, and the telling line of his mouth that reminds Stacy of the first and last time she tried to include him: a APUSH presentation that Noah had waved off and preferred to bomb. “You told Ava?”

She feels the sting of hurt but Ava makes the most sense considering you were closest to her and Lily. Not to mention Ava was still messing around with the occult. A heavy lead ball of anxiety always forms whenever Ava has shown Stacy her magic tricks.

You get the double meaning.

Noah pointedly ignores her, carrying a conversation about the best places to eat in the city with Sofi.

You force yourself to smile, “about the job yeah. Thought she'd laugh since she's the anthropologist. She called it the encroachment of late stage capitalism.”

“That sounds about right for Ava,” Stacy snorts.

You'd chosen Noah over her: over your friends. The choice had already been made before Stacy had even known this was an option.

You two were a packaged deal.

Stacy takes a deep breath, and turns her back on Noah, joining the light conversation of local things to do in Vancouver and how you had completely face planted while trying to ice skate.

“-and instead of helping me,” you tease, getting plates out for everyone, “Noah just sat back and laughed!”

“And took a video,” Noah points out. “You don't have any balance babe.”

“I wouldn't do you like that,” you wrinkle your nose, smiling fondly as Noah brings the food out of the oven, the smell filling the small house and suddenly Stacy’s mouth is watering.

“You have,” he replies all mock offended, “you left me in the cab!”

“I was very drunk,” you shrug shamelessly, then turn to Sofi and Connor with an explanation. “Too much fun on  date night.”

“Shut up,” Noah utters, placing the food on the table, looking incredibly soft and it finally sinks in. He's alive. He's alive and you're together and while Stacy doesn't care for him, she's glad you're doing well.

She's still going to punch him the first chance she gets.

The food’s some of the best she's ever had.

*

She hugs you goodbye two hours later: a great big tight hug that says everything she hasn't been able to because of distance. She puts all her love and tenderness into hugging you. “It was so good seeing you,” Stacy says and means it. One day they'll talk about this.

But not now.

She's dragging Sofi into this.

You nod, hugging her back just as tight, before whispering in softly into her ear, “please don't tell anyone.”

And how could she refuse, with your sweet chocolate eyes looking at her like that, as if she holds everything you hold dear in her hands. It's easy for Stacy to make the choice to look away and say nothing.

*

*

*

Lily.

Britney makes them take a hundred selfies before they even leave the airport. Lily beams at the camera even as she pays for starbucks. “Aw man we should've tried tim hortons now that we're officially in Canada.” Lily muses, shooting you a text, letting you know she'd soon be out of the airport.

“But do they have peppermint frappuccinos,” Britney asks, leading the way as they head to the exit. Airports were always so big. It took forever to get anywhere.

“I'm not big on peppermint,” Lily comments even though Britney already knows that, before taking a long sip of her pink drink. She really had been craving a drink. That was another thing about planes: dehydration. Still, it would be worth it to visit you for the first time since you moved to Canada.

“I know,” Britney winks, “that's just more peppermint bark for me.”

*

Britney's the one that spots you first. Lily's taller than you, but still pretty short. “Your loser friends over there.” Britney teases and it shows how far she and Lily have come that they're able to laugh about the time wasted in high school where she bullied other kids including Lily.

Lily follows on her heels, fixing her coat to try and look cute. It had only been a three hour plane ride but it was three hours plus dealing with airport security so it felt closer to three years. Gosh it had almost been three years since she graduated college. Time just flew by.

Excitement bubbles up and Lily’s smiling hard when she sees you in an olive green jacket and grey hoodie combo, still the same as ever if happier now that you weren't stressing about school.

She had meant to visit you sooner but being an adult meant things often got in the way.

Then Lily spots Noah Marshall hovering behind you, laughing at something you just said , face lit up like a kid who's just been told they can finally dig into their Halloween candy. Except it can't be Noah because he's dead. Yet here he is, wearing a black coat, washout blue hoodie, and of course a beanie. If Jocelyn was here, she'd say he looks like an asshole wearing aviators indoors.

Removing any doubt of who he is, Lily having already come up with a reasonable explanation of you having coped with Noah's death by finding a lookalike, dies when he spots Britney and Lily before you. “Lily,” Noah grins as if he didn't die after trying to kill her, “you looked like someone kicked your puppy.”

You smack his shoulder. “Behave,” you tease as you try and smother a gasp. You meet her gaze sheepishly, but Lily's still too flabbergasted to respond.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead,” Britney asks.

He deadpans, “Mandela effect.”

This time, you dissolve into laughter.

Noah glances over at you with a smile, pleased with himself.

Lily finally manages, “explain.”

You nod, “let's get you settled in first.”

Britney hands her bag to Noah, “here. I need to carry Lily's bag.”

“Sure thing,” Noah snorts, taking her bag.

*

Lily had imagined Canada to be much more green. Like a national park green, with so much plant life she could smell it thick in the air, but it's pretty much just another downtown metropolitan area like Seattle. You'd really only moved a few hours away from Seattle so that made sense.

She keeps glancing over at Noah as if he'll disappear and this is some trick from whatever thing still lived in Westchester. But he's still there, flesh and blood, his arm draped around your shoulder as they stand by where she and Britney have taken a seat, bags under their feet. They had only brought carry on bags.

You're obviously together but Lily keeps getting stuck on the fact that Noah's alive.

She isn't surprised. Noah only ever had time for you that year; both of you slinking off when you thought no one was paying attention. Lily remembers seeing you hug Noah in some lonely corner of the school if you didn't skip fifth period math.

And Connor had said he'd seen you both out in town during school hours.

Maybe it's the glasses.

Noah won't be alive to her until she sees his entire face, leaving no room for error.

“Can't believe you're moving to Seattle!” You repeat because yeah Lily had gotten a nice job offer there.

“Neither can I,” Britney complains, “I like SF, and I'd like to live somewhere warm one day. Aren't there any major tech firms in Miami?”

“Nasa,” Lily says thoughtfully, “I didn't have the experience to apply though.”

Her girlfriend frowns, “You went to Berkeley though. That has to count for like ten years.”

Lily laughs.

“You should've shot your shot,” you agree.

“Isn't Florida super humid though,” Noah mentions tilting his head, reminding Lily that he's there and she can't help but flinch. “And there's tons of snakes and agitators everywhere.”

“I like snakes,” Britney notes.

He had been so sweet those last few weeks, Lily thinks to herself. Noah was always saying how she was much stronger because she could be kind even as everything was going to hell. In english, she'd burst into tears, sick and tired of having nightmares just to wake up to a living nightmare, and he'd chased after her, comforting her.

It had made his betrayal hurt all the more.

*

“So how exactly are you,” Lily asks, dancing around the subject. Surely it was rude to bring up that Noah had been dead.

“Alive,” he replies, quirking his brow, holding Britney's bag as he opens the door.

“Yeah. . .that.”

This time, when you and Noah look at each other, there's no boundless joy that fits in perfectly with the holiday season. You've even put up snowmen in the house's windows, and there's lights wrapped around the porch: off right now. It's just you looking at Noah with glassy eyes and Noah with an amount of tenderness in his eyes that Lily didn't know people were capable of in real life: the look people get when they're finally able to confess how in love they are in movies.

It's only there for a second and then Noah's making light of the whole situation, as if he can't stand to see that haunted look in your eyes, “Well you know what they say, when you wish upon a star-”

You roll your eyes, lightly smacking his arm, then changing your mind and squeezing his arm. “Don't be a dick.” Then you round your attention on Lily, “there's the shoe rack.” Before ushering the group into the living room. “I-I didn't,” you take a deep breath, tugging your coat off as you take a seat on a cheap navy cotton couch. “I guess I never stopped looking for a way,” you glance at Noah, “for a way to fix things. I mean, I still went back there for all the school breaks.”

You've stopped looking at Lily, gaze locked on Noah's. Pink dusts his cheeks and he ducks his head, looking alway, out into the quiet street, skyscrapers in the distance.

Britney purses her lips, listening intently. She heard accounts of this nature from Jocelyn. Dan knee better than to tell her anything about the woods back home.

“And I found it,” you finish without elaboration. Lily understands. Some things were, there were some things too awful to speak once again into being.

He slips his hand into yours, threading your fingers together.

It's sweet and though Lily's reservations remain, it's clear he loves you.

“Okay then,” Britney claps together, knowing full well she was ruining the moment, “how soon can we go shopping. I'm doing all my christmas shopping in Canada.”

“Because of the exchange rate,” Noah sneers, not missing a beat.

“Hardly,” Britney snaps back, “I'm a certified trophy wife now.” She smiles as she looks over at Lily who giggles.

*

It's two in the morning and Lily keeps tossing and turning. It's warm with the heater chugging away in the night. But she can't sleep.

They'd spent the whole day out, exploring the city. You'd gotten a few days off work. Britney had made you both carry bags and bags of gifts as promised.

At least she'd have plenty of time to wrap them. December had only just begun.

But Lily can't sleep.

It isn't the nightmares of her childhood: of Jane and all the things she wishes she had said no to, or those terrible months in which Lily had nearly died from sheer terror, but a pool of anxiety masquerading as restlessness.

She gets up, having visited you before back in Seattle, back when you had shared an apartment with Ava and a revolving door of roommates during college, and wonders if Ava knows. Ava, who messes around in the more supernatural corners of the world, who you had always been closest too.

Lily gets up and decides maybe a glass of water will calm her down as she chews over the idea of Noah and her both under the same roof.

She slips into the dark kitchen, with that weird anxiety that she was sneaking around that she could never shake even knowing that you wouldn't mind her going through your kitchen. She slips into the kitchen and nearly faints at the sight of Noah at the table.

He's sitting in pitch dark.

Only it isn't-

“-your eyes,” Lily hisses, breaking the calm of the twilight hours.

Noah's sitting in the dark reading.

Because his eyes are glowing blue like redfield when she was little and redfield was a friend and hadn't shown it's true nature.

Noah's eyes are glowing.

“Shit,” Noah says gently, reaching up to flip the lights on.

He moves slowly, but Lily still flinches.

“I'm sorry Lils,” he says, those three words encompassing so many years and the darkest parts of her life, casting a shadow over her whole life she can never escape because Westchester is home but it's also where it happened and Noah's a big part of why Lily spent a year having panic attacks: having flashbacks to that awful game. He says it and the last itchy scab over the deep wound Lily has harbored for years flakes off.

Lily does a little nod of acceptance, but keeps her eyes on his unnaturally reflective eyes, a light in the dark.

She swallows thickly.

That glass of water sounds amazing right about now.

“What are you doing reading in the dark,” she asks. It seems Noah had been right all those years ago; Lily was able to keep trying, a flower growing in a crack of cement.

“Studying,” Noah says calmly. “It's pretty boring actually. Sort of makes me wish I was still haunting the woods.” His smile is small, testing the waters.

Lily-she can't. She shits her eyes, shaking her head once, slow.

“Sorry,” he says easily, shutting a thick textbook, “coping mechanism.”

Lily thinks about all those nights she'd wake up in the middle of a nightmare, “is it a glitch then?” She tilts her head curiously, the way she spent hours going over the same file of code checking for any bugs: and mistakes that had slipped through the cracks.

“You could call it that. . .but they reckon that it's more of a give and take situation.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “The power takes people but gives them power, and when, when they brought me back, I took something with me.”

For once, dread doesn't fill Lily at the mention of what lies in the woods back home.

Lily nods, and pours herself a glass of water. “What are you studying?”

“Psychology,” Noah answer's, “trying to do developmental psychology. I want to,” he waits a beat before finishing in a rush. “I'd like to be a child therapist.”

“I thought you wanted to go to culinary school,” Lily questions. She remembers you mentioning that once. Then there's the fact that Noah had brought her lunch to school a few times when he'd learned that Lily's parents had forced her into a diet.

“I did,” he shrugs. “Turns out I like to cook for myself more than anything.”

Lily smiles.

She's glad he's able to move on like she has.

“You know I use to have nightmares. Nothing really helped apart from-.”

“Tiring myself out,” you both finish.

Noah smiles grimly.

Lily drinks he water and keeps him company for a while.

*

*

*

Lucas

Logically, Lucas knows that Canada is not that different from the states yet he still feel like the place should be more exotic as he steps off the plane for work. It's grueling work really, the pay is bad and he flies economy more than is healthy for his back, but he likes keeping private corporations on their toes. That was the whole point of environmental science, though going to law school for the same thing is starting to look more and more appealing everyday.

He just feels like he doesn't have the weight to truly go after these people and hates having to pass off the cases when he knows he could do more.

But law school is. . .stressful.

He'd have already started his third year of law if he had just gone straight to law school after undergrad.

Lucas wonders if he's ready to manage that type of stress.

He gets off the plane and has to go directly to the non-profits office. It's a tiny little thing in a rougher part of the city; gone are the shiny sports cars and whole foods.

There's boxes of paperwork dating back from the 60s and he gets to work, drinking the cheap donut shop coffee that the office head, an amicable black man who still has a rhythmic african accent that Lucas isn't worldly enough to place, gives him with a shrug, “got to support our local businesses eh?”

Lucas nods. “Tell me about it. I feel like I missed out on the New York that was happening.” Ava had sent him a buy back the block patch and he really hadn't been surprised because she had always been opinionated and headstrong about it. If she was the town witch, well then she was going to be the biggest baddest witch.

He types a reminder into his notes to get her a souvenir.

He uses yelp to find a cheap diner, where he continues to pour over a thick manila folder--have to break up the work--and finds that he can smell the ocean here even when he can't exactly see it.

Lucas sets a reminder to himself to go enjoy the beach at least once.

Then he sees the reminder to call and ask Stacy where you were living. Lucas half wanted it to be a surprise, but worried he'd miss you.

He knew you liked going out dancing. And he had arrived on a Friday night.

It was unorthodox.

He usually worked strictly in the states since each country had their own laws and environmental precedent established by the courts. And alright, Lucas’ phone had a lot of law school tabs open. He was only twenty four. That wasn't too old for law school.

Weren't some students in legally blonde in their thirties?

Experience could give him an edge.

Lucas calls Stacy but it goes straight to voice mail.

Right, time difference.

He'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Having not exchanged any money as of yet, Lucas pays for his breakfast for dinner with his card and hopes the fee isn't too bad. Then he stuffs the folders and decides to walk to his hotel.

It's an hour long walk through town but years of being incredibly stressed had left him with the purposeful choice of slowing down when he could. Sometimes it felt like forcing himself to slow down, but he always felt better after a walk through a new city or sitting down with a fictional book even when he swore he didn't feel all wound up.

As far as cheap diners, tonight's was good and he had fun trying poutine.

Lucas walks through the tall buildings and wishes he hadn't worn a suit jacket. He should've worn a plain shirt or one of those gag gifts Andy was always sending him from various thrift stores. It might be further up north than even he grew up, but it was still hot in the summer.

Walking an hour in a casual suit was not his greatest idea, but the city carried the same vibrant energy the new york had. The energy that had encouraged Lucas to go to a house party--once.

He's walking by a street full of dive bars all blaring out nostalgic hits from his teenage years from Hannah Montana, which okay, to Kesha which sounded about right, and of course, Blackpink. The chalkboards outside all promise cheap drinks but Lucas isn't a big drinker.

He isn't sure how much of that is avoiding any substance that could get him hooked or if he's making that choice because he really doesn't like alcohol.

Lucas is just about through, about to by a monolithic building that has a bunch of displays in the windows, when he does a double take.

Noah fucking Marshall is smoking on the curb outside a bar, face flushed.

There's no doubt about it. Lucas would know that asshole anywhere. The same sharp jawline and prominent nose, brown hair curling around his ears only a few inches showered than it had in high school. He's wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket over a white shirt and looking way too happy for a murderer.

Noah Marshall wearing aviators at night like the rat bastard he is!

The intense feelings of rage and wanting to hit something until the world righted itself surges in Lucas’ chest until there's a white hot anger in his throat and red clouding his vision.

He blacks out.

One second he's furiously gapping at the man-

the next

-Lucas is standing over Noah Marshall, knuckles on fire having just sucker punched the fucker.

Oh shit.

Noah looks just as surprised for a second as he looks up, blood beading up where his lips split open.

Lucas watches as recognition hits those bambi blue eyes---wait, blue.. .?

And then Noah shrugs, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips as he states, “yeah. I deserved that.”

There's a couple people looking over.

Lucas is still pissed as Noah gets up, dusting himself off and looking at the barely smoked cigarette on the ground as if he wants to smoke it, before grabbing the glasses and placing them back on instead.

Then, he grabs another cigarette, “want one,” he offers Lucas who no, wouldn't want one: wouldn't want anything from Noah if he was drowning and Noah had the only life jacket.

He was good with drowning.

Thanks.

Lucas, anger still fizzing under his skin like boiling water, asks, “how the fuck are you here!”

Noah shrugs, before slurring and it's then that Lucas realizes the other man is flushed drunk, “I live here,” without an ounce of sarcasm.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Lucas says, curling his lip and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh you know me. I'm just plotting world domination and decided Vancouver would be the perfect location for my evil villain lair. I've got a neon sign and everything.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, grinding his teeth together. “Do you always have to be such an asshole?”

Noah spreads his hands out and proceeds to do jazz hands, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

Fuck, Lucas feels like punching him again.

He's really thinking about it as he watches Noah, sure the idiot will try something again, when he hears your voice as you stumble out of the bar, “I knew it! You were going out for a smoke break!”

Noah's entire demeanor shifts, no longer the boy Lucas has built up in his head as the cause of all their problems. Over the years, he's decided that Noah had known from the start. In the depths of his denial, Lucas had told himself that Noah had kidnapped Dan. But, you appear, and Noah's turns bright pink as he hurried to stomp out the cigarette you've already seen like a naughty school boy, even as he turns and smiles as if you hung the sun in the sky and painted the night stars. It's lovesick the way you both look at each other with the fondness of ancient couples out for a walk in the park, lost in their own world.

However the fuck he's alive, Lucas realizes that this Noah, the real living Noah, has been just as freaked as the rest of them. It's something he hasn't thought about in years.

Noah had lost Jane.

It's enough for Lucas to unclench his hands even if he's still seething because what the hell, he still offered them all up on a silver platter. Redfield or Jane--whatever it was in the end--had given Ava powers and she hadn't stabbed your group of friends in the back.

You cross the distance quickly, and throw your arms around his middle, tipsy. That's probably why your smile is so pure-untouched by all the trauma and boring adult problems like remembering to pay the bills and having to call the cable company for the fifth time.

You don't even notice Lucas.

“What happened to your face,” you ask, raising your hand to cup Noah's cheek, frowning.

Noah nods over at Lucas.

You finally notice him.

“Lucas,” you wag your finger at him, still cuddled up to the man in question, “You can't punch Noah. Do you know how much trouble I went through to get him back?”

It shouldn't be possible, but Noah turns pinker.

“Aw babe,” Noah teases you with a familiarity that carries depth.

This wasn't a new development then.

“You really do care about me.”

This time, you round on Noah, wagging your finger menacingly, “Don’t be an idiot! Of course I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me!”

Which has Lucas majorly side eyeing you.

Sure, Noah had grown up to be tall and not unattractive, as far as pasty white boys were concerned, but he'd still tried to kill everyone.

Noah also looks skeptical.

“What are you doing in town Lucas,” you then ask.

“Work,” Lucas replies blandly, as he tries to come to terms with this reality altering discovery. “You were dead.”

“That's not entirely true,” Noah muses philosophically, “Physically I was dead but technically I was still roaming the woods as a monster.”

Reflexively, you interject, resting your hand on his chest, “you're not a monster.”

“I thought you liked the shape of water.”

Which sends you squealing. “Noah!”

Lucas doesn't get it. You are the strongest person he knows who can talk to anyone and has a sense of determination that rivals a gold medalist: the one who kept everyone together during one of the shiftiest times in his life, and he's who you settle for! “If you have to say technically, you've already lost the argument.”

You snort.

Noah rolls his eyes good naturedly.

“Wait,” you realize, eyes going wide, “does that mean you're younger than me now.”

Noah tilts his head in thought, “physically. . .”

“Pretty sure that means yes,” Lucas adds, wondering how long Noah had been back for.

“Oh my god, I'm stealing from the cradle!”

Noah looks incredibly affronted as he blinks rapid looking down at you like you'd grown a second head.

“You mean cradle robbing?”

“I'm. . .twenty four,” Noah says. Not even he sounds convinced.

“Twenty two,” you correct archly. Then look at Lucas with a friendly smile, “you want to go get pho?”

“Right now!” Lucas checks his watch. It was already midnight. He should've been at his hotel room sleeping by now.

You nod.

Noah elaborates, “it's pricey but the broth hits different. They have some pretty good view of the city too.”

Two years. Noah had been back for two years and you never said anything.

Lucas can put up with Noah for a few hours to spend time with you. After all, you were the one who was putting up with him for life apparently.

“Should we let-,” you begging to ask, amusement dancing in your eyes, city lights reflected in the dark brown hue that had a quality of depth that made it easy to open up to you.

“Nah,” Noah smirks, “Sheer chatted some dude up, they won't even realize-”

“Rahul will though.”

“Psst, it's fine.”

You've both built a life here, far removed from any traces of Westchester. Maybe that's where he had gone wrong. Lucas had been so desperate to escape he's never found a place of his own, and still haunted by his one and only home: a place he wants nothing to do with. He needed to make a new home.

Law school wasn't sounding too shabby.

*

Noah leads the way.

*

A lightbulb turns on.

“What's with your eyes?” Lucas asks.

Noah chuckles, “sometimes you fall into a vat of radioactive waste because that's just the type of luck you have.”

You shake your head, amused. “Side effect. It's nothing serious. We checked.”

That doesn't comfort Lucas at all.

He wonders if Connor or Tom could fix that just to be sure Noah wouldn't suddenly go Redfield on you while you were sleeping.

Ugh, that was one mental image he didn't need.

“So what terrible horrifying government secret are you here investigating and does it have to do with a company hiding vats of radioactive waste,” you ask.

Lucas takes the bait.

He could and has talked people's ears off about the loose regulations on place on waste disposal among an array of industries.

*

*

*

Andy, Dan, Tom

This all starts with two things as far as Tom is concerned. First, they've all been talking for ages about doing a guys road trip after everyone still around Westchester had driven down to visit Ava. Not that the girls weren't fun, Tom thought to himself, but it just sounded nice.

He never had a sleepover growing up so this would make up for that. At least that was the idea.

Then Lucas called Andy freaking out about Noah Marshall and Connor could only nod and go, “yeah he was with them about a year. . almost two since we visited. I think it's already been two years.”

Which was a total mindfuck because why hadn't he mentioned anything.

Why hadn't Stacy?

Tom’s done some research into necromancy and it never ends well which is why they pile into Dan’s prius and hit the road to Vancouver Canada. Sans Connor because Vy is pregnant and Connor is glued to her side. “I think they were dating,” he also adds, bookmarking some cases around New Orleans that scream supernatural activity. That throws everyone for another mind loop as he clues the Pine Springs gang who wasn't there that senior year, why Noah Marshall shouldn't be alive, much less freely walking around. The only person who takes the news relatively well is Dan, who scratches his chin thoughtfully before saying, “that makes sense,” he nods to himself.

Andy rounds on him, ready to kick Noah's ass on sight which Tom will totally back him up on. Tom still can't handle spiders for which Danni and Jocelyn continue to tease him about.

“How in the fuck does that make sense,” Andy seeths, “that motherfucker landed you in a coma! I broke my leg and had to repeat senior year!”

Dan adds, “well you know, they spoke about how tragic his death was. And they used to have nightmares of him dying-”

They all turn to look at Dan.

“What,” Andy says, “when did they tell you that?”

Dan shrugs, “well they were always coming over that year and making a point to spend time with everyone but I always thought they looked sad and thinking about them alone on the edge of town,” he trails off. He’d never brought up your parents absence, but it was clearly felt. “So I went over to theirs when I could,” Dan finishes.

Andy shakes his head, “no. I don’t know what or how, but people don’t just come back from the dead and everything's sunshine and roses,” he crosses his arms against his chest and fumes across the entire state of New York.

Tom has to agree with Andy. There’s nothing in their research to suggest that people can just come back okay. Everything taken by the power ended up twisted into a funhouse version; it never ended well.

They stretch their legs in Cleveland, Andy still scowling. Every now and then he’ll rant about how Noah has to be up to something and he has to go save you from dying. Tom doesn’t bring it up, prefering to let Andy work through it now and wrap his head around Noah Marshall being alive on the car ride up to Canada, but Connor had said Noah’s been back for at least two years--wouldn’t he already have done something? He thinks of you and how you had been alone with Noah at the end. Maybe you had kept some things to yourself.

It was hard to relive trauma aloud.

It made it more real.

Tom sends Imogen a few snaps in Toledo as Andy blasts The White Stripes, to fit his mood.

He wishes Parker had been able to get the days off. Having someone at a distance from the situation might help everyone keep their cool. He knows he won’t stop Andy from beating Noah’s ass.

Dan picks up postcards in Chicago for everyone, as they sit by the famous Bean eating pizza.

“I can’t tell if this is better or if I’m fucking starving,” Andy admits, on his third slice.

Dan snorts, looking up from his lap where he’s writing out the postcards, wanting to send them quickly, “so they make it back before we do.”

Tom takes a walk around the plaza, thinking that fall really was the best weather, cold enough for a sweater without being too freezing and the sun didn’t burn.

They don’t stop in Wisconsin or Minnesota except for gas and Mcdonalds.

Andy sleeps as Tom takes over the driving.

Dan’ll be up next.

“Please play something other than Beach House,” Tom complains at Dan, “this is going to make me fall asleep.”

Dan chuckles, “Its good night driving music.”

“No Dan,” Tom shakes his head with a smile

The sun rises, and Tom gets to sleep.

He wakes up in Rapid City, South Dakota and they have to recreate that awful Hilary Clinton, “just chilling in Rapid City,” Andy says mockingly.

Dan almost chokes on his coffee.

Montana is so fucking beautiful and Tom’s seized with the sudden urge to come live out here. “We could totally do it,” he tells the other men, “it’s cheap out here. We could buy a huge piece of land and never have to deal with any bullshit again. Our friend group could do it. Danni’s really handy and Lily could set us up with wifi!”

“Bro,” Andy says gravely, “you know I love you, but I’m not moving to Montana with you.”

Dam smiles softly, “Danni would have a field day taking pictures here.”

Montana is beautiful and green and none of the nature here has that heavy feeling the woods in Westchester do, but they’re tired and exhausted from being on the road for the last two days. They crash at a motel 8 and sleep for the next twelve hours.

*

They ask this beautiful woman who's wearing birks and has a tote bag emblazoned “love your mother” with a planet earth painted on, to take a picture of them in front of Pike Place Market. Dan has her number before Tom’s done sending the pictures to his Pine Springs groupchat, teasing Parker about having stayed behind to yell at teenagers smoking weed while driving boats around the lake: accidents waiting to happen.

Tom has never been to Seattle.

He knows most of his friends from Westchester have  to visit you or Ava, and he's grown close to Ava, but at the time he was more of a friend of a friend and so never flew up to Seattle.

“Is it lame I'm still tired,” Andy asks, as they find a park to sit down at. It felt so good to be able to lay in the grass instead of sitting cramped up in the car.

“Age is starting to hit us.” Dan muses. “Either of you want to come get some things with me.”

His friend snorts, “Haven't you gotten enough gifts for everyone?” Which, yeah, Dan has been accumulating a small horde of souvenirs in the back for all his friends. He's a thoughtful guy. Tom’s not surprised the man’s a nurse. If he'd had Dan as a nurse when he was a kid, he might not completely hated going to the doctors office.

“I was kinda thinking about getting something from every state,” Dan says, blushing red as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I think it's sweet,” Tom says, clasping a hand on the other man's back. “Cheesy, but sweet.”

Andy shakes his head, “we should've gotten there by now. If only we hadn't stopped in Montana-”

“Noah's not going anywhere,” Dan points out, “you can kick his ass tonight or tomorrow.”

“They know we’re coming,” Andy scowls, “He could be halfway around the world by now.”

“Just remember Lucas already sucker punched him,” Tom offers his friend as consolation.

Dan shakes his head a little, but stays silent. Tom hasn't been able to get Dan’s feelings on the whole situation. He can’t imagine him being completely ambivalent or cool with Noah getting off scot free, but then again, Tom doesn’t know every little detail.

No one talks about it in detail even in their little power club that Connor and him started up.

He gets it.

It’s not something anyone wants to linger on.

And he understands better than most.

His monster was different, but no less horrifying.

“I’ll go with you,” Tom offers Dan, because this is a new city and even though the point is to go see what's up with Noah, and make sure he isn’t still the shadow monster he was the last time Tom saw him, he still wants to make the most of it.

“Two hours,” Andy says with a warning. “Two hours or I leave you in Seattle.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom shakes his head. Andy would never do them like that.

“If you’re coming we should go to the space needle,” Dan says thoughtfully, taking out his phone to begin google mapping the places he wants to hit up.

“Two hours!” Andy calls back from where he’s watching a couple people play basketball.

*

Tom discovers he has a thing about heights as they ascend via an elevator. It’s a slow day and the elevator operator talks him through it, telling him all sorts of bad puns and more information about the space needle then he can remember. “Sarah Palin came by the other day,” the woman who looks to be about their age with green ringlets and a friendly smile that doesn’t seem to be forced like most customer service workers smile (smile through the pain), “and she said she could see Alaska from here! Get it?”

Tom tries to smile, but yeah, he’s never doing this again. “Did you see the masked singer with Sarah Palin?”

The girl nods, “how the mighty have fallen. You think there's an alternate universe where she was vice president and insead Joe Biden’s on Dancing with the Stars?”

Tom’s laugh dies in his throat as the elevator jolts to a stop. It certainly feels like a huge jolt, but that may be his anxiety making everything elven times worse.

“Well thank you for riding air force two,” she salutes as Tom finally steps into the platform.

Sweet, sweet relief.

He sort of has to go take a picture or two off the viewing platform. He’s made it this far.

“She was totally into you,” Dan says, stepping in to take Tom’s mind off things.

“Was not.”

“Totally was.”

Tom rolls his eyes, “she was just being nice.”

“Sure man, sure. But she was.”

*

They arrive even later than Andy had predicted. It’s midnight and proof that they had dallied in Seattle for two long. This is the first time Dan has ever left the country so of course they stop and take pictures.

And then they stop and eat at the cute little cabin lodge just off the highway.

And even Andy forgets about the Noah business.

They pull into the street, disappearing from the city in the turn onto the street. It’s crazy how much of a difference a street can make. A little quiet row of houses tucked under the twinkling lights of the city lights.

Your house is a small one story thing, clearly an older home from before cookie cutter houses came into fashion, and with a certain amount of charm even with the dead plant by the doorstep: closer to a cottage than a house like something out of Snow White. There’s even a ouija board doormat that Tom thinks is completely in line with your humor and probably Noah’s as well. He just doesn’t remember much about Noah when he was alive. Last time Tom saw Noah, Noah was saying sorry to the birds. People could change.

Right?

It’s not like Noah had gone all Zodiac Killer on his friends.

The lights are off and Tom feels kind of bad that he’s about to wake you up, but he also really wants to crash in an actual bed.

Dan knocks on your door as Andy paces behind Tom.

A minute later, you peak your head out the door. Your navy blue sweater is cuffed around your hands, clearly meant for someone taller, helping to stave off the autumn chill, and grey flannel pajama pants. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand as you yawn. “You’re here,” you smile and hug Dan with one arm, “do you need any help with the bags.”

“The bags can wait until tomorrow,” Dan answers for the group, “I just want to sleep in a real bed.”

You snort, “don’t actually have a guest room,” you admit, keeping your voice down as you usher them all inside, “but I do have a pretty comfortable pull out couch and way too many quilts. I have to stop going to Victoria Island.”

Andy looks around, tense.

Tom’s a little surprised when you hug him too. “Want any food? There’s a ton of leftovers. Noah’s been stress baking. He has a bunch of exams this week.,” you say with such casualness.

“We already ate,” Dan offers, “there was this cool looking log cabin that sold me on pumpkin spice muffins.”

“Where is Noah,” Andy asks, cutting right to the quick.

You look at him pointedly as you explain, “he went to sleep early. He’s got school at like 7 am. I have no clue why. . .college was all about afternoon classes for me.”

Andy wisely, let’s it go for the moment.

You show them where things are, the couch is already extended. The TV’s sitting on a pile of textbooks with a nintendo switch right next to it.

Tom is out before his head hits the pillow.

*

They wake up and eat the promised leftovers as you rush to find the spare key to leave with your friends before you too have to go to work. “I would've asked for the day off like I did for the rest of the week,” you hastily explain, filling the electric kettle with water, “but it was Maureen’s birthday and I would’ve felt like such a dickhead.”

You make Dan promise to come look through the Museum you work at before it closes, and then you’re running off with a tumbler full of tea, putting a hand through your hair as if that’ll save it from looking like a mess. Tom’s unsurprised at your easy nature when they’re all imposing, making no secret of the real reason they had driven all the way to the other coast of North America.

Andy conducts a walkthrough of the house, leaving the sole bedroom of the house alone.

Dan shakes his head, flipping through the TV channels, before logging onto your netflix account, the most recent show having been played was Avatar the Last Airbender. “Anything you want to watch?”

“The good place,” Tom offers, “everyone’s always saying it's good.”

Dan shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have netflix.”

Andy comes back with a picture frame clutched in his hand, “He’s such a dick!” Red seeping into his neck as he fumes.

Tom looks over at the picture, but it’s just a photo any normal couple would have hanging around their house: a blurry polaroid of you and Noah, each with a red solo cup at some house party, with the date, over a year ago, written on the border. He gets it, he does. And Andy’s his friend, so he nods.

Dan on the other hand, “okay. . .”

Andy disappears back down the hall. “I just don’t understand how they kept this from us! I mean-after what he did!”

Tom nods the same way he always had when his dad would start lecturing him in japanese even though his japanese is limited to whatever the japanese equivalent of Dora the explorer teaching spanish is.

“Probably so we wouldn’t freak out,” Dan offers, not looking away from the screen.

Andy marches back into the living room with a deep set frown, “Noah was fine offering us up to that monster and now they’re here playing house like nothing ever happened.” He sits down next to Tom, head in his hand. “I just don’t get it.”

He clasps a hand on Andy’s shoulder in comfort.

“Maybe they just wanted to forget as much as we did,” Dan notes quietly. “Some of us left and never really went back.” He’s talking about Lily and Lucas, who only visits during the holidays, then there’s Ava out in Arizona, busy doing field research and only going to Westchester in between jobs. Dan’s an hour away, a world away, near Stacy.

It’s really just Andy and Connor who stayed.

He’s in Pine Springs, a good hour to the west of Westchester.

“He died,” Andy grumbles out, “it could’ve easily been them, or any of us, or all of us. We’re lucky no one else did.”

Dan frowns, looking over at Andy, “I don’t like this anymore than you do. I’m not jazzed that Noah’s been back for years and we just found out. But I trust their judgement.”

“Necromancy is serious business,” Tom says, breaking the staring contest that’s started between the two friends.

*

Noah’s at least a little bit of a coward, as he saunters up to them, running a hand through his hair as he takes a seat at the table.

You had said this diner had the best malai kofta in the neighborhood.

He’s resting expression is still skewed towards sour, even as there’s other noticeable changes from the Noah Tom remember’s who’d kept to himself in school. His hair cut into a flattering undercut, clothes no longer on the angsty scruffy side but still decidedly casual as he opts for a dark palette, and of course, the blue eyes that seem to glow even in the afternoon light Lucas had mentioned in great detail. Noah’s clean shaven and lean, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

He only spares Tom a second’s glance before he focuses in on you, his lips quirk-ing up in a small smile. Sitting down, you lean forward expectantly as he plants a kiss on your cheek by way of greeting, before saying, “C’s make degrees right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “but you did fine so it doesn’t matter. I ordered you the chicken and waffles. That’s what you usually get right?”

“Actually,” Noah starts, clearly about to tease you.

You shove his shoulder lightly, “beggars can’t be choosers.”

Dan extends an olive branch, “hey Noah.”

Which Andy immediately shoots down, “so it’s true.”

Tom’s only glad they’re already sitting and yeah, Noah’s a coward for meeting them in public, not that it had stopped Lucas from sucker punching him. It probably won’t stop Andy, only he’s sandwiched in between Dan and Tom and there’s no way Dan is getting up and out just so Andy can punch Noah. That’s not the kind of friend Dan is. Dan’ll take someone away to cool off, sprouting lines about being the bigger person, but Tom thinks that sometimes a punch is well earned.

Noah nods, sobering up, rating his arms on the table. “Yeah. It’s still. . . it’s still a trip nearly four years later.”

You cover his hand with yours, giving Noah’s hand a squeeze.

Now that they’re here with Noah, a burst of curiosity that’s been brewing in the back of Tom’s mind finally surges forward. “Do your eyes always glow? Or is it light a cat’s iridescence and that’s why you can read in the dark?”

“Gee, let me give you the paperwork the doctor diagnosed me with after I explained that my sister became a shadow monster and I came back to life. He was super nice and helpful about everything. We really don’t pay doctors enough.”

Andy rolls his eyes, “So are you still a monster or not.”

Noah frowns, before leading forward, gripping a glass of ice in hand pointedly, lifting it off the table, watching his own action with a sad fascination, “you can’t begin to imagine how nice it is to be solid again--to be more than a lingering ghost who can barely remember who it used to be.”

Which doesn’t answer the question but--

Some monsters were all too human for comfort. And some monstrous beings ended up friends and allies back in Pine Springs.

*

You and Dan walk up ahead arm in arm, chatting about everything from how cozy ll bean’s wool socks were to how you wanted to branch out and leave your job but it just couldn't be a bank, working in a cubical all day seemed like a death sentence. Dan fills you in on the news from back home and you both catch up as you walk at a leisurely pace back to your home.

Somehow, Noah manages to be patient as Tom rattles off question after question.

“Do you remember much?”

“What was it like coming back?”

“Can you do any magic thought,” he purses his lips in thought, “that doesn’t tell us much, since Ava’s out there levitating feathers.”

“Are any of your other senses better?”

“Do you have any other changes after coming back?”

“Can you speak to animals now?”

“Do you ever get a craving for human flesh?”

“Your limbs don’t fall off or anything? Right?”

“You have all your memories back?”

“Do you ever see any ghosts?”

“Can you see ghosts?”

Noah answers them patiently, if amused, as Andy skulks behind, clearly listening in on the conversation.

“How did they bring you back,” Tom finally asks, having spent countless nights researching necromancy. It had crept up in the Pine Spring’s society books, journals detail all sort of gorey accounts of their attempts to harness the power to gain power over the dead and living, but none of it had ever amounted to anything. At least in the best case.

One member had rotted away from the inside out, black mold blooming in his lungs, incurable as he choked to death after trying to raise a simple cat from the dead.

Noah tenses up, glancing over to where you’re laughing as Dan does a spot on Bernie impression about how it’s time to once again, “ask for a The man from U.N.C.L.E. sequel,” before meeting Tom’s gaze again. “You’ve formed a little club to keep the power away from people right?”

He nods, “I just-I don’t want more people to go through what we have,” he explains. They had to be proactive and learn so that no one else would stumble upon the power and exploit it to violent ends. Ava’s magic wasn’t derived from the power. Tom had double checked that. Ava’s magic was her own through her own sheer will.

But the power-that was something else entirely.

He swallows thickly.

Nothing had happened so far. And he couldn’t tell if their plan was working, or if they had gotten lucky. It had been a handful of years. But then, a decade had passed between Jane Marshall’s death and her awakening.

“And no one else ever will,” Noah says forlornly.

“Explain,” Andy says, walking up on Noah’s other side.

The man looks up at you, as you and Dan wait by the street corner for the rest of the group to catch up, and he shakes his head. “All you need to know is the power won’t be a problem again.”

*

Tom runs the problem over and over in his mind as they explore Vancouver and Andy continues to get digs in at Noah while Noah lets him.

*

He thinks about it as Andy makes everyone watch #Alive. And then Dan reminds them how obsessed everyone was with Inception when it came out. And Tom thinks about Noah’s words. And then you suggest watching something lighter: Zoolander.

*

Tom plays Noah’s words over in his head as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to Andy’s snores.

*

He puzzles over what Noah meant, why he didn’t want to bother you with it, as he drives back across the continent.

*

The power takes.

*

The power gives.

*

He gets it as they stop for gas in New York.

*

Oh, you really must love him.

*

*

*

Ava

Ava walks into Tom’s house out in Pine springs. It’s summer and she’s ready to spend the entire week swimming and continuing the search for a black lipstick that won’t stain. Fenty came pretty close.

There’s tons of cars in the driveway and she knows she’s the last one to get there; she always did like an entrance.

She tries the doorknob before knocking, hearing the laughter and conversation carry outside. The house is unlocked so she lets herself in; she likes to make entrances, guilty as charged, before following the sound of voices into the back porch overlooking the lake.

Tom had lucked out in buying this place during the summer the lady of the lake terrorized the town.

She’s frozen in shock when she sees Noah sitting with everyone like he hasn't been dead for over eight years. He’s sitting with an arm around you, beer in his other hand, talking with Lily, in a faded AC/DC shirt and dark jeans despite the heat.

Ava pinches herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming.

“Ava,” Lily cries, spotting her, “you’re here.”

“What the fuck!”

Realization dawns on your face as Noah looks over at the resident goth chick who’s withered into a refined goth woman, less fishnet and more victorian mourning shirts paired with flared black and white leggings, for the first time in eight years and seven months.

“Hey Ava,” he says, lifting his hand up in greeting from where it’s resting on your shoulder.

Your face heats up, as you look at Ava, realizing you’d never gotten around to telling her. Not when you’d visited her for Thanksgiving even though she refused to participate in a propaganda holiday that “perpetuates colonialism” or the time last year when you’d gone to support her big lecture at UMississipi. It had never seemed the right time and now the time to calmly explain was gone.

“Someone explain before I light him on fire,” Ava utters, feeling heat grow in her fingertips. It was easy after years of practice. She was toying with the idea of buying a house in Salem.

Noah doesn’t even flinch.

How could he, having grown up with Jane for a sister that had gone around filling people shoes with mud and shoving people into pools with a laugh. That girl had been fearless, and Ava has long thought if she’d been an inch more scared, you and Jane never would have gone into those ruins.

It almost warms Ava’s cold dead heart.

Ha.

If Ava had sometimes been the third wheel with you and Jane, then Noah had been the ugly duckling waiting for a scrap of attention because Jane shone bright, a sunflower soaking up light, thriving on attention. Maybe Noah hadn’t been all that bothered to let his sister take the lead as kids, even as he grumbled about the trouble they were sure to get into, but neither Marshall twin had cared about anyone’s attention more than yours.

Jane had always been a limpet, her hand in yours.

Ava had been too independent even at nine to always go along with Jane, or want a friend that close.

But you didn’t just go along with Jane, you encouraged her, and dragged Noah along when Jane got too caught up in her made up games to remember to play nice. Noah who even at nine seemed clued into the fact that you were hurt that your parents were never around, something that never occurred to Jane.

So she’s not surprised that Noah and you are a thing.

Figures.

You’d kissed more than one white boy that could vaguely pass for Noah if you had enough to drink in college even if you had only dated twice and neither had been Noah Marshall knockoffs.

It’s glaringly obvious in hindsight.

What she doesn’t get is how he’s alive.

And everyone’s just cool with it.

“I thought you already knew,” Dan says.

Lily looks at you, “didn’t you tell Ava first?”

You raise a brow, “I thought Lucas told everyone?”

Lucas shrugs, wearing a suit in the summer, “I did. I just figured Ava already knew”

Stacy sips her cocktail, “awkward.”

“Wow,” Noah jokes with a grin, “you guys are terrible friends.”

Andy almost chokes on his beer, sending Noah a look that would’ve made Medusa jealous.

Danni shakes her head, “too soon dude, too soon.”

Maybe she should move into Cora’s old house. That way she could keep up with her friends' news.

How the hell did she miss Noah coming back to life.

That was metal as fuck.

She and you would have words about keeping secrets.

“Just give me the strongest drink you can make,” she says with a shake of her head, taking a seat next to Imogen, the resident mixologist.

[cloveroctobers]

GARY RENNELL —

IG info/bio | @/rennellnotreynolds | 300k followers | currently havin a midlife crisis at thee moment so cheers! 🍻🏋🏼‍♂️🤨

23 (24) years old

Born & raised in Chatham, England there’s no other place like it to him. Sure when he went on holiday to the villa, it was quite nice but nothing ever beats home. He genuinely believes that he’s meant to be in this place since it’s all he’s ever known & doesn’t think he’ll live anywhere else

Raised by his nan & is an only child. Was at risk of being placed in foster care until his paternal nan came forth to raise him

His father and nan did not have the best relationship due to the way he chose to live his life and Gary was kept away from his nan until he was about 10 years of age

Does not like to talk about his birth parents due to the trauma, which is why he feels like his nan is his everything. His savior and why she means so much to him

His nan once told him that he favors his mother, Gail. He never had the chance to really know her, but was aware that she was very unhappy with herself &, “chose to be with the stars” just before his 5th birthday

That’s one of the reasons why he finds himself always looking up at the stars, usually when he’s drunk out at the docks by himself, he’ll try to talk to his mom, to know her better

I feel like he’s either a cancer or a Libra?

Update: Cancer sun + libra moon + Taurus rising

Went to uni for a semester and thought about architecture as a profession but ultimately felt like uni was NOT for him and eventually juggled around with jobs until he landed into the crane operator field which he found himself to be great at

For as long as he and his nan can remember, he always loved playing with cars, ships, building Legos, (I’m American idk if this is a thing there too or it’s something different/similar so my apologies lol) and putting things together. He never cared for reading instructions, Gary’s a hands on type of guy/learner and it’s how he best communicates

He likes heights, so this job wasn’t an issue it was just getting through the program for 2-3 years that was a pain in his ass but he was determined + knew this was what he was good at and stuck with it.

It was tiring working 40 sometimes over 40 hrs a week but he’s passionate about his work so he’d never dare change it

Due to this job being a lot physically, he would use muscle cream to help his pain or pay to see a masseuse whenever he could or wasn’t being cheap about it + often buys epsom salt to bathe in 3 or so times a week 

Total penny pincher! I can see him being so, his dad told him all about how to hold onto what he’s got and always look for a bargain but with a gambler for a father, you can only imagine how that worked in his favor

Lives with his nan and doesn’t see an issue with it. His mates definitely tease him about it but know how much the woman means to him but still think it’s a major c*ck block for him but it’s a two for one package deal and anyone who doesn’t understand that doesn’t deserve him

Will probably still live in her house once IF she p*sses

Nan is a big fan of wallpaper and has one room in the flat that has squeaky plastic covering most of her furniture ( she loves furniture shopping) & only takes it off once her lady friends come over with consists of a huge cleaning routine which Gary secretly hates but pushes through it while she plays some old tunes on her jukebox

He finds himself singing those exact songs when he’s getting ready for work and actually enjoys them...but don’t ever tell his mates that!

His nan taught him basic household care & he finds himself scolding his mates for not knowing how to wash their underwear & always taking it to their mum’s or having their girlfriends do it for them

Loves washing clothes on a Sunday in the backyard + hanging them on the clothes line. His nan doesn’t believe in washer machines & makes her own detergent

He’s always down for a rooftop hangout, whether drunk or not. To be up almost as high as the stars is such a feeling or hang out with his mates laughing it up

Occasionally smokes cigarettes when he’s really stressed, he’s not proud of the nasty habit and tries his hardest to hide it from his nan & Lottie but they both know

Is in a on and off again relationship with Lottie. She’s met his nan, they both like each other. And that makes Gary extremely happy

Gary is the laid back one out of the two and Lottie is firey and needs constant reminding from Gary that he wants to be with her whereas Gary feels like that’s something she should already know and he’s told her a couple of times before, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t get why she doesn’t get that

Which results in arguments. Lottie chose to live in England for half of the year and goes back to Australia for the other half. Nan encouraged Lottie to live with the two of them until she decided to get her own place in England, or rather the two of them together. Nan doesn’t believe Gary will leave in fear of her being lonely, which she’s not! By all means, nan keeps busy! But Lottie desperately wants to have her own space with Gary away from nan, even tho she adores the spunky lady.

When they don’t see eye to eye she does what she does best and leaves, which is exhausting to Gary

They’ll go days without speaking until the other cracks. At first it would be Gary but since it’s been a year into their relationship, he’s gotten used to it and let’s her come back to him when she’s ready

He cares for Lottie, he really does. And wants this to work but he just wishes they could be more secure in their relationship.

Was a f*ckboy way back when from 18-20 and rarely there’s his old flings who show up just to cause drama knowing that Gary’s got a new girl in his life that LIVES with him, which Gary dreads that this small town knows his business. He hates confrontation but there’s one thing about Lottie, she’s never going to bite her tongue. So whenever those girls do try it with not only her but Gary she goes off.

Gary is protective too so when those messy girls start shit at the pub, he’s instantly trying to get Lottie away from the issue. Then there’s drinks flying and slap fights happening + hair pulling & they’re getting kicked out of the club/pub or even cops called on them.

“This blows. I thought you said you were trying to be better than this, Lottie.” “Me? What about those slags?! They attack not only me but your character too!” Which adds to a list of the reasons they fight.

Nonetheless they do have their fun moments together, getting drunk by the docks, getting random tattoos, hanging with his friends & their significant others, + going to the theatre

Lottie still thinks this town is very slow-pace, sleepy, cloudy and hardly has sun— which is okay to her some days but other day’s it can be dreadful and much different from her fast-pace life but she finds the little things like spending time with Gary to encourage her to stay

Gary likes playing games when he has his free time, like fortnite, red dead redemption, Final fantasy, & SUPER SMASH BROS & almost always plays with Ibrahim who informs him about new games which makes Lottie want to slam her head against the wall since that can take hours

Keeps in touch with all of the boys in villa and makes sure they have zoom meetings as much as they can because he cares about those boys. Noah tries to schedule them but usually it’s happens at random which annoys him but he gets over it. Gary spent month(s) with them. They’re basically his extended family & that’s saying a lot since he views his home to a high standard and has friends here but they’re nothing like his villa brother’s

Also into woodwork. He didn’t think he’d enjoy it but he likes to do it more when the weather gets crisp and he battles with that over cigarettes to ease his worries in life, then goes and have his daily dose of tea

Finally stopped dying his hair that awful yellow and stuck with it. Marisol was the first to see it, after an accidental FaceTime call which was supposed to be just a regular phone call but whatever? They’d all eventually see it if he EVER decided to post to his IG stories!

She compliments him in Spanish yanking her glasses off leaving him highly confused, “is that good?” “If Lottie doesn’t sit on your— which leaves Gary very wide eyed opposed to his raised brows but Marisol is cut off by Graham clearing his throat

Lottie does indeed like it & shows him how much and later asks his option on what color she should dye her hair next. 3 out of the 13 look the exact same to Gary. But he helps her dye her hair which comes out patchy but there’s no way in hell she’s letting anyone else touch her hair. She’s been doing this all on her own for some time now. Gary’s lucky she even allowed him to help her! So she dyes it back to blonde, all of it, and waits a few weeks to dye it all blue

Gary’s definitely into old boy bands especially LFO & serenades, “girl on tv” to Lottie all the time, likes 98 degrees, Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, Boys II men, & Dru Hill

As for modern day music, he LOVES to work out to tame impala which never makes sense to his mates but he usually works out the next day after getting shit-faced, he’s also in love with lizzo’s music, laundry day, brockhampton, & rina sawayama

Anthem = mac demarco, “Salad Days”

Celeb crush? Julia Roberts, Salma Hayek, Anne-Marie, Leona Lewis, & Noah Cyrus

[queerebrum]

Your Problem Now

y’know this was supposed to be 1k words. That is my goal for ficlets. And yet, here we are!! Enjoy your 1.7k of Sterrish (Stiles x Derek x Parrish) relationship reflection and sickfic fluff, @wolfflock​ & the rest of you that encouraged this.

--

Jordan had just finished putting on his belt when his phone rang on the nightstand. He glanced first at the alarm clock for the time and then back to the phone. Whoever was calling him, it wasn’t Derek, who was usually awake but not yet willing to socialize at this time of day, and it certainly wasn’t Stiles, who was unbearable if woken before 8am.

He reached for the phone and stared at the caller ID with a raised eyebrow. Answering it with a hard swallow he said, “Good morning, Sheriff.”

Calls from the Sheriff were always awkward. Calls from the Sheriff before 7am were downright terrifying. “Jordan, you’re off today,” Noah said, leaving no room for argument.

Jordan blinked a few times. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, carefully reviewing memories of the last few days of his shift.

“No. Stiles is sick and I’ve decided that if you’re going to date my eighteen year old son the least you can do is be the one to deal with him when he’s sick.” There was a brief pause. “Or, y’know, the two to deal with him. I’ll let you call Derek. I’m surprised he’s not already at my door, supernatural senses and all.”

Jordan nodded, still frozen in the middle of his bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. He decided against pointing out to Noah that he too was technically supernatural, and that Derek’s senses weren’t that enhanced. Instead of arguing anything – arguing with either Stilinski was an exhausting and often pointless process – he just said, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’m taking one of your sick days for this.” Noah said, his tone lighter.

Jordan laughed at that. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

--

‘Stiles is sick I guess? Sheriff says it’s our job to take care of him. See you there?’

Derek yawned and reread the text from Jordan. He grabbed for his half-full cup of coffee and took another long pull, letting the warm, bitter taste settle against his tongue as he mulled over the words.

He had many questions about the content of the text, but the number of question marks seemed to indicate that Jordan too was unsure of exactly what was going on. Derek briefly ran through what he’d planned to get done today.

Which really was nothing he couldn’t put off, because he spent his days as an independently-wealthy 20-something reading books and staring at a blank laptop screen trying to write literally anything that someone might want to read. Sometimes he sat through werewolf council conference calls, which was his duty as the pack Second. Those weren’t really all that more exciting than staring at a blank computer screen, though.

‘Should I bring anything?’ He sent back.

Jordan’s response was: ‘I’m already at Target. What do you know about human illness anyway? :P’ Derek glared at the phone, but Jordan was right. He sat back in his chair, finishing the cup of coffee and climbing to his feet to grab another one from the pot.

Being a werewolf, he knew the coffee was probably just a placebo effect at this point. Both Stiles and Jordan were well aware that waiting until after Derek had his second cup of coffee to interact was the suggested course of action most mornings. It was probably a good thing they didn’t all live together. (Yet.)

Jordan was an early riser, Stiles needed to sleep in, and Derek was a bear (or...a wolf) until he’d had two cups of liquid happiness. It made Derek wonder what their future would look like. Finishing his second cup, he headed to his bedroom with a smile on his face.

It didn’t really matter what his future looked like, as long as he had Jordan and Stiles.

--

Jordan expected Derek to have beaten him to the Stilinski house, with his overprotective werewolf instincts, but he was surprised to find the driveway empty aside from the old blue Jeep. He pulled up behind it and got out, carrying the bag of odds and ends he’d picked up from Target on the way.

The Sheriff hadn’t said what kind of sick Stiles was, so Jordan had no choice but to pick up a variety of things: cough drops, dayquil, pepto bismol, a box of tissues, several cans of chicken noodle soup and three of the big gatorade bottles. Once, Jordan had purchased a movie, and the look of abject horror on Stiles’s face when he realized Jordan had spent actual money on something like that had dissuaded him from making such mistakes again.

(“Where are we supposed to get movies then?” “The internet, Jord.”)

He carried his bag of supplies - double bagged with the weight of the gatorade and cans of soup - up to the front door and tried the handle. He was surprised to find it unlocked but well, he had told Noah he’d be there as soon as he could. That, and, even sick, he knew better than to underestimate Stiles. He may be human, but that didn’t make him helpless.

“Stiles?” Jordan called, realizing as he entered that he actually had no idea how Noah knew Stiles was sick. It was only just now coming up on 8am, which meant that given normal circumstances, Stiles would still be asleep.

The loud sound of a nose being blown upstairs gave Jordan his answer. Whatever kind of sick Stiles was had probably woken him up. “Ub here.” Stiles called, miserably.

Jordan tried not to laugh as he kicked off his shoes and headed up the stairs, pushing open Stiles’s bedroom door. “A little birdy told me you weren’t feeling well.” He said, dropping onto the corner of the bed. “And...forced me into using a sick day?”

Stiles looked awful. He was even paler than usual, moles looking especially dark against the sickly pallor of his skin. His nose was red and irritated, and he kept sniffling every few minutes. He coughed a few times before he spoke too, small, coughs that seemed to more relieve a tickle than actually dislodge something from his lungs. “My dad called you?”

Jordan took off his jacket and tossed it somewhere in the direction of Stiles’s computer chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Your dad decided that you needed company, I guess.” Jordan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips as Stiles, seemingly magnetized, fell forward to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan wrapped his arms around Stiles’s body, stroking one hand along his back. “Did he call Derek?” Stiles asked, somewhat muffled between the stuffy nose and his face pressed into Jordan’s shirt.

“No, he told me I could do that. Even made a joke about Derek already knowing you were sick because of werewolf instincts.” Jordan traced the knobs of Stiles’s spine, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “He’ll be over soon. I think I texted him during his first cup of coffee.” That reminded him. “Did you wake up sick?”

Stiles nodded, halfheartedly, still not lifting his head. “I started coughing in the middle of the night. Woke dad ub.”

Stiles leaned away after he finished speaking, as if saying the word ‘cough’ had manifested the very action itself, tucking his face into the corner of his elbow and letting out a string of bark-like noises that Jordan was now sure didn’t seem productive in the slightest. Sometime in the middle of it, there were footsteps on the stairs, and Jordan glanced back over his shoulder to smile at Derek, whose face was pinched in concern.

“Oh hey–” “–Der, nice of you–” “–to join us.” Stiles managed between coughs, eventually flopping back onto the bed with one of his arms thrown over his eyes. “Fuck.”

Derek had similarly divested himself of his jacket, and he squeezed Jordan on the shoulder briefly as he made his way over to the other side of the bed. Jordan glanced up and smiled, Derek leaning in for a brief, comfortable kiss.

Sometimes, it still mystified Jordan that he was here. He watched Derek sit down on the opposite side of Stiles’s bed, lean over and rest his ear against Stiles’s chest. Jordan felt his smile widen, watching the careful way Derek rested his other arm along Stiles’s, twining their fingers together as he listened.

After a minute, he sat up. “Just wheezy. I think you’ll live.”

Jordan had to bite back a laugh at the malice in the glance Stiles gave Derek when he lifted his arm. “Okay you two.” Jordan nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own. “Be nice, he’s sick.”

“You’re no fun,” Derek teased, but his smile was bright.

Even Stiles’s face had shifted into a smile, and Jordan felt one of his hands – warmer than Stiles usually ran – slid into his own. “I’m glad you’re here.” Stiles said, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m gonna go back to sleep though, It’s still so fucking early.”

Jordan lifted Stiles’s hand to his own lips to press a kiss into it. “I brought medicine. You should take something and then you can nap.” He stood up, wandering to where he’d dropped the bag. He rifled through it to find the dayquil and the cough suppressant, tossing one of the Gatorade’s over his shoulder with the full confidence that his werewolf boyfriend would catch it.

He turned around to see Derek crack the gatorade and pass it off to Stiles, who drank from it while Jordan fought with the packaging on the medicine.

And fought.

And fought.

The damn blister packs were supposed to be childproof not hellhound proof.

Derek was snickering into Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles petting Derek’s hair and biting his lip to hold in his own chuckling. Jordan finally tossed the pack at Derek. “Here, you open it then.”

Derek, ever the show off, flicked out a claw and sliced into the packaging – and directly into the liquid capsule, watching orange-red liquid slide down his finger, sending Jordan into a laughing fit and Stiles into yet another coughing fit.

Several minutes later, Derek’s hands were clean, Stiles had been adequately medicated, and they were all snuggled down into Stiles’s bed for what Jordan suspected would be the first of several naps today. Stiles was on his side, his back pressed along the length of Derek’s chest. Jordan faced Stiles, one if his arms tucked over both of his boyfriends, and his forehead pressed against the sleepy humans.

“Love you.” Stiles murmured quietly. Derek whispered it against the back of Stiles’s neck and reached over to squeeze Jordan’s side. Jordan grinned, more thankful than he could have predicted for the day off.

“Love you both.”

[goodproofingwater]

A Gentleman | Noah Centineo x Reader

Word count: 2417 Warnings: NSFW content, mentions of an abusive relationship Requested by: @cxxl-gall​ (literally almost a year ago i am so sorry)

The memories of the man before swim in your mind as you wait in line for your morning cappuccino, the strong smell of arabica wafting through months of what you once thought was normality until you started talking to your friends. Words which had been designed to bow you into submission had been dressed in such pretty packaging that you hadn’t even noticed what they were, and you were thankful for having such a supportive group around you to help you remove yourself from the situation.

It was around three weeks after everything had died down that you started filming for your new movie, and although you had originally thought it best that you pass on the role due to the nature of the film being so based on relationships and your horrible experience, your friends were once again there to push you. You had been trying for ages to break into something more than the commercials that you had been stuck with, and you weren’t about to let your ex ruin this for you. He had already done enough.

The first day was apprehensive, scary and exciting, and for the first time in ages, you were thinking about something other than your past. And so you leaned into it, allowed yourself to become obsessed with your craft once more, spent days immersing yourself into your character, the nights re-reading lines and researching aspects of your characters' interests that you would never have done before. Before long, you felt like you knew your character better than you knew yourself, and you felt like you were starting to heal.

And then you met him.

Noah was every inch as handsome as the images you had seen, and every bit as charming as the interviews would have you believe, and although the scenes that you had with him were predictably romantic, his kindness made them easier to swallow.

Even with your research and the depth that you went into to ensure that your character was as multi-faceted as possible (while also distracting yourself) the scenes toward the end of the script in which you were fully in a relationship with Noah’s character were much harder to adapt to.

By the time you had started reading the script aloud in your trailer to prepare for the scenes that would be filmed the following week, it had been a month and a half since the break-up, and although you were much more comfortable with the idea, actually being so close, acting out things which had become so tainted… it was a whole other story.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before.. I can’t believe you’re even real..” You read to the empty trailer, trying to enforce love and passion into your voice but you could feel it shaking, could feel the goosebumps erupting on your skin at the thought of someone touching you, the thought of the words that were so similar o the ones which had fallen unscripted from your lips months ago and how they had been used to trap you.

You were so engrossed in trying to focus that you didn’t hear the knock on the door, and you barely heard the door open. It was only when his calloused fingers grazed your bicep that you spun, so fast that you had to steady yourself against him, wide eyes expecting pain either physical or otherwise.

“Woah.. are you alright?” Concern washed through his features, the mask that he used so often while he was acting stripped away completely to reveal how much he genuinely cared about your wellbeing, and it was then that you realised that you couldn’t remember the last time a man looked at you this way. Each time your ex had looked at you it had been with disgust, with expectation of something that he hadn’t even told you he wanted, and even after nights where you had thought that you had given him everything he wanted there was nothing but cold emptiness behind icy blue orbs.

This was different.

Even though you hadn’t known him long, the warmth of his expression made you feel more validated than any time your ex had attempted to understand your feelings.

“I--” You started before clearing your throat and forcing a smile on your face which didn’t quite fit there, “Sorry I was just really into the scene.”

Curls dropped as he looked down at your shaking hands, and he cupped them in his own, shaking his head. He looked like he wanted to say something, to ask why you were so hurt and what had cause you to have such a reaction to someone grazing your arm, but instead he continued with your charade.

“Well lets practice together. It’s better that we build up our familiarity as much as we can right?” He smiled, and it was a kindness that no one had ever afforded you. Even when your friends had been helping you through hell, none of them had given a thought to how you wanted to deal with it, only how they thought was best. Focussing on work and powering through was perfect, and you knew you would have to find a way to than Noah without letting him know just how much he had helped.

You practised over and over, and it wasn’t long before you were even more comfortable with him. All thought of who he was and the level of this for your career left your mind, he was just your friend who was helping you get through something horrible by immersing you in something that you loved doing, and even improving your talent by teaching you different techniques.

By the time the scene came around you were no longer nervous, you were excited to do this on camera, the words becoming commonplace and any connotations that you had been worried about completely gone.

And so, you stood in the middle of the set which was supposed to be his room, his hands on your waist as you swayed softly to a song that you knew would be replaced in the final cut, words falling with ease, taking on an entirely new meaning now that he was looking at you as his character rather than you off-camera.

“I- I can’t believe you’re real..” You spoke, your bottom lip quivering, his eyes darting down to catch the sight before he spoke

“I’m not special..” He started, looking directly into your eyes and you felt like he was talking directly to your soul, “You just deserve the world” and although that was where his lines ended, he continued, “and I can’t believe that anyone ever made you feel any other way. You’re incredible, perfect really, and I’m so lucky that I get to be here with you..”

He swallowed thickly as you scanned his expression, unable to tell if the improvisation came from his characters' desire for yours or because of how close you had gotten over the last couple of weeks.

“I’m the lucky one... You’re perfect..” You whispered, leaning in and running your nose along with his and biting your lip before the director called cut.

There was a moment where you stayed still, where you both allowed the magic to continue before you were forced to pretend that the scene was normal.

“Excellent!” The director spoke, “Fantastic take guys, give us a few minutes and we’ll move on to the next scene in this room.”

You could feel Noah’s eyes on you for a moment, and you looked over at him with a small smile, “Want to grab a cup of coffee before we go ahead with the next scene?” you suggested, and he nodded, licking his lips and throwing caution to the wind.

His fingers slipped softly into your own, and while you were scared of being so close to another man you felt safe with him, felt like no matter what happened he could look after you, even if it was just for the duration of filming this movie.

--

It was three weeks later that he took you for a drink and you told him everything. Something about him made you feel more comfortable than you had ever been with anyone, so open and honest about everything that had happened and how it had made you feel. He had wasted no time in telling you how much of a prick your ex was, and he bought another bottle of wine for you to share over some food.

Light glinted off of the rim of his wine glass as he spoke so passionately about his life and his career, and you could tell then that there was no inch of this man who even had the capacity to hurt you. He was kind, loving and wonderful, and although even three weeks on you were still not sure if his improvisation was him getting caught up in his characters feelings or him sharing his own, it didn’t stop you taking a leap as he walked you to the door of the hotel room the production crew had put you up in for the entirety of filming.

“Probably shouldn’t have drunk so much wine with us having to get up at 6am tomorrow huh?” You grinned, and he laughed as he watched you slip the key into the door of your hotel room and turn to face him,

“Ahh but this is the best lesson of all,” He grinned, licking his lips in such a way that you had to focus on his words to stop your mind from betraying itself, “work-life balance.” His wink made your knees weak, and you licked your own lips before throwing caution to the wind,

“If that’s the case then I’m not sure you’ve taught me that lesson all too well… perhaps.. Perhaps you could join me for a nightcap on my balcony?” You offered, and his eyes immediately darkened, his body moving from where it had been leaning against the opposite wall toward you and it took everything in you to push the door open rather than let him push you against it.

Pouring glasses of vodka and cranberry, you did everything you could to not read his hand ghosting along your waist, his long fingers stilling your own hands as his lips moved slowly along your shoulder.

“Tell me if this is too much” He whispered, “I don’t want to do anything which makes you uncomfortable.”

You thought that your guide would be straight up, that you would be pushing him away, but instead, it melted into him, your head resting back against his shoulder as he kissed your neck and undid the buttons of your shirt from behind.

“I want to show you how incredible you are, I want to worship every inch of you, I want you to feel how worthy of love you are.” The words could have fallen straight from his characters lips, and you would have stopped him for fear of him feeding you lines if you couldn’t feel him hardening beneath you, if he hadn’t been so consistently wonderful and you hadn’t felt so instantly trusting of him, something which had been difficult even during your relationship with your ex.

Instead of answering you turned to face him, kissing him softly, running your nose gently along his as you undid the buttons on his own shirt, your breath bated as you were desperate to feel a man again after so long, and a man who you knew you could trust.

“I bet you say that to all the girls” You tried, your insecurities falling from your lips in the form of a joke and he laughed, shaking his head. He pulled back from you, holding both sides of your face to ensure you were listening and you could understand how genuine he was being

“I think you’re amazing, and you haven’t been treated the way you should be. And.. don’t feel like you have to, but I would really like to show you how you deserve to be treated. How someone who likes you, who respects you, someone.. Someone who thinks you’re incredible and funny and interesting and fucking beautiful will treat you.”

You don’t even had the words to accept and so you close the gap between you, kissing him in a way that you had never imagined you would kiss again. Full of passion. Full of lust. Full of trust.

Strong hands wrapped around each of your thighs as he picked you up, lips never parting, and placed you softly on the bed. Clothes peeled off of shaking bodies, lips and tongues dancing together in lust and desperation until you lay bare for each other, one arm holding him up as your legs wrapped around him and he sank deep into you.

“Fucking hell..” He whispered against your lips as you gasped at the size of him, tight from months of nothing but being intimate with your own fingers.

He moved slowly at first, holding you tight against him. When his lips were not desperately pressed against your own he was looking into your eyes, sweet nothings rolling off of his tongue as he sped up until the sound of slapping filled the room and you were writhing in pleasure.

“I want you to cum for me baby,” He whispered, kissing softly up your neck as your head fell back at the sheer pleasure which washed through you, and it wasn’t long before you gave in to his request and he came with you, leaving you both panting from an incredible mutual orgasm.

Minutes passed in silence as you came down from your high, and you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face even as he pulled out and lay next to you, pulling you into him.

“So..” You spoke first, tension palatable in the air, “What now?”

His soft laughter filled the room before he placed a soft kiss on your forehead and he spoke, “Well I would like to take you for a proper dinner sometime this week if that’s alright with you? I meant what I said about you deserving to be treated like a princess.”

“You didn’t say princess…” You grinned and he mirrored your smile, nodding and he’s like, “well whatever you want to call it, I’d like for this not to be a one-time thing... If that’s okay?”

You answered by kissing him deeply and nodding, finding comfort that you had never expected in just his presence.

[btsqualityy]

BTS Toddler Series #17: Pregnancy Scare

Kim Seokjin

“Jagi?” Jin called out gently as he walked into the bedroom that you two shared together. You were sitting on the bed, your head in your hands as your mind constantly replayed the argument that you and Jin had just had about 15 minutes ago.

“What?” You whispered and Jin sat down on the bed next to you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t know why I’ve been so moody lately but I shouldn't be taking it out on you,” you replied.

“Speaking of that,” he started and you looked over at him. “I’ve noticed how you’ve been moody lately and I was thinking, do you think that maybe you could be pregnant again?” You let your mouth drop open a little as you thought about what he said. It was always a possibility, especially since you didn’t take birth control regularly and Jin never used condoms. 

“Do you think I could be?” You reversed the question and you watched as he shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s a good chance and remember, when you were pregnant with Kade, your emotions were the first thing to be affected.” You couldn’t help but to smile at the memory of the fight that you and Jin had that led to you finding out that you were pregnant with Kaiden.

“Can you go buy me a test then?” You wondered and Jin wordlessly got up and walked out of the bedroom, coming back about a minute later with a pregnancy test in hand. “Well, that was fast.”

“I had meant to bring this all up to you eventually and I wanted to have a test just in case,” he shrugged as he handed the box to you. You got up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you as you tore open the box. After using the test, you washed your hands before opening the door and motioning for Jin to come inside.

“Would you like another baby right now?” You questioned and Jin looked over st you with a small smile on his face.

“I’d love it,” he answered. After realizing that a minute had passed, you looked at the test and saw that it was negative.

“Well, no baby for us right now,” you said as you handed the test to him. 

“Eventually though, right?” He asked and you nodded immediately.

“Of course.”

Min Yoongi

“Baby, are you ok?” Yoongi asked as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a grimace on his face as he watched you hunch over the toilet, emptying your stomach.

“Mmm,” you nodded before retching and throwing up once more. Yoongi walked further into the bathroom and crouched down next to you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“No, you’re not,” he sighed. A few seconds of silence passed before Yoongi spoke up again. “Are you pregnant?”

“What?” You lifted your head and looked over at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean, think about it,” he said. “You never really get sick, let alone throw up, and the last time that you did throw up like this, you were pregnant and you just hadn’t told me yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant now though.”

“How’s your cycle?” He wondered.

“It’s late but it could be stress Yoongs. All of this,” you gestured to the toilet. “Could be stress related.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi called firmly. “You know how much we have sex.” You sat there for a few seconds as you thought about it and then you looked back up at him.

“Pass me the old test from the back of the cabinet,” you requested and Yoongi stood up to go get it. Once he handed it to you, he walked out of the bathroom while you cleaned up and then took the test after making sure that it wasn’t expired. After you were done, you waited one minute for the results to pop up and once they did, you walked out of the bathroom to Yoongi, who was sitting on the bed.

“I told you,” you laughed as you handed him the negative pregnancy test.

“Excuse me for hoping,” Yoongi grumbled and you leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Soon baby,” you promised. “Soon.”

Kim Namjoon

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” You whispered to yourself. You were sat on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down your cheeks as you held the pregnancy test in your hands.

“Jagi?” You heard Namjoon’s voice and you lifted your head to look over, seeing him standing in the doorway of the bathroom with his brows furrowed.

“Joon, hi,” you mumbled as you stood up from the floor and quickly used the sleeves of your shirt to rid your face of any tears. “Where’s Mase?”

“Oh, he fell asleep in the car so I put him into bed,” Namjoon answered as he walked further into the bathroom so that he was standing right in front of you. “What’s wrong Y/N-ah?” You silently handed him the pregnancy test in your hands and watched his face for any sort of reaction.

“It’s negative Y/N-ah. Why are you so upset? I thought you weren’t ready for more kids yet,” he said and you sniffled as a first set of tears welled up in your eyes. 

“I’m not but I know you are,” you huffed. “I feel like shit because I’m happy to not be pregnant but I knew that you’d be disappointed.”

“Oh baby,” Namjoon sighed as he gathered you up in his arms, hugging you tightly as you wrapped your arms around him as well. “I’d never be mad at you for how you feel.”

“But it’s not fair to you though,” you whined and Namjoon pulled away just enough so that he was able to look at your face.

“I’m married to an amazing woman, we have an incredible son together and we’re all happy and healthy. If you ask me, life’s been more fair to me than I ever thought it would.”

“Stop being so damn cheesy and cute,” you grumbled after a few seconds, making Namjoon laugh as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“But seriously, I’d never be mad at you for wanting to take care of yourself,” Namjoon assured you. “If it took you 10 more years to feel comfortable with having another baby, I’d wait.”

“Thank you for understanding Joon,” you smiled, leaning up to press a firm kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Jung Hoseok

“Ok, so I have something to tell you,” you said, making Hobi look up from his phone as he sat on the couch. “But you can’t freak out because I’m already freaking out and there’s no room for the both of us to be freaking out.”

“Ok,” Hobi chuckled with a nod. “I won’t freak out. What’s going on?”

“My period’s late,” you revealed and Hobi’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure?”

“Hobi, it’s my body so I’m pretty sure,” you scoffed. 

“You know what I meant,” he shook his head. “Have you taken a test yet?”

“I have one but I haven’t taken it yet because I wanted to do it with you,” you muttered. Hobi stood up from the couch and walked over to you, grabbing your hands and intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Let’s go take it then, alright?” He said and you nodded before the both of you walked upstairs to the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom. You grabbed the pregnancy test from underneath the sink and opened it before proceeding to use it. Once you were done, you popped the cap back on it and washed your hands.

“What are you thinking?” You asked Hobi, who had been surprisingly quiet while you used the test.

“About how the hell we’d handle three kids when we can barely contain the two we have,” he chuckled tensely.

“Ugh, I know,” you agreed. “I wasn’t even this freaked out when we found out that I was having twins.”

“We’d be ok though, right? If you are pregnant?” He wondered and you nodded immediately.

“We always are,” you smiled. The timer on your phone went off and you grabbed the test, a wide grin appearing on your face as you handed the test to Hobi.

“You’re not pregnant,” he whispered as he looked up at you. “Thank God,” he laughed and you did the same before hugging him tightly.

Park Jimin

“So, I hear someone thinks that they may be expecting again,” your doctor teased and you nodded. You had been feeling very off for the last few weeks, similar to the way you did when you had gotten pregnant with Noah, so you decided to take a pregnancy test. You took both tests that came in the package and one of them gave you a positive result while the other gave you a negative result so you made a doctor’s appointment to get a definitive answer.

“That’s what one of the tests said at least,” you chuckled, tightening your grip on Jimin’s hand.

“Well, I’m gonna go get your results and I’ll be right back,” he announced before stepping out of the room.

“Do you want to be pregnant?” Jimin asked as he looked over at you.

“Kind of,” you admitted with a small smile. “Even though it wasn’t planned, we’ve always wanted to have more babies.”

“I know and I still do,” Jimin agreed. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re ok with this.”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “And there may not even be anything to be ok with since we aren’t sure yet.”

“That’s true,” Jimin acknowledged. Just then, the door opened and your doctor walked back inside.

“Well, you’re not pregnant,” you doctor revealed. “One of those pregnancy tests was just a false positive.”

“Oh,” you sighed heavily and your doctor said goodbye before leaving the room. You looked over at Jimin and saw that he had a little pout on his face.

“Are you just as disappointed as me?” You asked.

“Probably more,” he nodded. “It’s just not the right time though, I guess. We’ll get there when we’re supposed to.”

Kim Taehyung

“Y/N! Have you seen my contacts?” Taehyung shouted from inside of the bathroom.

“Uh, I think they’re in the bathroom cabinet and stop yelling,” you replied as you glanced down at Spencer, who was still fast asleep in bed next to you. “I don’t want you to wake up Spence.”

“Sorry,” he muttered and you could hear the sounds of him moving things around as he looked for his contacts. The sounds stopped soon enough, so you figured that he’d found them. However, you weren’t expecting him to walk out of the bathroom with the pregnancy test that you had bought yesterday in his hands.

“Damn, I forgot I put that in there yesterday,” you muttered. 

“Anything that you wanna tell me Y/N-ah?” He asked.

“I bought it because my period’s a few days late,” you explained. “I just wanted to be prepared in case I needed it, no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Tae scoffed. “You could be carrying my second Munchkin inside of you right now.”

“If you think Spence is gonna let you get away with calling anyone else but her Munchkin, you’ve got another thing coming,” you giggled but you stopped when Tae didn’t laugh along with you. “You want me to take the test right now, don’t you?”

“Please,” he nodded. You sighed heavily and got up, taking the test from his hands before walking in the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. After you finished using the bathroom, you washed your hands before opening the door and walking back into the bedroom.

“Where’s the test?” Tae asked.

“I didn’t take it.”

“Y/N, what? Why not?”

“Because I just saw that my period came when I used the bathroom,” you answered, a laugh escaping your mouth at the expression on Tae’s face. “You’re not too disappointed, are you Tae?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But I’ll be fine. Besides, we still have our first Munchkin.” You looked over to the bed, smiling as you noticed Spencer pulling lightly on her ear in her sleep.

“Yes we do.”

Jeon Jungkook

“I’m never having sex with you again.”

“Kook.”

“No, I’m serious,” he stated as he fidgeted nervously in the chair next to you. Your period was a whole two weeks late and you thought that you could be pregnant again so you scheduled a doctor’s appointment to find out for sure.

“Will you calm down? You’re panicking for nothing,” you scoffed.

“And how are you not? I mean, I thought we were waiting longer to have another baby since Angel’s only two.”

“First of all, she’s about to be three and second, you should’ve thought about that before impulsively fucking me on the floor of that hotel room when me and Ave came to visit you on tour,” you pointed out.

“I didn’t hear any complaints when I was fucking the-,” he started to say but the door to the examination room opened and your doctor walked inside, a clipboard in his hands.

“Well, we tested the sample that you gave us,” your doctor said, not wasting any time in getting straight to the point. “You’re not pregnant.”

“Well, why is my cycle so late?” You wondered.

“You remember how you came in last month and switched your birth control?” Your doctor asked and you nodded. “That threw off your cycle, that’s all.” After a few more remarks, your doctor said goodbye to you both before walking out of the room.

“You ok now?” You asked Jungkook, setting your hand on his forehead. “Not about to die, are you?”

“I’m fine now,” he chuckled, grabbing your wrist and moving your hand off his forehead before intertwining his fingers with yours. “I absolutely want more babies with you but let’s just wait a little longer, ok?”

“I can agree to that,” you smiled before kissing his lips softly.