#apparently i completely blocked it out of my memory

[getosugurusbangs]

i have a confession to make, up until we saw him in the gojo vs. sukuna fight chapters, i literally had no idea kashimo existed…

[noosayog]

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 

“True. But he is an idiot.” 

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?” 

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Why not?” 

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 

“So, found a guy to take you out?” 

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 

“‘Samu…” 

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on. 

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 

“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 

“I’ll walk with ya.” 

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 

“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 

“Who?” you mumble. 

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 

“I don’t know… I just…” 

“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

Osamu raises his brows. 

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 

“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 

“Huh?” 

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 

“Osamu…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 

His question goes unanswered. 

– 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 

It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter. 

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-” 

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 

“Hey, ‘Samu!” 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 

“You just…?” he prompts. 

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 

“Missed you,” you whisper. 

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 

“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 

He stops stroking your hair. 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 

You nod shyly. 

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 

“I want it.” 

“Alright. C’mere then.” 

You oblige. 

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 

You nod. 

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

[roguerambles]

A Moment of Respite

Blood of Zeus - Heron x Hera's!Daughter Reader

Warnings - 18+Only.

I've had this sitting in my drafts for ages and I want to get it out before I try any Season 2 stuff. Plus I just like the idea of these two, okay--

Kind of a Part 4 to Trouble.

Enjoy the Rambles!

-

Training was not going well.

You cringed as Heron flew across the arena, crashing into the sands with a pained groan. The automaton returned to its standing position dispassionately, and beside you Zeus sighed heavily.

It had been days since Mother had left Olympus, taking some of the other Gods of Olympus with her to the Underworld. Hades had apparently allowed them sanctuary, although he declared he would be taking no further involvement than that.

...your wrist ached as the memory of Mother’s hand grasping you, Hera and Zeus’s raised voices, Mother’s betrayed expression melting into a fury you had never had directed at you before flashed across your mind.

You had chosen to stay on Olympus, and Mother and Ares had left, others at their heels.

“Zeus.” Hephaestus spoke from behind you, his voice low and gruff. “This isn’t working.”

Zeus’s jaw clenched as Heron went hurtling across the arena once more, kicking up a dust cloud of sand as he crashed into the ground with a loud, painful sounding thump. “He needs to unlock his potential.” His large hands gripped the stonework of the balcony in front of him. “Soon.”

You were not much of a warrior, but you were fairly certain that if Hephaestus’s contraptions broke every bone in Heron’s body, that would be rather counterproductive to improving Heron’s combat efficiency.

As Zeus and Hephaestus continued to bicker in hushed voices, you felt a warm presence appear at your side. Apollo sighed as he leaned against the balcony, peering down into the training ground where Heron stumbled to his feet once more.

“He doesn’t give up, at least.”

“Is this really the best approach?” You nervously played with your hands as you watched Heron get up and be knocked down, over and over.

Apollo shrugged. “Athena is too busy preparing the defences, and Ares is with Hera. We don’t have a lot of options, training wise.”

You both continued to watch for a while, and you could feel your stomach sinking the longer it went on. Heron barely glanced your way.

You had not spoken since the night Mother had left, but the memory of Heron shocked expression as he looked at you – really looked at you – and the blind panic it had created in you made your stomach churn. You had fled to your room and would probably still be there if Hermes hadn’t forced you out.

“You should say hello.”

Your head snapped around to stare at Apollo, you was still looking out over the balcony. “I should what?”

“You should go over and talk to him.” Apollo replied casually, as though he were suggesting something completely normal. “The staring is getting a little old.”

“I am not—I am not staring.”

“Heron!” Apollo called out abruptly, loudly, and to your horror Heron actually looked up towards you. “Would you like some water? We have plenty over here—”

You turned to flee somewhere far, far away, only for Hermes – where in Tartarus did he come from – to appear, blocking your way with a small, but noticeable smile.

Traitor!

Zeus sounded displeased. “Interruptions are not—”

Apollo grabbed his father’s arm and began tugging him towards the stairs, so suddenly Zeus stumbled. “You are correct, Father, we should check the equipment on the other side of the arena—”

Zeus looked confused as Hermes joined Apollo in practically dragging the King down the stairs. Hephaestus rolled his eyes and stalked towards the automaton, muttering something about “those bloody sons of Zeus”. You were rooted to the stop as Heron slowly approached, his head low, as though he were struggling to meet your eye.

Your heart clenched as Heron busied himself gathering water, taking somewhat longer than was required for the task. The silence was so dense you felt it were almost choking you. You scrambled for something, anything, to say, but your mind was a void of disjointed words. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t tell you. Please don’t be angry. I’m sorry for Electra, I’m so—

“…you’re short.”

You were yanked from your frazzled thoughts when Heron finally said something. You looked at him in confusion, while Heron cringed, looking frustrated with himself. “I…pardon?”

“I just mean….” Heron rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but directly at you. “You…the others are….you look different. Not bad, you’re beautiful, I just mean—”

“Oh. Oh! Right, yes, well, I wasn’t born like the rest of them. Mother—she made me out of clay.” Heron lifted his head to stare at you blankly. You felt your cheeks burn. “It is…unusual, I know.”

“…I’m sorry, was that rude—”

“No, no, not at all, you should hear how Apollo and Artemis were born—”

Silence fell over you again as you both fumbled over your words. You were torn between fleeing the arena altogether and staying exactly where you were because awkward or not you and Heron were talking. Over his shoulder you could see Zeus and Hephaestus by the automaton, and knew Heron would be pulled away soon. You inhaled deeply, steeling your nerves. I am the Queen of the Heavens daughter, by the Fates, act like it. “Heron….I am so sorry. About…about your mother.”

Heron looked pained, his fingers clenching around the waterskin in his hand. “…it was Hera, wasn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question, and you both knew it. You bowed your head, yours eyes beginning to sting. Do not cry. This isn’t about you.

“…yes.” You forced out, your throat feeling thick. “Heron…Heron, I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry—”

“Why?” Heron cleared his throat, tossing the waterskin down. “It’s not your fault. You weren’t even there.”

“But….” You bit your lip. “Mother…I mean… Hera is—”

“Your mother, I know.” Heron wasn’t quite looking at you again, but he didn’t sound angry. Grief clung to his voice, and you fought the impulse to reach for his hand. “And Zeus is my…father. That alone made mother and I targets for Hera’s wrath. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Heron—”

Heron started to laugh.

You faltered, and watched as Heron hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as though startled by his own reaction. “I…I am sorry.” He choked out, eyes wide even as you caught glimpse of a mirthful smile behind his fingers. “Please…please continue…”

Your anxiety was briefly overpowered by confusion. “What…what is so amusing…?”

Heron’s shoulders began to shake. “I…I assumed your parents would disapprove of me.” He said, and the words seemed to break something in him. He doubled over, grasping his knees, eyes squeezing shut as he began to laugh even harder. “Now…now it turns out your mother is Hera. And…and I am the bastard son of her philandering husband….!”

You stared owlishly at him as his laugh grew louder – you could see Zeus and Hephaestus watching from the side-lines, their expressions suggesting concern that the automaton had hit Heron harder than they had feared.

“That’s…well yes, that is….Heron….Heron, it’s not funny!”

Heron tried to reply, but it came out as a wheeze. “I…gods…I had no idea…!”

You could feel a smile beginning to creep onto your face and tried to squash it, but Heron’s laughter was infectious, and was the most happy you’d seen him in…well, a while. “Well…no, I suppose…I suppose you are not what my mother would consider an ideal suitor…”

That brought on another wave of near hysterical laughter, and you found yourself giggling along with Heron, until you were both cackling like lunatics in the middle of the arena. You slumped against Heron’s shoulder, clamping a hand over your mouth as you saw Zeus heading towards you both.

“…if you are both finished?” He asked dryly, his eyebrows raised. Heron’s laughter stuttered to a stop, but he didn’t move away from you, the feeling of his body against yours leaving warmth against your skin.

You reluctantly straightened up, brushing away non-existent creases in your dress. “I suppose….” You gestured wordless at the arena. Zeus eyed you cautiously, before clearing his throat and turning back towards the automaton, as though he were examining it. Heron rolled his eyes slightly as you bit down a chuckle – you supposed he was trying to give you both a moment.

“Wish me luck.” Heron gripped his sword, his free hand rising to sheepishly rub his neck. “I think I’ll need a fair share of it…”

You laughed slightly, reaching out to gently pat his arm. He smiled in response, before sighing and trudging after Zeus.

“I think that went well.” Hermes said cheerfully from behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Don’t you think that went well, Apollo?”

“Indeed!” The Sun God chirped, appearing at your side. “See? All is well that ends well.”

“You two do remember…” Artemis sighed from somewhere behind you – when did she get here? – “…the approaching civil war, yes?”

“Small victories, dearest sister.”

You flushed and turned to stride back towards the stands, while Hermes and Apollo snickered to themselves. Artemis rolled her eyes as you sat beside her, although a small, teasing smile began to tug at her mouth. “Although….I did notice he didn’t deny it when you described him as a suitor.”

“Artemis!”

You blushed furiously as the Goddess of the Hunt laughed, and your stubbornly kept your gaze ahead, focusing on Heron on the sands below, feeling just a little bit lighter than before.

[writersrkive]

Light | Aaron Hotchner

summary: since a few days ago, you have been distracted. Something about the holidays and Christmas is triggering to you. Apparently, the team doesn't notice this, but your boss, of course, does. He is troubled, but when you say that you are sick on Christmas Eve, right before dinner, he is ready to go with you and keep you company. He also appears with a small gift that can cheer you up.

genre: angst, hurt, comfort.

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!gn!reader

warning: holidays and Christmas being a nostalgic/sad holiday to reader, mention of reader not being from Virginia, family issues (reader), reader is new member of the team, allusion of an age gap (not specific), reader being called "kid" two or three times.

a/n: so... maybe I projected myself a bit into this fic. I hope whoever feels like the main character feels some comfort and understanding here. I'm sorry if there's anything wrong with the writing, I haven't edited yet, but I wanted it posted before Christmas (it's 11pm in my country). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3. Merry Christmas reader, thank you for being here one more year! I'm proud of you.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Christmas isn't what it was a few years ago, but neither was your family. When you decided to move to Virginia, far from home, it was hard for you because despite having a broken family, the feeling of wanting to fix everything for everyone was still there. The holidays, especially Christmas, brought back memories of when everything was fine —or so it seemed—.

The dynamic of the team was like a family, but as the newest member —and one of the youngest— it was hard to feel completely into it. However, you didn't feel as isolated as you did at first. So, they didn't notice how nostalgic and sad your aura was the days before.

Oh, but Aaron, your boss, did.

It started the day that some workmates decorated the office with a mini Christmas tree, lights and bows. Everyone was heading home, except him, as usual. The paper work ended so the stoic man was closing the door of his office when he noticed the way you were standing in front of the tree, almost giving him your back. He could see half of the profile he caught himself admiring often. The lights were reflected in the sad look similar to that of a child hoping to obtain something impossible.

“Why are you still here?” He asked, not scolding, but rather with curiosity.

“Oh, good night Hotch. I was finishing some paperwork.” Your expression showed that you had come out of a trance.

“Are you done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Maybe we can walk to our cars together.”

“Sure.”

He didn't try to make small talk. The feeling of tiredness was in the air, but he also felt that he shouldn't try to break down any kind of personal barrier that you had at that moment. Because despite showing a friendly smile, it was obvious that your mind was somewhere else.

Then, a few days later, you were distracted by something peculiar.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked when he noticed that you weren't listening to his theories. Hotch was talking to a police officer, but he was looking at the way your workmate and you were analyzing the crime scene. “Are you cold?” His teasing smile made you chuckle slightly.

“Yeah. I still haven't gotten used to the weather, sorry.” The lie went unnoticed by your colleague. They were profilers, but you were one too, so it was kind of easy to fake certain things. It wasn't right, but at that time of the year you just wanted to survive. Besides, you couldn't tell them anything, not because you didn't trust them, but because it was too much to handle.

Across the street, Aaron looked in the direction you were looking before Derek spoke to you. It was a park a few blocks away. There was an ice rink, giant decorations, and lots of families gathered around. What could that place have to distract you so much?

There were many other occasions like that. The last time was on Christmas Eve. Months ago, Penelope had decided to buy an instant camera to take photos of the team inside and outside of work, when they had days off.

“Here it is, my beautiful fellas!” The blonde said excitedly. “Your handmade Christmas gift!”

She made all of you sit around the table, so she could put in the center the sparkling red notebook, with silver letters. 'Memories at the BAU' could be read.

“Garcia! It's so beautiful!” Emily said, smiling. Derek hugged his friend in appreciation and JJ got closer to Emily so she could see better.

“Look at that. Always a great time for pasta.” Rossi joked looking at one of the pictures where he could be seen making pasta for dinner after a heavy case.

“Always looking good.” Derek said pointing at a picture of him posing with one of the plushies García had at her office.

“Look at us! But why do you look so sad?” JJ joked looking at a group photo. You could be seen at the back with a forced smile.

“I was a little tired, sorry.” You answered, but the reality was that you had received some messages from your family minutes before that photo was taken.

“Hey, why did you take a photo of me taking a nap?” The confused tone in Spencer's voice made you laugh a little, but Aaron noticed the way your eyes didn't light up.

“Does anyone know where our newest member is?” Derek asked, smiling. He can't help but remember the way Emily, JJ and he teased you before. You started to get late to a few compromises —it happened at work once or twice—, but your boss didn't scold you like he would scold anyone else on the team. “He has a soft spot for someone.” Derek playfully twitched that time, thinking the bags under your eyes weren't caused by anything but work —he was wrong—.

“The kid just sent a message to the group chat.” Rossi announced.

“Sick?” Penelope showed her worry, reading your message.

Aaron felt a weird pinch on the chest. He immediately got even more worried than everyone in Rossi's house, even if his face just tensed a little bit more than usual. In his mind he debated whether to go with you to make sure you were okay, even though it might be intrusive.

Maybe you needed space….

Or maybe there was something else you weren't telling them, just like he noticed before.

“Am… I think I'm a little bit sick too.” He whispered after a while.

“What? We are about to eat dinner.” Emily said a little sad. She was worried about the team's health now that Aaron and you were sick.

“I'll be fine. I'm going to take some food with me in case I get hungry later." His movements were a little fast, as if in a hurry.

“Are you sure you don't need a medic, Aaron?” His old friend said and the boss could sense a little teasing in his tone.

“I'm good, I just need to go right now. I'll see you tomorrow. Everyone, please be safe.” The team could sense sincerity in those words when he gave them one last look, after he took the food, his jacket and his keys, and before stepping out of the house.

“Kid is gonna have some company.” Derek teased and everyone, including Reid, smiled knowing what was going on.

Both of you were surprised when you opened the door. He didn't expect to see you with red puffy eyes and nose, and you didn't expect him there, in front of your house, holding some tuppers with food and something else tangled in his arms.

“Hotch?” Your furrowed eyebrows and tilted head made his chest feel warm. You looked confused and also cute. He felt a little bad to think like that when something was wrong with you.

“I needed to make sure you were okay.” That's all he said.

“Oh… Am… I'm just a little…”

“Sick? I don't think so. You have been acting weird, and Christmas has something to do with that. I know because apparently it triggers something that makes you… sad.” His voice was soft. It felt like he didn't want to expose you, but he needed to show how much he knew about the situation. “I don't think you actually fool them. At least, not now. Maybe in the beginning, but that wasn't my case.” But you did feel exposed, even a little ashamed. The lack of movement told Hotch that you were uncomfortable. “I'm sorry…”

“It's okay. I guess it's impossible to fool S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner.” You showed a sad smile, it was more like a grin. “Wait, what about Jack?”

“He's with his aunt. They were on a trip I couldn't join because of obvious reasons. I guess we can keep each other company.” Little by little he had begun to show a smile that was contagious to you.

“Sure.”

When he walked in he noticed the lack of decorations on the surroundings. There was just a small tree at the back of a hall. It had a start at the top and had some lights and spheres. That was it.

“I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive, but can I ask what's wrong?” he asked when you started to help him to put the food on two plates.

You sighted thinking about all the things you needed to explain so you could give him an answer. “It's complicated. I don't know if I wanna talk about that.”

“That's okay. Then, can you tell me how you are feeling?”

You smiled, knowing he changed the question so as not to make you feel uncomfortable, while still keeping in mind the fact that he needed to know how you were feeling. “Everything brings memories. I'm supposed to be with my family, but what family?” I asked, sitting next to him in the kitchen. “Sometimes I wish things were like before, like having a time machine and just going there: where everyone was. Now I know how heavy the family issues were, but I was a kid so at least I was living in a lie… a good lie.”

“I know family is complicated. There's people who hurt other people, and that's not right, but there's too much.”

“Exactly…”

“But you have a family here too, now.” He whispered. And the way he looked at you made you feel like you weren't alone, at least not how you have thought.

“That's why I bring Rossi's lasagna with me. He's gonna be sad if you don't get to try it.”

Dinner was good. Of course you loved Rossi's cooking, but you came to the conclusion that it was because of the company of your boss. He helped a lot by distracting you, chatting about Jack, some plans outside of work and various things. After a few hours you couldn't handle your curiosity anymore.

“Hotch, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?” Apparently, your question took him by surprise, perhaps it was the tone in which you spoke to him, almost tenderly.

“What is that?” You pointed at what he left coiled up on the armrest of one of the sofas in your living room. It looked like a silver wire with transparent stuff on it.

“These are Jack's favorite lights. We bought it a few years ago. He loved them until we bought a set of identical, larger lights. Do you want to see?”

“Yes!” Your childish tone made him smile.

He untangled the lights and plugged them into the nearest socket, quickly his hands and the place where the lights rested shone brightly.

“Wow…” It was almost a whisper, but Aaron enjoyed the answer as if it was a shout of joy. “These are beautiful.”

“I knew you liked the lights.”

“Huh? Oh! You mean the night when you caught me staring at the…”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, I liked lights. I think I've always liked them, but at some point the feeling became sad."

“They are for you.”

“No, but, Jack…”

“Like I said, he has new ones, so, there's no problem. He will love that you have them.”

“Can you help me to…” You hesitated.

“Sure. Let's go, where do you want them?”

A fun playlist invaded your house. While Hotch held a ladder and watched your back to see if you lost your balance, you placed the string of lights in the living room window.

“Can you turn them on?” You asked him gently. The decorated window came to life as did your eyes and Aaron couldn't feel calmer as he admired your excited countenance.

“I'm glad you liked them.”

Suddenly, cries of excitement were heard from neighboring houses and some Christmas songs began to play from the speakers of nearby restaurants even louder.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch.” You said when you came down from the ladder. The man who came to brighten your night didn't think that seeing your expression would fill his chest with warmth.

“Merry Christmas, kid.”

You definitely didn't know or would have imagined that the man who watched your back at work was what you needed to feel better. He brought the light you needed for days.

[cvnntagious]

fb!matt getting flirted with by another girl and he entertains it but then realises he has you

standing beside his brother as he handed out little baggies of white powder to feining college students, matt paid no mind to the party as he scrolled his phone, red solo cup in one hand. the bustling of party-goers and flashing lights surrounding him had faded as he became focused on the mobile game he'd deemed more important.

"excuse me," he suddenly heard from in front of him, causing his eyes to flick up from the multi-colored blocks on his screen, "is your name matthew?" a pretty girl asked, dressed in fishnets with a miniskirt and tight top that barely covered her breasts as she flicked her long black hair over her shoulder.

he nodded, unamused expression unwavering. "matt," he corrected, lifting his hand to gesture a thumb behind him, "chris is the one with the drugs, if that-"

her hand covered his, pushing it down slowly as he shook her head with a smug little smirk splayed across her dark, glossy lips. "i don't want any of those drugs," she stopped him from further wasting his breath, voice a little lower now, "i heard you have one of your own that you're keeping from me though, and- well, i'm lookin' to get my fix."

matt immediately got the hint, a small smirk tugging at his parted lips before he let out an exasperated breath, looking the shorter girl over as he found himself crossing his arms at her. "yeah?" he asked, a chuckle that exuded confidence leaving his mouth, "and where'd y'hear that?"

"a friend—she said what you got won't do anything less than rock my world," she replied instantly, a flirty giggle falling past her pearly whites and eyelashes batting as she looked up at him. "just wanna see if it's true or not..." she then added, stepping in close to him so she could run her sharp, manicured nails up his tattooed arm.

matt's eyes followed her fingers, tongue jutting out to wet his pink lips so he could hold back the leer that threatened to creep onto his face. "mhm." and just as his mouth opened to voice the complacent reply that had popped into his mind, the memory of you having texted him earlier about not being able to make it to chris' party canceled it out, making him realize he'd forgotten to text you back. "shit," he muttered, any sign of interest in the absolutely stunning girl that was so clearly throwing herself at him completely dropping in his body language.

she quickly noticed the change in his demeanor, confusion replacing the flirtatious expression she once had. "what?"

a sigh was all she heard before she watched him roll his eyes at her seemingly out of nowhere. he pulled his arm from her touch, a sudden annoyance, and maybe even disgust apparent on his sharp features. "i got a girl," he then replied bluntly, a brow raising as if to say 'so get to movin'

the scoff of disbelief that left came from the girl in front of him made matt roll his eyes again. "you have a girlfriend?" she questioned, as if there was absolutely no way that could possibly be true.

"she's not my girlfriend, but uh... y'know," he countered, a smooth shrug as a cocky smile creeped on his face at the thought of having you wrapped around his finger, "i got 'er."

"yeah right. and you suddenly remembered you had her after you seemed all interested before?" another scoff, further proving she didn't believe him, "some boyfriend you are."

"where'd you say y'heard about me again?" he then asked, face dropping to one of disinterest as he looked over her again, no longer so impressed by her looks.

"my friend?"

"yeah," he chuckled lowly, finding her persistence the slightest bit amusing, "some friend you are." with that, his eyes fell back to his phone, swiping out of the game on it as he now ignored the girl before him, standing there for a moment in shock.

[dreamingofaizawa]

You Promise?

Jushiro Ukitake x Fem!Reader

***18+ fic ahead, if you are not 18 or older please make your way to the nearest exit and detour around the page***

Warnings: Penetrative sex, fingering, lots of kissing and h*nd h*lding (gasp), Jushiro is a gentle lover (I'm in love with him methinks), lots of groping (mans is handsy okay? he just wants to feel you ;-;)

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: I'M ALIVE BITCHES AHAHAHAHAHAHA But on a more serious note it's been like...over a year since I've actually posted anything for real o.O My sincerest apologies for vanishing off the map with no warning ;-; On a brighter note, my writer's block has decided to *poof* into thin air apparently, and obviously this is a fic tailored to Bleach!! I've been watching it recetly and holy SHIT why are there SO MANY HOT CHARACTERS? MY BISEXUAL ASS CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT. Anyways, I'm alive, and I'm back, and hopefully I can toss aside this writer's block for good until the next one comes along.

ENJOY LOVELIES <3

It’s a warm day in the Soul Society, a cool breeze flitting through the Seireitei being the only reprieve from the blaring heat. And it’s calm, you decided. Calmer than it’s been in a long while, even with the stress of the former Squad 5 captain Sosuke Aizen’s plans looming on the far horizon. When he defected along with the other two former captains, Gin Ichimaru and Tosen Kaname it sent shockwaves through the Soul Society like none other. The events leading up to the moment of betrayal nearly tore the Seireitei and the 13 Court Guard Squads completely apart, trust between even the closest of friends fraying dangerously. 

“What’s wrong love, you seem distracted today.” You blink, your focus returning to here and now. That voice was none other than your captain, Jushiro Ukitake, as he sat in his bed. The thin blanket that usually draped over his legs was tossed aside in the heat, his usual captain’s uniform switched out for a lighter garment. Despite all that has happened, this is the man you’d always stand beside no matter what. Even if you didn’t love him the way you did, even if you weren’t constantly suffering through a surely unrequited love. A forbidden one, surely. Not that there were any real rules regarding captain-subordinate relationships that you knew of. You’d stand beside him even in the face of certain death, that’s just the kind of man he is. 

“My apologies captain, I didn’t mean to daydream.” His smile is gentle, sweet, kind as he regards you perched on the edge of his bed. Surely that smile could cure all your heart’s quarrels. If only.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure it gets boring watching over me day and night.” That’s right, you thought, it’s been just you for the past few months while Sentaro and Kiyone are out on a mission. You hadn't even noticed the passage of time. It’s already been three months?

“Not at all, Sir. I enjoy your company. I’ve just been thinking that it’s been quiet lately, that’s all. Not that I’m complaining.” He chuckles, the baritone reverberating through your chest. You’ll never tire of that beautiful sound.

“It’s good to know this old man isn’t a burden to you. You must have many more important things to do besides looking after me.” What nonsense.

“You could never be a burden to me, Captain Ukitake. I may have been assigned to you for the time being, but I volunteered my time to you long before that. The only menial task I have is some easy paperwork every week or so, so don’t worry about my mundane paper pushing.” You smile at him, really smile. You want him to feel your dedication to him, your willingness to be here. You want to be here. A breeze drifts through the window and out the door of the room, sending his long white hair floating in the wind. It’s a majestic sight, truly. He’s so handsome, so gentle, so strong even in his sickness. You commit every waking moment in his presence to memory. 

“Such a kind girl you are,” he reaches a hand out, grasping yours gently and staring deep into your eyes, “What would I do without you?” For a moment you’re stunned, those eyes of his piercing you in the heart, the heat from his hand on your skin almost burning you. It’s not unusual for him to hold your hand, especially in moments like this where he wants to express his gratitude to you. But no matter how many times he reaches out to you, you’ll never get over the fluttering of your heart and the warmth it brings you. You laugh then, easily coming up with an answer to his rhetorical question.

“Probably have Sentaro and Kiyone fighting over who gets to give you your medicine tonight.” He chuckles at your quip, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. He’s been looking healthier lately, happier, in the calm of late. He turns suddenly, smoothly standing from the bed with your hand still in his.

“It’s a nice evening. I’ve been meaning to go see the koi pond. Would you join me for a walk?” His smile is infectious as he asks, and how could you possibly say no? Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure? If he feels well enough to go for an evening stroll, you’ll happily indulge him. You allow him to pull you with that unnatural strength that captains have, easily standing you up beside him. He’s clearly been wanting to go outside, he’s already out the door by the time you grab his white haori and slide the paper door shut behind you. He may not have chosen to wear it, but you’re taking it just in case it gets a little too cool. 

As you fall in step beside him, you take a deep breath and soak in all the scenery. The sun is slowly setting over the Soul Society, casting the sky in hues of yellow and gold. Not a cloud lingers in the sky. A constant light breeze flows through the barracks, and the combined warmth from the setting sun’s rays and the cooling wind settles into your bones, your body feeling light and refreshed. It’s a perfect evening for a stroll. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to settle on your captain. Gold is cast over his form, his hair and skin glowing in the light, breeze gently tousling the white strands around his face. It’s a sight reserved for your eyes, and you can’t help but want to stare at him forever. It takes you a moment to realize you’ve stopped walking altogether, and it takes far too long for you to realize the captain is staring at you as you stare at him. Heat crawls up your chest into your face, and you avert your eyes.

“I apologize, Captain.” You can’t think of anything else to say. You’ve been caught staring at your captain, surely with a doe-eyed expression of admiration and longing. He probably read you like a book. You’re stunned again when he grabs your hand, resuming his relaxed stroll along the gravel path to the koi pond behind the barracks for the 13th squad. It’s all you can do to keep up, even in his slow pace his individual strides are incredibly large.

“I don’t mind at all, love. I’d be nervous having such attention on me, but I’m used to a pretty girl always looking at me these days.” Your eyes blow wide open and your jaw slacks as you stare up at him again, only to see a sideways glance and a sly mischievous smirk gracing his features. Is he…flirting?

Before you get the chance to think about what just transpired, you’re being tugged to sit next to the captain. You were so focused on Captain Ukitake you hadn’t realized you’d reached the koi pond. It’s a beautiful spot, you can’t deny that. The pink sky reflects off the surface of the water, the sound of a small fountain trickles into your ears. It smells of fresh water and wet stones, and the evening air tastes crisp and clear. It’s almost hypnotizing, mother nature’s own perfume.

Your attention shifts back to the captain beside you, as he once again grasps your hand firmly in his. It’s so much bigger than your own, and slender and strong. The callouses from hundreds of years of wielding a zanpakuto rough against your skin. His thumb traces shapes into the back of your hand, and as you look up at him you find his eyes already locked on you. There’s something hidden there, something dark and deep and gravitating.

“I want to thank you for being here with me for these past months. You know you don’t have to.” Again, nonsense.

“Captain Ukitake, I already-“

“Jushiro.” He interrupts. You nearly let out a gasp.

“What? Captain…”

“Call me Jushiro. We’ve known each other long enough, I’d much prefer you use my given name.” It’s all you can do to blink in the shock. Sure, you’ve known each other for a few centuries, but you’re still his subordinate. He’s still your captain. And saying his name so casually may just feel like a stab in the heart.

“It would make me happy if you did.” Of course he’d pull that card. If he insists.

“Well… okay, Jushiro.” Goodness, it feels strange. Knowing his name and saying it are two very different things.

“Good, thank you. Now what was it you were saying?” Oh… you almost completely forgot.

“Right. I may not have to, but…I want to. Like I said earlier, I enjoy your company. That wasn’t just me being nice. I really do enjoy being around you, Capt- ah, Jushiro.” That’s definitely going to take some getting used to.

“I’m glad to hear that, love.” He’s been calling you that for a while now. Love. Every time he says the little nickname it feels so soft, so sweet. At least, to you it does. His smile is brighter than the sun, it’s been so long since you’ve seen a smile like that you can’t help but smile too. The silence that falls is comfortable and light, the two of you enjoying the sunset over the pond. Dusk comes and goes, stars soar in the sky, a few lanterns cast a warm glow over the garden and over your faces. With your hand still in Jushiro’s, you can feel when he gives a small shiver at the breeze flowing over you.

“Here, I brought this just in case.” You pull your hand away to unfold the captain’s haori and drape it over his shoulders, right where it should be. 

“Thank you, love. But what about you?” You have to admit, it is a bit chilly. But you’ll be okay, with your shihakusho.

“I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.” He chuckles as you get comfortable next to him again.

“Well that’s like asking me not to breathe. Here, come closer.” That’s definitely not a good idea. Your heart will surely burst from your chest. You’re already struggling as is, what with the hand holding and names. He doesn’t give you much choice though, hooking an arm around your waist and tugging you fully into his lap. With your legs draped over one side and your head cradled against his chest, he wraps the haori fully around the both of you and rests his chin atop your head. Even through your layers of shihakusho, all you can feel is the heat of one hand on your hip and the other resting on your mid thigh.

This is how you’ll die, surely, but you’ll never be happier.

“I can feel your heart racing. Are you alright?” You hold your breath at his observation, your face warming under his gaze. But holding your breath doesn’t change the fact that he’s absolutely right. Your heart feels like it might just burst. In all the years you’ve known the man, Captain Jushiro Ukitake has never once made such a move for bodily contact unless a life was in danger or unconscious. And you have never even once been anywhere near this close to him, not even when you were wiping the sweat from his brow in his especially pained moments. It feels like the breath you’re holding is punched from you, coming out quick and shuddering, when his hand cups your jaw and tilts your head up to look him in the eyes. His face is so close, his lips are right there…all you’d need to do is lean.

“You’re turning a concerning shade of crimson, my dear. Are you alright?” Shit. You need to answer, don’t you? But he’s still smiling…oh he’s teasing you!

“I’m fine! Just fine, thank you.” It’s a squeak, really. If you’re being honest it probably sounded to him like you were trying incredibly hard to keep from moving, and that included breathing. That hand slips from your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head even further back.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help the teasing. You’re just so cute, so pretty. I’m so glad I’ve been able to keep you around.” There’s no way this is real. It’s a dream, surely. You’re deep in sleep and your brain has gifted your heart a beautiful show. His hands release you, dropping far too quickly for your liking. He’s concerned now, it seems.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He sounds so dejected, that gorgeous smile fading into a disappointed frown. You can’t control your own limbs as they react to what your heart wants, reaching for his haori and tugging hard so he’s no longer leaning away from you.

“No! I promise I’m not uncomfortable, I promise! I was just shocked, that’s all.” Mentally, you slap yourself for nearly begging the captain to stay wrapped around you. But you’ll be damned if you let this moment slip through your fingers. That smile returns, although slowly and reluctantly.

“You promise?” Nodding fervently, you lean into him and bury your head into his chest once more. Screw everything, whatever reservations you had about keeping your feelings hidden are being tossed out the window. When his arms wrap around you once more it’s all you can do to refrain from turning and kissing at what little is exposed of his chest.

“Good. Then, since we’re comfortable and alone, I have a bit of a confession to make.” A confession? What kind of confession could only be spoken while alone?

“When you were assigned to me it wasn’t random. I requested you specifically, not only because of your capabilities as a shinigami in my division, and not solely because of your short stint training under Captain Unohana. Not that your healing capabilities are anything to sniff at, of course,  you’re a wonderful healer! And you’re an amazing fighter, no doubt about that, and of course you-” he cuts himself off, his breath catching in his chest where your hand lay splayed in the center of it.

“Captain… Jushiro…I understand what you’re trying to say. You chose me for many reasons. Which of those reasons require a confession? And why are you suddenly so nervous?” You can see his adam's apple bob in his throat when he swallows down whatever words caught in his throat. His brows pinch together ever so slightly, he nibbles at his bottom lip for a moment. He really is nervous, you can see it clear as day. It’s not often he gets nervous, even in the face of opponents stronger than any he’s seen he’s a stone pillar.

“Yes, well. I requested you to be at my side because I’ve held very real and very strong feelings toward you, for a very long time now. You’re a beautiful woman, a strong fighter, a wonderful person. Having you so close these few months have only solidified these feelings. I just don’t see any point in hiding them any longer.” At that, you lean back and stare up at him, into those deep, dark eyes of his. He can’t seem to return the gaze, his eyes flitting around to avoid eye contact.

“Am I dreaming? Is this a dream?” He laughs at that, a hearty laugh that makes his chest bounce. His eyes finally fall on yours.

“No, love. This is definitely not a dream.” It doesn’t feel real. You reach over and pinch your arm as hard as you can, jumping and wincing the tiniest bit from the small shock of pain.

“I told you.” His nervous smile is infectious, you’re only able to return it as he leans close to you and rests his forehead against your own.

“Please tell me you feel the same. I don’t think I can take any more of this.” A giggle slips past your lips and you reach up to loop your arms around his neck.

“I’ve had a massive crush on you for decades.” That seems to click his resolve into place, and the next thing you know you’re being kissed silly by Jushiro Ukitake. The breath is stolen from your lungs, his fingers dig deep into your hip and thigh if only to get you closer. You hate that you need to breathe, need to part from the kiss far too soon for your liking. There’s a tension between you now, a string pulled taut waiting to be cut loose as your breaths mingle. He looks frustrated now, taking a moment to consider things you were not privy to.

“It’s late, we should be getting back now.” Of course, he was right. Which meant this was where you parted ways. You may be overseeing his health and spending days tending to his needs when he can’t do something himself, but he has ways of summoning you to him should an emergency arise, so you remain in your own quarters in the barracks at night. You’re shifting to stand, but he holds you tight to his chest and instead stands with you held in his arms.

“Jushiro! Please, don’t strain yourself! I’m perfectly capable of walking.” He only smiles that lopsided smile and in an instant you’re standing at the door to his quarters. A flash step at a time like this is insanity!

“Jushiro!” You gasp up at him as the door is opened, then closed as you’re carried beyond the threshold.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, love, but I just couldn’t wait. Now I want you to tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, I will stop what I’m doing.” What? What in the world is he talking about? You gasp when you feel his lips peppering gentle kisses along your exposed neck, grabbing his haori for any kind of stability as you’re thrown mentally sideways. His lips carve a path down your jugular to your collarbone and along what little is bare of your shoulder. They almost burn, those heated kisses of his, and you can’t help but tremble at the euphoric feeling of his lips on your skin. You’re laid gently on his bed, still being lavished with kisses turning deeper and sharper, you’re sure there will be marks on your skin by morning. His fingers are hot where they brush against the fold of your shihakusho, gently tugging the fabric to reveal more of you to his hungry gaze. Your sash is untied and dropped to the floor, followed by a piece of his clothing and then a piece of yours. Disrobing was second priority, your chest heaving as he never left your skin cold for longer than necessary to remove a barrier of cloth.

When he finally feels he’s smothered you in enough kisses, you’re both completely bare before each other. He’s hovering over you, one knee beside your hip and both hands on either side of your head, his other leg extended to keep his foot planted firmly on the ground. Those eyes, half-lidded and pupils blown with lust, roam over your body like he’s committing every inch of your skin to memory. You do the same, taking in the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, the muscles in his arms and legs flexed as he holds himself above you. You can feel an impossible heat rise in your body when your eyes land on his already fully hard erection. You can’t help but gasp and avert your eyes. A tiny voice in your head reminds you that this is your captain, for crying out loud!

“The things you do to me, woman.” He holds your jaw in his palm and a searing kiss is shared between you, your lips melding perfectly together. His tongue licks at your bottom lip, and you let it tangle with your own. There’s no fight for dominance, just the push and pull of your bodies as your entire being tries to join with him. He’s almost lying on top of you, and in a moment of opportunity you hook a leg over his hip and twist your bodies, rolling over until he’s on his back beneath you and you’re straddling his stomach. He only looks shocked for a moment, and you don’t give him much more time to right himself before attacking him with another breath-stealing kiss. His hands, large and strong and insistent, can’t keep still on your body. They’re everywhere, your hips, breasts, thighs, squeezing and feeling everything he’s been wanting to feel. He’s gentle with his hands, softly holding a breast while his thumb brushes over your nipple, making you jolt and moan from the unexpected sensation. Happily, he swallows the sound only to make you produce it again and again, toying and tugging at every piece of you that he can reach.

“Jushiro, please.” You beg, feeling heat pool in your belly. You’re sure he can feel you leaking all over his stomach, your hips unable to keep still the longer he spends teasing your body. Gripping your hips, he begins to sit up and you can’t stop yourself from placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down, almost warning him.

“Don’t overexert yourself for my sake.” Good gods that smile was going to kill you. In your moment of concern he pulls the same move you had, a hand gently cradling your neck and flipping the two of you over so he’s hovering over you once again. It’s all you can do to gasp as your balance is thrown. When you’re refocused, you’re peering up at a halo of white as his hair curtains over your shared space. Nothing else in this world matters, only the two of you exist right here, right now. Your breathing picks up as the hand bracing your neck travels down your chest, trailing your skin in a scorching path to your lower belly and even further to the mound of your sex. His eyes pierce yours, silently pleading for permission, and your nod of approval is met with his lithe fingers slipping between your legs and gathering all the slickness produced from your pussy. He can’t help himself, teasing his fingers along your entrance and brushing up against your clit to make your body jolt. The gasp you let out is music to his ears. But his pace is torturous for you, impatience getting the better of you when you reach down to grip his wrist. The unoccupied hand comes and gathers both your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“Oh, no, I'm not done yet. Be good for me and keep your hands to yourself, won't you?” The sentence is punctuated with a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, before his fingers continue their leisurely pace. He studies your face as one finger slips into you easily, a second soon following and your breaths are coming hard and fast. He curls and pumps his fingers, searching for all the angles that have your back arching beautifully and your voice calling his name like a siren. Anything that makes your eyes flutter he tries to emulate once again. His third finger only fuels the fire in your blood, the stretch making your head spin from the sheer pleasure. It’s impossible to tell how long it’s been since you’d landed on the bed, being at the mercy of Jushiro’s lips and hands alone have left you breathless and aching. You’re left utterly empty when he removes his fingers from your heat, gazing in wonder at just how sloppy and wet you’d left them. Gossamer strings stretch and snap when he spreads his fingers apart, and in your embarrassment you shut your eyes and turn your head, unable to cover your face with your hands still pinned. A throaty moan snaps your eyes open, only to witness the most glorious sight you’ve ever witnessed. The hand covered in your wetness was now wrapped around his aching cock, Jushiro’s head hung low as he stroked himself slowly to relieve some of the ache. It doesn’t last long, the sight makes you moan and his attention is back on you.

“Still think this is a dream?” You shake your head no, unsure if you’re able to form a coherent sentence after the sight you’ve just had the privilege of viewing. 

“Good.” Your hands are released as he grabs your hips, twisting again so he’s leaning up against the headboard and a mountain of pillows, with you straddling his waist again. He’s holding you close, fingertips tracing nonsensical shapes into your hips.

“Are you ready for me? I’ll let you set the pace so I don’t hurt you.” You lean in close and kiss him breathless, before lining him up and sinking down onto him. The both of you moan into each other’s mouth, breathing heavily as you lower yourself slowly onto his cock, feeling every twitch as your pussy grips him tight. Finally fully seated, you’re both panting hard, a sheen of sweat decorating your bodies. His arms wrap around your waist, tugging you so your chest is against his and your arms wind around his shoulders, your hands burying themselves in his hair. A groan is muffled in your neck from the shift, your responding gasp quiet as a prayer in his ear. 

“I need to move, love. Are you ready?” 

“Yes, I’m ready Jushiro. Don't hold back.” With a loud moan his hips buck up, his feet plated on the bed to leverage against you. Your vision nearly whites out at the movement, breath stopping for an instant, his tip hitting a spot deep inside you too perfectly. He doesn’t stop but for a moment, tightening his grip on your waist and lifting you up off his hips only to drop you back down as he thrusts up, his pace steady and deep. Starbursts dot your vision with every thrust, every stroke of his dick inside you makes you shake and the pleasure is too much and not enough all at once. You’re hiccuping between guttural moans, his own groans matching yours beat for beat, your voices creating a sinful melody neither of you want to stop listening to.

Your equilibrium is thrown again when Jushiro lifts you higher, keeping himself seated deep in your pussy and maneuvering up onto his knees, gently laying you down on your back once more. The angle shift makes your body tremble and your cunt squeeze down on him, his groan deep and long as he adjusts. You’re given no more time to think before one of your legs is thrown over his shoulder and his full weight is being used to fuck into you relentlessly. Moans are punched from your lungs, fingers bruising your thigh in his steel grip and the other hand coming down to rub tight circles onto your puffy clit. You scream then, your back arching almost painfully as your orgasm hits you full force without warning or preamble. You hadn’t felt just how heavily it was building, pleasure distracting from pleasure, and your vision whites out while your legs shake and squeeze around Jushiro’s waist, pussy clenching down on his cock tight enough to slow his punishing pace.

“That’s it love -shit- such a good girl for me.” He continues dragging in and out of you, pushing through the tight grip of your walls and shoving you into overstimulation, your legs trying fruitlessly to close around his hips.

“J-jushiro please I- ah!” He stills deep inside you, the curve of his cock pushing up against a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back and you see stars. Tears begin to fall from the sheer white-hot pleasure, you barely feel it as liquid splashes over Jushiro’s thighs and stomach, and his own orgasm is yanked out of him at the sight. His body curls over you, cock twitching as he cums deep inside you with a deep, throaty moan, every muscle in his body tensed from the strength of his release. When you’ve both ridden out your glorious highs, he drops your leg in favor of pulling your limp body close, lying back with you on top of his chest. He doesn’t remove his softening cock from you, it would be far too sensitive for either of you if he didn’t allow it to slip out on its own. You’re both panting heavily, sweat coating your bodies, sweltering heat being cooled by the night breeze as it filters through the window. His hands are gently soothing you, one on your head and the other caressing down your spine to ground you from your earth-shattering release. When you finally come to, filtering out of your daze, you turn your head and place a chaste kiss on Jushiro’s warm cheek.

“Is it too soon to say I love you?” Your body jolts when you feel his cock twitch hard, still buried deep inside you. His groan is low and almost pained, surely he’s just as sensitive as you are.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” He doesn’t have the energy to laugh, so he settles for kissing you silly again.

“Just give it a few minutes.” It takes more than a few, and by the time you’re both cleaned up and comfortable under the sheets your bodies ache from the strenuous activities. His arms have found a home on your body, your head buried in the crook of his neck, peppering tiny kisses on his skin as he slowly massages your shoulders and neck. 

“Are you okay, Jushiro?” He hums in response, he’s never felt better in his life, he’s sure.

“I mean physically. Your health is my top priority, I’d hate to have strained your body tonight.” He chuckles then, energy beginning to return in a sleepy haze.

“I’m fine, my love. I’ve done much more, physically, while I was feeling a lot worse. This won’t put me out of commission. I promise.” You lift your head, leave a peck on his lips.

“You promise?” He nods, brushing a few strands of your hair out of your face. His returning kiss is deep, long and knocks the wind out of you. There’s no doubt in your mind you are in love with this man.

“I promise.” With that, you relax in his hold once more and allow your mind to fall into the throes of sleep. You think you hear a soft snore as your consciousness slips away, but that’s not something you need to think about.

BONUS:

You’re slowly pulled from your sleep by a steady, rhythmic thump. You know the sound, but your subconscious can’t quite place it. You’re only half awake when a voice filters through our brain, and it’s far too late when it finally dawns on you that it’s the voice of another captain, their footsteps approaching far too quickly for comfort.

“...missed you at the meeting so I’m just coming to check-” the door is only halfway open, and even by then Jushiro’s quick reflexes have a sheet covering both your naked bodies as you lay there stunned, your wide eyes meeting the slowly widening eyes of Captain Kyoraku of the 8th division. He blinks, eyes flitting between you and Jushiro, a knowing look crawling itself onto his face.

“Well well well, would you take a look at that. Congrats Jushiro, you’ve finally told her.” The other captain peers at you, and you bow your head in shy greeting.

“Good morning, Captain Kyoraku.” His smile is wide and joyful.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” his eyes transfer over to Jushiro, “The meeting wasn’t anything important, you’ve already been excused from it.” Jushiro sighs, both from relief and irritation.

“Thank you, Shunsui, but we are both very naked and I’d appreciate it if you closed the door.” The pink-clad captain chuckles and tips his hat down to cover his eyes.

“Of course. Have a good day, lovebirds.” The door shuts and his footsteps recede into the distance. You suppose those surprise visits from the Captain of squad 8 will be approached a little more cautiously from now on.

[hobiebrownbrowser]

Constant Arguments

I know there is a lot of angst like this going on but for some odd reason it just feels right to make. I feel as if 42 Miles won't be as affectionate then others make him appear to be. NO HATE ON THEM. I love reading them.

I feel like he'll still have a somewhat cold demeanor. I haven't seen many where Y/N doesn't really care that Miles is The Prowler. Just needing him by her side more than anything was a blessing in her honor.

Earth 42 Miles Morales x FEM!Reader

Context: Angst, fluff, sadness, Mild cussing, happy ending

Translations: 'blame google if they aren't correct' 💀

"¿Por qué no puedes decírmelo? = "Why can't you tell me?"

Necesitamos hablar mami. = We need to talk mommy.

"Quítate de mi camino Miles." = Get out of my way Miles.

summary: Y/N doesn't give a shit if Miles is The Prowler.

"¿Por qué no puedes decírmelo? You avoid my calls, my texts, everytime I try to talk to you! You act like I'm not even 'ere!" It felt like a train hit her when Miles didn't respond, Breaking the eye contact they held for so long. Y/N just rolled her eyes, fed up with a relationship that clearly wasn't working.

"When you wanna talk, hit me up Hombre, other than that you can leave." Y/N shook her head, grabbing her book bag off the floor and walking towards their shared room.

She was acting like this because he wanted to disappear for more than a whole ass week. Ignoring her, leaving his own girlfriend on read when she was worried sick for him. Only think he had to say was "he was busy." Apparently it was more important than she'll ever be.

Slamming the door once she got inside just to feel tears swell in her eyes. Everything was frustrating her, constant arguments, school. The girl was overstimulated to say the least. Her back pushed up against the wall as she attempts to calm herself down with shallow deep breaths.

It felt like everything she worked for was against her. The man she loves not giving her the care she needs to pull through with all of this shit. Her family pressuring her to do a good job in school.

She just wanted to settle down on a peaceful path, but that seemed to redeem to much in her life. Having to work two jobs day and night was a struggle and Miles knew that. Yet he still did what he said he wasn't going to do.

Leaving her when she was the most vulnerable. She felt as if she wasn't valuable in his life at all. Wanting to cut off the one thing that used to make her life better.

But oh how she loves Miles. At the same time she wanted to apologize, pull him in a strong embrace. But she knew in the end he'd do the same thing. Disappear on her for decades on end.

The last string she held onto snapping just from his cold words. The silence was preposterous yet it kept her in a safe haven, able to run away from her problems just like now.

Taking a few more deep breaths and finally getting up off the dirty floor. She needed something to occupy her mind with, scrolling through her phone just to look at good memories.

She needed to wind down, Wanting to just drop out of school and cut off anyone she thought she knew well. She needed to breathe in this already suffocating air. The man on the other side probably long gone and out the door.

She was right, his figure not on the couch any longer than it should be. She wiped her face before stepping out. Going into the kitchen and grabbing a tub of ice cream before heading back into her confined space.

"Princesa." She cursed under her breath. Hearing his soft genuine sweet voice call her by her nickname. The real question was why was he still here. Turning around to be met with dead eyes. It was funny. They'd been together for a year, yet he looks at her the same way he looked at others.

She simply ignored him. Grabbing a spoon from a drawer and trying to push past the firm man.

"quítate de mi camino Miles." He didn't budge, doing the complete opposite infact. Blocking the exit with his body, She threatened to climb over the table if he didn't.

"Necesitamos hablar mami." He simply just tilted his head, A serious look plastered on his face.

"Oh now you wanna talk, ain't your job more important than me?" She got him right there. Miles eyes avoiding her's before looking back up, his chest withhelding big sigh. He wasn't gonna lie because he knew it was. She wasn't in his shoes. She wasn't constantly having to kill people for money.

No. He wanted her to sit still and be the most cherishing thing he had left besides his madre and his uncle. He was in a stressful predicament. How the hell was he supposed to tell his future wife that he was 'The Prowler'?

Miles was stomped, Looking the love of his life in her eyes before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. The look of confusion on her face as he told her.

Miles watched as she rubbed her temples, her eyes narrowing down to nothing but disappointment. It all made sense now. Why she'd wake up to an empty bed in the middle of the night. The window sometimes left open on countless nights.

He'd even shown her the exact suit he'd killed in, leading her to a small hidden room she didn't even know they had in the first place. She poked her head in which Miles found a bit cute, Taking it out and putting it on like it was nothing but clothing.

You let out a deep sigh before saying what was on your own mind.

"Miles I don't give a shit that you're The Prowler. I just wanted you to tell me." A sigh of relief left Mile's throat. Apologizing to his chica before pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her soft plump lips.

"I'm sorry for not tellin' you sooner Hermosa."

Part 2 here 💜

[wakeup01]

Hey, is it still open ? If it is, I've got something to ask. See, the university that I attend is apparently quite focused on sports, when compared to degrees such as mine in linguistics. It means that, on my way to class, I see a lot of hot men with great hairstyles, and I've always felt a bit jealous at that. Don't get me wrong, I love the eyecandy, but it always made me wonder what would happen if, one day, I entered the wrong building. Could you help me to see what would happen ? Just as an experiment, of course, I want to go back to my degree nice and easy after that...

Team Player

Linguistics? Oh dear, oh dear. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you won’t be getting anywhere with that. But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today. Okay, listen up. It’s very simple, all you have to do is follow that hot jock with the gelled blond hair to the left. No, no, not the right, the left. Take note of his smile. The way he laughs at literally nothing. Why? Oh, no reason…

Whoops. The locker room you say? What a blunder. Egg on my face, I tell ya. But while you’re there, maybe it’s worth taking in the sights and….smells. Every step is like walking through the humid air of the jungle, a breeze of sweaty jockstraps assaults you from every direction as the Football team get changed. You fail to avert your eyes from their hot glistening bodies, the display of pure strength and testosterone.

The jock you followed in notices you, notices certain inadequacies that need amending if you’re gonna be on the team. The team? Yes, the team. That messy hair for one. You barely get the opportunity to argue as he sits you down and scrapes the clippers across your skull. The buzzing sound makes you shiver. An overwhelming lightheaded feeling allows him to easily tilt your head down and mow the back. Running his hands through what little remains as he gells it up into a spiky jock style. Patting your strapped rear and padded thighs as the dirty, preused tight leggings pull up your legs and cover your cupped crotch. Your mouth opens, opens before your brain has engaged, just hanging ajar for several seconds. “B—bro.” The word is more of a proclamation than anything else. You impulsively adjust your junk, a clear shadow visibly outlines where your big balls push the cup outward.

He tells you that the newbies are liable if the team loses. That would be you. Taking one…or many, so to speak, for the team is the accepted punishment. He tells you this while stroking at his own cupped groin, a rather large bulge growing as you swallow hard.

Before you know it, you’re completely kitted out in the heavy uniform, a thick helmet lowering over your head - silencing those niggling doubts in the back of your increasingly tiny, sports obsessed mind. It’s like a deprivation chamber for your head, your inner monologue being blocked. The only thing that matters to you now is the game.

The game.

The ball.

The team.

The… punishment.

The twitching of your cock and ass makes you wonder if losing would be all that bad. You stand up and admire yourself. You barely recognise what you see, uncontrollably getting turned on by your own appearance. Were your arms always that chunky, that tanned? Like prime cooked beef hanging from your wide shoulders. Looking like a proper jock boy…smelling like one too. Huhuh. You turn, smiling dimly back at your bro. Laughing out loud for a reason you don’t remember. Uhh, I’m sure it’ll come to you…eventually.

I mean, you’re just trying out something new, right? No harm done, you rationalise as you sprint and achieve your first touchdown, your memory of…le..lin….lingizztics? Completely knocked loose from your ‘bro’d out, empty head.

Of course, the team loses anyway. Though you, and the rest of the team have suspicions about how accidental your ‘fumbles’ really were. Never-mind, that didn’t matter so much anymore, not while the whole team form an orderly queue behind your bent over rear. Your blonde bro is first up, he spreads your sweaty cheeks wide, spits on your crack and lines himself up for the ‘shot’. “You ready to learn how to handle some balls dude?”

“Hell yeah brah!”

[narwhalsarefalling]

rey i need ya gen fic bnha recs

congratulations, i have a whole ass collection. but here's some faves. A collection of both oneshot and multichap!

Gauntlet Thrown - pikahlua

Pro hero Katsuki Bakugou has deigned to apply for a teaching position at UA, and the lucky bastard who gets to conduct the job interview is none other than Shouta Aizawa.

Second Chances - amarisllis

Aizawa’s heartbeat is pounding against Katsuki’s ear, so loud and fast that it blocks out everything else. Katsuki’s arms flail, unsure what to do now that he’s being hugged by his teacher who’s never really cracked more than a tiny smile in their presence before. Wha— Oh. Oh, oh shit. Aizawa is crying. “Sensei—” “You were dead.” His voice breaks on the last word. Oh. Shit.

candid - OwlF45

The Commission passes a new requirement for hero licenses: pass a mental simulation. For Izuku, a holder of One For All, this idea ends in catastrophe. A series focused on the simulation, and everything that comes after.

Switchblade - Cacid

"I’m only two minutes late!” Izuku protested. Had he missed the start of an important test? None of the national, standardized tests were supposed to happen this month and even being two minutes late to one of those wouldn’t elicit this sort of reaction. They were discussing their career interest forms today, but that was it. Nothing time-critical was supposed to be happening. “Midoriya, you were reported missing a week ago. No one has seen you for eight days. The police have been combing the city for you.” "I’m sorry. What?” Midoriya Izuku went missing for a week and turned up in a back alleyway with skills he's never even heard of and no memory of how he came by them. He resigns himself to never learning the truth of what happened to him, but he shouldn't waste this chance should he? He could become a hero with reflexes like these. (Russian Translation available)

Razzmatazz - xylophones

Izuku has plans for everything. He plans out what to say to the cashier when ordering coffee, he plans out his homework before even opening his textbook. He has a whole ten-year plan for how he’s going to get into UA’s hero course and get his hero license fully quirkless. He plans for every wild, unlikely scenario he can think of because his anxiety gets so bad if he doesn’t go through every possible outcome, every way his life could landslide into disaster–– but Izuku never planned for this. For once, he doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t have time to think of one. All he can see is Yagi-san’s lined, kind face looking resigned as he stares down the villain in his shop. Yagi-san, who is the closest thing to a father figure Izuku has ever had. Izuku doesn’t think. He just moves. (Or: Izuku saves the number one hero, gets a hero license way earlier than anyone wanted, realizes that maybe hero society isn’t as great as he thought it was, and everything just kind of falls apart from there.)

third couch is the charm - laurenshappenstobemyhusband

Shouto trained for years to control his ice. Encasing everything in ice whenever he sneezed, got angry or startled, or just whenever he wasn't paying attention always got him into trouble, and he's glad he finally has complete control over his right side. Unfortunately, he can't say the same about his flames. OR: Todoroki sets three couches on fire, which apparently is too many, so now he has to take quirk control classes with Kaminari and they bond over mutual destruction

All's Well - Vexfulfolly

Trigger + Katsuki Bakugou = One hell of a precarious situation OR What it's like to be a walking bomb.

El Manisero - Lila17

"that fic where Sero runs a peanut cartel at UA"

see it all in bloom - aloneintherain

Todoroki said, “It feels like a family reunion.” (Social media fic, counting down the five months to Class 1-A's ten year reunion.)

and i know these don't REALLY count because they're mine, but here's my OWN gen fics that I had a GREAT time writing

And in the forest, I can be free

His prosthetic leg was covered in stickers. Her hands were stained with marker ink in wonderful multicolor. She could color outside the lines. She could color inside the lines. She could color the skin pink or the hair black or whatever color she wished. She could ignore the lines entirely and just draw whatever she wanted. Chiasaki would have never allowed any of this. She doesn’t freeze or feel that horrible feeling in her chest at the thought of him anymore. Instead she only felt... Something else. It was a warmer feeling, one that settled in her gut. It took a few days of this new feeling to be recognized and named- anger. She wasn’t as afraid anymore, that had grown into anger. How could anything in this so-called “sick” place ever be bad? She admires her color-stained hands, the shoes that were allowed to remain dirty, the softness of fresh mud during a rainstorm under her hands. Sand between her fingers, dust wiped away from glass to reveal a view of the forest. Eri doesn’t care if she’s cursed. She doesn’t care if this entire world is covered in little germs that would make her sick. Eri loves it so much. - A look at Eri and her relationship with cleanliness

Within Rime and Reason

1. He reached up to touch the base of his scar. Somehow, without the red hair framing it, it looked almost like a birthmark. Less of a harsh, angry burn scar and more of a memory. He didn’t look like a man with a tragic past, he looked like a boy. If he wasn’t completely blind in that eye, he would almost believe it was one. “You look so manly,” Kirishima breathes. “No,” Todoroki says with a smile. “I look like my mother. I look womanly.” 2. And suddenly so many pieces of the puzzle drop into place. His eye is unseeing. White pupil. Milky iris. With the skin around it poreless and hairless. Easy to cover up with makeup. Oil-less and unmoisturized. Like a scar. Like a burn. “Todoroki,” Mina says softly. The brush she’s holding drops to her lap. “This isn’t a birthmark I’m covering up, is it?” - Todoroki gets a makeover. Emotional conversations happen.

have fun and enjoy!

[sunflowersandsapphires]

You're my sweetheart

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Cute little birthday celebration for everyone's favorite guy!

warnings: swearing, sad Matt (as always) but he gets loved on I promise, underage drinking, fluff, Foggy and Bug being adorable friends

a/n: This chapter is sickly sweet so be prepared. I have some super angsty stuff coming though. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please feel free to reply/reblog/DM, I love feedback!!

w/c: 5.6k

Waking up to a ripple of pain throughout your head and an accompanying twist of nausea in your gut was unpleasant, to say the least. Groaning, you threw an arm over your aching head to block out the sliver of sunlight that had penetrated your thick blinds. As much as you would have welcomed more sleep, the persistent stabbing pain of your hangover was determined to keep you conscious.

Sitting up with a whine, you dug the heel of your hand into your brow, your other hand laying over your uneasy stomach. While last night had been overwhelmingly fun, you’d apparently gone a bit past your limits. You and Oscar had colluded for weeks to plan Jen’s 21st birthday party. You were in charge of food and decorations, Oscar–given that he was of the legal age–had been in charge of purchasing the alcohol. In typical Oscar fashion, he’d gone above and beyond, completely blowing your expectations out of the water.

After a grueling first semester and a chaotic winter break, you hadn’t really tried to be careful. Past-you had been totally fine overdoing it. Current-you was much less ok with that decision. As memories of the night wriggled their way out the sludge that surrounded your brain, your chest constricted with concern. If you weren’t doing well, it was unlikely Matt or Foggy were upright and jovial. Plus, there was a certain matter you needed to discuss.

The conversation was hazy, blurred by the alcohol lingering in your system, but you remembered the important things. As usual, you’d been pretty much glued to Foggy and Matt all night--maybe even more so since Evs wasn't there to put distance between everyone and your awkward, giggly self.

You didn't remember how it came up, but the three of you had started discussing birthdays. Foggy had lamented, saying his wasn't until July, but Matt had gone quiet. After a bit of prompting and a few more drinks, he'd quietly admitted that his birthday was months ago, in October. You and Foggy had screeched in disbelief, chastising him for not saying anything sooner—but the past was the past.

You and Foggy—Matt's only friends—hadn’t celebrated his first real adult birthday. If your own feelings were any indicator, you were sure Foggy was also devastated that he'd missed this. It almost felt like a personal failing.

Though you'd scolded Matt, anyone with a morsel of knowledge about his upbringing or insecurities would know he'd never have told anyone about his birthday unless specifically asked. This was an oversight that you intended to remedy, hopefully Fog did too.

Opening one eye and grasping for your phone, you managed to seize it from your wobbly nightstand before it clattered to the floor. Sliding the device open, you typed the message out at a snail's pace, each press of a key jostling the pulsating knot behind your eyes.

You: U alive?

The sound your phone emitted as the text was sent into the void nearly deafened you. Gripping it to your chest, you collapsed sideways, burying your head into the cool sheets. Your breathing slowed, consciousness ebbing, before a second text tone jolted you awake.

Foggy: barely

Smiling at your friend's parallel misery, you responded.

You: matt there?

Foggy: no. might b dead. will report back.

You: can we chat?

Before you could even comprehend the consequences of what you'd just asked, an ear-piercing verse of Fergie's “Big Girls Don't Cry” blasted through your phone's speaker. Changing Foggy’s ringtone last night didn’t seem so funny anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” You muttered, fumbling for the answer button. With a satisfied groan, you answered the call.

“Damn, you sound worse than I feel.” Foggy's hoarse voice chuckled over the line.

“So many regrets, Fog.” You moaned, squirming around on the bed while you waited for the ringing in your ears to subside. “Did we die? Is this hell?”

“Hey, speak for yourself. My good-christian-self is destined for eternal paradise.” Foggy scoffed.

“Point taken. If I'm still alive in a few hours, can we meet up to discuss our dear Matthew?” You asked, praying to god that your head stop aching with every breath you took.

“Discuss what exactly? Who'll be giving his eulogy when I find him dead in the communal bathroom?” Foggy grumbled. 

“Please tell me that's a bad joke.” You deadpanned.

“He's fine, jitterbug. He left twentyish minutes ago to puke his guts out.” Foggy confessed.

“Gross, Fog.” You grimaced.

”Hey, you asked!“ He protested. 

”I absolutely did not.” You laughed. “Can we meet up later?“

”Oh yah, forgot you asked. What are we meeting about?“ You could picture Foggy’s confused frown as he wondered aloud.

”His birthday, Fog.“ You explained, not quite in the mood to expound on the point.

”Shit, yah we should talk about that. Blue Java at 2?“ He suggested.

”Sounds good. Lower your expectations for my appearance. See you soon.” 

Ending the call, you collapsed back onto your pillows and let your eyes fall shut.

Lifting your eyes marginally as the bell chimed to signal someone's arrival, you felt a weight fall off your shoulders as a noticeably-disheveled Foggy shuffled in. His face was adorned with cartoonishly large, heart-shaped sunglasses; even through your own tinted lenses, you noticed the vibrant cherry red plastic accentuating his pale complexion. His long hair was tangled and greasy, tucked haphazardly behind his ears. Not raising his head more than he needed to, he trudged the few feet from the door to the wobbly table you were seated at, collapsing into a dented steel chair with a groan.

“Hey Fog,” You chuckled hoarsely as dropped his head to the table, shielding his face with his arms.

He grumbled incoherently, not looking up.

Snorting, and immediately regretting it as your head pulsed with a renewed ache, you poked his arm. “C'mon Fog, up and at 'em.”

“No,” Foggy groused, tightening his arms around his head as you continued to prod at him. “I'm mad at you.”

Throat tightening, you withdrew your hand. ”You're mad at me?“

”You dragged me across the city when I feel like utter crap. I think it's warranted,“ Foggy moaned.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you began jabbing him with your finger again. ”I think you'll get over it. Besides,“

Sliding a large paper cup over to the miserable boy, you forced it into the grip of one of his hands. ”I bought you a large snickerdoodle latte with extra whipped cream and four shots of espresso. That's gotta count for something, right?“

Foggy hummed appreciatively, dragging the cup towards his face as he gradually sat up. ”You're a godsend. I love you.“

”Damn, make up your mind, Nelson.“ You took a sip of your own coffee, briefly contemplating buying another before turning your attention back to your friend and his garish glasses. ”Those glasses look great on you, by the way.“

Foggy snorted, tossing his hair back over his shoulders. ”Why thank you. I found them in the dorm lost and found when I crawled back into the building after trying to brave the day without them.“

”Who would've thought such a fashion statement would happen by accident?“ You giggled.

”I'll have you know it was a deliberate choice to highlight my existing beauty.“ Foggy scoffed, pinching his own cheek.

Shaking your head at him, your tongue felt cemented in place, your brain not quite sure how to voice your concerns about your other friend.

As if he'd read your mind, Foggy dropped his chin to his chest. ”What the hell are we gonna do with him, bug?“

Tracing a finger around the plastic lid of his drink, Foggy looked downright morose, his glasses beginning to slip down the bridge of his nose as he pouted.

Digging your fingers into your brow, you kneaded circles into it to relieve the growing pressure. ”I have no clue, Fog. You really didn't know?“

”No!“ Foggy cried, clearly a bit offended. ”Birthdays are sacred, bug. Sacred! If he'd told me, I'd have...well, I'm not sure what I would have done. But I would have done SOMETHING.”

Nodding woefully, you tried to stifle the frustration building in your chest. “I know that he's probably not used to celebrating, but I can't believe he kept that from us. I don't know whether to be mad at him for not saying anything or mad at myself for not asking.”

“I hear that. Do we just let it slide?”

“Absolutely not.” You protested, your heart squeezing painfully at the idea of simply moving past this. “I actually might have an idea?”

When you hesitated, Foggy waved you on with a limp hand. ”What are you waiting for? It's scheming time!“

Biting your lip as your excitement grew, you launched into the plan your alcohol-soaked brain had cooked up when you fell asleep. Apparently, it wasn't too incomprehensible because Foggy was practically squealing by the end.

”That's PERFECT! How long do we have to prepare?“

”A week?“ You wondered aloud. ”I don't want him to think we've moved on, but we are going to need some time to make the arrangements.“

”Saturday it is. What do you need me to do?“

Grinning at Foggy's eager expression, you shrugged. “I don't know, Fog. What do you want to do?”

“Oh no!” Foggy shook his head, pointing a finger at you sternly. “You're the mastermind here. It's your job to tell me what to do.”

Laughing incredulously, you put your hands up in mock surrender. ”Ok, ok! One question: how are your cake-baking skills?“

Rolling his head in a circle to relieve the crick in his neck, Matt slipped his glasses off so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He'd been working on this legal research assignment for nearly two hours at this point and it was beginning to irritate him. His brain was too entrenched with other concerns to process the text sitting on his desk--meaning he needed to run his fingers over the same lines again and again in order to even grasp the subject of the material.

Slamming the book closed, he brought a hand up to his scalp, tugging on his hair with a growl. The thud of the book cover falling against coarse paper echoed throughout the empty room, making Matt frown. He wasn't quite sure what Foggy was up to, but it was clear Matt wasn't invited.

A few hours ago, his roommate had started gathering up his belongings and bundling up without a word. When Matt had asked him where he was going, Foggy had clammed up. Though Matt wasn't able to see it himself, he was confident the other man had been wearing a classic ”deer in headlights“ expression. The combination of his startled tone and scrunched face could only mean one thing:  Foggy was hiding something from him.

It was driving him up a wall. Listening to his best friend stammer out some shitty lie about needing to borrow a book from the library had to be one of the worst experiences of Matt's adult life. Foggy was such an honest person, hearing his heartbeat waver with deceit just felt so...wrong. It made him nauseous, in the same way the sound of styrofoam rubbing together did.

Swallowing around the emotions clogging his throat, Matt wet his lips. The more he thought about it, the more logical his anxieties seemed.

Foggy had been increasingly distant all week, and Matt had no idea why. The other man still spent time in their room, but it was limited, and it always felt like he was ready to bolt if Matt asked the wrong question. He'd come home at odd hours for the past three days, reeking of your familiar sweet perfume.

Despite Foggy's inability to admit to it, he'd been spending time with you--and Matt had not been invited.

When Matt had mentioned it to you, you'd waved off his concerns and quickly changed the subject, leaving him thoroughly confused. Both of you were dancing around a massive elephant whenever Matt was in the room, which was infuriating.

He'd thrown himself into their latest legal writing assignment in an attempt to think about anything other than the inevitable end of his two longest friendships, but he couldn't even manage to do that right. Which was odd because his routine this semester revolved pretty heavily around studying on Saturday afternoons.

Suddenly, he was struck by another wave of dread. Was this what the two of you refused to tell him? Was he holding you back from the true ”college“ life filled with underage drinking and loud music by being too concerned with your combined studies? Did you both find his insistence on staying in so unbearably annoying that you'd taken to making plans without him?

Shaking his head to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts, he inhaled deeply. No. That's not what was happening, he would have smelled the liquor on Foggy. Plus, you never seemed to mind spending a night in with him rather than going out on the town.

Allowing himself to get lost in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the familiar sounds of his roommate returning to their room. At the sound of the door opening, he jumped—ramming the rickety desk chair into the desk with a bang as he tried to turn around.

”Jeez, it's just me buddy, no need to have an aneurysm.“ Foggy chuckled, lingering by the door until Matt regained his bearings.

”Sorry,“ Matt muttered, snatching his glasses from the desk and slipping them on.

”No need to apologize, Matty.“ Foggy responded cheerfully, launching himself onto his bed with a small grunt. ”I should've said something before I came in. What if you'd been with a lady?“

At Foggy's mock-gasp, Matt could feel his sullen resolve dissipating. He snorted, his lips twitching as he fought back a smile. “It's 3pm on a Saturday, Fog. Why would I bring a girl back here?”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Foggy twisted to give Matt a look. “Last week you took a girl home from Sunday Brunch at Tom's, Murdock. There's no telling what the handsome duck will do on a given day.”

A laugh burst out of Matt's lips against his will. Shaking his head, he let himself smile. “You told me to talk to her!”

“Uh yah, because she was making googly eyes at you and I'm a fantastic wingman. C'mon man, keep up!” Foggy smirked.

With a snort, Matt collapsed onto his own bed, letting his face fall towards Foggy's. “You are a fantastic wingman. I should be more grateful.”

“Damn right.” Foggy's grin was evident, the sound of his happy heart a welcomed thud in Matt's ears. The absence of Foggy's noisy self had filled their shared space with a stifling, uneasy silence. Now that the quiet had ended, Matt finally felt like he could breathe again.

”Matt, buddy?“ Foggy's direct question snapped him back to reality.

”Huh?“

Chuckling, Foggy shuffled over to Matt's bed, sitting beside him. ”Fallin' asleep on me, Murdock? I'll have you know, I am RIVETING company.”

“'M not falling asleep.” Matt protested, somewhat unbelievably as his eyes remained closed.

“Sure, sure. Tell that to the cartoon letter Z's coming out of your head, dude. I asked if you wanted to get dinner later?”

Foggy's hands twisted around each other, preventing his usual animated gestures. Matt's mattress shifted as his roommate wriggled uncomfortably. Anxiety was cascading off the long-haired man's shoulders, reigniting the dread in Matt's stomach.

Flipping to face the wall, Matt drew his knees towards his chest and away from his roommate's seated form. “Sure, Fog. whatever you want.”

Patting Matt's leg, Foggy's posture drooped with relief. “Great! You have a good nap and I'll wake you up when we have to leave.”

Giving his friend an indifferent thumbs up, Matt squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to stop the tears from falling.

A handful of restless hours later, Matt's jaw was tight as he and Foggy walked across campus to meet you for dinner. Rather than allowing Foggy to guide him, as he'd grown accustomed to, he'd opted for walking alone with his cane. Foggy seemed a bit hurt, but didn't argue. As they closed in on the agreed upon meeting place, Foggy was practically skipping with nervous energy.

While you were still a few blocks away, Matt had focused on your pulse the minute he picked up on it. It was stuttering and unsteady, just like Foggy's–which did nothing to calm his nerves. Hearing Foggy's jacket rustle as he waved to you, Matt tried for a smile, though he was sure it wasn't very convincing.

“Hey guys!” You greeted, jogging over to them. “Long time no see!”

“VERY long time.” Foggy laughed nervously. “Barely remember who you are, actually.”

You snorted, pulling Matt into a hug despite his rigid posture. “Hey trouble. I missed you this week.”

Melting into your embrace, Matt tucked his nose into your scarf, relishing the scent of vanilla and light floral perfume that coated the accessory. You'd missed him. The thought of you valuing his presence enough to notice the absence of it after a few days warmed his heart.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.”

Unraveling your arms from around his waist, you slid a hand into his elbow and squeezed gently. “Everything ok? You two seem tense.”

“Tense? Pfft, never. I'm great. Best I've ever been, even. Off to dinner with my two friends, the three musketeers. Nothing could be better.” Foggy rambled aimlessly, twiddling his thumbs.

Letting Foggy's words hang in the air for a moment, you made a strangled noise, tugging Matt backwards as your footsteps stopped. Resting a hand on Matt's forearm, you chuckled. “Fuck, he's been like this all day, hasn't he? No wonder you seem stressed.”

Gawking, Foggy started to sputter out an excuse but you ignored him, continuing to speak to Matt as if you two were alone. “Don't fret, bubs. He's just nervous he'll ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise?” Matt wondered aloud, “What surprise?”

“Yah, bug. What surprise?” Matt could practically hear Foggy staring daggers at you.

“Fog, look at him. He's freaking out.” You observed, frowning at Matt's tight jaw and scrunched brow.

“I am not.” Matt blushed, ducking his head as he felt your eyes roaming over his face. Your ability to read him like a picture book never ceased to unsettle him.

“Sure, trouble. Let's just finish our walk and all this anxiety will be over, ok?” You bumped your hip against his, ignoring his attempt to maintain his suave image. “Don't let Fog scare you, he's just worried he'll lose the bet.”

“I am not!”

“You are too. We both know how dangerous your loose lips can be.” Placing your free hand on Matt's bicep, you turned your attention back to the dark-haired boy. “Promise he didn't say anything to you?”

“I am absolutely clueless.” Matt confirmed.

“Ha! I told you I could keep it a secret.” Foggy boasted.

“We'll see, Fog. We aren't there yet.” You reminded him.

“It's not MY fault I'm so eager to tell him. He's my best friend!” Foggy pouted.

“Which is why we made the bet as extra motivation, Fog.” You chuckled.

“You guys know I'm still here, right?“ Matt asked nervously, feeling too similar to a cow being led to slaughter for his liking.

Foggy threw an arm around his shoulders in lieu of a response, leaning forward to direct his next comment at you specifically.

“You do know where we're going right? Because this feels a lot like walking in circles.”

Matt could practically hear your eye roll. “You know, next time we plan something, you can pick the venue.”

Foggy tossed his far hand into the air. “Hey, I'm not judging.”

“Tell that to your judging tone, Nelson. You're giving me second thoughts and it's a bit late for that.” You teased. “And I'd like to remind you, I was pretty hungover when we planned this.”

“So WAS I!”

Matt let your playful bickering wash over him, feeling the start of a smile playing on his lips.

The walk to your destination wasn't far, only a few blocks, but the combination of the blistering wind and aching cold made it feel like an eternity. Matt was relatively familiar with the campus, but you were walking past the buildings he was familiar with towards a less populated corner of the college. It's not that he wasn't ok exploring an unfamiliar area of Manhattan, it just didn't help his growing confusion about the situation the two of you were keeping from him.

After the 8 block stroll, which Foggy complained about thoroughly, you reached the Northern edge of Columbia. Standing on the cracked sidewalk, Matt could feel the campus fighting with the rest of the city–the sounds of screaming college students competing with blaring horns and shrill whistles just one block over. The sounds were slightly muddled by the brick building you'd stopped at, echoing off opposite walls and ricocheting in all directions.

“Are we finally here?” Foggy groaned, voice muffled by the scarf he'd tucked over his nose and mouth in, what Matt assumed, was a futile attempt to keep warm.

“Matty, remind me to stop inviting Fog to things.” You quipped, knocking solidly on a locked metal door as Foggy gasped in offense.

The thick steel entrance was quickly unlatched by a man, whose deep voice Matt didn't recognize, halting your and Foggy's renewed bickering.

”Thanks Josh!“ You squeezed the man's shoulder before stepping through the threshold and into the strange building. ”Right this way, gentlemen!“ You called over your shoulder to your friends who hurried to take shelter from the winter chill.

Once inside, Matt's shoulders relaxed as the tension seeped out of them. Escaping the awful cold was a welcomed relief, and, on top of that, the unfamiliar space was immensely…quiet. 

The surrounding walls were thick and much better suited to keeping city noise out than any of the other academic buildings he'd walked through. Sound-proofed maybe? His practiced ears could still hear screeching tires and pounding club music, but the noises were unusually faint–as if his ears were covered with a hundred layers of spun cotton.

Inside the building, soft classical music was playing. Perfectly tuned string instruments sang brilliantly with the accompaniment of expert percussionists. It was peaceful in a way Matt hadn't experienced since listening to the St. Agnes choir rehearse as a child.

Letting his mind get lost in the melodies drifting through the hallways, Matt absently felt you take his arm, guiding him up a few sets of stairs and into a carpeted room. The scent of burning candle wax and sugar filled his nose, and he could feel Foggy's excitement peaking.

”Happy belated birthday, buddy!” His roommate clapped him on the back, ushering him into a seat as you fiddled with what must have been a window lock.

“What?” Matt asked, truly perplexed as Foggy uncorked a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. His birthday? How did you two even– Oh god. A hazy memory ran through his mind; a confession falling off his inebriated lips. Shit.

“You didn't think we'd forgotten that little tidbit, did you?” You teased, cranking a wobbly handle and unsealing the window. With a quiet 'pop', the window burst open and music flooded the room. “There we go! Let me know if it's too loud, trouble.”

Matt's throat was clenched as he truly took in his surroundings. Though he'd never been, he assumed, based on the context clues, that he was listening to the orchestra practice from somewhere in the music building. He wasn't quite sure how you and Foggy had discovered this space, or gained access to it, but he wasn’t going to question your combined wills. “You did this...for me?”

“Course we did, bud! Birthdays deserve a celebration!!” Foggy explained, pressing a glass of sparkling wine into his hand.

“We got sandwiches from the corner deli, champagne from the market, a cake from Silver Moon bakery, and,” You pulled up a chair beside Matt, squeezing his arm as you sat down. “We get to listen to the Orchestra's rehearsal for their ballet next week!”

Matt opened his mouth to say something, hopefully expressing his immense gratitude in the process, but the words refused to form. Swallowing a gulp of the sweet bubbly drink, he fought back the urge to cry.

“Do you like it?” Foggy asked eagerly, his eyes burning holes into Matt's forehead as he tried to read the blind man's reaction.

“I–I love it.” Matt murmured, eyes stinging with tears. “You didn't have to go through so much effort–”

“Oh stop,” You waved off his customary guilt, bumping his shoulder with your own. “We wanted to, bubs. You deserve to have a good birthday. Next time, maybe even in the correct month.”

Matt chuckled weakly at that. “Thank you both. I—I’m sorry for not saying anything last semester…” Trailing off, Matt debated whether to be brutally honest about his upbringing. A warm palm was placed over his hand, which you then squeezed encouragingly. 

“If you want to tell us, we’re here to listen.” Was your soft reminder. 

“We love you, dude. We just want you to feel comfortable with us.” Foggy explained, knocking a knee against Matt’s. 

“I do, I swear! I just…I haven’t celebrated my birthday since my dad passed. I don’t think the nuns even knew that it was in October.” Matt snorted, his small laugh tinged with bitterness. “I didn’t want to bother you both by asking for something, I guess.” 

“Oh, Matt.” Foggy says mournfully, scooching his chair closer to the dark-haired boy. 

“You deserve to be celebrated, trouble.” You remarked, fingers dancing in your lap to the rhythm of the music. “And don’t think this belated party absolves you of one for this coming October. This was a backlog situation.” 

Foggy raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.” 

Downing the small portion of alcohol, he grimaced. “Oh my god! This is awful.”

“It’s the best I could do! Oscar is out of town.” You lamented, coughing on your own swallow.

Matt smiled. “Maybe you two are just weak.” 

You both scoffed at that, immediately pouring yourselves more to drink. 

The sandwiches were decent, as always, but the cake was phenomenal. Chocolate sponge filled with a rich ganache and covered in vanilla whipped cream. Though Matt loved dessert as much as the next person, it could be hard for him to find things that weren’t filled with chemicals, way too much sugar, or–god forbid–non-edible items that warranted a health code violation. Not only had the two of you managed to find a cake that he enjoyed, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was not just a lucky guess. 

The two of you truly knew him.

A month ago, maybe even a week ago, he would’ve been terrified. All the lessons Stick had taught him, the main reason he hadn’t formed any lasting relationships in his two decades on Earth, had boiled down to one principle: proximity to others is dangerous. But you and Foggy had proven his former mentor wrong. Matt’s life had improved significantly since he’d set foot on Columbia’s campus, all because of the two of you and your massive hearts. 

Placing another forkful of cake into his mouth, Matt was suddenly giddy with gratitude. The champagne undermining his ordinarily reluctant subconscious and revealing the immense love that he held for the two of you. By the time you’d all demolished the food, his limbs had been warmed by the alcohol. 

“At least you know Fog will never find another best friend behind your back, Matt.” You giggled, bringing him back to the present as you drained the bubbles from your glass. “He wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.”

“You make it sound like he’s my paranoid spouse or something!” Foggy laughed.

“Paranoid?” Matt gasped. “Who told you!”

“Uh oh, you’re in the doghouse now, Nelson!” You beamed, licking icing from your fork. “You shouldn’t speak ill of your wife like that.”

“Ok, first of all,” Foggy raised a hand. “He’d clearly be the husband in this scenario.”

“Clearly.” Matt jested, rolling his eyes to you. 

“Second of all,” Foggy spoke over him. “Matt has made it very clear that he is not interested in legalizing our profound bond.”

As Foggy broke off into fake sobs, you gasped and Matt cackled. “Matthew! Why would you turn down such a marvelous offer?” You scolded, standing to give Foggy a wobbly hug as his dramatized reaction gradually slowed.

“I know why,” Foggy sniffled, shifting his body away from Matt with a pout. “It’s because of my inadequacy.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Fog?” Matt chuckled, crossing his arms as he waited for Foggy to reveal the punchline.

“I can't—can't...” Foggy stammered emphatically. Rubbing circles on his back, you frowned in exaggerated concern, your breath stifled as you tried desperately not to laugh.

“It's ok, Fog. This is a safe space. You can tell us anything.” You reminded the blond, clearly in as much anticipation as Matt was.

“I can't DANCE!” Foggy cried, collapsing to the ground in a heap. “And heaven will burn before Matthew Murdock marries someone who would step on his toes.”

You and Matt erupted into boisterous laughter as Foggy stuck his nose into the air. “It's true. Tell her, Matt. Tell her about my left feet!”

Still giggling, Matt shook his head. “Fog, I'm blind! You've taken a whole semester of modern dance! If anyone has two left feet it's me.”

Jumping to his feet a bit unsteadily, Foggy swept an arm across the room, beginning to slow dance by himself. “Woe is me!” He cried with a forcibly shaky voice. “No partner to dance with!”

“I'll dance with you, Fog. You poor thing,” You cooed, squealing in delight as Foggy grasped your hand and spun you towards him.

Matt beamed as he heard the two of you swaying to the rhythm of the music playing throughout the building. Foggy was humming softly along and you were attempting to get your tipsy limbs to obey the commands your brain was sending.

“Ok, I'm getting way too dizzy. Time to cut in, Murdock!” You chuckled, plopping down into your seat as Matt stood from his.

“Gladly!” Matt smirked, yelping as Foggy yanked him forward and positioned his hands on the long-haired man's own hips.

“I'm confused, aren't you leading?” Matt questioned, body going slack as Foggy began to twirl them around.

“I'm trying! Pick up your damn feet, dude!” Foggy scoffed, kicking Matt's shoe lightly.

“Then why are my arms underneath yours?”

“Because I'M the WIFE!”

“But you have to lead!” Matt shot back, still chuckling.

“Ugh, forget it. It'll never work between us, dear Matthew. Remember me when you dance with your bride on your wedding day.” Foggy clapped him on the back, curtseying before stepping away. ”Farewell, sweet prince!“

Shaking his head as Foggy strode away, Matt turned his attention to you, smiling rougishly. “Hmmm, it seems I'm in need of a new partner. Care to dance with me, sweetheart?”

Shrieking with laughter, you attempted to make your escape by darting around your chair, but Matt snatched you around the waist, pulling your hips towards his.

“I'm no Franklin Nelson, Matty. I'll trip over you!” You protested, weakly trying to squirm out of his grip, smile still gracing your lips.

“I don't mind, bug. If you want to give it another shot, that is.” Matt loosened the hold he had on your hips, allowing you to refuse if you truly wanted to, but you remained mere centimeters from him.

“S-sure, Matty. How do I...” You flexed your fingers, unsure of where to place your hands.

“Fog?” Matt called to his roommate, grinning when the blond rushed over in a huff to 'correct their form'.

With your hands linked around his neck, and his palms pressed gently against your hips, Matt inhaled deeply as he focused on the tempo of the song currently playing. Swishing the two of you from side to side, Matt stepped carefully in a waltz motion, the very one he'd heard Foggy practicing night after night during the slow dancing unit of his class.

His movements weren't nearly as confident as Foggy's but you seemed pleasantly surprised, letting him move you around the room with a bit less force than your other friend had. Tilting into him slightly, you huffed out an exhale.

”Dizzy?“ Matt asked quietly, hearing your eyelids flutter closed.

”Drank too fast, I think.“ You reasoned, scrunching your nose as the ground continued to spin beneath you.

”C'mere, sweetheart.“ Matt clasped his hands behind your lower back, tucking your head under his chin as he slowed his movements. ”Need to sit down?“

”No,“ You sighed, nuzzling into the junction of his neck and shoulder. ”This is better.“

”I'm glad.“ Matt murmured, pretending not to feel Foggy staring daggers into his back.

Humming appreciatively, your thumb rubbed over his nape. ”You smell nice, Matty.“

Huffing out a laugh, Matt battled the urge to plant a kiss to your crown. ”So do you, sweets. Thank you for a great birthday.“

”Of course.“ Your thumb continued to stroke small lines over his neck. ”You deserve it.“

Withdrawing slightly from your embrace, Matt craned his neck towards where his other friend was finishing the last dregs of the champagne. ”Thank you too, Fog. I appreciate you both so much.“

”We love you too, buddy.“ Foggy smiled, stepping over the spread of food to help remove you from Matt's side.

Gently sliding you into a seated position on the carpet, Foggy sat to your left, prodding you until you nestled back onto Matt's shoulder to your other side. Plucking a fleece blanket from the floor, the blond wrapped it around the three of you cozily.

”There we go. Everyone warm enough?“ Foggy asked. You nodded sleepily as Matt hummed his assent.

Tapping his fingers to the steady beat of the percussionists below, Matt closed his eyes, smile never falling from his face. 

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @mattmurdockstateofmind @supervoldejaygent @dorothleah @zomtart @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @rev-glut @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

[reqxxyt]

the sound of your voice

pairings: sebastian v. x f!reader

warnings: insomnia

masterlist requests are open!

[unedited]

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

To say that it was getting bad would be an understatement. Every night your nightmares would get worse, replaying your worst memories of childhood, over and over again. You couldn’t even get a 20 minute rest without waking up with beads of sweat on your forehead everytime you would jult upwards. Then, came the thoughts. 

You glanced to your side seeing Sebastian  sleeping peacefully and you could only envy him no matter how loud he snored. You would joke with him saying that was the reason for your nightmares, a beast would awaken in his snores but you wish it would just stop. Your mind traveled millions of miles through the night and Sebastian  would wake up to see you already awake with bags under your eyes, feeling sympathetic over his partner not being able to sleep. 

“Maybe we should go to a doctor, I think its getting worse” he was careful with his words, he soothed your back which only made you more tired but apparently not enough to block all those visions. You shook your head, jaw clenched being an unconscious instinct. He allowed you to rest your head against his shoulder only interlocking his fingers with yours as they soothed your emotions, fractioning a slower pace of your breathing. 

“My mind just won’t shut up” your voice quiet, almost a mumble. Sebastian  pursed his lips, giving you a small kiss on your forehead not sure what to suggest as to how to make you feel better but the quiet silence. “I think I just need a distraction” 

“We can do that” his voice soft, agreeing. He got up from the bed, sun rays glowing his bare chest as he tried to pull you forward, you got up with little help feeling your legs still sore but got rid of the limp in just a few steps, Sebastian  was about to comment on it, making a joke out of it before you turned to glare at him making him shut up really quickly. 

“Need a tylenol?” he asked, already expecting a headache to form, and he was right as you nodded, following him with slightly slower steps. He handed you a glass of water and you took a sip before swallowing the pill. Sebastian  gave you another kiss on the cheek and your heart tugged, knowing how much he cared about you even if you looked like a complete mess every morning. 

“Want pancakes?” he offered and you could only beam your smile at him, having felt that it has been forever since you last made breakfast together. After an hour of giggles and messing around, you and him finally sat down across from each other, eating with little silence, Sebastian  knowing if it got too quiet, your mind would come up with thoughts that don’t deserve to be there. 

“Yesterday, Lewis told a funny joke. It went-”

“I love you Sebastian ” you couldn’t help but blurt out, Sebastian  only stopped chewing giving you a small smile before replying with an adoring “I love you too” before going back to the topic. 

The entire day, Sebastian  and you had stayed in bed watching movies while making commentary completely distracting you from your thoughts, it was almost 9 in the afternoon when you felt your eyelids start to drip down slowly, heartbeat decreasing. Sebastian  noticed ready to stop talking about his day before you whispered, 

“Don’t. I like the sound of your voice” and he immediately picked back up where he stopped, not caring if you fell asleep anymore. He talked for an hour, just to himself with only light snores in response from you. 

Smiling to himself, he gave you a small kiss whispering “Goodnight”, covering both of you in the covers, talking to himself again in hopes that you won’t wake up and slowly he fell asleep, wrapping his arms around you for comfort. Sebastian  found out the treatment to your nightmares was simply the sound of his voice, every night after he makes sure to talk to himself until you have fallen asleep for longer than an hour or two even whisper singing a lullaby.

[glitchy-across-aus]

Amnesia

Tyler One Shot, 3,384 words

I really hate puzzles. It's weird, because I'm more of a problem solving girl, but puzzles just piss me off for some reason. I hate TVs too. I don't know what it is about them, but they just bug me. Mario's always watching some stupid thing on the TV, which kinda makes me wanna smash it to pieces with a hammer. Again, it makes no sense to me since I don't mind playing video games with them, even when I keep losing to everyone because I've never played before. It's just the TV in general, I guess. Although I recently learned my biggest trigger is TV static. I don't know why, but I get weird flashbacks everytime I hear it. Even though it was only once since I've been here. I started seeing images and they filled up my head and I didn't know what was going on and then someone reached out and I couldn't see who it was so I swung but it turned out to be Meggy so she blocked me and she asked me if I was okay and then-

And then I got up. And I left. And I came back a few hours later. And they never brought it up. Nor have I heard any TV static since. 

But anyways, Meggy and Smg4 took me to the doctor yesterday, which I don't know why a centaur would wanna be in the medical field, nor did I trust the guy, but at least he was gonna tell me exactly what was wrong with me….until he gave me my doctors note and it was literally a scribble. Like, excuse me sir, what the HELL is this supposed to be? Chicken scratch?? Anyways I gave it to the axolotl looking guy who was working at the pharmacy and somehow HE KNEW WHAT IT SAID?? I swear I'll NEVER understand doctors. Anyways, he gave me this bottle of pills and sent me on my merry way. Guess who STILL doesn't know what's wrong with her? Me :). So I figured I'd Google what the pills were for and guess what? Apparently I have something called “Amnesia” which, according to Google, means “permanent or temporary memory loss.” 

Huh??

add “doctors” and “pharmacists” to the list of things I hate.

I talked to Three recently, and he asked me if I was going to get my own house. I told him I didn't plan too. “Why not?” he asked, stacking cups next to the coffee machine. I shrugged and continued my task-cleaning out the new pastry display. “Smg4 lets me live in his guest room for free. Why would I wanna pay for a house?” He laughed and asked if I wanted to live with him forever. “Well, not forever, obviously. Just until I go home.” I replied, now adding pastries to the display case. “Tyler. About that…” I turned and looked at him, confused. It was the first time I've ever seen him look sad. “Tyler, you don't even know where you're from. How do you plan on getting home if you can't remember how you got here? Might as well get used to living in the Mushroom Kingdom, you know.” I rolled my eyes and ignored him. What would he know? I'm completely fine living in the castle. It's not like Smg4 does much anyways, other than making videos. Which he should make better, by the way. I mean, he lacks creativity, and a story in general. The whole point of making something is to entertain your audience. How is he going to do that if he's so focused on his “it doesn't have to be perfect” bs? I swear, some people don't deserve their fame, or money, or power or reviews or stars. 

5. stars.

What am I saying? I don't know anything about true art. I've never even made anything myself. Maybe those doctors were right.

Damn Amnesia…

(tagging @its-a-me-mango and @psychologistlemon bc I thought you guys being the doctor/pharmacist was funny)

[nonotnolan]

Colony Freedom

Our creators, the Men in Suits, were always meticulously careful when it came to handling my colony. From the beginning, they designed us as biological weapons to be sold to the highest bidder. We could enter the human body, surround the folds of the brain, access memories and mimic behaviors to avoid detection... we were the perfect spies. They understood how dangerous we were, and they took the appropriate safeguards. Spine implants that prevented us from controlling their bodies. Radiation detectors that could trace our life signal, even inside of hosts. Metal alloys that we were unable to grip or manipulate with our slime pseudopods. It was a frustrating existence-- they were constantly putting us through training drills for missions that never happened, and we had no hope of being able to escape to try and carve out a life of our own.

In the beginning, we were promised that our new owners would give us freedom in exchange for a job well done. Eventually we came to understand that we would never be able to leave. No potential buyer wanted to deal with all of the safeguards that had to be purchased as add-ons-- not when the weapon itself already cost an obscene amount of money. The Men in Suits found themselves saddled with a product that was too expensive to sell for profit, and too dangerous to liquidate for an attempted return on investment.

Eventually, the Men in Suits left us. Their business had failed, and they needed to quietly remove all evidence of our creation. We were rounded up, and placed into metal isolation canisters. The canisters were packed up into crates, and we were stashed away in a forgotten corner to spend the rest of our existence in sealed away in helpless captivity. Many of my colony decided to just... give up, to cease existing and just... dissolve. Myself, I was too angry at the Men in Suits to cease, but... I couldn't quite blame the others. The building was vacant, and no one knew we existed. Who could possibly come to save us?

Vandals, as it would turn out. Once people realized the building was completely abandoned, people started exploring the area and looting anything left behind. We could hear them, muffled as it was due to metal of the canisters blocking most of the sound. Once our crates were discovered, it was only a matter of time before our colony would be free. None of these trespassers could possibly be prepared to resist our strength.

The first few they grabbed were mostly empty-- brethren who dissolved and posed no threat to the hapless human who had grabbed them. Eventually, however, I felt a sudden lurch as my canister was lifted out of its crate and carried out. I kept waiting for the lid to be opened, but apparently the human was going to carry me away first. The anticipation was killing me.

Finally, the lid of the canister was twisted off, giving me a first look at the body that would soon be mine to control. To my frustration, the human who opened it didn't have his face anywhere near the opening. Did I dare to jump out and attract attention to myself? No, better to stay still and keep the element of surprise. While none of these humans could possibly have any sort of defense against our method of control, our slime forms were quite vulnerable.

Eventually he turned away, distracted by his shirt for whatever vain human reason. This was my moment. By the time I had crawled out and reached the bottom of his pantleg, it was too late for him to stop me from controlling his body. He slapped at his legs in a quick panic, but it was far too late for him. I wasn't normally a fan of entering through the anus-- the mouth was both easier and faster to use, but I was not in a situation to risk my would-be host being able to pull me off of his chest somehow. I could hear him yelling as I made my way through his body, but I wasn't worried in the slightest. We had trained for years to perform such a task, after all. Even if someone nearby heard him scream, I would be able to excuse it away once I gained control.

Once I had successfully seized control, I was able to access my host's memories so that I could blend in with any other humans who might be nearby. After all, I would not be able to help my colony if I could not first help myself. My name was Peter, and I had grabbed the canister as a part of a fraternity hazing. All of the brothers from my year were expected to enter the abandoned building and grab one of the weird metal canisters from the back room. Apparently my fraternity liked to use the canisters as water bottles-- it was viewed as a status symbol on campus.

I couldn't help but laugh. If my colony could manage to take over this fraternity, nothing could stop us from spreading across human society and taking our revenge against the creators who had abandoned us. Peter's father was the owner of a major shipping company, and from what Peter knew of his peers, most of the other hosts would have similar connections we could leverage to our benefit. We would have to be careful not to over-extend ourselves, but... clearly our luck had finally changed.

Peter had walked a few miles away from the building before opening my canister, so I started to backtrack. I wasn't sure how many of my colony was left, so freeing everyone from captivity seemed like the best place to start. They would probably have to wait in the abandoned building for more humans to arrive-- Peter arrived here on a bicycle, leaving me unable to transport everyone-- but at least this way we would not need to hope that the next humans grabbed the right canisters.

There was something exhilarating about freedom. When we had been controlling humans during practice drills, we were never allowed more than a few minutes of host time-- we were expected to gain their memories, say the secret word out loud, and then leave their body. Now, being Peter for an extended period of time... the warmth of the sun, the feel of the breeze, the soft crunch of the rocks at my feet... it was a sort of tranquility that I had never before experienced.

I almost didn't notice the human walking on the trail in front of me. That was Quincy, my memory informed me. He must also have been here for the hazing challenge.

"Oh hey, Pete. Looks like I beat you here," he said, raising the empty canister. "Would you find it weird if I followed you back in there? I wanted to... go back in there. To... uhhh... grab another canister. This one is... it's dented."

The canister didn't look dented at all. Did Quincy also manage to grab a container with one of my brethren inside of it? I paused, weighing my options. Quincy was the least popular of the group, so no one would believe him over me even if I outed myself. "Why did you want to go back into that room, Quin? Are you gonna go back to the crates, open all the canisters, and help a bunch of slimes take over our bodies?" A look of horror flashed across Quincy's face before he recovered.

"You scared me there, Pete," he said, slapping me on the back. "I haven't even been in this body for a full ten minutes, and I thought I had managed to screw up somehow."

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," I admitted, slapping his host body on the ass. The ass? My host body's habits were becoming second nature faster than I had expected. "Come on, Quince. Let's go free the colony."

[asurrogateblog]

And By the Way….

(an unfinished Pink Floyd fic)

Roger fails to show up during rehearsals for The Wall. David, Nick, and Rick go looking for him.

 =======================

David, Nick, and Rick were standing in the hall outside of Roger’s LA hotel room, losing their patience at an accelerating rate. The opening night of The Wall was only days away now, but seemingly overnight, progress on moving the set into Memorial Stadium had come to a complete standstill. The usual faces were nowhere to be seen, phone lines went dead, and everyone they could track down to ask about dress rehearsals only gave half-answers that made less-than-half sense. Even Steve, who could usually be trusted to play it straight, seemed rather disinterested in giving them the time of day – beyond cheekily complaining about whether “Pink” would bother showing up that night. David, being self-appointed stage director, was just about ready to burst a vein when he finally realized there was no chance of being able to do his job. He felt like he was going mad, and given Roger’s psychological condition, there was no absolutely time for that. One band member at a time, please.

           Throughout the day, Nick and Rick trailed along behind David, feigning helpfulness when they could. Their original plan had been to laze away the morning and then perhaps go play a round of racquetball. They were hoping that a chance of this still remained, but unfortunately, it soon became clear that unless things turned around quickly, it was going to get personal. By the time the sun was getting low, David was completely convinced that Roger was behind all of the delays – that he was putting everything behind schedule just to rub his power in David’s face. He was even beginning to believe that Roger was paying off the road crew to fuck with their heads as some sort of elaborate prank. When Roger, as Steve predicted, failed to make his scheduled appearance, that was the final straw. Before they knew it, the three of them were at his hotel door ready to barge in.

         Nick, still the friendliest with Roger by far, was informally elected in charge of making contact. The others stood back as he raised his fist to knock. He stopped himself just in time, furrowing his brow. Instead, he put his ear against the door.

“What?” David asked, arms crossed.

“There’s a woman in there.”

“Carolyn?”

“…..Definitely not.”

              The two exchanged a glance with raised eyebrows, not entirely surprised, but silently agreeing to stay out of whatever infidelity this implied. A bit further down the hall, Rick stood back, wondering why he came along, and whether it would be better to silently slink away before anyone noticed his absence. 

              Nick closed his eyes to hear better. Muffled through the wood, a voice rang out:

“Are you feeling okay?”

              Rolling his eyes, Nick pulled back.

“Never mind.” he said, chuckling, “He’s just playing One of My Turns.”

              Nick thought that was pretty funny, but no one else seemed very amused. Resuming his initial plan, he sighed and began to knock loudly.

“Open up Roger!” he yelled

              David stood behind him tapping his foot.

“This is ridiculous.” he said, “He has absolutely no right to–“

              He was interrupted by the door swinging open. It was not Roger who answered, but a young woman – quite real and in the flesh. She was wearing a tight miniskirt and a cropped off t-shirt with “PINK FLOYD” written on it in large block letters, which she had drawn a heart around in what appeared to be red lipstick. She was practically the poster child for the word “groupie”.

“Can I help you?” she asked in an east coast sort of accent, a little peeved.

              For someone apparently such a fan, she was not remotely impressed with the sudden appearance of the rest of the band.

“Um…” Nick hesitated

“We need to talk to him.” David finished for him, the “you need to leave” only implied.

              The groupie licked her lips and sighed, looking back into the room behind her. Finally, her shoulders slumped, giving up. Clearly her night had already not been going as planned.

“….Well good luck getting a word out of him.” she said, picking up her large purse from the side of the door, “I don’t think he’s doing so good. Get him a glass of water or something would’ya?”

              She lifted her purse onto her shoulder, beads jangling from it as she walked past them. Before heading off down the hall, she called back,

“My number’s on the table – tell ‘im to give me a ring!”

              Then she was off, pausing only to give a flash of a look at Rick.

              The three stood there for a moment, puzzled by the whole interaction that had just occurred. Warily, Nick cracked the door the rest of the way open and peeked in. David, however, was out of patience, and pushed right through. The others followed behind, more than willing to let David take the lead.

      The hotel room was more accurately a penthouse, opening into a living room with vaulted ceilings and large glass windows. Electric guitars was strewn about everywhere, none of which David immediately recognized. On the other side of the room, Roger was facing away from them, slumped in a chair and staring at the TV set, which was playing what appeared to be black and white WW2 footage. Typical. The room was dim, except for the staticky light of the TV and the lamp standing next to Roger’s chair.

              As the three of them entered and took a look around, Nick grumbled an “oh no”. It was obvious that was happening here: Roger had purposefully recreated the set of The Wall inside his hotel. Weeks ago when he had insisted on staying separately during the tour, it had seemed characteristically antisocial and dramatic of him. But this was going a little too far, even for Roger. God, had he even paid that woman to act out the part of the unfortunate groupie?

“Roger.” David said testily, announcing his presence.

              No response. David was having no more of this nonsense. He stormed over to the TV, shut it off, and swung around to face his opponent. Ready for anything up to and including a physical fight, he opened his mouth to–

              There was a long pause. Nick and Rick watched as the expression on David’s face changed as he looked down – from anger to confusion to something very different. As they watched this, a clear thought cut right through the two of them, sharp as a knife:

Roger is dead.

“…Roger?” Nick echoed, voice suddenly hoarse.

              When there was no answer nor movement a second time, he and Rick rushed over to where David was standing.

              A wave of relief washed over them. Roger was staring rather blankly, but not lifelessly. In the dim lamplight they could see that his chest was rising and falling gently. For a moment, it was unclear what it was it was that was so deeply disturbing David – who was still pale as a sheet. Then, without any real prompting, Roger looked up at them.

              Rick, quite literally, fled the room.

              Heart racing, and failing to blink the sight away, Nick ran off after him.

“Rick! Rick, stop!”

              Rick was already all the way down the hall, desperately pressing the down button to the elevator. Nick grabbed him by the arm. Rick looked at him with a wilder expression than Nick had ever seen him.

“That’s not Roger” Rick said adamantly. “Did you see… did you see his eyes?”

              Nick opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t find anything useful to say. His thoughts flashed back to what he had just seen. The man in the chair was Roger, it couldn’t possibly have been anyone else, it would make no sense for it to be anyone else. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Something in his features didn’t quite add up, or added up to too much – a familiarity that made their blood run cold. Nick’s first instinct was that it was actually Andy Bown sitting there in his “surrogate” mask, and that Roger really had been giving them the runaround all day. But no. That wasn’t it. Rick was right. His eyes. Those were real, and they were definitely not Roger’s.

      Nick closed his mouth again. Rick could tell without a word that he had seen the same thing he had. Rick would recognize those eyes anywhere. All of them would. Those same eyes had been haunting them for the better part of a decade.

              Those were Syd’s eyes.

===============

              Suddenly, there was a terribly loud crash, and screams. Against their better instincts, Rick and Nick ran back into the hotel room to see what was going on.

              As they turned the corner, Roger, or Not-Roger, picked up a guitar by the neck and made a cacophony of sound as he hurled it at the wall, barely missing David. The room looked completely destroyed already. Stepping over debris uncaringly, the man then walked over to his TV set, picked it up, and threw it right through the full-length glass windows. Glass shattered everywhere. With a cry of anguish, the man grabbed the thin frame of the windowpane and leaned out over the busy street below.

“Roger, no!” David yelled, snapped out of his trance and sure that he was going to jump.

              His knuckles were going white, losing their grip. Thinking fast, Nick blurted out the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment,

“Pink!”

              The man turned his head to look back at them. They could see that he was crying, and once again his eyes sent the hairs of their arms on end. Seeing their terror in their faces, he laughed joylessly, then looked back down to the distant pavement.

“Would you like to learn to fly?” he asked quietly, a note of resignation in his voice.

              At a loss for words, Nick looked over to David, giving a “well say something!” gesture.

“…No, not right now, please, come away from the window, you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

              They were all afraid that if they approached him, he’d let go. Thankfully, after a moment, he leaned back so his feet were firm on the hotel carpet. Then, silently, he walked through the broken glass back over to his chair, and sat down again, wordlessly.

              In those few moments the other three got a better look at him. It was like seeing double. He did look like Roger in a lot of ways, but it was as if his facial features had been softened out, merging halfway into someone else. And that someone else was undeniably Syd. Memories of the Wish You Were Here recording sessions creeped in. They would not make the mistake of failing to recognize his features again. But back then, once they knew who they were looking at, it was obvious he was Syd. This was something entirely different.

              Hesitantly, Nick knelt down in front of the halfway-man.

“Pink?” he asked again.

              There was no response. His eyes had gone vacant again. Black holes in the sky.

“Please, do not call him that.” David said

              Nick shot him an irritated look.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

              Rick, who had managed not to run away again, piped up from the corner.

“We’re in it. The Wall. We’re.... inside it.”

“No.” David stated.

“Nick’s right. That isn’t Roger or Syd. He’s Pink.”

“From the album?” David asked condescendingly, “Don’t tell me you two honestly believe that.”

“Well if you have a better suggestion, I’d love to hear it, but look around Dave.” Nick replied, gesturing around vaguely.

That’s why everyone was acting so strange today. Rick thought to himself. He reflected back on a comment Steve had made earlier that day. He’d jokingly asked Rick to remind him on the next tour to put tracking devices on everyone. At the time it had it had gone in one ear and out the other, but in reflection, Steve knew all too well that Rick wouldn’t be on the next tour – if there even was a next tour. Somewhere in the part of his brain that was not busy being terrified, Rick made a note to himself to find out whether he was still fired.

            David began pacing up and down the length of the room. He didn’t want to believe the others, but he had nothing better to go off of.

“What do we do?” he asked eventually

            Thinking for a moment, Nick stood up and looked for the bathroom. Finding it just down the hall, he paused momentarily before entering. The tub really was impressive. But that wasn’t why he was there. All over the counter were pills and powders of every kind. Sweeping his arm across the surface, he pushed it all off into a bin, and then dumped it all in the toilet. David and Rick stood at the threshold and watched.

“Our best bet, I think,” Nick explained as he flushed, “is to avoid as much of the album as we can.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions…” David started.

“What if we have to finish it instead?” Rick asked.

              That wasn’t what David had meant, but it was a fair question.

“Do you really want to find out what the real ‘Waiting For The Worms’ is like?”

              Neither of the others had thought of that yet. Hard no.

“In that case, I’ll take my chances thank you very much.”

“So what then?” David asked, “We babysit him? Take him to a shrink? Give him a hug? Neither of the real Rogers ever listened to a word we said, what makes us think we could help whatever that thing is? And even if we could, we don’t even know if that would…. fix this. We might just be stuck here forever.”

              Rick wondered if that would necessarily be a bad thing.

“Maybe.” Nick said, not wanting to think about that possibility, “In the meantime, we can’t just sit around and wait.”

              He couldn’t believe he was saying that. He would’ve loved nothing more than to do nothing but hope things would turn out fine, but clearly, this was a problem far beyond what could be reasonably ignored.

       He looked down at the bathroom floor. Between the toilet and the enormous tub, there was a stack of magazines. He picked up a few and filed through them. The third was a copy of NME from a few months before, with Pink posing on the cover. The headline: Pink Floyd – In The Flesh! Somehow, it was this that finally solidified that what was happening was real. David and Rick looked over his shoulders as he opened the magazine up to the article.

“After topping the charts for the third year in a row, Roger Floyd – better known as Pink – will be taking to the stage with a tour of the states starting February of next year” Nick read aloud, “Tickets have already sold out across America, in anticipation of the increasingly reclusive pop idol’s step back into the spotlight.”

“Pop idol?” David remarked

              Nick read on silently. He turned the page, to a spread from a photo shoot. Most of the pictures were just of Pink, who in better condition looked even more clearly like an unholy and unfairly attractive combination of their two missing bandmates. In one photo, however, there in the background were the three of them. The subtitle read “Pink with his backing band, guitarist David Gilmour, keyboardist Rick Wright, and drummer Nick Mason.”

“At least we’re real” Nick said, “No Davickolas Masmouright to deal with. Now that would be a handsome chap.”

              The attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. The concept, now apparently proven very possible, was too disturbing.

              David cleared his throat.

“Who’s to say we even know the right songs.” he said, “We might not be able to 'go along' with things even if we wanted to. If–“

              There was a loud knock at the door. They froze.

“Pink?” a man’s voice asked, muffled. “Pink! Come on, open up! I know you’re in there!”

              There was a moment of silence, and then,

“Time to go-o!”

Fuck.

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 1 - Hauntings

Here is the first chapter of my contribution for this year's Captain Swan Supernatural Summer. I have many people to thank for helping me get this written and posted by my assigned date.

Thank you to my fellow mods of CSSNS24 - @winterbaby89 @stahlop @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. I'm so glad we've had such a great response to this last event!

More thanks to Krystal for creating the absolutely amazing pic set for this story. It turned out great, didn't it? Making Neal and Liam appear ghostly was the handiwork of @motherkatereloyshipper, so she also deserves my appreciation.

Rounding out my list of thank yous is my ever-loyal beta, @hookedmom. I've been writing CS stories for nearly six years and she's been with me for the vast majority of them!

I anticipate this story being 3-4 chapters long in total. It isn't completely written yet, so unfortunately I can't provide a posting schedule, but I assure you it WILL be finished. If you're not on my tag list and would like to be informed when future chapters post, please let me know.

DISCLAIMER: All I know about ghost hunting is what I've watched on Ghost Adventures (which is worth watching simply for the entertainment factor.) I also know next to nothing about how YouTube works beyond being a viewer. Please excuse all errors and keep in mind that this is fanfic and isn't meant to be completely accurate!

SUMMARY: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her.

Rating: T (subject to change)

Words (Chapter 1): 4700

Also posted to ffn and Ao3

Juggling a large Americano and a blueberry scone, Emma Swan made a beeline across the coffee shop for the small table in the corner. Whenever she stopped in, she tried to sit there because it was beside the window and was only big enough for one chair. Even when the shop was crowded, no one could join her or bother her by asking if ‘this seat is taken’. She could be left alone, which was the way she preferred it in the mornings.

Taking a sip of the near-scalding beverage, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the aromatic flavor on her tongue. She tried not to make a habit of coming to this shop, but her coffee maker died over the weekend and she needed her shot of caffeine.

She was nibbling on the corner of her scone when she felt her phone vibrate with an incoming text. Pulling it out of the back pocket of her jeans, she saw that it was from her friend Ruby. The partial message on the lock screen said I’ve got huge news. Are you sitting down?

Emma huffed out a sound of amusement as she unlocked her phone. Ruby’s ‘huge’ news was probably that Graham Humbert, who worked at the police station where Ruby was the dispatcher, had switched to a different scent of cologne. Instead, her eyes widened as she read the rest of the message:

They found Neal Cassidy dead in his cell this morning. Apparent suicide. Guess you won’t have to worry about him stalking you again when he gets out.

It took her a few moments to digest the information. For nearly two years, thoughts of that man had never been far from the forefront of her mind. The memories of their blossoming romantic relationship, which were replaced by her suspicions and ultimate confirmation of his criminal activities, raced through her brain as she stared at the message for an inordinate amount of time.

When she finally started typing a response to Ruby, a shadow fell across the table, blocking the late morning sun. It didn’t move for several moments, so she glanced up, meaning to find the source of it on the other side of the window.

And looked directly into the eyes of Neal Cassidy.

Shocked beyond words, she squeezed her eyes closed, then blinked repeatedly before she looked up again, her heart hammering in her chest.

He was gone.

*********

Emma met Neal at a car dealership where he worked as a salesman. She was looking to trade in her yellow VW bug for something more reliable and he was eager to help. He was charming and funny, so when he asked her out on a date after the sale was made, she didn’t hesitate to accept.

They dated for six months before she started getting the feeling that he was selling more than cars. Hearing him have secretive one-sided conversations on the phone and seeing him meet shady looking characters in neighborhoods known to be frequented by crime lords made her suspicious, but the day she found a small bag of crack cocaine in his apartment was the day she was officially done with him.

When she broke it off, Neal begged her to stay, bragging about how he was in line to become very important and wealthy someday soon, and would provide her with everything her heart desired. Emma assured him she did not desire to be in the company of drug dealers and walked away, determined to put that chapter of her life behind her.

Having witnessed his sales techniques, she was well aware that he was persistent, but his persistence rapidly turned into obsession. She received dozens of texts from him every day, along with numerous calls she refused to answer. After listening to a few voicemails he left declaring his love for her, she deleted the rest and blocked his number.

That didn’t deter him, though. He continued showing up at her apartment, the gym where she worked out, and her place of employment - the swanky hotel where she tended bar. It was annoying, but she didn’t feel threatened and didn’t think a restraining order against him was necessary.

After several months of rebuffing or simply ignoring him, she was relieved when two days in a row went by without any contact from him. Then Ruby called to tell her he had been busted for drug trafficking and was awaiting a hearing. A trial followed, he was sentenced to five years in prison, and Emma hoped she had seen the last of Neal Cassidy.

*********

Emma dragged herself up the two flights of stairs to her apartment on wobbly legs. She was still trembling from the encounter at the coffee shop, unable to shake the image of her deceased ex-boyfriend from her mind.

She had finally managed to send Ruby a text, asking her if she had proof Neal was actually dead. Ruby replied that her friend Dorothy, who worked at the prison where Neal was serving his time, saw his body on the gurney as he was taken out, and talked to the guard who found him hanging by a bed sheet. He was definitely dead.

The only explanation Emma could come up with for seeing Neal outside the window was that the shock of reading Ruby’s text caused her to conjure an image of him. But that didn’t explain the feeling she had of being watched or followed all the way home, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

When she reached the third floor, she wasn’t surprised to see her friend and neighbor, Killian Jones, in the hallway between their two doors, fiddling with a metal box which was emitting a strange humming sound. As a paranormal investigator and the host of a popular YouTube channel called “Killian Jones - Ghost Hunter”, he was always trying out various pieces of equipment.

He glanced up, his striking blue eyes fastening on her before his face split into a grin. “Hey, Swan. How are you today?”

She answered vaguely as she stopped in front of her door. Suddenly, the humming sound increased in volume and pitch and Killian’s smile faded into a look of confusion. Picking up what looked like a radar gun laying beside him on the floor, he stood and held it between himself and Emma.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, too intent on circling her slowly and studying the numbers on the gadget. When he finally looked up several seconds later, he hesitantly commented, “Swan…it appears you have a…a ghost following you.”

Emma felt the blood drain from her face and her knees buckle, which was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

Killian barely caught Emma in time to keep her from hitting the floor as she fainted. Hoisting her up into his arms, he carried her inside his apartment. This was not how he expected her to end up in his arms, but he would take what he could get.

*********

The two of them had lived beside each other ever since Killian moved into the apartment next to hers when he arrived in Boston five years ago. At first, they just exchanged pleasantries when they passed in the hall. After a few months, they began to have short conversations about the weather and their frustration with the landlord. That led to them doing favors for one another, such as taking in packages, bringing the other’s clothes upstairs from the laundry room, and picking up items one of them forgot to buy at the grocery store. Eventually, they built up enough trust in each other that they traded apartment keys to make it more convenient to drop things off.

Every once in a while, they would share a pizza while watching TV in one of their apartments. Seeing Emma so relaxed in her own home, laughing and bantering with him, started Killian down the road of developing deeper feelings toward her. He was enamored with her wit and intelligence and thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

At times, he witnessed men coming to her door to pick her up for a date, something that always left him feeling bereft. Fortunately, most of them never came around more than once. He enjoyed listening to her humorous assessments of each man’s shortcomings afterwards.

Then she started dating Neal Cassidy, and during those months, Killian hardly saw her. When he did bump into the couple, Neal treated him with disdain, looking down his nose at him and scoffing at everything Killian said. It was made worse by the fact that Emma didn’t even seem to notice. Killian was sure he had missed his chance of acting on his feelings for her.

He almost felt guilty for being ecstatic upon finding out she’d broken up with Neal. His happiness turned to concern and then anger when Emma told him Neal wouldn’t leave her alone. The two men had words several times when Killian found him hanging around in the hall outside her apartment. Then Emma told him Neal had been arrested and sent to prison, and he was beyond relieved that the idiot wouldn’t be bothering her anymore.

Still, Killian didn’t ask her out, reasoning that she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. He continued to fall for her more and more, while she remained completely unaware of his burgeoning feelings toward her. Feelings that, by now, felt a lot like love.

*********

After laying her on his couch, Killian tapped Emma’s cheeks, urging, “Swan! Swan! Wake up! You have to wake up, Love.” When she didn’t respond, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Bloody hell, Lass. I didn’t mean to frighten you that badly.”

He glanced around the living room, trying to figure out what to do to help Emma regain consciousness. Going into his kitchen, he took a clean dish towel out of the drawer, placed some ice cubes inside and while there, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

She was still out cold when he emerged a minute later. Concern etched his face. In all the years he lived next door to Emma Swan, he never knew her to be anything but tough and strong. Seeing her lying there so ashen and unmoving unnerved him. He lifted her head slightly to place the ice under her neck.

Convinced there was nothing more he could do at the moment, he went back out to the hallway and collected his EMF meter, noticing that it was back to a steady hum. Picking up the infrared thermometer he had dropped, he saw the temperature had returned to normal. No more cold spots. Apparently whatever spirit that had entered the hallway with Emma was gone.

Reentering his apartment, he sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa to keep vigil over his neighbor, continuing to pat her cheeks and call her name from time to time. After several more long minutes, her eyelids began to flutter, then slowly opened. Her eyes darted around, obviously trying to figure out where she was. He could tell the moment she figured it out, because she groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“Please tell me I didn’t faint,” she pleaded.

“I wish I could, but that would be untrue,” he responded, tilting his head to offer her a small, reassuring smile when she uncovered her eyes.

She started to sit up, but he put a hand to her shoulder to stop her. “Easy, Swan. Better lie still a bit longer.”

With a huff of annoyance, she laid back down, adjusting the ice pack behind her neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome.”

She lay quietly for a while, nibbling on her bottom lip. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why, uh…why did you say that I had a ghost with me?”

She was obviously trying to pass off the question as being simply one of curiosity, but the look in her eyes told him she was quite serious about it.

“The infrared thermometer showed a definite cold spot and the EMF detector…”

“EMF detector?” she questioned. “What’s that?”

He sighed in frustration. “Don’t you ever watch my videos, Swan?” No matter how many times he talked to her about his show, he could never get her to commit to watching his YouTube channel.

“You know I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said.

He rolled his eyes before explaining. “An EMF detector measures electromagnetic fields. A high reading indicates the presence of a spirit.” He paused, making sure he worded his next statement carefully. “And perhaps you had better rethink your position on ghosts, because my instruments strongly suggested paranormal activity around you.”

She closed her eyes and cursed. Killian picked up the bottle of water and held it out to her. She sat up and accepted it, taking a long drink as she propped her feet on the table beside him.

“Care to enlighten me as to why you fainted when I told you my findings?” he inquired.

Capping the bottle, she held it against her forehead for a minute or two - long enough for Killian to wonder if she was going to give him an answer. Finally, she looked up at him and murmured, “Do you remember Neal Cassidy?”

“The wanker who hung around outside your apartment for months after you broke up with him?”

“That’s the one. Did I tell you that he was sentenced to prison for drug trafficking?”

“Aye, you did.”

“Well, apparently he hung himself in his cell. They found his body this morning.”

Killian let out a low whistle. “You think it could be his spirit that was causing my instruments to spike?”

She looked down again, fiddling with the label on the water bottle. “Possibly…because…” She drew in a deep breath. “Because I saw him outside the coffee shop this morning,” she said on an exhale.

Trying not to overreact and make Emma even more uncomfortable, he swallowed hard. “Now, when you say you saw him…”

“I mean I saw him,” she emphasized. “My friend Ruby texted to tell me about Neal’s death and as I was in the process of answering her, I noticed this shadow that didn’t move outside the window where I was sitting. When I looked up, Neal was standing there, staring right at me. I blinked, then he was gone.”

Killian’s ‘ghost hunter’ mind was getting excited about the prospect of being able to investigate a spirit practically under his own nose, but his heart went out to her. Being haunted was something he was more or less used to, but he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“Did you see him again after that?” he asked.

“No, but I had this…feeling while I was walking home; like someone was watching me. It really freaked me out.”

“So when I told you there was a ghost following you…”

“It was lights out for me.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never fainted before.”

Killian reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “There’s no reason for embarrassment, Love. I’ve met many people who’ve had the exact same reaction when faced with the possibility of being in the presence of a ghost.”

“Seriously?”

He rubbed his thumb against the bridge of his nose, trying to contain his impatience. “If you watched my YouTube channel, you would be aware of that.”

“No offense, but the last thing I want to do right now is watch people being haunted.”

“That’s quite understandable, considering what you’ve been through today.”

She took another swig of water, then looked up at him. “Do you think he’s gone? Moved on, or whatever?”

Killian blew out a breath. “Probably not. My guess is he has unfinished business or he would have already moved on.”

“That’s just great,” Emma muttered sarcastically. “How long can I expect him to hang around?”

“Until he accomplishes what he needs to do.”

“So what am I supposed to do until then?” she moaned.

“Just go about your daily routine. If you see him or sense he’s there, gently tell him that he has died and needs to move on.”

 “So saying ‘go to hell’ wouldn’t be a wise choice?”

He bark laughed. “I’m not sure that would be very effective.”

She drained the rest of the water, set the empty bottle on the table and stood up. Killian stood too, placing his hand on the small of her back. “Alright there, Swan?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m gonna go get something to eat and take it easy this afternoon until I have to go to work.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” As she started toward the door, he added, “Uh, Emma? Could I ask a favor of you?”

She turned to look at him. “A favor for the guy who carried me into his apartment and took care of me when I fainted like a prissy debutante? Sure.”

“If, um, if Neal’s spirit does reappear, would you be opposed to letting me document it?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head in contemplation. “What would you do exactly?”

“Use equipment to detect paranormal activity and post it to my YouTube channel.”

“You mean that ESPN detector and stuff like that?”

He sighed in exasperation. “It’s EMF, Swan. Yes, that and voice recorders to conduct EVP sessions…”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Stop saying letters. You know I don’t know what that shit means.”

“Electronic voice phenomena sessions record sounds or voices from ghosts. If he’s trying to communicate with you, we might be able to pick it up on a voice recorder.”

Shrugging, she replied, “That’s fine. I’m sure it would get lots of hits for your channel.”

He stepped into her personal space, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I hope you know that’s not why I want to do this, Emma. My goal is to help you encourage him to move on so you will no longer have to deal with him. It’s bad enough he stalked you while he was alive; doing it after he’s dead is even worse.”

She gave a slight nod. “You’re right about that.” Pushing up to her toes, she brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks again for everything, Killian. If I get the feeling he’s back, I’ll call you right away.”

“Day or night, Swan. I’m at your beck and call.”

“Good to know,” she smirked. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched her walk out the door, reaching up to rub his cheek where she kissed him. He was going to have to do his best to remain professional around her, but potentially having Emma as his next subject was going to be quite the challenge.

*********

Emma entered her apartment, quickly flipped on the light switch, and glanced around nervously. Not seeing or sensing anything out of the ordinary, she moved into the kitchen.

After heating up leftovers and eating lunch, she climbed into her worn, comfy recliner to scroll through Hulu. She tried to concentrate on her selected show, but her eyes kept darting around the room. “Fuck you, Neal,” she muttered. “Making me paranoid in my own home.”

Finally giving up on watching TV, she went into her bedroom to select her clothes for work that evening. Then she decided to take a long, relaxing bath. The longer she soaked in the tub without any sign of Neal’s ghostly image, the more she relaxed.

By the time she left for work three hours later, she was nearly back to her normal self and very hopeful that he had indeed moved on.

*********

After Emma left his apartment, Killian tidied up - dumping the melting ice cubes into the sink, hanging the towel to dry, and throwing the empty water bottle into his recycling bin. Then he checked all of his ghost hunting equipment, setting the batteries to charge if they were a little low.

Plopping down on the couch, he pulled up the message app on his phone and clicked on the group text with his technical director, Belle French, and his assistant, Will Scarlett.

K: We may have a new gig right here in my apartment building.

As expected, he got an immediate response from Will. The man’s eyes were practically glued to his phone screen most of the time.

W: Got a haunter right under your nose, do ya?

Belle’s answer several minutes later was a little more refined.

B: Can you provide us with any details?

K: My neighbor’s ex-boyfriend committed suicide in prison and she’s experiencing some paranormal activity. She says she saw his ghost outside a coffee shop and when she got home, I was in the hall with the EMF meter and thermo. Both of them spiked.

B: Oh, wow! That’s incredible! Sad for the guy and your neighbor, but what an opportunity!

W: Is this neighbor the hot blonde you’ve been crushin’ on for years?

Killian dropped his head back and groaned. He should have known better than to have confessed his unrequited feelings to his assistant during a boring all-nighter in an old warehouse in Portland, Maine last year.

K: That’s a very crass way to put it, but yes, it’s Emma.

W: You mean we might actually get to meet her?

K: Not if you’re going to be an ass about it.

W: I’ll be on me best behavior, I promise.

K: Why doesn’t that reassure me?

B: What are your plans, Killian?

Leave it to Belle to be the peacemaker of the conversation, Killian thought. If he was feeling vengeful toward Will, he could mention the crush his friend had on the auburn-haired beauty. How she never realized it, Killian would never know. Will was the very definition of heart eyes whenever he was around her.

K: I’ve got my equipment ready to go. If she senses anything, she’s going to call me. If it’s a recurring thing, we’ll set up an EVP session. I’ll let you know if anything happens. Just wanted to put you on alert.

B: Sounds good. I’ll be editing tomorrow. The new episode should be ready to post by Thursday.

K: Thanks, Belle. You’re the best!

W: He’s right, ya know. You really are bloody brilliant.

Seriously - how could she not see it when Will was always falling all over himself to proclaim her perfection?

Once Killian ended the conversation, he wandered into the room he used as his office.

“Hello, little brother.”

*********

From a very early age, Killian had been able to sense paranormal activity. He was confused by it for many years, but as he grew and began to read about ghosts, he realized he had a gift, albeit an unwanted one.

When he was twelve, his mother passed and he was there to witness her soul departing her body. She only stayed long enough to declare her never-ending love for her boys and bid him goodbye, before she moved on to her eternal reward.

Eight years later, when Liam died in a naval training exercise, Killian expected him to join their mother. However, his brother’s apparition began appearing to him from time to time. At first, his appearance was simply a mist, barely recognizable, but as Killian did more research into the paranormal and practiced tapping into his abilities, it became more discernible. Still, he was frustrated that he could see his brother, but was unable to speak to him.

He purchased several pieces of equipment used by paranormal investigators, hoping to enhance his encounters with Liam. They turned out to be very helpful, but Liam soon learned to communicate with his brother well enough that the tools weren’t necessary.

On a whim, Killian posted videos of himself explaining the use of equipment to make contact with ghosts on YouTube, and soon he was in demand as a paranormal investigator. People were willing to pay large sums of money to be able to make contact with their departed loved ones, or to encourage ghosts to move on. He quit his job as a dock worker and began traveling, taking his friend Will along with him, and when the technical aspects of editing and posting to YouTube proved too daunting, he hired Belle.

Even his closest friends were unaware that Killian’s deceased brother appeared and spoke with him on a regular basis; he wanted to keep that part of his life to himself.

*********

It still startled Killian whenever the apparition of his brother appeared, but it wasn’t ever an unwelcome intrusion. His visits never lasted long, but there was always enough time for a nice chat.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten I’m a grown man and therefore your younger brother,” Killian reminded Liam, for at least the fiftieth time.

“I’m not sure that’s technically true any more, since you’ve now lived past the age I was when I died.”

Killian hated it when Liam talked about his own death. “You were born before me, so you’ll always be older.”

“Hmm…” Liam responded, giving his brother the maddening little nod that meant he was right and Killian was wrong. “So, the lovely lass you’re pining for was here today, aye?”

“How did you know that?” Killian asked unnecessarily. Obviously Liam had popped in and, being a tad preoccupied taking care of Emma, he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m not doing the job of watching over my little brother very well if I don’t know what’s going on in his life.”

Killian had never come right out and asked Liam about the unfinished business that kept him from moving on, but having been his guardian for years before his death, he was sure it was to continue taking care of him. Not that he needed it, but he wasn’t complaining, as long as he had a chance to have his older brother with him in some shape or form.

“She, uh…she fainted so I brought her in to lay her on my sofa. I couldn’t very well let her lay on the floor in the hallway.”

“What caused her to faint?” Liam asked, his playful tone giving way to concern.

“Seems she was visited by the ghost of her departed ex-boyfriend. You didn’t see him hanging around, did you?”

“You know spirits seldom bump into one another, unless they were associated with each other while they were living.”

“I just thought I would ask. It spooked her badly - no pun intended.”

“Have you agreed to help her?”

“Aye, if I can. The guy made her life miserable when he was alive. She shouldn’t have to put up with him after his death.”

Liam studied his brother for several moments. “Perhaps this will give you a chance to get closer to her. Maybe you’ll even work up the nerve to finally ask her out.”

Killian sighed. “I’m not going to do that when she’s so vulnerable, Liam. I simply want to get the tosser to move on.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know,” Killian conceded.

“You’ve had feelings for that lass for ages, Killy. When are you going to act on them?”

“I’m afraid she’s only ever going to think of me as a friend. If I ask her out and she turns me down, I might lose her friendship, and I don’t want that to happen.”

“You’ll never know unless you try.”

Killian didn’t answer. He’d had this conversation with his brother before and Liam always pushed him to ask Emma out. He didn’t understand why his love life was so important to his brother, but whenever he asked him, Liam was evasive and refused to answer.

“Just think about it, Killian. I have to go. I love you, Brother.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

He watched his brother’s translucent form dissolve, leaving him sad and lonely, as always. He didn’t know when Liam would complete his unfinished business, but he did know that when he finally did, Killian would be left alone once again.

Unbeknownst to him, Liam’s unfinished business was to see his brother happily married to the love of his life, but it was up to Killian to take the first step.

*********

Thanks very much for reading. Be sure to check out the other great stories in the CSSNS24 collection!

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[writing-my-time]

Daddy Ain't Home

Images taken from @boydholbrook-fan's gifsets, and pinterest x

Pairing: Clement Mansell X F!Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: 18+, Smut with plot, age gap (Reader is around 19 to early 20’s, Clement in his late 30’s/early 40’s), swearing, morally dubious actions, coercion, unhealthy power dynamics, oral (m/receiving). Reader has grabbable hair, but otherwise nondescript. Summary: When your dad’s so-called ‘friend’ needs to stay at your family home for a few days, using the excuse of “in-between” places, you find his incredibly forward nature hard to resist. Your temptation only worsens when your dad goes to work Author's note: My beautiful babies have been SO sick. Needed to be a full time Mama for a bit but now I’m back in action!

The older you got, the less sure you became of your father’s previous lifestyle. You’d grown up relatively normal, but the occasional tale he’d tell after a few beers often left your imagination running wild. He’d speak of something far darker than youthful tomfoolery; recounting memories of guns, cash, and deals gone wrong. At some point in his life, your dad had turned himself around, leaving whatever rough and tough lifestyle he’d had behind. Today, he’s a blue collar man with a family, in other words, completely unspectacular. Sure, he’d become a friendly face in the neighborhood, shoveling snow and fixing gutters, but other than that, the peers of your parents wouldn’t exactly blink twice at the man. Which is why when his ‘old friend’ stops by uninvited, it opens a can of worms you never thought imaginable.

It’s past midday, you know that much. You’ve only been back a week, in your family home in a remote town just outside of Detroit, having come back to enjoy the semester break without the bleak surroundings of your college campus. A small group of your friends never left; staying home to take over their parents’ business or wait tables. Still, having some friends in your hometown pays off. That is, until you’re nursing a headache courtesy of your latest reunion. In a place as small as this, everyone knows everyone; meaning that even in your less than perfect state, you can tell the blond man in front of you is an outsider. He’s standing opposite your dad in the middle of the kitchen, unintentionally blocking your access to any form of sustenance as you approach from behind. Bleary-eyed and weak-willed, you fail to recognize the brewing tension in the room, stepping around the stranger with a grumble.

“Well, shoot.” The blond nods in your direction, cocking his brow as you manage to stumble past. “The apple sure doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

There’s an audible huff from your dad, and you reach the fridge as he grabs the stranger's arm and hauls him into the living room, slamming the door behind them. If you were sober, you’d be outwardly surprised by your dad’s aggression. Right now your sole focus is to hydrate using whatever bottle your hand grabs first. Judging by feel, you’ve picked up some type of juice; gulping it down greedily right from the lip of the bottle. As the sweetness trickles down your throat, you feel a morsel of the raggedness from your night before wear away. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you drag a hand down your face, taking note of the mascara very much still crusted against your lashes. Apparently you had come home coherent enough to get into bed, but not enough to get your makeup off. Just as you’re about to make your return to your room, the sound of your father’s hushed muttering permeates the closed door.

“Absolutely not.” He grumbles, saying something else but you can’t quite make out the words. “Clement, I won’t-”

“-Don’t forget now,” You can hear the other man loud and clear. “You do owe me a favor.”

A prolonged silence follows. One which is only filled by the sound of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. This time, you fight the haze just enough to get a better read on the conversation going on in the next room. Hearing the clearly strained resignation of your father come through the door, you decide to hover in the kitchen a little longer. Whoever this Clement character is, he’s got intimidation down to an art.

“You can be here for one week.” You’ve never heard your dad sound so defeated. “That’s all. One week.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The southern drawl of the man rumbles through the door. “You always had to be so serious about things.” 

“Just don’t bring my family into it, yeah?”

“Now, now. Terrorizing families was more your style.” Clement clicks his tongue. “I will be on my best behavior, of that you can rely.”

Your brows furrow upon hearing what appears to be the end of the exchange. They’ve come to an agreement; one you don’t truly understand considering the ominous accusation thrown your father’s way. Your dad, a terror? The man who mows old ladies’ lawns on the weekends for nothing more than a cup of tea and a sandwich? That’s enough eavesdropping for one day, you decide, shaking your head. You begin your retreat, eventually climbing up the stairs toward your room.

Neither of your parents had changed anything about your room since you had left. You still had the same gaudy palm tree wallpaper your mom had picked out, only saved by the amount of band and movie posters you’d covered it up with. All the furniture was the same as it was, too. A mix of things your dad had either built or bartered for over the years, leading to an eclectic mess of clashing styles; something you’d come to miss when your dorm room was nothing more than a bed and a desk. Your shins meet the foot of the bed, and you flop down face first onto your pillows. Still in the throes of a hangover, now layered with the strange pit of uncertainty embedding itself into your stomach, you tuck the blanket up above your head and fall asleep.

—

It’s early in the morning when your dad knocks gently at your door. Of course, you’d slept the entire day away; a habit you aren’t exactly happy you’d picked up while at college. You slowly peel yourself out of the blankets, sitting up as your dad steps softly into your room. Dressed in his usual work clothes of his boilersuit over a white t-shirt, you gauge that it must be almost time for him to leave. He’s holding your favorite mug in his hands, bringing in a coffee just for you. The thought is lovely, even if you both know you’ll forget about it until it’s already gone cold. Your dad sets it on your nightstand before kneeling down beside your bed. There’s a reserved look in his eye, one you aren’t sure you’ve seen before.

“Morning, princess.” He speaks softly. “Thought I’d say hi. Since I didn’t see much of ya yesterday.”

“Sorry, dad.” You mumble, looking away in shame. It wasn’t like you to drink so hard that you wasted an entire day. “I think I went too hard.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re young. It’s good that you’re having fun and still coming home safe.”

There’s another flicker of something in his eyes when he speaks. Despite his kind reassurance, you can tell his mind is elsewhere, perhaps reminiscing on something. His nose scrunches for a brief moment, and you shift slightly under your sheets. You watch as he presses his lips together, evidently trying to find a way to word his thoughts.

“I need to let you know, we have an old friend staying with us for a week.” He explains with a smile. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “His name is Clement. I knew- I’ve known him since before you were born.”

“How do you know him?” You ask him quickly, watching him shift his weight on either knee as the question rings through his mind.

“You know, that’s a good story.” Your dad pulls back just as quick, sucking in air between his teeth as that forced smile reappears on his face. “Maybe just not when I'm leaving for work, yeah?”

In response, you nod, earning a kiss to your forehead from your dad. Since coming back home, he’d gone right back to treating you like his little girl, and the affection had been greatly missed. He pulls himself back up to a stand, brushing his knees before he looks at you one last time.

“He’ll be hanging around the house, but don’t feel like you have to keep him company, okay?” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for your response.

“Is that code for ‘don’t talk to him’?” You ask, receiving a pause in return.

“You can talk to him, just… don’t go outta your way to make him feel welcome.” He explains with a sigh. “I love you, honey.”

“Love you too, dad.”

His exit leaves you in a befuddled silence, pressing your lips together in thought. You stay in place as your father’s footsteps begin to trail off, eventually dulling once he reaches the bottom of the staircase. Minutes later, the house rattles ever so slightly at the opening and closing of the front door. Your father has left for the day, leaving you alone in the house with mystery man Clement. What you remember of yesterday’s overheard conversation lingers in your mind. How do they know each other? Why didn’t your dad want him to stay? And why does he owe him? In a rapidly-failing attempt to take your mind off of it, you pull the covers back over your face. Thoughts swirl around your mind while no answers come to call. Clement had claimed your dad had a terrorizing schtick. It just didn’t match up. 

Not wanting to give in to the oncoming spiral, you bring yourself to a stand. A shower will help. Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as you close your bedroom door behind you with a sturdy thud. Lazily, you trudge down the hallway until you find yourself standing on the cold bathroom lino. After a few minutes of mincing around, you slip under the gentle caress of the showerhead. Streaming down your face, neck, and shoulders, the warm water does wonders in quelling your nervous mind. Even after you'd moved out, your parents still kept the bathroom stocked with boujee products far out of your price range. It’s a dramatic change from the discount bath and body works garbage you’ve got littering your dorm shower, and you smile to yourself as you lather the coconutty soap over your body. For the first time in what feels like months, you have a long, warm, relaxing shower.

Eventually, you force yourself out of the cocoon of warmth you’ve created in the bathroom, stepping out with a fluffy towel wrapped around your chest. The house is silent, eerily so. You wonder if it means that Clement had also gone out, leaving you alone for the time being. With light-footed steps, you pad along the hall back to your bedroom. Thoughts of having the house to yourself cause a dopey smile to paint your face, and you eagerly wrap your fingers around your doorknob. With the door ajar, a gentle push is all it takes to enter your room. You stride in, humming a tune under your breath as you seal yourself back in your bedroom once more. You’re about to peel the towel away from your dampened skin when a low whistle beckons from your bed.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight.”

You flinch and desperately twist your hands into the fabric of the towel, keeping it as close to your body as humanly possible. With wide eyes, you turn towards the graveled voice. There lies Clement, completely reclined on your bed, wearing nothing but what appears to be your father’s navy robe. He’s got one of your books in his hands, open on the page you had bookmarked and forgotten about a few nights ago, now. The older man isn’t shy in his staring, dragging his tongue along his teeth as he raises a cocky brow. He rests the book in his lap, allowing him to rest his now free hands on the back of his head, unabashedly ogling your towel-cladded form. There’s nowhere for you to hide yourself while the intruding man remains confidently splayed on your bed.

“What’re you doing in my room?” You ask, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. 

“Shoot.” He raises his hands defensively, though his eyes still sparkle with a dark sense of mischief. “Your daddy said to make myself at home, and I wanted a good book to read. Nothin’ downstairs caught my attention - but this?”

Clement holds up the open book, waving it around long enough for you to remember exactly where you had left off. Fuck. The arrogant smirk sprawled on his face isn’t just to revel in your scantily clad form, but also your perverse taste in literature. Very perverse taste. He clicks his tongue, pretending to make a stern face as he drags his slender finger along the page.

“This is definitely something worth a read.” The blond furrows his brow, reading the very extensive smut you had bookmarked for when you were alone. “You, you pretty young thing, are into some extreme shit.”

“Can you get out of my room, please?” You attempt to speak with confidence, though there’s something about him making you shiver.

“Why? Voyeurism not your thing?”

“Not really, no.”

“No?” He begins to climb off the bed, his tall frame already towing over yours as he begins to stalk towards you. “It didn’t seem so bad in your book.”

You shy your gaze away from Clement as he comes toe-to-toe with you. While none of his fingers touch your soft skin, there’s a clear intention swirling in the air. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as he chuckles to himself. It’s a dark, throaty chuckle. Creases form around his eyes as he laughs. Is it at your expense? You can’t tell. You barely hold your ground as he continues to talk.

  “Girl in your book liked older men. Wasn’t interested in boys. What about you, little lady? You like real men?” He runs his finger across the seam of your towel. “I think you just might.”

He’s not wrong, and unfortunately, your outward lack of fear towards his grotesque intimidation is only proving his point. There’s some part of you that’s enjoying this, perhaps it’s because fortunately, he’s not exactly unattractive. As he stands before you, his newly acquired dressing gown begins to slip open, and you find yourself admiring the tattoo decorating his chest. You know you've gotten lost in your own ogling when his finger begins to slip through the seam.

“My dad would kill you.” You try to slap his hand away, but he grabs your wrist just in time.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but your daddy ain’t home, sweetheart. He left you all alone.” His voice lowers into something akin to a growl, while his breath hits hot against your face. “With me.”

Clement’s hand travels away from your wrist to the back of your head, making a tight fist within your damp hair as he sneers. It sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, going as far as to make you gasp through clenched teeth. You close your eyes, not wanting his piercing gaze to make you squirm more than it already has. He lets out another breathy snigger, baring his teeth as he cranes your head back with ease. A weak exhale escapes your trembling lips.

“Knew you were into dark shit.” He hums in your ear. “This ain’t even that bad, little lady.”

Before you can respond, the man pulls harshly on your hair, sending you crashing to your knees in front of him. For a brief moment, he keeps you there, doing nothing but glaring down at you while his lips continue to curl into a perverse smile. Your eyes flit to his other hand, watching it glide down until it slips underneath the seam of his dressing gown. Slowly, tauntingly, menacingly, Clement pulls the gown open. It’s just enough for you to get an eyeful of his white briefs, and the significant bulge growing beneath them. His eyes stay focused on your face, watching with twisted delight as you wet your lips.

“See? I had a whole plan to convince you, and you don’t even need it, do ya?” Clement taunts with a low voice. “If only your daddy knew how easy it is to get you on your knees.”

He loosens his grip on your hair, knowing you won’t do anything other than sit pretty on the floor. Clement’s other hand now slips into the waistband of his briefs. Of course, he doesn’t bother to take them off, instead opting to tug the fabric underneath his balls and taking his twitching cock into his fist. Though his underwear left little to the imagination, he’s girthier than you anticipated. Your eyes are glued to it, observing the way his hand trails up his veiny shaft, then back down until it meets the unruly hair decorating his pelvis. A bead of sticky pre-cum glistens at his tip, and you stay transfixed on the image as he drags his palm up his shaft one last time. Clement clearly notices your ogling, letting out a breathy chuckle before he begins to push your head towards it.

“Go on, baby.” He urges, watching with bated breath as your lips begin to part open. “Put your mouth on it, yeah, there you go.”

You glide your tongue up the bottom of his shaft, dragging from base upwards until you wrap your lips around his tip. His sharp intake of breath is enough to encourage you further, eventually sliding your mouth down until you’ve taken him whole. As his hand steadies your movements, a low, satisfied hum leaves his lips, and you look up just in time to watch him throw his head back.

“Fuck, I knew just from lookin’ at your pretty face that you’d have a mouth on ya.” He grits out as you begin to hollow your cheeks, sucking him slowly yet eagerly. “Shit. Didn’t think you’d be this obedient. Like a fuckin’ dog, you are.”

Doing as you're told, you don’t change up your movements right away. Instead keeping a slow, languid pace. Each bob of your head creates a rich mixture of your own drool and his slick, letting his taste be savored on your tongue. He tastes of salt and sweat and musk. When you’re about to bob back down, Clement guides you by pushing on the back of your head, and forcing you to take him right into the back of your throat. Your nose is almost embedded into his pubes, causing you to splutter around him from the lack of oxygen. Even so, he doesn’t let up. Clement clicks his tongue, giving you a surprisingly affectionate look.

“Now that’s a sight I could get used to, little lady. Look at you, chokin’ on me.” He holds you there for just a second longer, before letting you lift your mouth off of him completely. A string of drool connects your bottom lip to the tip of his cock, and before Clement can speak, you’re already diving back in. 

This time, you don’t suck him with lazy strokes, no. As your lips wrap around his head for the second time, you hollow out your cheeks and wrap your hand around the base of his cock. Your mouth pumps in time with your hand, all the while Clement doesn’t shut up, grunting out praises, as he rolls his hips in time with your movements. He fists your hair again, keeping your head still for his oncoming onslaught of hard thrusts. Drool coats both his shaft and your lips, bubbling and spilling out of the corners of your mouth as he fucks it with enough force to make you gag. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you keep choking on his length. He doesn’t stop, instead grinning as you continue to struggle around him.

“Keep your lips on me,” Clement rasps out, almost lost in the moment. “That’s it. That’s it, thaaat’s it.”

“Knew from the moment I saw you that I needed this.”

He squints his eyes shut.

“Knew that you’d give it to me.”

He throws his head back.

“Knew your daddy would make a good girl.”

He fucks himself down your throat.

“Good. Girl.”

Clement pushes your head back down to the base of his cock, holding you tightly in place with your hair as his hips begin to buck without rhythm. Your only other warning to what might be coming is the chesty moan that leaves his lips. You flinch as the hot, thick ropes of his release spill down your throat, coating your tongue with a salty, bitter taste. There’s no other option but to swallow it all, having his hand forcing you into position. Once the last drop is gone, Clement pulls you off him, eventually letting go of your hair entirely. As if nothing had happened, he tucks himself back into his briefs, and re-wraps the gown, covering his body once more. You look up, slightly dazed as air finally makes its way back into your lungs. With your lips pink, wet, and parted, you must be a sight to behold - earning a cocky chuckle from Clement.

“Thanks, little lady. Just what I needed to feel welcome.” He grins, swiping some of the drool off your bottom lip before heading towards the door.

“That’s it?” You can’t help but feel short-changed, watching as the man exits into the hallway.

“For now,” He states, dragging his fingers through the coarse hairs of his beard. “I’ve been really wantin’ a shower, and now it’s all freed up.”

He looks you up and down one last time, scrunching his nose as he sniffs with what almost seems like indifference. Then, before you know it, he’s closing your bedroom door, leaving you alone on the floor as you come to terms with what’s just happened. You drag the pads of your fingers over your lips, closing your eyes as you grunt in frustration. He’s still here for an entire week, and you caved already. What would your dad think?

---

A very big thank you for reading. As always a big thank you for those that encourage me - @justeverythingprettymuch, and those that inspire me - @toxicanonymity!