#emptying the wall unit is taking us two weeks already

[slavicafire]

every time we want to get more done in terms of cleaning the apartment and preparing it for the start of renovation, this little man has to SPRINT at top speed to get into the one room he's not allowed in - and he has to just plop somewhere and Observe. where's that screenshot of the polish plumber working at somebody's house being overseen by their cat

[rentsturner]

Start To Finish - A.T. - 2

Chapter 2 - a blossoming bond and Halloween antics

chapter 1

a/n: so there should be one more chapter after this, sorry about the wait, I haven’t had much motivation to write recently - hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, mentions of children, I think that’s it

—3—

The next few weeks are filled with more cute moments as Bowie becomes more comfortable with you and the three of you grow into a little family unit. You have developed a little routine of watching TV in the evenings, you and Alex cuddling up on the couch with Bowie sprawled across one of your laps, depending on who is in the most comfortable position. On occasion he will lie along the top of the sofa, behind your heads, sometimes batting you if he doesn’t feel he’s getting enough attention.

However, this isn’t usually an issue, not when Alex is the most attentive cat dad in the world. Him and Bowie have formed a bond that you wouldn’t ever have expected, and they're practically inseparable. Of course, Bowie loves you too, but he definitely knows that Alex can never deny him anything, and he uses that to his advantage. You often have to stop Alex from giving the kitten more food when he’s already been fed in the morning.

“But he’s hungry! He told me!”

“Alex, he’s a cat, and I already fed him this morning-”

“He gave me the meow, the special food meow, and look his bowl’s empty!”

Alex plays with Bowie as well, utilising all of the toys that he bought him. Bowie’s favourite is a little pink mouse, ironically the most plain and simple toy that he has.

Almost every day, Alex will spend half an hour throwing the mouse down the hallway, giggling like a kid as Bowie runs after the toy, skidding and slipping on the hardwood as he chases it. After a few weeks, Bowie has been trained - Alex jogs into the living room one day, a grin plastered across his face, Bowie trotting behind him.

“Babe, come and look at this-”

“One sec, Al, just let me finish this-”

“No, I’m serious, this is so cool, you’re gonna love it.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you up off the sofa, leading you to the long hallway, Bowie not far behind (as always).

“Right, watch this.”

Alex positions you out of the way, against the wall, then goes to call Bowie over so he’s stood in front of him. He brandishes the pink mouse in his hand, immediately getting the cat’s attention.

“Bowie…fetch!”

He throws the toy down the corridor and you wince at the scratch of claws on hardwood as Bowie throws himself after the mouse, a black flash down the hallway. Cute, but nothing you haven't seen before. But then Bowie reaches the mouse and bends his head down, picking up the pink toy carefully between his teeth before turning and trotting back up the corridor towards Alex, his tail pointing up happily, his eyes bright and alert. Its quite comical really, a tiny kitten dragging along a toy mouse that barely even fits in his mouse. He’s determined, you’ll give him that. Then, to top it all off, he drops the mouse directly in front of Alex’s feet. Alex turns to you, the biggest smile on his face and he crouches down to stroke and praise Bowie.

“Such a clever cat, aren’t you? The cleverest cat.”

“I’ve got to admit, Alex, that’s pretty impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” He looks stupidly proud as he scratches the cat’s back.

“How long did it take you to train him?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Erm…like every day for the last two weeks…”

You laugh and reach down to ruffle Alex’s hair, mimicking the way he’s petting your cat.

“You have too much time on your hands, babe.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes playfully, scooping Bowie up into his arms and turning to you, so the cat is sandwiched in between you. You lean over to peck Alex’s lips, then lean down to plant a kiss on Bowie’s head. Warmth spreads through your chest as you look at your beautiful boyfriend holding your beautiful kitten, a smile on his face and purrs emanating from Bowie’s little body. This is your life, and it doesn’t get much better than this.

-

Later that day, you head out to the shops, grabbing a few groceries and some chicken for dinner. When you left, Alex was practising his ‘fetch’ trick with Bowie, laughing and giggling as he tried to see how far he could get the cat to run with the mouse in his mouth. He was thoroughly entertained. But as you open the door, the apartment seems quiet. A little too quiet. You put the shopping bags in the kitchen, then head to the living room in a search for your boys. It doesn’t take long to find them.

Alex is spread out on the sofa, lying flat on his back with his arms behind his head, one leg falling off the end. You can hear some light snores, his mouth hanging half open. Bowie is spread across his chest, his head nestled in Alex’s shirt, his paws clinging to Alex’s shoulders so that he doesn’t slip off. They obviously tired themselves out and your heart practically melts at the sight of them. You snap a quick photo, sending it to Jamie and Katie because you know they'll laugh, having sent you an almost identical photo of Jamie when their son was born.

You tiptoe quietly to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb their nap, starting to cook dinner.

—4—

Time passes quickly in your little family bubble, and before you know it, it’s Halloween. And of course, Alex wants to buy Bowie a costume.

“Alex, he’s a cat-”

“Yes, a black cat, he’s practically made for Halloween, so he’s got to dress up. All the lads’ kids are gonna dress up and they’ll send photos and-”

“I’m not sure it’s the same, Al…”

But he shoots you a petulant look and you have to laugh. He’s so determined that Bowie will be dressed up, there’s nothing you could say to stop him anyway. Not that you’d want to - now that you think about it, you realise how adorable your kitten could look in a costume.

“Okay, what costume are you thinking then?”

Alex’s face lights up, you can practically see the cogs whirring in his head as he starts listing ideas.

“Maybe like a pirate costume? Or…no, thats weird. A pumpkin. Orange would look good. Or even- he- he could go as David Bowie but I- can you get face paint for cats? That’s probably not a thing…maybe not David then. Or…or wings, maybe? Something simple like that? He could be like a bat, and I could dress up as Batman and-”

You’re giggling at this point and you take Alex’s hands in yours to stop him gesticulating wildly.

“Wings sound brilliant, love. Let’s keep it simple for his first Halloween, yeah?”

“Good idea.” Alex nods and smiles, pecking your lips, then your cheek and your forehead.

“Where are you going to get wings for a cat?”

Alex just smirks and taps his nose knowingly.

“I’m an A-list celebrity, babe.” He chuckles. “I have contacts in the fashion industry.”

You roll your eyes at his antics.

-

Halloween soon rolls around. Alex had been quite secretive about Bowie’s costume, wanting it to be a surprise for you. You’re excited, you won’t deny it.

Finally, it’s the evening of the 31st.

“You ready?” Alex calls from the bedroom. He took Bowie in there 15 minutes ago, and you’ve heard some muffled swearing and laughing coming from behind the closed door.

“Yes!” you shout back with genuine excitement.

Alex opens the door with a flourish - Bowie is settled happily on the bed, a pair of black wings sitting comfortably on his back. As you coo and stroke the happy cat, you inspect the wings more closely. They’re brilliantly made, shiny leather stretched over the frame with diamantes studded along the border of the wings. A smart leather harness secures the wings comfortably around Bowie’s chest. It fits perfectly, almost as if…

“Did you have these tailor made?”

Alex shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe…”

You hold Bowie on your lap while Alex takes photos, his nose scrunched in concentration as he takes pictures on his phone, then swaps the phone for his camera to take some snaps on that too. Bowie is getting restless at this point and you both giggle as you try to get him to sit still and look in the general direction of the camera.

“He looks so handsome, Al, you’ve done well with these.”

“Thanks, babe.” Alex smiles, rubbing a hand up and down your back, pulling you into his side to watch as he sends the photos of Bowie to the band group chat. The other guys immediately send some laughing emojis, while Nick comments on how cute your cat looks.

“Don’t tell them I said this, but my boy looks better than all of their kids…” Alex smirks down at you and you laugh, kissing his cheek.

“I agree. Much cuter. Aren’t you, Bowie?” and you hear a meow echo from the kitchen in agreement.

-

Bowie is growing fast now, but his habits still stay the same. He always sleeps in your bed, usually curled up between you and Alex, or in his favourite spot just above Alex’s head. Bowie loves you, of course he does, but the bond that he has with Alex is special. He knows that Alex is the lenient parent, allowing him extra food and treats, whereas you’re more sensible - more strict, Alex would say.

He’s longer now, growing into a lanky young cat, losing that kitten clumsiness. You find yourself scrolling through photos of him on your phone, wondering how that tiny little kitten is growing so fast.

Christmas comes around fast, and you spend the festive period having fun with Alex and Bowie. Almost all of your friends have met Bowie at this point, and he loves the attention, always trying to get as many strokes from visitors as possible, although usually resorting back to sitting on your or Alex’s lap when he gets tired.

Alex buys and wraps presents for Bowie to ‘open’ on Christmas day, most of the presents being cat toys or treats. He also gets him a new leather collar, a size bigger to fit your rapidly growing cat. You transfer the “Bowie” name tag over to the new strap, adjusting the new collar around Bowie’s neck while he purrs and rubs himself against your leg.

“He’s getting big.” Alex remarks as he watches you pamper the cat.

“Isn’t he? He’ll be 1 soon. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Can’t imagine life without him to be honest.” Alex sighs and frowns. “I’m not sure what I’ll do when we have to tour again. I’ll miss the two of you too much.”

“We’ll be okay, Al. We can come visit you.”

“Bowie? On a plane? That sounds like a good idea.” Alex feigns enthusiasm and you both laugh at the thought, your entitled, loud cat having to sit still for an entire plane journey.

“Well, people take their toddlers on planes. Can’t be any worse than that?” You remark.

“True. Maybe one day, we’ll have to take a toddler and a cat. We’ll have our hands full then.” Alex smiles at you, the meaning in his words making your heart race, and you giggle.

“Let’s stick with a cat for now, Al, take it one step at a time.” But thinking about the future really does excite you - life is good.

Thanks for reading, here’s some reference pics for Bowie in this chapter:

Taglist: @ohladymoon @martinipoliz @almluv @zayndrider @madnesstaking0ver @atticssmellgood @leafjoon @turnerside @turnertable @yourstartreatment @averyzversi0n

@lilmisssweetdreams @mathdebate00 @sstar-ggirl @indierockgirrl

(Please let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[atalossofwords]

YOU TASTE THE SILVER - IvanTill WIP (PART 1)

Hi y'all. The brainrot took me with no warning, and I've written 5k for these two just the last two days. I've no idea how much I'll write, but I'm going to squeeze the serotonin for as long as I can lmao

Anyhow, this is a streamer/actor AU that somehow evolved into a sugar daddy AU. Till is a streamer, and Ivan is a famous actor who found him when he was a small streamer and fell in love; he's been sending donations for a good while now, but they've never communicated outside of it.

Until Till opens his PO box and Ivan's need to spoil Till is too much, at least. Then all bets are off, and Till finally starts thinking more about the stranger who keeps sending him gifts. I have a basic outline for it all, but I'm going with vibes first, since I mostly just want to write them and torture Ivan.

I'm going to be posts little snippets of what I've writer so far over the next few days, so please don't be afraid to come to my inbox to ask about them!

This was inspired by this fic! Check it out!

Till wasn't the most famous streamer there was. Not anything near that, actually, though he thinks he does well enough.

He has an established fanbase, almost 500k of them, he's sold some merchandise and collabed with some pretty nice people. He likes streaming, varying between his songwriting and recording processes and any new video game that catches his fancy.

When he started, he didn't think he'd do this for a living. He probably wouldn't be able to afford it, being a struggling musician as he was, for once.

He couldn't blame his comfortable living situation solely on one person, no, since that would be incredibly inconsiderate of the rest of his fans, but this one Navi person definitely funded Till's move from his old apartment mostly by themselves.

Case in point.

NAVI (TILL'S ATM) DONATED $100: Hyung, how's the new house?

Till reads the donation out loud, ignoring his chat going a little crazy over Navi's donation. By now, Till is used to Navi only ever sending messages through donations. He'd be so flustered, in the beginning, and worried enough he almost disabled them. Luckily Hyuna talked him out of it.

"It's going well. As everyone can see, my studio isn't done yet," he says, gesturing behind himself into the empty expanse of freshly painted wall. At least he'd painted it black already. "but the rest is going okay. I'm really sorry for the week I had to take off, everyone."

He quickly scams the chat, his heart feeling warm as all the people watching rush to reassure him that it's not a problem, he should take care of himself, and how glad they are he managed to move from his shitty rented apartment.

"Actually, I have some news for you all." He scratches his neck, a nervous habit, and looks to the side. Hyuna convinced him to do this, so he knows it's something streamers do, but he can't help being anxious about it. "Since I moved, and this place needs some decorations, I was thinking of opening a PO box and doing an... what's it called? Unboxing?"

The chat is going crazy, he can barely keep up, oh god. He feels his cheeks heat.

"An unboxing live and then decorate my stream setup with some stuff I get. Would you guys like that?"

His chat is a mess of "yeses" and incoherent screams, and Till can't help but smile a little. He's got to say, he's looking forward to this.

The following weeks are a bit of a mess. He streams less than normal, still setting up his new apartment; he goes with Hyuna to buy electronics she swears will make his streaming better.

Dewey, his brother, goes with him to buy a new shelving unit and help him set up all his new furniture. Isaac is strangely fixated on saying Till needs rugs and other things, otherwise his apartment is "just a place, not a home, bro", apparently.

He checks in with his PO box frequently, each day more excited by all the packages he got. After two weeks he announces on twitter he'll be closing the PO box in a week since he wants to be able to open all the gifts on stream and he's already got a good amount of them.

The day after his announcement, he goes to pick up any new packages to store in his living room since he doesn't want to burden the office workers and finds a package that makes his stomach twist in itself.

It's a large box, clearly packed by hand instead of the usual post-service stamps. And it has a large sticker reading "FROM: NAVI" on it.

Till doubts anyone would use the name to get his attention, since he does treat all his viewers equally, so this really is from Navi. He wonders what is in it, since Navi clearly has money to spare and intends to spend it on Till.

"It's probably a maid dress." Hyua says, helping him lug it all to his apartment.

"It's not!" He splutters, mortified. Hyuna raises an incredulous eyebrow. "It's probably snacks, or something like that. Navi's said they travel a lot." That, somehow, just makes the eyebrow twitch higher.

"You remember what your viewers say?" She asks, hip-checking his door open. He follows, frowning a little. He always remembers what his viewers say.

Navi, obviously, since they only talk in donations, but also a few other regulars. Kirby has an older sister they're sharing the computer with; Siren started learning the guitar because of Till, and is doing well for himself; Jaewoon – with the username Till's Merch Overlord – draws and is currently suffering through art university, BonBon who has a one-year-old and listens to Till while doing his household chores.

"Yeah? I mean, there's only so many people who regularly chat. And out of those, a good part are my mods." He says, shrugging. He knows Hyuna pays someone to mod for her, but Till didn't think he'd need a mod, since he never expected to get so many views. He kept going without mods for so long that the most active members of the community ended up auto-modding the rest, at which point Till just reached out and asked if they wanted to mod, and now he pays them for it because he felt bad otherwise.

(Of course, Navi isn't a mod. They'd fit Till's criteria, but they never chatted normally, so it was kind of hard to ask.)

"Aaah, you're just too wholesome, heartbreaker." Hyuna says, sighing, the old nickname that still makes Till confused coming out with a teasing lilt. She waves him off before he can say anything, though, plopping the box on the couch and grinning at Dewey. "Hey, this one you'll definitely want to check!"

Till rolls his eyes as his brother 'oohs' and 'aahs' over the package, Isaac peering over with a pocket knife ready to pry it open. When Till mentioned opening a PO box, he insisted on checking the gifts beforehand, just to make sure they were all stream-appropriate and, most importantly, not dangerous for Till.

He was grateful his brother cared, but he was less amused by the teasing and hint-dropping they'd been doing over the content of the packages. He leaves them to it, moving to the kitchen to get some much-needed coffee.

Looks like Isaac bought bungeo-ppang, so Till fills a mug and picks one, nibbling at it and looking into his fridge. He should go buy more food, but there's a seven-eleven right across his street, so he almost never bothers stocking up. He does need to get more tea, though, since he dislikes drinking water, and for reasons unknown, his chat enjoys it when he drinks on-stream.

He finishes updating his list and walks back to the living room, where Dewey has already closed the package back up, but is holding a small parcel in his hand, frowning. Hyuna looks over as he approaches, a complicated expression on her face.

"The rest of the package is fine to open on-stream, but I think this one might be best off-stream." She says, and the lack of any teasing or barb makes him worried. She must've read that in his expression, because she grins. "Do you happen to know why this Navi person likes you so much? I wouldn't mind getting some of these myself."

Till can't help but scowl, snatching the parcel from Dewey's hands. He doesn't know Navi, not really, but they're still one of his first viewers, and they do kind of give Till a lot of money.

"Keep your hands away from my viewers, hag." He has to move fast to escape her grab, which soon develops into a little keep-away with the parcel, soon ending up with Dewey on the ground howling with laughter as Isaac tries to haul Hyuna off him, curled on himself on the ground to keep the parcel to himself.

"Ugh, you brat! Just open it!!" She exclaims, sitting down on Dewey's lap, making the older man yelp. Till huffs, but sits up to analyse the gift.

It seems to be an envelope, like many of the letters he got, but there was something inside of it, making it weirdly bulky. Till folds it open, tipping the envelope so whatever it is can fall on his open hand, and stares.

There is a pair of... earrings, on his hand.

Diamond earrings, to be precise.

That the fuck.

Till stares at it, then peers inside the envelope. Nothing weird falls out, like a damned credit card or pure gold, but a little recipe with the return address of a high-class jewellery store makes itself known. The rest of the envelope contains a certification for the damned diamonds.

Till curls up back again, head in his hands, groaning. His face is so hot you could cook an egg in it.

Navi got him diamond piercings because Till complained once, months ago, that he wanted to switch out his piercings but didn't have the money for it.

"C'mon Till! You didn't tell me you had a sugar daddy!" Hyuna jeers, and from the hiss and yelp, Dewey just dropped her. The sound of them bickering – Hyuna insisting this Navi person has to be after Till's virtue, and Dewey being insulted by the thought of someone going after his little brother like that, plus Isaac googling the store to throw fuel on the fire – is enough to distract Till form his own freakout.

He sits back up, his face still red, to study the piercings better. There are six items in total. One is a simple diamond stud, a tiny and delicate stone, probably for his second hole. A pair of bigger stones, with four elongated asymmetrical spikes, making it look like a shining star, probably for his first hole. One's a series of round stones inlaid together in a belt, forming a hoop, for his helix piercing. The final ones are two silver loops, delicate and silver, for his double auricle piercing.

He thinks if he puts any of those on, he's going to spontaneously combust.

(Later that night, after Hyuna and Isaac went home and Dewey crashed on his couch, Till locks his bedroom door and tries them on. The pair of star-shaped earrings go on both ears, the tiny stud on his left, alongside the helix, which he takes a while to get on since it is so finicky, he pierced it himself with a safety pin in high school. The hoops go on his right, looking a little lonely with just the earring, remembering Till that he really wishes he had money to get a constellation on that ear.

He's wearing a simple white shirt, ready for bed, that slips off his shoulder to show off the simple moon covered by clouds on his clavicle, clashing with the TILL tattoo he has over his neck. He turns this way and that, watching the diamonds shine, and feels almost bad for using them.

Why did Navi send this to him? What did Till do, to deserve something as delicate as this? He's not the kindest of people, he's kind of an asshole actually, all shouting and side eyes. He's not the kind of guy that can properly appreciate such nice jewellery, not the kind of person that should be appreciated like this.

Still. The diamond shines against his skin, the silver compliments his white hair. He takes most of them off, only keeping the simple snake bites. He doesn't want to somehow dirty up the diamonds.)

part two

[thatkinkyyqueer]

Kinktober Day 21

(Using @absurdthirst prompt list)

Gun Play/Monsterfucking/Shower-Bath Sex

I figured it must have been a mistake when they called my name to section 13, but when they called me over the intercom a second time I started making my way over. I’ve only had this intern job for a week, so it takes me a little bit to find it. There are two armed guards in front of the door. “Cameron Miller?” The one on the right asks. I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.” I reply nervously. They move to the side so I can enter and they closing the door quickly behind me.

I’m greeted by a woman in a white lab coat, holding a clip board. “Mr. Miller, please come with me.” I follow her closely down a series of hallways. “Uhm I don’t mean to be rude, but are you guys sure you needed me? I don’t have clearance for this area.” We reach an elevator and she doesn’t even turn around to face me. “We know Mr. Miller. You started your internship here on the seventeenth.” The doors open and she motions for me to step inside and I do. She joins me, putting a key into the control panel for the elevator. The doors close and we begin our descent.

“Do you know what we do here Mr. Miller?” I straighten, trying not to fidget with the buttons on my shirt. “We research and track monsters across the United States for scientific study, and we use what we find to determine if they are harmless, threats to public safety, or potential assets to our military.” The doors open again and she removes her key, walking down the hall. I follow closely behind.

We pass many more people in white lab coats, some in full hazmat suits, as we continue our conversation. “Excellent. We pride ourselves on keeping the general population safe and the best way to do that is to learn as much as we can about these creatures.” I nod, “Yes of course.” We reach a door that you can only unlock by scanning your hand print. She turns to face me for the first time. “We found something new two days ago. No one is sure what it is yet. Dr. Brady, our head of research, believes it came from a different planet, potentially a different galaxy. We need to run a very important test. Dr. Bradly would like to know if you’re willing to assist us.”

I blink at her, mouth slightly open. I scramble to find my words. “I- yes. Yes of course I would be happy- honored. I would be honored to help in any way I can.” I smile at her, but she doesn’t return it. She just turns and placed her hand on the scanner. “Happy to have you aboard.” She says flatly as the door opens. We walk into what looks like an observation room. Mostly empty except for a handful of people sitting in chairs at a long desk in front of a wall that’s actually just a giant window.

The door shuts and I turn to look and two more armed guards stand in front of it. The woman that lead me here takes the empty seat at the desk. I notice there’s no other empty seats. The man sitting in the middle turns his chair around. He smiles at me. “Cameron, thank you for coming.” He stands to greet me, shaking my hand. “I’m Dr. Bradly. Welcome to the watchtower.” He gestures to the very plain room. “It’s not really a tower, but I think it sounds cooler.” I’m nervous so my laugh lasts a little longer than necessary.

“Come take a look.” Dr. Bradly places his hand on the small of my back, making me stiffen a little, and leads me to the window. The watchtower is looking slightly down into a very large room, about the size of an auditorium. At least I think it is, there’s a thick layer of smoke or fog completely covering over half the room. I open my mouth to ask what it is, but Dr. Bradly is already answering. “We think it might be a defense mechanism, to help camouflage itself. The actual creature is inside.”

I look at it for a long time, trying to see if I can catch just a glimpse of it, but nothing. “That’s amazing.” I say softly looking at Dr. Bradly, who has also been looking very hard at the cloud of smoke. He turns to look at me again. “The test we need to conduct is if it’s hostile to humans.” I nod. “And how do we do that, sir?” He sits back down in his chair facing me and lets out a big sigh. “Listen I don’t like lying to people so I’m just going to give it to you straight.” He looks up at me, all amusement suddenly gone. “I need you to go in down there and try to interact with it.”

I burst out laughing, thinking it’s a joke, a prank on the new intern, only no one else is laughing. “I’m afraid this isn’t a joke.” I instantly stop laughing, suddenly feeling very afraid. “You just told me, you don’t know if it’s hostile to humans!” My words are coming out panicked and angry. “Yes and unfortunately this is the best way to test that. Now this would be easier for everyone if you go willingly.” The guards at the door step forward so they’re both right at my back. “It’s for the greater good.” Dr. Bradly adds.

After some choice words I’m lead to the room by the guards, I walk willingly, figuring it’s best not to get thrown in there kicking and screaming. Whatever this thing is might think it’s being fed. The guards waste no time with pleasantries, they just open the door and shove me inside. I stumble, but catch myself. Every bone in my body tells me to run for the door. I turn to do so, but the door seals shut and there’s not even a doorknob.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whisper, which sounds much louder considering how quiet this room is. I look up to where the window should be, but I can’t see Dr. Bradly or anyone else. It must be a two way mirror or something. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I worry it might explode. Despite this I start taking slow carful steps toward the center of the room, never taking my eyes off the cloud hovering slightly above the floor.

I’m just beginning to spiral about why I took this job, when something shoots out of the fog and wraps around my ankle. I scream and try to pull away, but it quickly hoists me up into the air, nearly bouncing my head off the floor in the process. The cloud is now surrounding me, I have no idea if the watchtower can still see me. Three more purplish black tendrils come out and restrain the rest of my flailing limbs. They’re slimy and surprisingly strong. I try to struggle against them, but they just coil farther up my limps, fully immobilizing me.

My screams for help are soon cut off when yet another tendril wraps itself around my neck. It seams to stretch in length, up my face and it forces its way into my mouth. It swells in my mouth, completely filling the space. It takes salty, like sweat, but I feel my body start to relax. It becomes harder and harder to move, not because it’s holding me, but because I can’t find the strength to move. It’s like my muscles are shutting down.

I’m completely powerless as more of these tentacles come out of seemingly nowhere and start ripping at my clothes. It doesn’t take long before I’m hanging there nude, any clothing left is in shreds. Now I really hope they can’t see me. I feel the ones holding my legs stretch farther up. One brushes against my labia and I shudder. The slimy coating it has is starting to feel really good against my skin. Everything seemingly feels really good right now. The slime must be acting as an aphrodisiac as well as a paralytic.

I moan as one of its seemingly endless appendages makes its way into my pussy. It swells inside me, filling and stretching my hole. The same process is repeated for my ass. With both of my holes completed filled they slowly pump inside me, their rhythms alternating. I’m already coming. I can’t stop it. My muscles don’t even clench, it just washes over me in a warm wave of pleasure. A smaller tendril wraps its self around my cock, stroking it with its powerful muscles.

I’m getting lost in the sensations when the entire thing starts emitting a low continuous hum. It’s making the whole creature vibrate and it’s not stopping. Another orgasm takes over me and another. I can’t stop them, can’t move, can’t scream. All I can do is hang there and accept it. I’m not sure how long I’ve been in here. I’m not sure how many orgasms I’ve had. I’m not sure I care anymore.

[the-firebird69]

Couple more announcements

-a lot of people are very mean and they're not saying it but they're mean and they're kind of s*** we know about it and we're going to enforce the rules in the law today we're tired of you people you suck you're out there doing that and you're all arrogant as hell and just point stuff out and say you're taking it it's going on globally and we really need it everywhere and there's twice as much stuff elsewhere other than the United States but that's the whole world but a lot of this is going to get exported there's a lot of stuff coming out okay new bikes there's Harley Davidson not that many but there's tons of Japanese bikes and they're going to flood the market and people going to start buying them again there's a lot of cars probably 1/3 of a Year's production in total globally there's a lot of household goods appliances and things and it's probably a half year supply but it's really needed and it's going to absorbed in probably two days and everybody's going to say we need production and we're going to start factories up all over the world in the middle areas and outside the middle areas and production is already at 300% of right before covid and we need more probably a thousand percent, and these factories making these bikes are going to be huge and they're going to switch over to hard knock kicker and they're going to make the models he was saying a cruiser a Sportster and it's going to be a huge company with several people running each division which is a different vlan and they're going to start infighting like madness they're spoiled and rotten right now there's more happening though and they're beginning to take the ships out and in competition because of Tommy f comment and he said it and there's tons of people at it tons of warlock those ships are going to come out real fast and this place is going to settle the water is going to come out it's still kind of plugged up if the water stopped flowing abnormally from up North in one week it would be down about 129 in which is over 10 ft it's 10 ft 9 so at low tide the water potentially could be 10'9 down which is way down it's going to look odd but when you pull the diamonds and stuff out of the harbor it won't it'll be a vertical wall and it goes down that deep it's it's not sand so we're waiting for that to happen and all over the world it's kind of the way it is so we are in the mood for doing some work and we're going to do some work right now he's going to cruise around and get some things but really his life is very hard it's going to change soon because of all the stuff that's going on we expect the Midwest to be emptied out by late tomorrow or early Monday and if it slows down we're going to go take stuff and people come back and start taking things it's really lame these people are lame

Thor Freya

Olympus

Forget their messages I guess we can't stop cuz they make us hate them but we realize something they're just not going to let it happen so he stopped the factories are still there the stuff is been taken out we really need it to make bikes but new ones and other people are trying but it's going to slow down and we're speeding up and taking out the old ones now rapidly cuz we don't have enough power to do it

Trump

It has been up we're almost a 35% and yeah by the end of the day they're going to be out of there and out of all the other areas that's so many bikes I don't know what the hell they're doing with him now they're hiring huge crowds now because it's coming back and our son and daughter say it was necessary but we have to call it because they're just going to keep doing it and they said good and some people have stuff for new bikes and that'll come or you can try and make them make equipment a lot of people say they don't know how but they can get people who do and they're going to try and do that so we are going to be building a lot of these frames because these guys will not be able to keep up with their own production they're looking at the frames to see if there any good and most of them have holes and that's not good because inside is rusted and the metal does not rust that easy so at the bottom is where it breaks and they can see it breaking when they move them and because all the water sits in it and they break real bad and a lot of them fall apart and they take all the parts out and they leave the motors in the frames and it's disgusting it looks really weird like ripping bodies out that are close and it might be why they showed their body in the fire but this is going to save lives and they're calling for the lawn mowers all at the same time huge rows of trucks are going out of the Midwest and going in and it's not enough and our son told DJ to get the big trucks and they lay off the Harley and he did and it's wasn't working yet and he's telling them so they're moving stuff with big trucks and he says this is intense huge trucks are out there and they load up outside the wall massive trucks are taking tons of stuff anything you can put in a truck the other stuff they put in the regular trucks and it's going to go faster someone said we're up to like 37% on the used motorcycles on regular stuff is 20% but with the big trucks it's going to go extremely fast and more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

[euryalex]

what i have so far under the cut. any help is appreciated and I can compensate thru ko-fi or paypal if someone wants to offer more help :')

What I'm stuck w is how to progress rn. Like Joey goes to sleep. Next thing she has to do is wake up and get ready and go to work and i'm just. sO STUCK

Joey Hudson doesn’t like driving at night, especially during the hot summer weather when the aircon in her car was broken. The headlights of her dad’s old rusty Honda did nothing to light up the road which formed a dark wall surrounding her. There was no traffic, due to the time, but despite that, she drove way below the speed limit anyway. The heat made her dizzy and the last thing she wanted, was to faint behind the wheel.

According to the map, now resting on the passenger seat, the motel she’d booked a room in was close and she could finally sleep. Then, she could wake up early and continue her trip to Raccoon City. She had it all planned out: She’d focus on her career, but not too much so that her coworkers still invite her to afterwork drinks at a nearby bar called Atlas Raccoon. She’d be designated driver – not that she didn’t like drinking, but she liked living, thank you very much – and arrive home around eleven PM in her already furnished apartment. She liked planning things out.

Once she found her footing in the city, she’d look for friends outside of the police department and get to know the people, and maybe – a very heavy emphasis on maybe – find someone to settle down with. 

She was ready to leave her past of Great Falls behind, and everyone she used to know along with it. 

The welcome sign of Sunshine Motel awaited her in the distance, one of its two lights flickering. The parking lot was largely empty and ominously silent. Joey didn’t know what to expect, but something felt off. 

She brushed off the feeling, blaming it on anxiety due to her new job. The street lamps lighting up the parking lot were close to dying, only further filling Joey with dread. There was something – no, someone, and she could feel their presence. Yet, when she looked around, there was no one to be found. 

Hesitantly, she pulled out the black duffle bag, which was resting on the backseat before she took fast steps to the reception. 

The warm summer air did little to cool her down and the reception wasn’t much better, despite a fan at the desk cooling the room at its highest setting. A radio on a drawer unit near a window played a slow jazz song. Random clutter filled the desk and posters of Raccoon City, either showcasing its new businesses or asking for help, covered the walls. A dusty computer at the desk showed the screensaver, showing that someone hadn’t been here in a while. Judging by the desk chair, which was shoved backwards, Joey came to the conclusion that someone might’ve left in a hurry. 

Nonetheless, she tapped on the call bell and waited. And waited. And waited... 

She blinked to stay awake as a yawn overtook her. Annoyed, she tapped the call bell a few more times, this time more aggressively. She just wanted to sleep – was that too much to ask? 

A door, tucked away in a hallway away from the reception, creaked open and Joey let out a sigh of relief. 

“Finally,” she breathed out, “Sorry, I just want to get to my room...” 

She trailed off as her gaze fell on the figure approaching her. The woman had brown, graying hair. She wore a lilac V-neck cardigan sweater which covered a white floral t-shirt matched with a purple skirt that reached below her knees. But that wasn’t what Joey was focusing on. 

Instead, she took note of the glazed over, pale eyes, the blood covering her otherwise neat clothes, her disheveled hair... The woman’s arms were raised, reaching for Joey. Her left shoulder reached lower, probably due to a part of her neck that was bit off. 

Joey recognized the look. She’d seen it only a few weeks prior, before she’d been transferred to Raccoon City. She’d never forget it. 

“Hold on, I’ll take a look,” Danny said, unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door of the patrol cruiser. Joey looked up from her milkshake, ready to put it down in the cupholder as she looked at the body on the road with worried eyes. She mentally cursed her partner – she liked working with him, but clearly, they needed to work on, well, working together. 

He kneeled next to the lifeless body, putting two fingers on their neck as he checked for a pulse. A moment that seemed like an eternity passed and he stood up, turning to Joey with a blank face. He shook his head and Joey sighed. Another poor unfortunate soul whose death would need to be solved. 

Joey took the radio and gestured to him, letting him know she’d call 911. 

“Dispatch? This is four-Alpha-Alpha-Foxtrot-seven-five, requesting-” 

But she couldn’t finish her sentence. 

She looked up briefly but that was enough to see the once lifeless corpse stand up on shaky legs. It struggled to balance until it latched onto Danny’s shoulders, swiftly biting into his flesh at the jaw. Danny met Joey’s gaze as she looked in horror. Danny fell to the ground, his body hitting the asphalt but that didn’t stop the corpse from feasting on his flesh. 

Joey got out, the sounds of the car door opening alerting the killer. Its cold, empty eyes met Joey’s and she didn’t hesitate to pull out her gun. There was no hesitation that this was no mere human, but she still ordered the person to stand back. 

It stood up, stumbling over Danny’s body instead and Joey shot, the bullet flying through the shoulder. That didn’t stop it either. She shot again, hitting its chest and it fell. For a brief fleeting moment, Joey felt relief, but the moment was quickly cut short when it somehow got up again. 

Joey’s eyes widened and she forced herself to aim for the head. 

Now it stayed down for good. 

But Danny didn’t. 

As the thing that killed him fell on him, he seemingly awoke. His neck cracked as he turned over, crawling out from under the body. He was fixated on Joey, crawling as he struggled to stand up like a newborn deer. 

“This can’t be happening...” she muttered to herself as she took a step backwards. 

Danny’s once hazel eyes were now a sickly white color, with its veins more apparent. Every bone and joint in his body made a crunching noise and Joey had to take deep breaths to keep herself from vomiting. The missing part of his face, which showed off how part of his denture was missing, didn’t help either. 

She had to do something, but she couldn’t. 

“Hello? Hello?! This is Dispatch, requesting communication!” 

Joey got back in the car, slamming her door shut before crawling into the driver’s seat. Danny always left the keys in the ignition, something Joey always scolded him for – but this time she was glad. 

Danny – or what was left of him – had finally found a way to stand up. The headlights lit up his disfigured features. She couldn’t let him live. It was too dangerous, but how could she be the one to kill him? 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal. 

She had to run. 

Stumbling backwards, she shoved open the door. Over the shoulder of the undead woman, she saw another, similar figure, stalking towards her. 

The bell above the door chimed, and Joey’s attention was caught by something hitting the window – or rather, someone. A man with short, blonde hair slammed against the window, his jaw unhinged as it swung back and forth. 

She ran, clutching her car keys in her hand, the metal digging into her skin as she secured her duffle bag on her shoulder. Once she reached her car, her hand shook as she tried desperately to unlock it. After missing the keyhole, she successfully entered her car and turned on the ignition, watching as the undead only came closer. 

She was wide awake now. Sleep would have to wait, no matter how much she wanted to close her eyes and rest. 

As she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her trembling hand reached for the radio. She needed a distraction and anything would do. Some Johnny Cash song played, comforting her as she drove into the night. 

Her hands tightened their grip on her steering wheel as she yawned, her eyes tearing up. Her mind was screaming to get some sleep but she couldn’t. Her only hope now was to get to her new apartment and wake up before noon. For a moment, she considered looking for a payphone to call the station, to let them know what happened, but the dark roads made it impossible to see. 

Her apartment had a phone, or maybe in the city it’d be easier to find one. 

As the trees surrounding the road slowly started to thin, a city came into view, its skyscrapers reaching to the skies as the summer sun began to rise over the horizon, peeking out between the buildings. 

“WELCOME TO RACCOON CITY – HOME OF UMBRELLA” the sign greeted her. She slowly rolled her window open, letting the fresh air in to keep herself awake. The city still seemed miles away, but the fact that it was in sight reassured her. 

Her apartment building, according to the map of Raccoon City chief Irons had e-mailed her, was located on Fox Street, close to Ennerdale Street which, in turn, was where the police department was located. The street itself was empty, quiet. The sounds of distant traffic was the only thing Joey could hear as she unlocked the front door of the building.  

The entrance hall was small and smelled weird, but she ignored it and went straight for the elevator, where she was greeted with an ‘Out of order’ sign. 

Just her luck. 

There was a cramp in her knees as she walked up the stairs. At this point she was seconds away from dropping on the floor and sleeping right there, but she powered through and reached the third floor. She heard a television playing loudly from one of the apartments, the news was on, and she decided that at that moment, she couldn’t care less. 

She could barely remember getting to her bed the next morning, but she did know she never wanted to leave it, no matter how many times her alarm clock told her it was time to get up.

😭😭😭 i'm TRYING to write but. i'm so so stuck i don't know how to continue someone help

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[andreafmn]

TW imagine being Stiles little sister and the pack finding your art book of them and Stiles and Malia being concerned because your not in it when u didn't draw or sketch your self and Derek explains why because ur not a part of the pack.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Ok so, it's quite short. I didn't want to go too into backstories and draw everything out. But I really loved this prompt, and I definitely see something like this happening. I hope you like it!

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It was dark outside. The silence of the night had slowly crept into the concrete walls of the loft Derek Hale called home. Nights like this had become far more customary than anyone in the pack had liked. At first, it was simply the go-to place for strategy meetings and the occasional fight. As more enemies accumulated in Beacon Hills, the nights at the loft seemed to get longer. The first time, Derek had just wanted to be understanding, looking around at the tired faces of the teens that had stumbled into this lifestyle. Then, it simply became the norm.

This time, they were gathered in the vast living room in order to protect (Y/N) Stilinski. A new threat had been targeting women that had an eerily resemblance to Stiles Stilinski’s little sister.

She was a quiet and reserved girl, stuck in her own head. Since she was a young girl she faded into the background – with a brother as eccentric as Stiles, it was easy to disappear. Due to her lack of social abilities, (Y/N) was always remembered as Stiles’ little sister. Rare was the time her hands were naked, always clothes with a pencil and a sketchbook. She recalled the moments of her life through the strokes on her pages.

Two weeks back Melissa McCall had pointed out an increase of emergency room visits from girls that looked a lot like the younger Stilinski. They all had wounds in the same areas and mysterious symptoms that had them enclosed in a quarantined area of the hospital.

The pack had quickly sprung into action. Without cluing the girl into what dangers lurked, they had assigned a rotative protection unit whilst at school and had Stiles drag her into “pack meetings” at Derek’s house that always went over normal hours. Tension was strong in the group, little to no answers as to who or what the threat was.

(Y/N) knew of the supernatural world. It was hard not to when the people closest to her were heavily involved in it. Granted, she had stumbled into Scott shifting during a full moon, her brother chaining their friend to a radiator. After, they had no option than to bring her into the lunacy of this world. Although, they did keep her as far from it as they could. Only when they absolutely needed the mechanics of her brain did they include her into whatever problem was prowling. Much like this night, where she lay in slumber as the rest of the pack deliberated on what to do.

Everyone but (Y/N) was awake – Scott, Stiles, Malia, Kira, Lydia, Derek, Allison, and Isaac. As the girl softly snored on Derek’s bed, the others were huddled over the kitchen island. Papers, books, computers, and pens were scattered on the countertop and a communal headache shared between them.

“There’s literally nothing here!” Stiles quietly exclaimed. “Whatever is hunting (Y/N) down is literally a fucking mystery.”

“Look, guys,” Derek started. “We’ve done all we can for tonight. Tomorrow I’m gonna meet a contact of mine that could possibly push us to the right direction. But for now, it’s better if we just take a break. Come into this with a fresh head.” 

“He’s right,” Scott added. “It won’t do us good if we just keep going over the same info we already have. Until we have a new lead, we just must keep protecting her from whatever is coming.” 

The rest agreed, finding an empty space to rest or a snack to distract them from their rampant minds.

As Malia paced, her foot kicked away a small book. She took it into her hands and opened it to the first page. Pack Sketches, it read. Under the words, a howling wolf was intricately sketched, (Y/N)’s signature right next to it.

“Hey Stiles. Look at this,��  she called. Joining him at the island he still was sat on. “Are these (Y/N)’s drawings?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Looks like it.” 

They flipped through the thick pages softly, smiling and chuckling at the memories (Y/N) had chosen to immortalize on her pages. The first one was of the day she’d found out about the werewolves, Scott’s shifting face and Stile’s scared one expertly sketched. In another, Isaac and Scott were in a push up competition, Derek standing annoyed in the back. There was another page in which Malia and Stiles were stuck in a studying trance, highlighters and pens in their hands and mouths. Every trace was perfectly placed, every shadow and highlight astonishingly creating a realistic drawing of that moment.

But as the filled pages started to come to an end, the pair started to notice that there was a drawing of everyone in the pack but one. In the dozens of pages, not a single drawing included (Y/N). Even moments that directly involved her, she had chosen to erase herself from it leaving behind a faint outline of her body.

“I don’t get it,” Stiles pondered. “Why would she remove herself from the drawings?”

“It doesn’t make sense, right?”

“You really don’t know?” Derek scoffed, a dry chuckle playing at the back of his throat. “It’s quite obvious.”

“What could you possibly mean, Derek?” Stiles was annoyed. Derek was acting as if he knew his sister better than he did. Their conversation had attracted the attention of the pack members that were still awake, intrigue clawing at their ears. “Since you’re so sure, why don’t you share with the class?”

Scott took the book into his own hands, showing the others what the two were arguing about. “She really is missing from all these pages,” he mumbled. “Strange.”

“You guys have never made her a part of the pack,” Derek pointed out. “As much as you guys claim to be protecting her by keeping her at bay from all the problems you’re involved in, all you’re doing is excluding her from your lives.” 

“We have to keep her from that part of our lives,” Stiles defended. “She’s my little sister. It’s the only way to keep her safe.” 

“You all need to understand that there is no separation between your supernatural life and your human life. Those two things are so deeply intertwined that by alienating that side, you’re distancing yourselves from her. She doesn’t even feel like she’s part of the pack.” Derek’s words worked to quiet down the group, realization dawning upon them. “I mean, she’s learned of most of the events that have been going on because she’s asked me.” 

“You’ve been telling my sister about this shit?” Stiles seethed, the anger he felt toward himself being misdirected to Derek. He had worked so hard to keep his little sister from this whole mess, only to just find out someone else had been pushing her into it. “What gives you the right?” 

“I simply answered the questions she had. Unlike you, I don’t easily lie to the people I care about.” 

“You have some fucking nerve.” Stiles jumped up from his chair, stupidly trying to lunge at the man but easily stopped by Scott. “You had no RIGHT!”    

“What did you expect me to do?” Derek chuckled. “She kept showing up at my door begging for answers. I wasn’t gonna turn her away.” 

“That wasn’t your decision to make, Derek,” Scott intercepted. He cared for (Y/N) as much as Stiles. Growing up alongside her, he couldn’t help but treat her like he was his own little sister. Scott protected her as much as Stiles did and agreed that keeping her as far away from danger as possible was the right route to take. “We can’t protect her from the things we don’t know about.”

“So, you think it’s okay to keep her in the dark of the things you brought her into?” Derek directed his gaze toward Stiles. “How would she know that she’s in danger if you don’t tell her anything? Just being associated with Scott has her in the line of fire.”

“No. FUCKING. Right!”

“Guys, enough!” (Y/N)’s voice croaked out. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, startled by the argument that had ensued in the kitchen. One thing about that loft is that sound traveled perfectly, even for someone that didn’t have enhanced hearing. “He’s not wrong.”

“(Y/N), why didn’t you tell us?”

“Look, Stiles, I’m grateful that you – all of you – have moved heaven and earth to keep me safe. I know it’s not been easy to have to divide your lives to keep me far from the dangers of the supernatural world,” she smiled. (Y/N) sat on an empty stool next to her brother, easing the thick environment. “But I’ve been sheltered enough. It’s not fair that all of you sacrifice yourselves and put yourselves in the line of fire while I sit at home, wondering if you’ll make it home alive. I’ve gone to Derek because I knew he’d be honest with me. I just wanted to know what you’d be up against.”

“Guys, can you give us a sec?” The group broke to far corners of the space, giving the siblings the semblance of privacy. “(Y/N), you should’ve come to me.”

“You know you would’ve never told me the truth – at least not completely.”

“You’re my little sister, (Y/N),” he smiled. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“I’m just a year younger than you,” she chuckled. “If you’re old enough to be a part of the action, it’s only fair that so am I.” 

“Fair enough. Now, come here,” he laughed. The Stilinski siblings stood, the older brother wrapping his sister in a hug. She was small enough that his chin rested perfectly on the top of her head. “You do know you’re as part of the pack as everyone else, right?”

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe it,” (Y/N) sighed. “I just want to be included in all of this. We’ve already lost people to these threats, and I found out way after. I would prefer to at least have a heads up about what we’re facing.”

“Look, I can only apologize for keeping you in the dark. But I promise from now on, we’ll include you in everything that’s going on. We can even ask Allison to train you.”

“Sounds good.” (Y/N) smiled through a yawn, sleep still drenching her. “Although, I think my brain is better than my brawn. Neither of us really got dad’s athleticism.” 

“You’re right about that,” he chuckled. “Now, I think both of us should give into slumber now. It’s been a long week already and it’s only Tuesday.” 

“You can say that again,” she laughed. “Good night, Stiles.” 

“Night, (Y/N).” 

They parted ways, Stiles heading to the empty sofa and (Y/N) going back to Derek’s bed. As she dragged her feet, still rubbing sleep off her eyes, she bumped into a towering figure. Looking up, she met Derek’s smirking face.

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Derek. You didn’t have to.” 

“It was nothing, honestly. I know how old it can get when everyone starts sheltering you from things that affect you directly,” he gave her a comforting smile. “But I know they all had good intentions, as stupid as it may have seemed.” 

“Surprisingly, they’re the people I will always trust with my life,” (Y/N) laughed.

Permanent Taglist: @bellabadacadabra @winter-soldier-101 @zheezs14 @cevans-winchester @andreiaafaria @bluetreecloud20 @sunshine2894 @sunsetcurvej @sapnapsbandana @mushroomelephant @she--walks--in--moonlight @Gracelynn318

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[bangtansmauyeondan]

MOONSTRUCK | Part 14 - Plus One (Images between text.)

Pairing: Seokjin x Fem Reader | Namjoon x Fem Reader

Genre: F2L, social media au, soulmates au, office au, slow burn, fluff, implied smut, angst, slight crack, and drama. (Inspired by BTS - Moon)

Summary: You don’t know what the world looks like without Seokjin. Growing up in the same neighborhood, a low iron fence separating your family home and his, your lives have always been tangled up with each other. So much so, that after graduating college and securing your respective jobs, you decided to pack everything up and move to the same apartment building in the city— him, sharing a unit with his younger brother and his college bestfriend; you, sharing a unit with your younger brother and his equally chaotic bestfriend. Eternal neighbors thing, right? Or is that all there is to it?

A/N : I added the links throughout the story that will direct you the specific looks I’m going for. Please do not forget to check them out! :) ALSO Please forgive Yn in this one. We’ll be able to get into her head in the next few chapters. As always, if you want to be added on the taglist, just send me an Ask!🌙

Taglist: @bts-reveries @tan-dulset @persphonesorchid @joonjoonsmiles @jayhope88 @thatbangtanjagiya @anaceciliaxr @justinetingball @halesandy @yoongleskitten @onemanbandarmi @juju-227592 @ephyra1230 @somelazysundays @ygbubs @timelessruins @taestefully-in-luv

••••••••••••

The club is electric tonight�� it’s Saturday night after all. Music is blaring, people are dancing, lights are flashing, and the metallic rose gold jumpsuit you’re wearing makes you feel like you’re glowing. Yoongi offered his hand to you and you happily took it before he led you through the crowd to the bar. One of the bartenders spotted him and immediately tilted his head to the direction of two empty stools, almost hidden from plain view, conveniently situated where the bar meets the wall. Yoongi nodded at him in acknowledgment and led you to your spot.

“Wow, did you reserve these?” you teased.

Yoongi, flustered by the callout, chuckled at your question, “Ah… yes and no? This corner is used by the staff if they want to take a little breather and I just borrowed it for a bit,” he smiled. You both sat down and started scanning the drinks menu card handed to you by the bartender.

“Ah, one of the privileges of being a regular, I see…”

He laughed lightly, eyes creasing up into crescents before he swiveled to the side to face you. He looks good tonight, leaning onto the bar facing you, you’re able to take everything in— white name brand shirt underneath a black jacket, and slim fitting black trousers. The guy seems confident too, it’s apparent with the way he walks, talks, and addresses everyone around him. “Well, I guess you can call me a regular, given that I’m here every Monday.”

“Every Monday?” now you’re confused, “Most clubs are closed on Mondays, no?”

“I set up all their equipment, so as part of the business deal, I come in and do a routine check every week. You know, stuff like switching out cables, making sure that all of the subwoofers are—“

“… still woofing?” you blurted out jokingly and immediately regretted it! You haven’t even started ordering your drinks yet and Yoongi might think you’re already out of it. You could feel the warmth spread through your face and your neck, and you just knew you’re blushing in the shade Embarrassed Red 01. “Sorry!” you squealed, covering half of your face with the menu card.

To your surprise, he started laughing but probably because of your reaction than what you just said— the hands clapping, shoulders shaking, doubling over kind of laugh, “Embarrassing huh? That was witty though, I’ll give you that,” he nodded, quite impressed, “I didn’t think you’d be this funny, you were too quiet in the car.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry about that. I was in deep thought, thinking about 100 reasons why I got into a stranger’s car, but here we are…”

“Ouch!” Yoongi playfully clutched his chest. “Well, why don’t we start getting to know each other then?”

“Okay, but Rule #1– we will not talk about whatshisname, deal?” you offered up a hand.

“I don’t plan to anyway, so deal,” he took your hand for a firm handshake, “Why don’t you start by telling me why I had to rescue you from that posh party then?”

•••

The Fresh Harvest Co. has several restaurants under their belt, and once a year, during their anniversary, they close down all their restaurants to give everyone, from the kitchen staff to the security team, a night to party like royalty. You're not normally the life of a party; an introvert per se. Jin is the same, but between you and him, he's the one who can easily adapt to functions like this; not to mention, this is their party, where everyone knows everybody.

Jin has told you it was a black tie event, and dressing up is not new to you, but since you're just attending as Jin's plus one, you did not feel the need to go the red carpet glam look route. You opted for a metallic rose gold jumpsuit and a pair of black glittered Louboutins. ou also accesorized with a single strand of pearl necklace, a pair of diamond stud earrings and a small clutch before giving yourself one final look in the mirror to check your low messy bun and your neutral make up. Jin had to stop his heart from jumping out of his chest when he saw you for the first time that evening.

“Ready?” you asked the dumbfounded Jin standing by your door, “What? Am I underdressed? Does it look bad?”

“No no… you look beautiful, Yn. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear this before.”

“That’s because the last semi-formal event we attended together was prom. You don’t look bad yourself, Chef Kim.” Of course, that’s an understatement. Jin is wearing a cream suit with a metallic bronze inner shirt that matches the material of your jumpsuit. He has his hair slicked back, revealing his forehead, and you love that lone strand of hair that falls just above his eyebrow.

“Ha, they don’t call me Worldwide Handsome for nothing…” he mused.

“Well, let’s go then, Worldwide Handsome. You don’t want to keep the ladies waiting. I’m sure they would all flock over to you when we get there,” you winked at him before you sashayed your way down the hallway, and out of the building.

And flock over, they did. There were a lot of guests at the event, raging from prominent names in the food business, to the media, influencers, and bloggers. Jin, being one of the chefs that are responsible for catapulting their restaurant chains into where they are now, was being pulled left and right to meet people. You were standing alone by the cocktail table reserved for him when you heard a female voice from behind you, calling your name.

“Miyoung! Hi. I thought you’re out of the country!” Of course, she’d be here. Miyoung has made a name for herself as the Simon Cowell of the food industry. Her reviews are always heard, and newcomers to the business would go to great lengths, to the point of changing up their whole menu, just to impress her.

“Well, I’m back! I have two projects here in the next few weeks, so… Oh wait, where’s Jin?”

“He’s over there,” you pointed at Jin talking to the CEO over flutes of champagne. You did not miss the way Miyoung’s eyes twinkled when she saw him.

“I gotta go over to scold him, why is he leaving his date standing all alone here?” she cocked her eyebrow at you and scrunched up her nose like she’s talking to a toddler.

“Oh, not his date! Just a plus one. Go on, talk to him. He probably doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Alright then! Nice to see you again, Yn,” she kissed the air beside your cheek and made her way over to Jin.

•••

“… and she had no idea I was right behind her!”

“Do you know the people she’s talking with?” Yoongi asked as he swirled around his Smokehead in the glass, interest suddenly piqued. He’s also keeping tabs on how much Vodka Coke you’ve had in the past hour.

“No,” you toyed with the straw before taking a small sip. “I just heard one of them ask Miyoung if she knew who Jin’s date is, and that’s exactly what she said,” you cleared your throat and waved your hand dismissively, imitating Miyoung and in a mocking voice, repeated what she said, “Oh her? She’s not his date. Jin would never date her, she’s a real bore! She’s just his friend— always the plus one, but never the date!” Yoongi shook his head, disbelief apparent on his features that a grown woman would be petty enough to say that behind another woman’s back. “I’m a real bore, aren’t I?” he was taken aback by the glassy eyes that stared at him and before he knew it, he was already reaching out to cover your hand in his.

“Hey, don’t say that…”

“I am, Yoongi. It’s probably why your bestie left me. I’m boooorrrrinnnggg~” you slurred and hung your head low. Yoongi counted the glasses in front of you: 2 empty and 1 half empty.

“Hey,” he crouched down to get his face leveled with yours, “I thought we’re not gonna talk about whatshisname, hmn?”

You smiled sheepishly and he hated himself for finding it cute. Before Namjoon left, he asked him if he could check on you from time to time, and Yoongi was adamant that he didn’t want to do anything with Namjoon’s “mess” and that he should already leave you alone. But that chance encounter at the coffee shop made him feel a certain way about you, and just knew that he wanted to reach out.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. Let’s get out of here—“

“Ooh, Min Yoongi, I’m not that kind of girl!” you teased and slapped him playfully on his chest. His face turned a few shades redder but you didn’t miss his gummy smile and the way he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m kidding! Where are we going?”

“Believe me, anyone would be honored to be with you like that. But I don’t really like taking advantage of women,” he winked, “I only had 1 glass of whiskey and you’ve had a few of these already," he lifted one of the glasses in front of you, "What do you say, let’s sober up with some fastfood? Then I’ll drop you off in one piece.”

“Fastfood sounds nice, leggo!” you jumped off the stool and Yoongi had to steady you, before taking your hand to lead you outside.

•••

Twenty minutes had passed since Jin started scouring the event hall to look for you before he ran up to the security desk and asked to see the footage from the security camera. He saw with his own two eyes how a guy he doesn't recognize helped you into the passenger seat of a black SUV. His palms started sweating thinking about various worst-case scenarios, but he also noted how you willingly got into the car and seemed to be waiting for it in the first place. He was 10 seconds away from hurling his guts out when he said his goodbyes to the party host and went home. But instead of heading straight to his apartment, he headed to yours. Weekends mean that the rowdy younger boys are out and about, so he did not hesistate to use his spare keys to let himself inside your apartment. He shrugged off his jacket and slumped down on your sofa leaning his head back against the backrest of the couch. He briefly closed his eyes to will the thoughts raging in his mind to stop. Where are you? Why did you suddenly leave? Why aren't you answering his texts and his calls?

Another forty-five minutes had passed when he heard you stumble inside your apartment, clearly tipsy judging by the off-key humming and the little dance after you made sure that the door was locked. He's fuming. He wanted answers. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake because what the hell were you thinking?

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" you beat him to it. He was also taken aback by the tone of voice you used on him.

"Why did you leave the party?" he kept his eyes glued to you as you removed your shoes and took off your jewelry. "Why did you leave the party without telling me?"

"Well," a dopey smile graced your lips, "I went on a date with Yoongi."

"With WHO?" Jin stood up and stuffed his hands in his pocket as he walked closer to you. "Who's Yoongi? And the last time I checked, you were already my date to the party," his mind was racing and you could tell by how his eyebrows furrowed- a mixed of confusion and anger.

"Nuh-no-no, Seokjinnie," you wiggled your forefinger in front of his face. "Not your date. Just your boring plus one," you scoffed.

"What are you saying? No, don't answer that. Who's Yoongi?" hand on his hip, he stared at you intently and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched out of frustration.

"Yoongi is Namjoon's friend." You said simply and Seokjin just wanted nothing more than to wipe the stupid smile off your face. "I like him, he's nice."

Jin was incredulous and could not believe what he's hearing from you. "How drunk are you? Did this Yoongi guy drop you off? Why were you on a date with your ex's friend? Yn, are you crazy? Do you even know this guy well?" he ran his fingers through his hair and the way it fluffed back into his head almost made you swoon. Damn, your best friend is gorgeous... and that's all he is, right? Your best friend. So you had to put on a brave face and distract yourself by avoiding his avalanche of questions first.

"WHOA WHOA... The last time I checked, I'm in my 30s and you're not my dad."

"You don't know him well, do you?" Busted.

"I do!" You lied to his face. "He fixed my ukulele and we've been texting!"

"Seriously, Yn?! That ukulele wasn't even yours! Are you listening to yourself? How much have you had?" he came closer to sniff around your face and your breath hitched. He's too close, you could feel his warm breath against your jaw. Maybe it's the alcohol talking but while his face is merely inches away from you, you wanted nothing more than to feel his luscious lips against yours. So before you lose all your senses and pull your bestfriend into a searing kiss, you pushed him away.

"Fine! Okay, I don't know him that well yet, but Yoongi is a gentleman and he is different!" you're flustered and irritated already, you felt something warm course through your body- the effect of alcohol plus the effect of Jin being near.

"HOW? How can you tell he is different when you don't know him that well?" he's staring up at the ceiling now, probably praying for patience from all the gods and goddesses he could think of.

"I JUST KNOW!" You sighed exasperatedly. "Namjoon is different, Yoongi is different, you are different!"

"Damn right, I am different!" you flinched when Jin raised his voice; it almost echoed into your empty apartment, "I am different because I am not like the string of guys you dated that are a bunch of good-for-nothing assholes, and now you're getting yourself involved with yet another one again," he stepped closer to you, "So yes, Yn. I am different because I am not an asshole."

"EXCUSE ME?! Well you're clearly acting like one right now!" you challenged him.

"Because. I'm trying. To knock. SOME SENSE. Into your head!"

"Seokjin, stop yelling at me! You don't even know Yoongi!" you yelled back. "You know what," you grabbed his jacket off of the armrest of your couch and shoved it at him, "Go home. I think you're crossing the line here."

"Well you know what I think?" he stepped closer getting eye-level with you, "I think you're selfish, pathetic, and desperate," he said through gritted teeth.

You were stunned. You were stunned by the words that came out of Seokjin's mouth and even more stunned by the sound that your hand has made against his cheek.

[hockey-fics]

Is There An Us? ~ Brock Boeser 

Summary: Your relationship with your neighbour was just about casual sex and that’s all it was ever going to be. Or so you thought. 

Word Count: ~7k

Warnings: smut, arguments, language

Standing in the quiet hallway of your apartment you listen to the sound of the elevator whirring as it approached the floor. Grabbing the handle of your bag you readjust it on your shoulder, sighing as you wait for what felt like forever. Perhaps the six flights of stairs really would have been the better option. But just as the scales are tipping in favour of jumping ship and heading for the stairwell the polished metal doors glide open. 

Your eyes drift up to the man stepping out of the elevator. He seemed to be around your age, tall and attractive. You watch as he looks up from his phone, locking it without looking back down when he sees you. After stepping off the elevator and onto the solid floor he visibly pauses, eyes glancing up and down your body. You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes at the blatant way he was checking you out. “Hey,” he says with a slight nod. 

“Hey,” you reply, stepping to the side of him as you stick your arm in front of the closing elevator door. 

You glance back at him one more time. His eyes were still on you but he only looks up to look into your eyes when he notices you had looked back. Pulling your arm back you let the doors close, pressing the lobby button on the elevator. You hadn’t even realized that your heart was racing a little after the interaction till you were leaning against the elevator railing, already replaying the interaction. He wasn’t that attractive that he could do that and still seem intriguing to you…was he?

A couple weeks later you were digging through your purse, your anxiety levels bubbling up with each passing, keyless minute. You didn’t need your keys to lock your apartment door, it came with a keyless code entry instead. When you first moved in, thrilled with the ease of it all, you hadn’t realized what else would be incredibly easy…leaving your keys with the front door fob on your kitchen counter. 

“Need to get in?”

Flinching you whirl around, looking in the direction of the voice. Not only were you locked out alone it was also getting late and the darkness had started to worry you standing outside the building alone. But you recognize the figure immediately, your panic subsidizing slightly. The man from the elevator a couple weeks before. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Chuckling he shakes his head, his keys already in his hand as he steps closer to you, reaching his arm out to hold his key fob near the sensor. The light flashes green and he pulls it open, stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him. 

“So you can check me out again?”

He raises his eyebrows, glancing into the empty apartment lobby. “I could have left you out here.”

Scoffing you step through the open door. “You’re kind of an asshole,” you comment, already walking to the elevators, pressing the button just a little too hard. 

“I wouldn’t…” he calls, jogging slightly to get to the elevators before you could disappear, potentially skewing your opinion of him forever. “…wouldn’t have left you out there.”

Keeping your body facing the closed elevator doors you turn your head to look over at him. “Oh, wow, sorry, you’re a real gentleman then,” you reply sarcastically. 

“I, uh…look, I’m sorry, I think I gave you a bad first impression,” he stutters, seeming flustered. “I’m Brock, by the way.”

The elevator dings as the doors slide open and you step into the brightly lit space. “Y/N,” you reply, voice quiet and uncertain. Were you really going to let his past behaviour slide simply because he got a little flustered and muttered a hollow sorry? 

You watch as he reaches over, pressing the number 6 for you both. “Did you just move in recently?”

“Just over a month ago,” you tell him, your shoulder pressing against the elevator wall as you lean against it. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple years,” Brock tells you. “I’m in 625 in case you ever need anything.”

You stare up at Brock blankly for a few minutes. Were you supposed to tell him your apartment number? Was he really offering to help you out in a time of crisis beyond being locked out of the apartment building? Or was he suggestion something beyond friendly and helpful with that? “636,” you eventually blurt out, feeling your cheeks redden immediately. “I’m, uh, I’m in 636…in case you need something,” you clarify just as the doors open.

“I’ll remember that,” Brock chuckles, stepping off the elevator after you. He turns in the opposite direction of you, glancing back with a smile. “See you around.”

“See you,” you call, heading down the hallway to your apartment.

And see him around you did. It seemed like you ran into him with greater frequency than anyone else who lived in the building. In the hallway, in the elevator, in the parking lot. Perhaps he was just easy to notice, tall and handsome, but you seemed to see him more than anyone else that lived in your building. And you couldn’t deny the little crush you had developed on him. Your heart would race when he would stop the elevator doors from closing to let you get in. Your cheeks would get warm when he would open the front door for you, cracking jokes about being there to save the day even though you always did have your key. 

Saying you were happy it was Friday was beyond an understatement as you yank the apartment lobby door open. Your day seemed to have gone on forever, everything so much more difficult than it should have been. You were stressed and frazzled and you were ready to be doing anything other than thinking about work. As you get to the elevator you hear the front door opening again, drawing your attention. Your eyes land on Brock and you can’t help but smile a little. “Hey,” you greet as he walks over, your voice a little deflated. 

“Hey.” Brock watches you for a split second, seeming contemplative. “Is everything…okay?”

Sighing loudly you nod, “just a really long, really bad day. I’ll be fine. How was yours?”

“Not bad,” Brock tells you honestly, stepping into the elevator after you. “What are you doing now?”

Shrugging you press your shoulder blades against the wall elevator, looking up at him. “Anything to get my mind off the day.”

“I have a bottle of wine at my place if you think that might help.”

Smiling softly you nod, pulling away from the elevator wall when the doors open. “I definitely think that would help.”

So you follow Brock down the hallway in the opposite direction of your own apartment, never having been down the hallway before.  

You step into Brock’s apartment, immediately noticing how much more spacious it was than your own. Suddenly you realize you didn’t really know much about him, only knew what you had assumed about him. You didn’t know how old he was, what he did for a living, didn’t know if he had roommates or even his last name. Kicking off your shoes you follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “White okay?”

Nodding you press your elbows against the bar height counter, leaning down onto it. “That’s great.”

Brock pours two glasses of wine, setting one in front of you. “So, you want to talk about it?”

Picking up the glass you take a sip, the flavour unfamiliar. It didn’t taste anything like the nine dollar bottom shelf bottles you had gotten used to. “Not really,” you reply honestly. The last thing you wanted to do was recount exactly how stressful the day had been. 

Brock laughs and nods to the left, your eyes following to notice the living room. “Want to go sit down?”

Nodding you follow Brock into the living room, carefully settling down onto the couch, the glass of wine in your hand as you curl one of your legs under the other, facing Brock on the couch. “What do you…do?” You ask, gazing around the living room. While you were living in the same apartment building everything in his unit seemed to be just a higher caliber than your own. 

“I play hockey.”

Glancing back over to him you giggle quietly. “I mean, what do you do for a job?”

“Hockey,” Brock repeats, chuckling. 

You blink a couple times letting it process before nodding slowly, eyes glancing around the apartment. From what you knew about professional athlete’s salaries it did all check out. “Wow.” You look back to Brock, unsure exactly how to react. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, you seem impressed.” His voice is filled with sarcasm and the little smirk on his lips tells you he’s amused by your lacklustre response. 

“I didn’t,” you begin, pausing to laugh softly, glancing down at the couch as your cheeks warm up. “I didn’t mean anything by it...just not what I was expecting.”

Brock takes a drink of his wine, his eyebrows lifted slightly as he sets the glass back onto the coffee table, clinking quietly against the glass table. “I don’t look like an athlete?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over, playfully hitting his arm. “Stop...you know I didn’t mean that. You do look very fit...I mean, like from what I’ve seen.”

“So you’re allowed to say that but you wanted to like kill me for checking you out that one time.”

“That’s different,” you protest. Lifting your glass to your lips you take another large sip of your wine, setting it down and curling your other leg onto the couch you lean your side against the back of the couch. “I wasn’t like...fucking eyeing you up and down so blatantly.”

“Blatantly?” Brock enquires.

Groaning you roll your eyes, tipping your head to the side to rest on the back of couch, giggling. “Whatever...yes, you’re hot, is that what you want to hear?”

Brock shrugs, the smirk on his lips only growing. “Well I’m not going to say I don’t like hearing it...but especially from you.”

You swallow heavily as you stare over at him, an overwhelming urge to reach over and touch him. To kiss him, to let him run his hands and not just his eyes over your body. Your eyes flick down to his lips for a second, your own parted slightly as an unsteady breath leaves them. 

You slip one leg out from underneath you, sliding closer to him on the couch. Brock looks over at you for a couple moments, contemplative and tentative before leaning closer. His hand slips along your waist, gently tugging you a little closer as he brings his lips closer to your own. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring one hand up to his shoulder, sliding behind his neck as you wait for him to kiss you. The moment seems to last for longer than it should before Brock presses his lips to yours. But as soon as he kisses you there isn’t another second of hesitation. Your own lips are eager, your body relaxing as you let Brock pull you closer. Your free hand moves to his arm, grasping at his shoulder as his entire arm circles around you. 

The stress of the day was already so far out of your mind, so completely wrapped up in the moment. You clumsily pull one leg over one of Brock’s settling down onto his thigh. Your hips grind down against him and you’re not even sure if it was voluntary at this point, your body seeming to be taking over, needing a release. You moan against his lips as Brock brings his hands to your hips, guiding you to continue moving. Pulling back you gasp softly, fingers curling into the fabric of Brock’s shirt. 

“Feel good?” Brock asks, a smirk on his lips. You can tell he’s feeling pretty cocky, knowing he didn’t even have to do anything to make you moan. 

“Yes,” you whisper, leaning back in. Your lips meet his again, fast and eager as you bring your leg to the other side of him, now fully settled on his lap. You can feel that he’s just as painfully turned on as you are and you pull back. Your hands grasp at his shirt, tugging it up in an effort to signify that you wanted to speed things up. 

Brock takes over, pulling his own shirt off before swiftly moving to yours, pulling it over your head easily. You can feel his fingers on your bra strap a minute later, the familiar relief of the fabric loosening around your body as he unhooks it, the straps slipping down your arms. His hands slide slowly up your bare sides as your lips connect with his again. You feel a shiver run up your spine under his touch, confident but gentle and slow. 

A couple minutes later you pull back, sliding yourself back as you move onto the ground, your knees hitting the soft rug. Brock groans quietly as he watches you get down onto your knees. Your hands move to his jeans, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. 

Brock’s large hands are on yours not long after, lifting them away from his belt as he finishes taking it off himself, lifting his hips to slide his jeans and underwear off for you. Reaching back over you gently wrap your hand around his hard length, your eyes flitting up to his as you lean forward, tongue running over the tip of his dick. 

“Fuck,” Brock groans, his head tipping back on the couch. But as you take him into your mouth as far as you can he brings his head forward again, hands pulling your hair out of your face to watch you. 

You continue what you’re doing, spurred on by the quiet groans and stifled moans coming from Brock. You feel your desire growing with each passing second, squeezing your legs together to try to and get some relief. 

It’s not long before Brock is stopping you. “You’re so good at that,” he mutters, hands under your arms as he pulls you back to your feet. You watch him stand up a second later, leaning down to kiss you again. He slides his hand into yours a second later, pulling away and down the hallway to a room on the left. 

You look around the dimly lit bedroom before Brock places his hands onto your waist, pushing you backwards till you hit the mattress. His bed is soft and comfortable as you scoot backwards on it, watching Brock leaning down, his hands unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them off with ease. 

You swallow heavily when Brock runs his hand up your inner thigh, one arm supporting his weight as he leans down to kiss you again. His fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and your hand clamps down onto his forearm. Your body language is less than subtle and Brock takes the hint to hurry up, pushing the fabric aside as his fingers run along your folds. Your hips jolt as his fingers find your clit, gentle and slow when he first gets to it. But as you stop being able to stifle your moans Brock increases the speed and pressure till you’re squirming underneath him, moaning quietly. “Oh fuck, I’m…I’m close,” you gasp out. 

Brock continues what he’s doing, your fingers digging harder into his arm. Your eyes shut when the familiar rush comes over you, your body hot as the waves of pleasure rush from your core. You push Brock’s hand back when you’re through your orgasm, clit sensitive from the constant pressure. “Fuck,” you whisper, it’s the only thing you can think. You were far from a virgin but you weren’t used to men caring about your pleasure so much that they would make you come even before themselves. 

Brock leans down, kissing you gently before laying down beside you. Tipping your head to the side you furrow your eyebrows. “You don’t want to…,” you drift off, watching him hesitantly. 

“I mean, yeah,” he tells you with a chuckle. “But it’s up to you.”

You press your hand into the mattress, pushing yourself up and swinging one of your legs over Brock’s body, feeling him pressing against you, still just as hard. “I want to,” you tell him, resting your hands on Brock’s chest, leaning down and kissing him again. “Do you have a condom?” You whisper against his lips. 

Brock nods and leans across the bed as you move off his lap, watching as he grabs one from the nightside table. He puts it on easily, glancing over at you, as if hoping you would just get the message that he wanted you back on top. You giggle quietly as you slide your leg back over him. Reaching down you wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to your entrance as you sink down onto him. You inhale sharply, pulling your hand away as you take over with your hips. 

Brock places his hands on your hips, leaving them there gently, letting you go at your own pace. “You’re so fucking hot,” Brock mutters, looking up at you. You feel Brock bring his hand to your clit again and you tip your head back, gasping softly. 

“Keep going, please,” you plead, the added sensation against your clit tipping you onto the fast track to another orgasm. 

Brock does exactly as you say, his fingers rubbing gentle, consistent circles on your clit. “I-I’m,” you whine, feeling your body getting tired and hot and overwhelmed from being built up to your second orgasm so soon after the first. You’re shaky as you continue moving your hips, trying so hard to keep going as you ride through your second orgasm. 

Brock’s hands tighten on your hips, stopping your movements as he takes over, hips smacking against your ass he thrusts into you. It’s only a couple more minutes before he’s slowing down, groaning softly as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your slightly clammy bodies together. “So good,” he hums, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

When you catch your breath and your heart has slowed down you pull your body off of Brock, rolling onto your back beside him. “You’re a pretty good stress reliever,” you joke, turning your head to look over at him. 

“I’m glad I could help,” Brock chuckles. Sitting up he climbs off the bed, removing the condom and heading into the en-suite bathroom. 

While he’s in the bathroom you scurry about to get your own clothes back on. When he comes back into the room you watch him pause for a moment, glancing at your fully clothed body. “Are you, uh, leaving?”

You glance over at the door and then back to Brock. You had simply assumed that’s what you should do, not thinking too much about it. “Um,” you hum, shrugging. “I was planning to.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll uh, walk you out…home?” Brock comments, pulling his own clothes back on with a slightly flustered speed. 

Giggling you walk over, grasping Brock’s hand as he reaches for a pair of sweatpants hanging over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. “I can walk down the hallway alone,” you assure him, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Okay,” Brock chuckles, still seeming a little taken aback by your hasty exit. 

“Okay,” you repeat, stepping back and towards Brock’s bedroom door. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

So you gather your few belongings, heading out of Brock’s apartment and down the hallway to your own apartment. 

A couple weeks later you find yourself standing in front of Brock’s apartment door. It was pretty late at night and you had been contemplating what you were about to do for far too long. Perhaps if you had just bit the bullet the first time the thoughts crossed your mind the time wouldn’t have been such a problem. Eventually you bring your hand to the door, knocking gently. Maybe if you didn’t knock too loud you wouldn’t wake him on the off chance he was asleep. 

But the door swings open a couple minutes later and you can see the glow of the TV behind Brock, indicating you hadn’t woken him up. “Hey,” you greet sheepishly. 

“Hi,” Brock replies, clearly confused but not unhappy with your presence. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

Brock shakes his head, glancing back at the TV. “Not at all.”

You glance around the empty hallway before reaching over, fingers curling into Brock’s shirt and pulling him down, your lips on his eagerly. Brock responds quickly, his arm wrapping around your body and pulling you into his apartment, his other arm closing the door swiftly. “Let’s go to your bedroom,” you whisper against his lips and Brock takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom without a second of hesitation. 

And for months things continue just like that with Brock. Sometimes you would text him and get him to come to your apartment, sometimes you would run into him on the elevator or in the hallway and you would both end up back at his apartment, sometimes you would simply head to his apartment hoping he was there. But that’s all things ever were. Occasionally you would watch part of a movie together before or lay in bed talking for hours after. But your relationship with him revolved entirely around sex. 

But Brock wasn’t the only guy in your life. You had met Kyle at the gym a month after you first met Brock and had started casually seeing him. No strings attached with either person, so you figured there would be no harm done. You knew what you were truly doing though, deep down you knew the truth was that Kyle was a distraction. You were far more attracted to Brock, craved his touch, loved the late night conversations. But he wasn’t going to commit to you, hadn’t even taken you out on a date. So you found someone to keep yourself from getting too hung up on him, to keep your feelings from getting involved. 

You had just gone out for dinner with Kyle, now heading back to your apartment to hang out for the rest of the evening. You walk into the apartment lobby, freezing when you see Brock standing by the elevator. Just as you’re contemplating a way out of the situation Brock looks over his shoulder, doing a double take when he realizes it’s you and another guy. You quickly let go of Kyle’s hand, realizing it was too late anyway. 

Kyle continues walking to the elevator, completely oblivious to the tension that had settled on the lobby. “Hi,” you greet Brock, barely able to make eye contact. 

“Hi,” he replies coldly. “Having a good night?”

Swallowing heavily you nod, eyes glued to the ground. “Not bad,” you say quietly. 

“Hey man, I’m Brock,” Brock says to Kyle, his voice cold. He didn’t need to introduce himself, you knew he was making some kind of point but you weren’t sure what or why. 

“Hey,” Kyle replies, his tone friendly and light. “Kyle…how do you two know each other?”

You glance from Kyle and then back to Brock. Brock stares at you, waiting for you to give an answer. “We…,” you begin, trailing off, not knowing what to say. You were always bad at lying and you didn’t know if Brock was going to make it even harder for you to lie. 

“We used to hook up,” Brock replies, his tone unwavering. 

You feel your heart begin to hammer, freezing as you stare at Brock in shock. The elevator opening draws you out of your stunned silence and you reach over, placing your hand in Brock’s path, stopping him from getting on the elevator. “I was here first,” Brock grumbles. 

“I want to talk to you,” you tell him, looking over at Kyle. “Can you please just meet me in my apartment?” 

Kyle hesitates, seeming confused and concerned but he simply nods, stepping into the elevator alone. 

Once the doors close you look up at Brock, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck, Brock?”

“What?” 

Shaking your head you cross your arms over your chest. “You can’t just…you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“The truth?” Brock questions. 

“But you can’t just…you just can’t, okay?”

“Can’t what?” 

“Tell people we’ve been sleeping together.”

Brock shakes his head, scoffing. “Why not?”

“I…because, Brock, that’s personal information.”

Brock chuckles, looking away from you for a moment. “It’s my personal information too, I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Why are you being such a dick?” You snap, frustrated and annoyed. Sure, he was right, he could tell anyone he wanted that you two had been sleeping together multiple times a week for months. But he also could have chosen to be a gentleman and keep his mouth shut, sparing you from having to deal with the issues this would cause with Kyle. 

“Me?” Brock exclaims, shaking his head. “You’re the one running around with other guys.”

You stare up at Brock in stunned silence. “Running around with other guys?” You question, shaking your head. “I’ve been seeing Kyle for months, I haven’t been running around with multiple. Not that it would matter if I was, that’s none of your business.”

“Months?” Brock’s voice is suddenly quieter and his eyes are soft as he stares down at you. “What do you mean you’ve been seeing him for months? We’ve been sleeping together for months.”

“I don’t know…we’ve just been casually dating. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Brock echoes, nodding as he reaches over, pressing the button for the elevator again, indicating he was done. 

“Brock,” you whisper, turning to him. “Brock,” you repeat, beyond confused. You were almost certain he’d been seeing other women, he just had better timing. It’s not like you owed him an explanation, there was no reason for him to be upset. “Can you not just walk away from this conversation?”

“What do you want me to say?” Brock snaps, looking down at you. 

“Why are you mad right now?” 

“Because you’re fucking some other guy.”

It takes you a few minutes for your mind to wrap around what he said and what it meant. “Are you jealous?”

Brock looks down at you, jaw clenched. He doesn’t respond for a minute, looking back at the numbers above the elevator as they count down towards the lobby. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“Why?” You whisper. 

“What do you mean, why? Because I like you, Y/N.”

You reach over, grabbing Brock’s wrist and gently pulling him to face you. “Do you actually like me or do you just like fucking me?”

Brock glances towards the elevator, the doors opening. Brock slides his hand out of the grasp you have around his wrist, grasping your hand and slipping his fingers between yours as he pulls you onto the elevator. “I like you,” he tells you as the doors close, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s so soft and gentle and you can’t help but melt into his grasp. You slide one hand up over his shoulders, leaning up onto your tip toes. He gently wraps one arm around your waist, the other on the side of your face. 

“We should, uh,” you hum, pulling back. Neither of you had pressed a button to go anywhere, standing in the closed, unmoving elevator. But it felt like you had figured out a pause button. “Fuck, Brock,” you exclaim a second later, taking a step back from him. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what this means.”

Brock reaches over, grabbing both your hands and gently pulling you back towards him. “Why him?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why are you seeing him but just hooking up with me?”

“Because Kyle and I have been going out, on dates,” you explain simply. 

“What if I took you out on dates?”

“Brock, it’s not that simple,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because of…Kyle,” you tell him, your voice getting quieter when you say Kyle’s name. 

Brock nods slowly, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Because you have stronger feelings for Kyle than you do for me,” Brock mutters. 

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “No,” you whisper. 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that you only want to be with me because you don’t want me to be with anyone else,” you tell him, reaching over and pressing the button for the sixth floor. 

Brock stares at you in silence, letting your words sink in. He didn’t know what to say because he realized that there was some truth to it. He had been enjoying what you had. No strings attached, no real accountability to another person. But it wasn’t that he hadn’t developed stronger feelings, he had just opted to ignore it. 

The elevator doors open and you give him a chance to say something, anything, else. But when he doesn’t you step off the elevator, hurrying to your apartment where you were sure you had a less than simple conversation ahead of you. 

After talking for awhile with Kyle he leaves your apartment for the night, both of you deciding you needed time to think. It wasn’t a volatile conversation, both of you well aware of the fact that you hadn’t done anything wrong. There were no strings attached but now you needed to figure out if that’s how you wanted things to stay, both with Kyle and with Brock. 

You went to bed early that night, doing your best to think through the whole situation rationally, to not get too upset about it. Going to bed you had hoped a good night of sleep would help, but when you woke up the next morning you hadn’t found anymore clarity than you had going to bed the night before. You go about your morning routine as best you can, getting ready for work while trying to keep your mind off of the events of the night before. 

You hated bringing your personal life to work but you had to admit that you were distracted all day. You forgot things you normally wouldn’t, things took much longer than normal. You were a mess. And by the time you left work that day you were exhausted, mentally and physically. Gathering your belongings you leave the office, later than anyone else because you needed to stay late to get everything done. It’s pouring rain and the sky is dark when you walk out of the office, hurrying to your car and heading straight home, wanting nothing but the warmth and comfort of your apartment. 

As you pull the door to your apartment open you notice Brock walking in your direction. Rolling your eyes you take a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. 

“Y/N,” Brock says, hurrying to your side. 

“I’m not in the mood tonight. It’s been a long day, I just want to shower and go to bed.” You keep walking towards the elevator, doing your best to ignore the fact that Brock was following you now. 

“We need to talk,” Brock says, voice serious as he steps in front of your path to the elevator. 

“About what?” You deadpan, arms folded over your chest as you stare up at him. 

“Us.”

Shaking your head you step away from him. “There is no us, Brock. There never was an us. So there’s nothing to talk about.”

“What if I want that to change?” Brock asks, voice gentle, eyes soft. 

“I don’t…I can’t,” you begin, hesitating as you reach around Brock to press the button for the elevator. “I can’t do this tonight.” You step around Brock and into the elevator as the doors open, leaning against the back wall and reaching for the 6 button. 

Suddenly Brock sticks his arm in front of the closing doors. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, nothing I-.”

“Seven o’clock, I’m picking you up and we’re going for a date,” Brock tells you before letting the elevator doors shut, leaving you alone. 

Your mind races for a few minutes and just as you contemplate going back to the lobby, finding Brock in the parking lot and telling him to forget it, the elevator doors open on the sixth floor and you find yourself walking to your apartment like a robot with a set location. 

You had been hoping the next day at work would go a little smoother, that your distractions would be gone. But now you were fighting through the day with another mind full of distractions. 

“So what’s going on with you?”

Glancing up from your computer you look at Caroline, your work best friend, standing over your desk. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you haven’t taken a single break in the last two days. You haven’t sent me any snarky texts about the boss. You were here late yesterday catching up on work, which you never have to do because you’re always ahead. So, what’s going on?”

Sighing you lean back in your chair, staring up at her. “You know 625?” You had told Caroline about Brock, well, the basics of it. But he always went by the nickname 625. 

“Yeah, of course,” she laughs, sitting on the edge of your desk, ready for all the gossip. 

“And Kyle?”

“The one with the name.” 

“So I was out with Kyle a couple nights ago and we ran into Brock-.”

“Brock, that’s 625’s name?” Caroline exclaims. 

“Yeah, it’s Brock,” you laugh, swaying side to side in your chair. “So we ran into him and Brock got all pissed and jealous, acting like we were dating and I was cheating on him. But we haven’t even been on a single date.”

“But he clearly has feelings for you.”

Rolling your eyes you press your elbow to the desk, your head in your hand. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I just bruised his ego a bit. That he was just jealous because he wasn’t the only one I was sleeping with. But then…last night, he uh, he asked me on a date. A real date. Tonight, at seven.”

“Oh my god,” Caroline says, the shock in her voice not hidden. “So 625, uh, Brock, sorry…really does have feelings. What about Kyle?”

“I don’t know,” you whine. “I haven’t even really talked to him since that night. And part of me, I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to? Like now that I have Brock’s attention I don’t need Kyle as a distraction anymore. Fuck, I’m such a bitch.”

Caroline lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean, it’s kinda a bitchy thing to say but you were never trying to be a bitch so I don’t think it counts. I think you just need to follow your heart on this one.”

“My heart is dumb, Caroline.”

“Your heart will figure it out eventually.” Caroline stands up, giving you a reassuring smile before heading towards her own desk. “Oh, and can you finally answer my email about the meeting tomorrow afternoon?” She calls. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll do that now,” you call back, feeling guilty about letting your work suffer. 

Later that night you were standing at your kitchen counter, staring at the time on the oven. 7:02. You check your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, trying to keep yourself from feeling nervous. It was just Brock. You had done things with Brock that you had never done with anyone before. He had seen every part of you, had touched every inch of your body. Yet the idea of going on a date with him was sending waves of anxiety through your body. A knock at the door makes you flinch, as if you weren’t expecting it. Taking a deep breath you walk over to the door, pulling it open and looking up at the tall figure in front of you. 

“Hey,” you say quietly. 

“Hey,” Brock replies with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks redden in an unfamiliar way and you glance down at the ground. “Thanks.”

“These are for you,” Brock says, handing you a bouquet of flowers. 

Reaching over you take them from him, looking at the flowers in awe. “I, uh-.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Brock says, stepping into your apartment. “You don’t, um, have to make it a big deal.”

“I’m not,” you say quickly, despite the fact that you were trying really hard to contain the smile on your face. Bringing them into your kitchen you look through your cupboards for a vase. 

“Do you want me to get it?” Brock asks, watching you reach for a vase on the top shelf. 

“Sure,” you say, not having a chance to step away before Brock is standing behind you, reaching up over you to grab the vase. When he sets it down you slowly turn around, your bodies pressed against each other. Your eyes meet his only for a second before you lean up, pressing your lips against his. 

Brock kisses you back, his hands tugging on your waist, pulling you even closer. Your arms slide up over his neck and he lifts you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his torso. Pulling your hands back you bring them to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons. 

“Wait, stop,” Brock says, pulling back, his hands wrapping around yours and pulling them away from his shirt. “This isn’t what this is about.”

“What?” You whisper, breathless and flushed, heart racing. 

“Tonight. I’m not here to have sex with you. I’m taking you out, on a date. A nice date…which we’re going to be late for.”

“Brock,” you whine, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his gently. “That ship has sailed.”

Brock chuckles, his hands on your waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have taken you out a long time ago,” he tells you, lifting you off the counter and setting you down gently. 

Rolling you eyes you shake your head, turning your back to him to fill the vase with water. “I was just your fuck buddy, Brock. You and I both know that. I don’t know what changed, if anything changed at all. Maybe you just want me to think we’re more than that, so you can have me all to yourself, I don’t know. But don’t pretend you’ve had stronger feelings this whole time.”

Brock wraps his arms around you, his chest pressed to your back. “I’ll be honest, I do want you all to myself. The idea of you being with anyone else makes me mad. But it’s more than jealousy, Y/N. I don’t want you to be with anyone else but I don’t want to be with anyone else either. I know that’s crazy to say on a first date-.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea of this being a real first date, after months and months of hooking up. “Sorry,” you whisper, for cutting Brock off with your laughter. 

“I’m trying to be nice here and you’re laughing at me,” Brock chuckles, turning you around to get you to face him. “I like you…I have feelings for you. I didn’t even realize how strong they were till I saw you with Kyle. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t have to think about it until then. I just thought, things were good the way they were, we didn’t need to have that conversation…this conversation.”

You’re quiet for a moment after he finishes talking, processing what it meant, what you were supposed to say. “I don’t want you to be with anyone else either.”

“Good,” Brock whispers, leaning down and kissing you quickly. “Now come on, I’ve got a date to take you on.” 

Brock takes your hand, guides you through your own apartment to the hallway, watches you lock the door behind the two of you. He doesn’t let go of your hand till you’re at his car, where he opens your door for you, closes it once you’re settled in the passenger’s seat. The drive to restaurant feels strangely comfortable, Brock letting you pick the music, the conversation flowing easily. 

“This place is so nice,” you say to Brock after the two of you put in your drink orders. Wine, of course. 

Brock shrugs, arms resting on the table as he leans closer, towards you. “I hoped you would like it.”

“I do,” you tell him. “But I would have liked any place you took me. It’s not about where we went, Brock, it’s about you actually taking me somewhere, a real date.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for next time, and the time after that, and-.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, rolling your eyes. “What does this mean?” You ask with a newfound sense of seriousness. 

“What?” 

“Us. We’ve been casual for months, but now…now you don’t want me to be with anyone else and I don’t want you to be with anyone else. And we’re going on dates. And you bought be flowers. And…”

“And I guess that means there is an us now, hey?” Brock says, reaching across the table and taking your hand.

Your lips curl into a soft smile, nodding slowly. “I guess that means there is an us,” you agree.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 4

Snape looks back on your days at Hogwarts, how your friendship came to be, and how it came to end.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4  CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 4  .:Budding Feelings and the Beginning of the End:.

Severus Snape had made a lot of mistakes in his life, and seeing you again after all these years was forcing him to relive every single one of them.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, shrouded in the darkness and grim silence of his empty house. He never thought he'd see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances. When he'd laid his eyes on you in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place he couldn't believe it. He, much like the rest of the Order (except for Molly, apparently) assumed you wouldn't be at these meetings any longer. After James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, you'd left London and headed to New York under the Ministry's alliance with MACUSA, hoping to help bridge the gap between muggle-borns and purebloods in America. He knew you had been back to meet Harry a handful of times, but he also knew that being in this city brought up painful memories for you, so he was as stunned as anyone else to see you standing there in the doorway, greeting them as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

He could see that traveling had been good for you. He'd heard through the Hogwarts circuit that you were back on auror duty across the world, taking special assignments from Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. You seemed like you were doing better, but when you turned to smile at him he could see the hesitation and the sadness that brewed behind your eyes, likely his doing.

He desperately wanted things to go back to what they were before—

Before he'd ruined it. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright students,” Professor Slughorn said as everyone finished filing inside the room, “today we're going to be pairing off into new partners for the upcoming project.”

Groans and nervous chatter flooded the sound space immediately, no one very thrilled with having to work with someone new out of their control. You cast a glance over to Lily who looked equally displeased. You liked being her partner, you both excelled at the subject and worked really well together.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Slughorn said, waving the complaints off, “However, I am going to be giving you the luxury of choosing your own partners this time, but everyone—”

The energy in the room instantly shifted, everyone shoving around people to get to their friends.

“—keep in mind, if I see any slacking off or trouble brewing in these new partnerships I will not hesitate to rearrange them!”

Slughorns's words were completely lost among the commotion as people paired off before you could even get your bearings. Snape stalled as he stared at you from across the room; Lily had already been dragged away by Mary, and his brain was trying to work out how to ask you to be his partner.

Suddenly an arm was slung over your shoulder and you turned towards the new presence in surprise. You looked up to see Evan Rosier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his Slytherin tie loose around his neck.

Oh, sod it, Snape cursed internally. He was too late.

“Wanna partner up?” Rosier asked, a crooked grin gracing his chiseled features, “It'd be my honor to have the smartest Potions partner in class, not to mention the most attractive.”

You rolled your eyes at the praise. Evan was your friend, and he was nice to look at, but if he thought that you would be willing to do all the work for the both of you in exchange for some cheap compliments, then he had another thing coming. You locked eyes with Snape from across the room

“It would be your honor,” you smirked up at Rosier, “but I already have a partner, sorry.”

It took Snape a few seconds to realize what you were doing, but once he snapped out of it he made his way towards you. You almost chuckled at how robotic he looked as he did, clearly shocked.

Rosier looked between the two of you and rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he said, letting you go and pushing you lightly in Snape's direction, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sent a wink your way that left Snape's blood inexplicably boiling,

“Thanks for that,” you grinned, “and just so you know, I would have chosen you even if he didn't come up to me, so don't get all pouty about it, okay?”

Severus just looked at you blankly. Even after four years it was frightening how well you were able to read him; for a moment he was scared that he'd accidentally projected his thoughts to you, but he wasn't anywhere near that level of legillemency yet. He wanted to say something that had some semblance of gratitude but settled on:

“Whatever.”

To which you just laughed and dragged him to your now shared desk.

You really were something else.

“Now then,” Professor Slughorn addressed the room, “today we will be beginning the new unit on toxic concoctions, starting with the Draught of Living Death. If you would all turn to page ten of your books, we will get started presently.”

You turned open your book and Severus did the same. As he did, you noticed that nearly every page was covered in small notes littering the margins, with some of the instructions circled, crossed out, or modified. You were hardly surprised, Snape had been pouring over this book since last year when he'd stolen it from a fifth year Slytherin who'd been speaking poorly of you (that last part you were unaware of).

You turned your attention to the directions, reaching over to preheat the burner so your cauldron would be hot enough by the time you began. However, as soon as you lit the flame with the tip of your wand, your cauldron shot up into the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud BANG! before crashing down back onto your table, breaking several of the glass instruments that were settled there.

Your face burned embarrassment as everyone in the room turned to look at you in shock.

“Snape, (L/n),” Slughorn said, surprised, “whatever happened?”

“I. . .” you began, not knowing what to say, “I don't know, I'm sorry, Professor.”

“Quite all right,” he said uncertainly, restoring your table and equipment with a wave of his wand, “just be sure whatever that was doesn't happen again.”

“Of course,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering around you. If you noticed the way that it stopped as soon as Snape sent a deathly glare at the culprits, you didn't show it. You reached down to grab your cauldron, noticing that the bottom was dusted in some sort of orange powder. As you turned it over, a note fell out of it.

You're welcome, (L/n). Sorry I couldn't be there for the fireworks~

J.P.

“That sneaky little, ugh,” you crumpled the note, growling in frustration.

“What is it?” Severus asked, peering over your shoulder to glance at the paper. However, as soon as you tried to show it to him it vanished in your hands in a wisp of glowing embers. You turned to look at Severus who was still staring at you expectantly.

“It was Potter,” you rolled your eyes.

Anger flashed in Severus' eyes before confusion replaced it momentarily.

“But that was your cauldron, not mine. Why would Potter want to mess with you?”

And now the anger was back again. Snape was used to Potter’s crew targeting him; bullying and suffering through minor hexes had become an everyday occurrence, but when he imagined them doing anything to you it was enough to make him see red.

“Ah, well. . .” you trailed off, deciding that telling him you'd yelled at the group of Gryffindors: 'if you jerks want to have a go at Severus you're gonna have to get through me first!' was a bad idea.

“I sort of, maybe, kind of. . . started it?” you said. Severus raised a brow at you. “Look, Potter was asking for it, okay? It was about time someone messed with him for a change. And besides, it was hilarious, even Lily got a kick out of watching that broom hit him in the head.”

Severus chuckled at that, a hint of pride welling in his chest at yours and Lily's shared distaste for the Potter boy.

“But that was the last straw,” you declared, grabbing a Sopophorus bean from the bowl in front of you and a knife to cut it as per the instructions, “I'm sick and tired of him acting like he's better than everyone else,” you said, stabbing down with your knife for emphasis. The Sopophorus bean jumped as you did, sliding out from under your blade and skidding across your cutting board. You huffed as you grabbed it again, placing it back down and holding it in place. “And he walks around with that little posse of his like he runs this school!” You brought your knife down again, moving your fingers at the last second, but the bean still managed to slip away, trying to bounce back into the bowl.

“This means war!” you seethed, grabbing the runaway legume again, now at your wit's end, and crushing it in your fist. It stopped jumping as the beet-red juice of the plant dripped down your arm, and Severus looked at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well, that's one way to do it,” he said.

“Shove off,” you said playfully, throwing the bean in his direction. He dodged it easily, his smile growing.

“No, really,” he said, almost more to himself than you as he scribbled out the word 'cut' and replaced it with 'crush' in his notebook, “you might be better at this than you let on.”

You blushed at the unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was.

“Excuse you, I happen to be fantastic at Potions,” you said, grabbing another bean and avoiding his gaze.

“Right, that's why your cauldron exploded.”

“That was sabotage,” you shot back.

“I was talking about last week,” Severus said cheekily, taking in your flustered expression.

You both went back to your ingredients, eventually discovering that crushing the beans with the flat of a knife was the best way to extract the juice without them jumping. You watched Severus out of the corner of your eye as he measured out the African Sea water, adding it gradually as he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise. The elixir turned a bright blue color, shimmering as if light were being reflected off of it. He continued on with the formula, snapping off a few fluxweed sprigs before adding them and lowering the heat with his wand, hardly looking at the instructions at all.

You wondered where this newfound confidence had come from. Severus was usually so rigid and withdrawn, but right now he looked more at ease than you had ever seen him. A spark was present in his eyes as he worked that you rarely ever saw, and it made you smile despite yourself.

The rest of your potion making process went on without a hitch, and you silently applauded yourself as you watched the other students around you struggle to get their concoctions together. Even Lily seemed to be having trouble, though Mary wasn't really helping other than offering moral support.

You turned back to focus on your own potion, stirring it with the ladle and mesmerized by the way it began to turn a deep plum color. Meanwhile, Severus was cleaning up your shared station, looking over at the brew. His brows furrowed as he examined it.

“Just stir it a bit more,” he said, coming up behind you and placing his hand on top of yours, “the color is still off.”

Your face burned at the unexpected contact; Snape certainly wasn't a touchy person, so the act caught you completely off guard, though you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. Severus nearly jumped backwards, absolutely mortified when he realized what he was doing. It was him micromanaging more than anything; he was so focused on getting the potion right he didn't even notice he was moving his own body as he gave you the instruction.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling quite possibly the lamest he'd ever felt in his life.

“It's okay,” you said, biting the inside of your lip nervously and continuing to stir like he said. Your light response allowed Snape to relax, his shoulders lowering a full three inches. He'd been certain you would have reacted to his mistake with disgust or repulsion, but you didn't. What did that mean? You were utterly confusing. Despite how well you could read him, Severus was unable to get a read on you at all. If he had been, he would have noticed the tiny smile on your face as you stirred, silently wishing his hand were back on yours.

You and Snape stood at attention as Slughorn peered down at your potion, looking mildly impressed. He reached into his robes, procuring an oak leaf from who knows where, and dropped it into your cauldron. The leaf floated on top of the liquid for just a moment before its edges began to burn. It furled from the unseen heat, folding in on itself and disappearing into the inky depths of the liquid. Slughorn's expression lit up, his impression no longer mild.

“Merlin's beard, it's perfect!” he exclaimed, “in all my years I've never seen a pair recreate this potion exactly as you two have done today.”

You beamed at the praise, your smile only widening as you saw your emotions mirrored in Severus' face, albeit more subtly.

Over the course of your fourth year, you and Snape continued to excel in Potions, receiving much praise from Professor Slughorn and a lot of glares from your fellow students. However, there was something else that continued that year, and that was your increasing interactions with James Potter.

“I just don't get why you even bother with him,” Snape had said to you one day while you were in Potions. Your prank war with James was at its peak, and you were sidetracked that day in class coming up with new ideas to get back at him.

“It's a full on battle now, Sev,” you said, “I can't back down! Now, for my next one I was thinking something along the lines of a callback to one of his earlier stunts. Maybe get him back for tampering with my cauldron at the beginning the year.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I've got a few friends in Gryffindor, and apparently he talks about his prank plans way too loudly in the common room, so I have a head start on this one. They mentioned something about my shampoo—“

“(Y/n),” Severus stressed, finally catching your attention. You looked up at him, embarrassed at you rambling. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, “he's just baiting you. You know that.”

“It keeps them from doing anything that targets you, right?” you questioned back.

Severus didn't know what to say at that. It was true, ever since you had declared war on James, he and his stupid friends hadn't really bothered with him at all. Were you doing this for him? He didn't know what to do with the thought.

You were, of course, but you thought it better not to mention that in the last few months this had been going on, you'd also begun to find the rivalry and banter between you and James fun.

“Gather 'round students, gather 'round!” Slughorn beckoned the class over, disrupting your train of thought and putting an end to your conversation, “now, would anyone like to identify the potion in this cauldron here?” He gestured to a shockingly pink liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Plum and periwinkle smoke wafted through the air above it in delicate spirals.

“That's Amortentia,” Lily said, “it's a love potion that's supposed to smell different to everyone depending on what scents attract them.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said proudly, “would you like to tell us what you smell?”

“Cinnamon,” she started slowly, “warm spices, butterbeer, sandalwood. . .” her cheeks reddened significantly, as if she'd made some sort of realization. “Th-that's all.” You stared at her quizzically but she just shook her head. You'd have to ask her about this later. . .

“(L/n),” Slughorn said, “would you be so kind as to do the same?”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the cauldron. It was captivating, almost drawing you in physically. “Wild lavender,” you said, smiling, your mother had a garden full of them when you were growing up, “rain when it hits the pavement, and old leather books.” Scents you wouldn't realize until much later all correlated with a certain person.

“Very different scents for very different people,” Professor Slughorn said, “thank you for demonstrating, you two. Now, we will not be brewing this potion today for obvious reasons. It is incredibly dangerous, capable of creating not true love, but unhinged obsession. What we will be doing, however, is studying its effects. . .”

“Strongest love potion in the world, huh?” Evan suddenly appeared at your side, “funny, I could have sworn it smelled just like you, although you wouldn't need a potion to reign me in~”

“Put a sock in it, Rosier,” you said, shoving him away playfully.

“Aw, come on, just one date wouldn't hurt,” he said, “I'm pulling out all my best lines here!”

“That's the best you've got?”

“Ouch.”

Snape couldn't help but glare at the Slytherin boy, not liking how close he was to you. Nice as he seemed, Snape knew how he could really be. He didn't think you'd be such good friends with Rosier if you knew he was knee deep in the dark arts as soon as the sun set on the castle. Then again, Severus wasn't one to talk.

Over the course of the year he noticed that you only grew closer to James, something that bothered him immensely. He was grateful that you had gotten his bullying to stop, but he hated that the way you had gone about it was to turn Potter into a friend. . .

“Merlin, he keeps looking over at you, Lils,” you said.

Lily and Severus looked over to where James sat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter in their corner table as usual. Somehow they always managed to be at The Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as your trio, almost as if they knew you were there. James Potter was, in fact, looking towards your table, until your friends not-so-discreetly turned to look at him and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you took another sip of your butterbeer.

Lily looked between you and James' table for a moment before turning back to you.

“Actually, (Y/n), he's staring at you.”

You looked at her like she'd grown a second head but then began to laugh.

“Is he? Jeeze, what a creep,” you said, but with affection in your voice that wasn't missed by Severus, “it's probably because I saved his ass the other day and he's still reeling from it.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of what you swore was relief in her tone until she realized what you said, “Wait, you what?”

“Sirius and I were talking in the forest and we got ambushed by Malfoy's motley crew,” you said, “and Potter showed up because of course he did. It was just a little duel, no big deal.”

“What?!” Lily said, concern written all over her face, “they fancy the dark arts, (Y/n), you could have been hurt!”

Severus stared into his drink, unable to look at either of you.

“I'm fine, Lils,” you insisted, “and trust me, I don't think Malfoy's going to be bothering anyone anymore. Just show him a picture of a squid and he'll probably screech like a banshee.”

Lily laughed along with you, partially in confusion, until the first part of your statement hit her with a slight delay.

“Hold on, you were in the forest with Black? And did you just call him Sirius?” she asked, her teasing making your face flush.

“We just. . . figured some stuff out. . . It was nothing like what you're thinking, so drop it,” you grumbled, taking another drink to hide your embarrassed face.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Lily sang, taking a sip of her own drink.

Severus felt jealousy bubble up in him like a disease. He cast his gaze upwards, his eyes locking momentarily with James'. His arch rival rose a cocky brow at him, his gaze unmistakably shifting to you and Lily before staring Snape down again. Severus took a sharp breath to steel himself, that feeling in the pit of his stomach never really going away.

That was the beginning of the end.

Read chapter 5 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy

[cybersoldier82]

CW FOR FANDOM VORE(specifically predator lol), FEARPLAY, LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION, DEATH OF BACKGROUND CHARACTERS, MENTIONS OF GORE AND VISCERA, TINY READER, SAFE VORE AND ALIEN VORE.

I have elected to do a thing for Halloween lol.(also sorry for not writing much in a bit, haven't felt motivated to but imma try to get back into via this lol)

Corpses, corpses everywhere, blood, blood splattered across the walls of the base, guts, limbs and viscera filling every nook and cranny that could be seen, my tiny form quivering under a desk, trying to escape it, tears pouring down my face as I stifle my sobs so it doesn’t fine me, it was nightmarish, but you may be wondering, how did this happen? How did I get to small? What is it? Well buckle your seatbelts boys and girls, I’ll sum it up to spare your time, and myself some as well.

outpost #492hjs8.

Somewhere in The northern United States.

I was recently captured and brought to a secluded government outpost somewhere in the north for study and possible experimentation. Why you ask? Well when you pop out of a random portal and you’re only 2 feet tall the government is gonna want answers. And as you can imagine I wasn’t exactly treated with much basic decency. Experimenting, torture, the usual shit. This went on for about a week until the day they brought in a new specimen.

They said she was a “predator”, whatever the hell that means, and they referred to her as Blade, odd name hut whatever, she had these mandible looking things on her mouth, dreads flowing off the back of her head, she almost seemed reptilian in all honesty. A couple days past by with plenty of issues, this predator to whom they dubbed “Yao Guai” seems to be quite the handful for them, seeing as she’s already killed like, 4 guards and critically injured 3 of the staff, I know all of this because her cell is adjacent to mine. The horrors I’ve seen this thing manage, tearing the staff apart like rag dolls, mauling the guards, it’s traumatizing stuff, especially when you’re so small and she keeps giving me this look…I don’t know what sort of look it is but I don’t like it, not one bit.

Then one night, shit finally hit the fan. I had woken up to a loud commotion only to see that…it escaped, she managed to rip her cell doors off and started gunning it to who knows where. Then, minutes later, the power goes out, my cell door opens, it’s oddly quiet, I decide to take this opportunity to escape. It didn't take long until i could hear commotion ahead, luckily there was an open door to my left, so I took cover in the room inside.

As I hid, all I could hear was screaming, gunfire, body's being torn to shreds, cries for help being silenced as fast as they came out, it was horrible. Once I was sure it was over I peaked out to find nothing but blood and viscera all over the hall, what else was this thing capable of. As much as I'd love to ponder that I elected to waste no time and continue running, bolting as fast as I could to find an exit.

As I continued to run I could hear voices ahead. "search the area, execute any and all escaped specimens and staff, leave none alive." That must be damage control hear to deal with collateral, shit. Once again the lord blessed me with a hiding spot, this time it was an empty office with plenty of space to keep hidden, I elected to hide under a desk and pray I wouldn't be found. "You two, go search that office, we'll move ahead." Fuck, no, they're gonna find me, they're gonna find me and I'm gonna get executed.

"you think we'll find anything in here?" One guard asked. "Doubtful but it never hurts to look" the other replied, their voices growing closer and closer. "Wait, picking up something on my sca-" he was cut off with a squelching noise, like something just cut through him, then a thud rang out, welp he's dead. "N-no, SHAUN!" The other guard screamed our before unloading his magazine into....well something. But he too was quickly silenced, though from the sounds of it his end was more brutal, all the while my tiny form was stifling tears under the desk I hid under, and that brings us to where we are now.

So there I was, quivering under the desk, trying to stifle tears as I heard someone's footsteps approach, I closed my eyes and huddled in on myself in preparation for what might happen. Suddenly I was grabbed from under my arms and hoisted into the air to find.... nothing...either I'm going nuts or whatever's holding me is invisible. Then suddenly the invisibility went away and my captor revealed themselves, oh fuck, it's that thing I saw escape earlier, it was blade, and she was vlad in some kind of armor, mask and all. I was frozen, to frightened to move aside from quiver, what the hell did she intended on doing with me I thought to myself, assuming the worst.

When I was unexpectedly set onto that desk...huh. she appeared to be looking me over, checking for injuries or something, whatever she was doing it didn't seem malicious, and it was convenient for her cuz i was too spooked to struggle. Once she was done she placed her hands on her mask, a hissing noise could be heard as she took it off, aaand there's that award winning face, God it was jarring to see something so humanoid with such an odd looking face. She had this cold and blank expression as she looked me over too, almost unbothered by any of this. "Uh, thanks blad, I guess." I said as she picked me up from the desk again, holding my small form close to her like a toddler. "So now what?" I asked, knowing damn well if she responded I wouldn't be able to understand her.

"hey, I think I heard commotion this way, let's check it out" a voice stated in the distance, fuck that sounded close to our location. "Shit what're we gonna d-" I was interrupted by being shoved into her maw, quickly and hastily being crammed down her throat, it wasn't long before I slipped into what I assumed was her stomach, it all happened so fast I couldn't quite process what was happening at the momen. Then the chamber began to sway from side to side only for it to abruptly stop, then I could hear very muffled voices. "Huh, nothing in here, well aside from these bodies, she can't be far, let's keep looking." It was then I finally snapped out of my daze and the gravity of the situation kicked in, oh shit, I'm in a stomach.

My eyes darted around in the dark cramped space as it all finally sank in, I need to get out now. "H-hey, HEY, LET ME GO!! IM NOT FOOD!!" I pleaded as I attempted to struggle, it was difficult to do so considering how cramped it was for someone of my size, I was stuck in a sort of fetal position and could barely move, if I was smaller I'm sure I'd have more leverage in this situation, but sadly I was limited. But all I got in response was some muffled clicking noises from outside, along with being aggressively squished in the stomach, stifling my movement, hell it even hurt a little.

In all honesty, all I could do sit there as the tears rolled down my face, my small form swaying from side to side with the chamber, as my captor seems to be on the move again, she was likely escaping with her meal in tow. "sob, I guess this is how I go, a midnight snack to an escaped alien, sniffle, at least she gets to taste freedom with a free meal." I stated as I let it all out, tears steaming down my face. She must've fully left the facility at some point, because instead of the noises the organ made a long with blaring sirens and the deathly screams of guards, all I could hear was her stomach, breathing and heartbeat.

Eventually the swaying stopped, she must've found a hiding spot. I had grown drained from all the sobbing and general commotion, so I decided to let myself slip out of consciousness, letting the sounds of the chamber lul me to what was my final sleep, at least it was comfortable.

✨Ooohh pov switch✨

'this poor creature, they've been through so much during our time in the facility, and just when they thought they were finally able to escape, only to end up in a much more cramped prison.' I thought to myself as I rubbed my swollen midsection, caressing the now unconscious being within me. If only they could understand me like I understand them, once I find my ship I need to reinstall that translator. I understand why they might think this is the end for them, but it truly isn't, they're perfectly safe inside me, after all our talks and getting to know each other, as one sided as it all was, I've grown attached to them. I would never harm them, I just assumed it would be easier to carry them out like this, ans in truth it was. Once they wake up I should explain myself, but for now I'll keep kneading and rubbing st my middle, ive learned that this is a good way to keep the occupant soothed even when asleep. Rest up little thing, we've got a lot to do tomorrow, you'll need the energy.

(I wanted to apologize for how rushed and undetailed this might seem, it was rushed due to lack of time unfortunately, but I hope you guys like it wither way^^)

Happy Halloween~

[ladyartemesia]

ঌ⊙ fic preview ⊙ঌ

Once Upon a Bracelet

Pairing: Prince Jungkook x Sorceress Reader

(Featuring Platonic Jin x Reader Friendship)

Genre: Fantasy • Soulmates • Enemies to Lovers

Predicted Word Count: 7K (Teaser is 1K)

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: You were born to nothing, but your powerful craft caught the eye of a charming prince.

However, his distinctly un-charming younger brother challenged your betrothal and is routinely challenging you.

Jeon Jungkook is (probably) a former necromancer and (definitely) the wrong prince...

But the bracelets tell a different story.

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Prologue: Blood Magic

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Blood magic was the oldest and most powerful of the ancient crafts.

The best and strongest blood crafters hailed from Dionysia, where the heart of all blood magic, the Sanguine Well, rose up from the earth. The people of Dionysia served as caretakers and protectors of the Well and, in time, reverence of the blood craft wove into the fabric of their souls.

Their culture thrived around it. Their beliefs embodied it.

Even love bowed before it.

Bonding bracelets were born of blood magic.

The ritual creation of a bonding bracelet pair marked the transition from childhood into maturity. When a man or woman reached their 20th birthday, they and their family traveled to the Sanguine Well.

Four cuts were made on the right hand. Six drops of blood offered to the water...

Then the Well would churn and rise with violence, swelling till the overflow swept over the youth who fed their blood to the currents.

When the water receded, the bracelet pair remained.

One bracelet for the man or woman who sought the well.

One for their soulmate.

Only the first of any soulmate pair (the first seeker) to perform the ritual received the bracelets. Many who traveled to the Sanguine Well left empty handed because their soulmate had offered blood first.

The first seeker’s bracelet formed fully clasped around their wrist. The second bracelet remained open and would only close for the first seeker’s destined mate.

When an unclaimed bracelet united with its true host, the open ends stretched and intertwined to form a rune.

From that moment on, the first seeker and their mate were blood bonded; their powers and abilities joined in a sacred union that was – to all known craft – unbreakable.

The strength of a blood bound pair could be quite formidable and, over the centuries, powerful soulmates rose to become great warriors, crafters, and leaders of their people…

For this reason, Dionysia did not take the gift of bonded soulmates lightly.

All proposed matches were registered and approved by the Ruling Council before an open bracelet could even be tried on by a potential partner. Both parties were required to present evidence of their commitment to one another. If the alliance was approved, the betrothed pair participated in a public ceremony where the first seeker’s intended mate would activate the bond by finally placing the open bracelet around their wrist.

The Royal Council believed this care and reverence honored the craft and the gods, thereby allowing the sacred tradition to continue.

In 900 years of recorded history, only five bonding ceremonies ended with a bracelet that did not close.

Now there were six…

⊙ঌ⊙థ⊙ঌ⊙థ⊙ঌ⊙ঌ⊙ঌ

Once Upon a Time...

⊙ঌ⊙థ⊙ঌ⊙థ⊙ঌ⊙ঌ⊙ঌ

“Jin!”

Your voice echoed dismally down the dusty corridor of Silent Truth Hall. “I’m sorry…I—”

Jin whirled on you, shaking his head vehemently.

“None of this is your fault.”

“There are many reasons why this could’ve happened,” you offered breathlessly.

“There’s only one reason why this happens.”

He sighed in defeat as you rubbed your temples in frustration.

“I don’t understand. The Council gave permission!”

The Ruling Council was a sovereign governing body of three kings and three queens, one monarch from each of Dionysia’s six royal bloodlines.

“The Council isn’t all knowing… ” Jin collapsed against a nearby wall. “This is a disaster,” he whispered.

And it was.

You had no family, but all of your friends from the Academy were there.

Jin was technically an orphan as well, but his adopted family, the Jeons, were there.

Jeon Alaya was high queen of the Ruling Council, so half the kingdom was there to see her (adopted) son bond with a craft prodigy from The Wastes.

Half the kingdom, but not her blood. Not her youngest son, you thought bitterly.

The two of you were silent for several moments while your minds struggled to process the shock.

“Do you think the rumors—what they say about me—is true?” you asked solemnly.

Jin’s head shot up in an instant.

“No,” he swore, “they’re absolutely not true.”

“But it didn’t close—”

“It didn’t close because we aren’t soulmates—not because you aren’t one of us.” His expression softened. “We were a good idea… just not the right one.”

Tears begin to burn at the corner of your eyes.

On some level you were not surprised. You cared for Jin but–

Yours was not an overly romantic attachment.

It was a strong friendship—one that spanned several years. When you decided to apply to the Royal Council for bonding, it seemed…

Logical.

Friendship was an excellent basis for blood bonding. More than one bonded pair applied as friends.

You believed in the wisdom of the Royal Council—everyone did. If you and Jin were not meant for each other, then surely the Council would see it. They would turn down the application. Someone would object…

Someone did object, your mind taunted.

But you were approved.

The date was set. Announcements made. Invitations sent out. The bracelet was placed on your wrist and…

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

Jin’s bracelet remained stubbornly un-closed.

And you had never felt so mortified, so exposed… so profoundly alone in your entire life.

It was a scandal of epic proportions, one which potentially called into question the judgement of the entire Ruling Council.

“Listen,” Jin said at last, “I need… I need to clear my head and think about the next steps. I know an expert on bonding bracelets. Maybe I can convince her to help. There might be another explanation.”

His hands slid up to grasp your shoulders in a familiar comforting gesture.

“Head to my house outside the city for a while. No one will bother you there, and I’ll be back tomorrow.” He gave your arms a brotherly squeeze. “We’ll work through this.”

You nodded, extremely grateful for the opportunity to be alone for a few hours.

Jin helped you slip out the back corridor to avoid the insanity still unfolding in the Hall (where the failed ceremony took place), then you parted with a final hug and quietly walked the few miles to his beautiful manor near the lake.

Technically, Golden Starlight House was one of many homes owned by the Jeon family. This one, however, Jin shared with his younger brother…

Jungkook

Jeon Jungkook was a sore subject for you. In fact, you preferred not to think about him at all if possible—and you certainly would never agree to hide at his house if you thought he would be there.

But Jungkook left weeks ago… right after the betrothal was announced.

“I cannot stand by and watch my brother make a mistake like this.”

His horrible words echoed in your mind as you unlocked the door, prepared to simply collapse fully clothed on the chaise when—

“Shouldn’t you be off playing bride-to-be literally anywhere else?”

You turned, already knowing who you would see.

“Jeon Jungkook. Of course.” A mirthless laugh bubbled up before you could stop it.

Just what I needed right now.

Full story should be posting very soon! Please let me know what you thought of the teaser! 🥺I would really appreciate it and it really fuels my creative process! I promise I treasure every word!

Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged for this story!

Tagging: @lemonjoonah @xjoonchildx @ppersonna @hobi-gif @untaemedqueen @underthejoon because you ladies are my heart and I always want to show you what I did right away 🥺

Important Note: I previously published a version of this story for a different fandom (Star Wars). So if you see it elsewhere (though I have made considerable changes) I promise it’s me and I can prove it. Tagging @wwilloww because she read the original way back when 😂🤣

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter Four}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Getting out of the lease on her townhouse proved to be easier than Nesta had expected. Her landlord was extremely understanding, especially under the conditions. She’d lived in the same place since she was in college, had never given him any trouble. She took care of her own problems, called her own plumbers and electricians, and had always taken it upon herself to fix anything that was wrong, rather than on his dime.

He’d even gotten her a parting gift on the day she moved everything out. A beautiful bouquet of flowers, and his condolences on her family’s loss.

As it was, mostly everything was moved into a storage unit, thanks to the furniture Rhys and Feyre already had in their home. But her clothes and some select important things came with her. 

It felt strange, at first, the moment Nesta carried Nyx through the door. She had just slept there, of course, but it was different this time. 

This time, Nesta was moving in to stay. 

This was no longer Feyre and Rhysand’s house, but Nesta and Cassian’s…and it felt strange, surreal. 

A thump came from upstairs that nearly had Nesta yelping. Nyx looked up at her and her startled expression and blew a raspberry. “What was that, hmm?” Nesta asked, quietly, setting her bag down as she closed the front door with her foot. She carried Nyx up the stairs and rounded the corner to the master bedroom to find Cassian staring at the mostly empty closet with his hands on his hips. “Find something interesting in there?”

“Shit!” he cursed, spinning around to find the pair in the doorway. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Nesta said, plainly. “Especially when it’s in my room.”

Cassian’s brows shot into his hairline. “I’m sorry…your room?”

“Yes,” she said, swapping Nyx from one hip to the other. “I’ve been staying here for nearly three weeks at this point. I’ve been the one here taking care of him.”

“So that entitles you to the master bedroom?” He asked.

“It does,” she replied and Nyx began squirming. She put him down and he began crawling towards Cassian, tugging on the strings of his boots.

Cassian stooped down to pick the baby up, who instantly began patting Cassian’s face, a habit he’d picked up just before Rhys and Feyre’s accident. Cassian grinned down at him, but then he looked back to Nesta. The smile fell as he beheld Nesta watching him with her arms crossed.

Cassian sighed. “Look-.”

“No, no,” Nesta interrupted. “I’m taking this room. I need the space, and I’m a woman, so I would prefer the private bathroom.”

Cassian watched her for a long moment. “Fine.” Nesta was about to turn on her heels to get the rest of her belongings, but then Cassian continued, “But, you have to say please.”

Nesta tensed in the doorway. “What?”

“Say please and it’s yours,” he said, shrugging.

Nyx looked back and forth between Cassian and Nesta.

She blinked, staring at him.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning down to grab his backpack from where he’d dropped it on the floor. He hefted it onto his other shoulder, Nyx still staring between them. “Say please and the room is yours. And make it genuine, I want to believe you.”

“And if I don’t?” She asked, bracing herself for a fight.

He shrugged and tossed his backpack onto the bed. “Then it looks like we’re sharing. Just so you know, I’m a blanket hog.”

She narrowed her eyes, watching as he sat down on the edge of the bed, plopping Nyx down on the mattress next to him. He crawled up to the top of the bed, plopping down atop one of the pillows.

Cassian could have sworn her teeth were grinding as she said, “May I please have the bedroom?”

He smirked, asking, “Was that so hard?” and stood, grabbing his bag again, before brushing past her as he headed down the hall, taking the room across from Nyx’s nursery.

Nesta groaned, closing her eyes and sighing, before she heard the door opening downstairs.

“Hello, hello!”

She scooped Nyx up off the bed, and made her way downstairs, finding Elain, Azriel, Gwyn, Mor and Emerie in the entryway. Mor was wiggling her fingers at Nyx, and Nesta handed him over to her. He giggled as she lifted him in the air and Nesta hugged her friends. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course,” Emerie said, taking a look around. “You shouldn’t do this alone.”

Nesta nodded and another thump came from upstairs. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Cassian’s here already, then?” Azriel asked.

“He’s here and he’s driving me mad,” Nesta muttered. 

Azriel chuckled as he hurried up the stairs, leaving the women alone.

“Okay,” Gwyn said, propping her hands on her hips and looking around. “What do you need us to do?”

Nesta hesitated. There was so much already in this house that felt like it belonged there, so much of Rhys and Feyre that Nesta didn’t feel like she should touch.

As if she was reading her thoughts, Elain stepped forward, slipping her arm through hers. “This is your home now, too. Part of them will always be here, but you have to make it yours now.” Nesta nodded, wiping away the damn tears that kept making an appearance, but jumped slightly when a loud bang came from upstairs and Azriel and Cassian both laughed. Elain added, with a laugh of her own, “Yours and Cassian’s, I guess.”

“I wish I would stop being reminded of that fact,” Nesta said, attempting a joke as she continued to wipe at her damp cheeks. 

“Ignore Cassian?” Emerie chuckled. “That’s impossible. He likes to make himself known too much for that.”

After a chorus of laughter, Nesta was giving everyone a role. It was all just so surreal, too surreal. It was a position that Nesta would have never imagined herself to be in, especially as she opened Feyre’s closet and stared. 

Nesta had always admired Feyre’s style, even though most of her jeans had paint splatters on them. She reached up to go through the series of band tees hanging on the top rod. She chuckled at one from the Jonas Brothers concert that they’d gotten back in 2011. Nesta had taken Elain and Feyre one weekend when their dad was out of town on business. She’d bought them both t-shirts and cds and overpriced sodas from the arena’s concession stand. 

It had been a good night.

And Feyre had kept the t-shirt for ten years, even though there was a coffee stain on Nick Jonas’ face and a rip in the hem. Nesta took the shirt off the hanger and held it up. It was too small for her. It would never fit.

Nonetheless, Nesta folded the shirt neatly and put it on top of the dresser before taking down the rest of Feyre’s clothes and folding them into a bin.

She hadn’t realized the tears had returned until Emerie and Gwyn came in, the former holding a sleeping, drooling Nyx. 

Feyre’s closet had been nearly emptied. Neither of Nesta’s closest friends said a word as they entered and sat next to Nesta on the bed, one of them on each side.

Silently, they pulled Nesta into their arms.

*

Cassian looked at the broken bed frame in the guest room. 

He and Azriel started roughhousing the moment he’d come up the stairs, and it resulted in the old, rickety bed unable to hold two untamed Illyrians.

Does this mean I won?

You’ve never won in a wrestling match with me, Cass.

Looking at it now, however, Cassian was wondering how he’d take the rest apart without waking Nyx up from his afternoon nap.

“How many times have we slept in this room after a night of drinking too much?” Azriel asked.

Cassian chuckled from where he was putting his clothes in the small, empty dresser. “Too many. Feyre wouldn’t let us drive after even one drink at dinner.”

Azriel chuckled, quietly. “She always was a mother hen, long before Nyx.” 

“She had to be,” Cassian said, “look at Rhys’s choice of friends.”

Azriel grinned. “Speak for yourself.” 

He snorted. “Need I remind you of Spring Break, senior year?”

The grin fell slightly into a cringe. “Okay, maybe there are times that I fall into that category as well.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. He looked back at the bed, even the bedding somewhat in shambles. “Haven’t even lived in the house for an hour and we already broke something.”

Azriel chuckled, following his gaze. “Rhys would be proud.”

Grinning, Cassian nodded. “Feyre would have our asses.”

They worked in silence, for a while, listening to the women’s voices throughout the house.

At one point, Cassian could hear Nesta sobbing quietly from the room down the hall.

His shoulders tensed.

Azriel must have seen it, because he cleared his throat. “You know, Elain says Nesta’s not so bad.”

“And what do you think?” Cassian asked, tossing his empty duffle bag in the corner. 

Azriel was quiet for a moment then shrugged. “I’ve never had an issue with her.” Cassian huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, you never have issues with anyone.” He shook his head as he leaned back against the wall. “I feel like I’m living a dream right now. I have no idea what’s happening, and it’s all happening way too fast.”

It was happening far too quickly. Everything. All of it.

Cassian felt like he was in the middle of a hurricane, lost and alone and confused with no end in sight.

*

Everyone had left, and only the three of them remained.

Nesta, Cassian, and Nyx.

Nesta realized this is how it would be from now on, and that realization made her chuckle out of pure absurdity. 

Cassian had asked to put Nyx to bed, and Nesta didn’t argue as he took him from her, from where Nyx had fallen asleep in Nesta’s arms on the couch.

She watched them disappear up the stairs, and she wasn’t really sure what to do after that, where to go. Should she just have gone back to her room, shut herself inside, and pretend that nothing else existed?

Cassian came back down the stairs just as Nesta stood up. As he reached the bottom, they acknowledged each other, uncomfortably.

“Well,” Nesta began, nodding slowly. “I guess I’ll be going to bed.”

Cassian didn’t say anything until she had brushed past him and gone halfway up the stairs. “Don’t you think that we should, you know, set some ground rules?”

She paused. “Like what?”

“Like who takes care of what?” He asked. “Who gets what nights off and-?”

“Nights off?” Nesta asked, blinking. “We have to take care of a child, Cassian. We don’t get nights off.”

“You know Az and Elain still go out once in a while. As long as one of us is here to watch him, he’s taken care of,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I would like to be able to go out on a Saturday night, with Az and Luce, so-.”

“Why would you get Saturday night?” She asked, her eyes widening. “I spend all day at the restaurant, all week long. If anyone gets Saturdays, it’s me. Besides, you’re a bartender, shouldn’t you be working those nights?”

“Friday nights are my money nights, so no, I’ll be off,” he said, crossing his arms. His legs widened slightly, and Nesta knew a fighting stance when she saw one.

“So I’m supposed to take Friday nights? How’s that going to work, if you’re at the bar, Cassian?” Cassian hesitated, and Nesta scoffed. “See? That won’t work.”

“You can take Sunday nights,” Cassian said, at last.

“The night before I have to wake up at five to be at the restaurant by six?” Nesta asked. “Oh, thank you so much for that kindness.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Your sarcasm isn’t necessary. And two minutes ago you thought the idea of a night off was ridiculous, anyway!”

“Well, if you get a night off, so do I!” Nesta yelled.

Cassian raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fine. How about we switch saturdays? You get two Saturday’s a month, and I get two Saturday’s a month.”

She clamped her mouth shut, fighting the urge to grind her teeth together. “Fine.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

They both stayed where they were, not moving or giving up an inch of ground.

“I’m going to go to bed then,” she said, the bite still in her voice.

“Goodnight then,” he said, and though the words were civil, they were still sharp. It was almost humorous.

“Goodnight.” With that, she turned and was stomping up the stairs.

She could feel Cassian’s eyes on her and she disappeared.

The audacity. 

She was fully aware that Cassian was full of himself, but wanting every Saturday night off?

She knew it.

He wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready for the responsibility of raising a child. She couldn’t expect him to be, though. Shit, she wasn’t ready, either. The only difference was that she was starting to learn all that being a guardian entailed and he surely was not.

She shut the bedroom door behind her, and considered locking it, but decided not to and looked at the clock.

it was barely eight-thirty, but she was exhausted. That had been the past few weeks though, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been awake at ten o’clock. She leaned against the shut door, letting her head fall back.

If she listened hard enough, she could hear him moving downstairs. Heard the fridge open and knew he was pulling one of Rhysand’s beers out. Nesta sighed, wishing she had thought to get at least a glass of wine before she’d shut herself in here.

If she went back out now, she’d look stupid. And she’d have to talk to Cassian again.

Not over her dead body.

So she did the next best thing, filling the massive garden tub in the corner of the bathroom, and settled into it. She sighed, letting the hot water seep into her bones.

And then there was a knock on the bedroom door.

She sunk deeper in the tub. “What?” She called, eyeing the open bathroom door.

There was a pause. “Is it time for Nyx’s bedtime bottle?”

Nyx was cut down to two bottles a day: one in the morning and one at night. Although he had been getting breast milk before the accident, Nesta had already worked through the remaining breast milk that had been in the freezer.

That morning had been his first formula bottle.

He’d been confused at first. Surely there was a difference in taste. However, Nyx eventually realized he wasn’t getting anything else and drank it down, anyway. 

“Was he fussing?” Nesta asked.

There was a thump against the door and Nesta assumed Cassian had fallen into it. “Yeah. Wasn’t crying, but he was about to.”

“Yeah. Formula is on the counter in the kitchen. Check his diaper first,” Nesta said.

She didn’t hear a response, so she assumed he’d gone to handle it, when a few minutes later another knock sounded. This time it was accompanied by a frantic crying.

She was out of the tub, grabbing a towel and digging through a box she’d packed the night before for her robe. Just as Cassian started talking, she got to the door, pulling it open.

He paused, taking in her attire, or lack thereof. Nyx was still crying, which knocked him back into motion. He raised his hand, holding up an empty bottle. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-.”

She took the bottle, shaking her head, and brushing past him to head down the stairs. She didn’t snap at him, not when she knew he’d never had to prepare a bottle before. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated.

“You couldn’t read the directions on the back of the box?” she asked, then muttered. “Just like a man.”

When she looked back over her shoulder, Cassian was close behind, Nyx tugging on the end of his shaggy hair as he wailed. If he heard Nesta, he didn’t deign to reply. 

Nesta sighed, carrying the bottle over and filling it with water from a newly opened jug on the counter. “You don’t have to warm it up anymore. He can drink it with room temperature water. It’s pretty easy. Fill it up to the eight ounce mark on the bottle, measure four scoops of formula and dump them in.” She did just that, measuring out each scoop carefully but quickly. “Then shake.” She handed the bottle to Cassian, who started shaking the bottle.

“How long do I shake?” he asked.

Nesta almost wanted to laugh at how frantic, how wild-eyed he looked. Here was Cassian Nazari, shaking a bottle with a screaming baby on his hip. “That’s good. Just give it to the poor kid.” 

Nyx snatched it from Cassian as he lowered it towards his face, holding it on his own. Cassian’s hand hovered close by and he looked up at her. “Can he do that? I mean, should I let him? Or should I hold it?”

Her face softened as she watched her nephew, his tears stopping almost immediately. “He’s fine. Maybe use a hand to support it just in case, but he can handle it.”

He nodded, looking down at the baby as well. His blue eyes were wide as he watched them, glancing from Nesta to Cassian, and back.

He said, softly, “I wonder if he realizes they aren’t coming back yet.”

The words nearly broke Nesta’s heart. Her words were as quiet as his. “ I don’t know… That’s not exactly something you can explain to a one-year-old.”

His nod was slow. “It doesn’t seem fair. They didn’t deserve this.”

Nesta’s throat was tight as she started back toward the stairs. “Life isn’t always fair, Cass. The Cauldron isn’t always fair.”

[issaxcharlie]

Ghost Of You 2/2

Pairing: Ghost! Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

Summary: Luke, Reggie and Alex have to assimilate their loss. For Luke of his girlfriend, and for the others of their best friend after suddenly learning that she didn’t have the future they imagined, and instead died 23 years ago.

Thank you to @cookiebuba for being the head of the entire idea and trusting me with it, and to Emy for almost holding my hand to force me to write🤣💜

PART 1 HERE

“It can’t be.”

“Luke, I-”

"No, Julie. You are not telling me that the woman of my life, the purest person who has ever stepped on this world, not only lost her partner and her best friends, but was only able to live her life for two more years and then ended in a horrible accident. It's as if life wanted to torture her before taking her too.”

“Love of ?... Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away. Of course.”

“I- It can’t be true, please tell me it’s not true, Julie.”

“Luke... she loved you so much.”

He falls on the floor. The impact is strong, as if his legs have stopped working.

"I know." He whispers slowly, his gaze empty as multiple tears fall from his eyes.

The rest of the gang threw themselves to the ground around him and hugged him with all their might, trying to unite his broken pieces without any success. Alex and Reggie each crying silently over the loss of their sweet friend.

“What day did she pass away? Alex whispers.

"Let me search, one moment." Julie gets up quickly and checks on her laptop to find a little note about the singer's death.

"The rising singer Y/N Y/L who had just released the biggest hit of her career passed away this afternoon in a terrible car accident after leaving the cemetery where her late boyfriend, Luke Patterson, was buried. Y/L was there in commemoration of the 2 years of the loss of the aspiring musician, who died from a sudden tragic intoxication along with the rest of his band. Something to rescue from this tragedy is that at least she's already reunited with her eternal love. May both rest in peace.”

“This can’t be. My Y/N can’t be gone. Not her, not like that.” Luke is still in denial, unable to believe that his little girl suffered such a terrible ending.

“Maybe she’s not. There's still a chance that she's also a ghost.”

“Yeah, Julie’s right. We need to look out for her, we can't write her off without trying to find her first.” Reggie's eyes sparkle with hope, rushing to cover Alex's mouth in case he says anything other than motivating.

Luke takes his flannel and disappears immediately. Both Reggie and Alex stare sadly at Julie who simply whispers a "go, he needs you." They nod and teleport to their friend.

As expected, Luke is in front of the window of an old music store. He met his girlfriend here so many years ago, the day his parents agreed to buy him his first guitar.

The store had a small section where customers could try out some instruments and she was playing the guitar they had there and singing for the small audience. It seemed like it was something she did often because both the workers and certain customers seemed familiar with the girl.

Luke was captivated by her from the first moment. The energy and passion that radiated from her in every move was unreal. He had never seen anyone happier, much less singing with a borrowed guitar from a small downtown store.

The store is completely abandoned, so without saying anything he comes in and walks towards the small stage.

The ghosts of two 12-year-old kids singing together into the microphone invades his memory. If they only knew.

"Do you remember what was the first thing she said to you?" Reggie and Alex sit next to him on the floor, looking straight at the very small stage. They both try to imagine what their friends must have looked like singing here together the first time. Luke totally invading little Y/N's presentation trying to captivate her with his 0% music experience and 100% of enthusiasm.

Luke laughs through tears. "You have the voice of a country singer."

Alex starts crying when he imagines her. He met her just a few weeks later so he knows exactly how she must have looked and sound.

Reggie smiles while shedding a tear, remembering all those afternoons Y/N convinced Luke to join them in their country sessions. He knows that's why Luke hasn't wanted to know anything about country or his songs since they got back. They remind him of his sweet girl.

“I was so offended. I still didn't know anything about music but I had already decided that I would be a rocker. If I hadn't already been so dazzled by her I would have left without looking back.”

“And what did you answer to defend your honor?”

"You think so?" The three of them start laughing while still crying. A heartbreaking mix of pain comes from their chests.

“C’mon guys, next stop.”

The three of them were teletransporting around the city during the day without any success. Luke's desperation increasing for every place the songwriter wasn't.

At night the three decide to go back to the studio. Luke is heartbroken, bloated after crying all day, eyes red and sore, and whatever it was that was driving him to continue, off.

His friends couldn't do much for him either because each was living the loss in their own way, concentrating on living their own pain until they could process it.

Julie wraps them in blankets on the couch and tries to fill them with love, making sure to hug Luke tightly, who seems about to fall apart.

“Does anyone want to talk about her? Maybe it could make you feel better.”

“She was my entire soul, the words and melody in each of my songs. I just, I love her more than anything in this world. I would give anything for her. My guitar, my voice, my songs, whatever it took for us to be together. I know it doesn't seem like it at this point, but we belong together.”

“We know you do, man.”

“I didn't tell you but I dream about her almost every night since we got back. It is always the same dream. She is in bed, leaving my side intact. She's wearing one of my shirts and hugging my favorite one while sobbing. She falls asleep listening to the ballad I wrote for her soaked in tears and no matter how hard I try to wake her up, I can't get her to see or hear me. I can’t get her. After a few minutes she gets up still asleep and begins to dance as we did so many times, but alone. Then she stops and starts crying again inconsolably. And that's when I wake up."

"I'm so sorry, Luke. She deserved so much more." Reggie walks over to hug him, his head resting on his arm while he sobs.

“We couldn't even say goodbye to her.” Alex cries, his eyes completely red.

“We already know that she visited your graves, perhaps we could do the same, dedicate a few words to her.” Julie offers in an attempt to help them find some peace.

Luke looks devastated, but he nods his head as tears continue to fall from his face, the ring that his girlfriend gave him going in and out of his finger. Alex hugs Julie while she strokes his hair in an effort to calm him down and Reggie runs up to get a notebook and pencil to start planning what to say to his best friend tomorrow.

The three of them hang around all night, crying, writing, hugging, remembering the spark of Sunset Curve. In the morning before going to visit her, they realize is exactly the 25th anniversary of that tragic night that changed the lives of the four forever. Luke nearly punches a hole in the wall upon hearing the sad coincidence.

Her grave is right next to Luke's, who has never been here before and can't help but feel a bit anxious.

“Don’t worry, I’ll start.” Reggie tells the guitarist as he takes a step forward, a small smile on his lips.

"Hello, princess. Long time, huh? I'm Reggie, by the way. In case you don't recognize me from the slight change in my hair. I am trying a little more gel, I want something more elegant and classic. What do you think? Yes, I also thought you would like it.” Julie and Alex smile at hearing him talk to her as natural as possible.

“I tried very hard to think of what to say, because if there is anyone who deserves my best words, it is you. And three things came to mind that I want to share with you.

First, the color yellow.

Yellow like the guitar you were saving for two years to buy. You did everything. You were a babysitter, you walked dogs, you worked in the school library, you sang with your old acoustic guitar in every cafe, basically everything that will let you win some money.

And the day before you could finally go buy it, my dad broke my bass in a moment of anger in one of his typical fights with mom that got really out of hand. At least he didn’t hurt her, huh? But when you're a kid you don't even think about the possibility that something like that could happen, you just focus on the broken instrument in your hand. I ran out and ended up on the stairs of your house with my face soaked and one of the broken pieces in my hand.

You hugged me and promised that everything would be fine. That I was always going to have you four and that we would always be family. You assured me that good things happen to good people. And I believed you, you know? You were always right. But now that I'm here, that I know you didn't have the happy ending you deserved, I'm honestly not so sure anymore.”

Luke and Alex start crying again, each hugging Reggie from one side. Reg tries with all his might to continue through the tears, while Julie looks at them with a broken heart.

“The next day when I came back from school a new bass was on my bed. You talked to Mom so she could take the credit for the gift, but coincidentally was exactly the bass that I fell in love with a year earlier when we went to check if your beloved yellow guitar hadn't dropped in price. Luke revealed to me a few months later that you had to borrow money from your mom in order to complete the exact money for that one.

How generous do you have to be in order to do something like that? how noble? How loving? How selfless? You were always more than I deserved. I was supposed to be like an older brother for you, but it was always you who took care of me. I have Julie and Carlos, and I'm trying to be with them as you were with me. I had the best step sister in the world to teach me, and I hope I can do you justice.” Julie starts crying too after hearing his words, and resists the urge to going to hug him because she knows that they need their space to let go all the suffering that they carry.

“Second, my leather jacket.

When we started the band we made a 100% commitment to being rockstars. And a very important part is the look. You accompanied me on a walk around the city looking for the right outfit to literally go sing to the people who were lining up in front of the clubs.

Anyone could have left me alone on that for multiple reasons, not even these two wanted to face the trouble. But you followed me without thinking twice.

The afternoon was over and we still haven't found anything. Our feet couldn't take it anymore and we had 10 minutes to run to the club. But we stopped by a little store that had a black leather jacket in the window and you said, Reg, this is it.

You excitedly took me by the hand and when I tried it on, the rest was history.

Then I tried to get the whole band to use them but these two boys without fashion sense didn’t want to. You, on the other hand, supported me and wore your leather jacket during all the Sunset Curve performances we had, convincing me that they were our good luck charms and that if we both used them everything would be amazing. Oh god, I miss you so much.

And third, a star.

I thought you were a star when I heard you sing for the first time.

I thought you were a star when you and Luke managed to write the whole Sunset Curve album in 2 months.

I thought you were a star when you bought me my bass, when you made Alex feel better after one of his strongest attacks, when you filled Luke with love and support when he needed it the most.

And I believe it now that I know you are gone.

If you are in heaven, you have to be a star. And not just a star, the brightest star of all. I promise to look for your light every night to wish you sweet dreams. I will also sing you some country since you were the only one who appreciated my incredible sound, I hope it makes you smile.”

“That was beautiful, Reggie. I’m sure she loved it.” Julie finally reaches out to hug him as Alex prepares to be next.

“Hey. I don’t even know where to start.

I- I guess I should start saying I could never pay you all the times you were there to pick me up when I needed someone the most. I went back to dancing a little again. It's not the same without you, but somehow it makes me feel you close. I also met someone, oh Y/N, he’s so special, I'm sure you would have loved him and I would have loved the opportunity to introduce him to you. You were always there.

You were there to support me when I decided to learn drums to cope with my anxiety. You sang the song I was practicing over and over to keep me company and reassure me that what I was doing sounded good.

You were there to support me when I told you I like to dance. We spent hours choreographing different iconic songs and just laughing and enjoying creating more memories together.

Not shocking at this point but you were also there for me when I confessed to my parents I’m gay and you gave me strength all those times that I wanted to fall because they no longer saw me the same way.

You were always my safe place. And I regret with all my heart that I couldn’t be yours.”

Alex breaks down. She kept them on their feet during her darkest days and they paid her off by causing her the most horrible pain imaginable. Julie and Reggie surround her in their arms while sobbing. The last one of the band standing moves closer to the grave and drops to his knees.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so fucking sorry.” Luke tries to be strong, but tears start falling like waterfalls from his eyes, his face red in a mixture of despair, sadness and anger.

“I will never forgive myself for leaving you alone. Baby, I've been without you for only 1 month and I’m going crazy, even with the boys and Julie by my side. I don't even want to imagine what you must have been through those two years. My soul is shattered just thinking about it.

At first when we returned I imagined you were happy after having fulfilled all our plans with someone else. And I thought nothing could hurt me more than that, but obviously I was wrong. Because although it hurt me that I couldn’t be the one who was with you, thinking that you had been happy gave me the peace to be able to continue. Now that I know that life took away your opportunity, the only thing I feel is anger.

Anger towards me, anger towards destiny. Anger at not being able to be together even after death. Since we discovered where you are, I have only been able to think of cross over and finally be with you again.

Or at least go back to the night before everything turned into a nightmare. Fall asleep with you in my arms one more time.

I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss, as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“Hello again, my love.

I can't believe 25 years have passed. First of all, I want you to know that I'm okay. Or well, the equivalent for ghosts that are destined to haunt the earth alone for all eternity. I made a friend for several years, Rose. I told you about her, remember? I know you guys would have been good friends, she was a ridiculously talented musician. Since she died I no longer had the strength to go back to the studio, but for a long time I enjoyed her company in one of my favorite places. She promised to tell you that I'm waiting for you. I will wait whatever time is necessary, okay? I love you so much, baby.

You three are always on my mind, and I think I can finally accept that the pain is just never going to go away. But lately something super strange has happened to me, let me tell you.

Throughout these years, in the darkest days, I see you. But, they were always memories.

A month ago, I started to see you having other kinds of experiences and I honestly don't know how to feel about it. Am I going that crazy? I selfishly hoped that you too were ghosts for so many years. I looked for you 5, 10, 15, 20 years. And just as I decide to give up, my head imagines you all over the city.

The first time I saw you singing Reggie's jam on the beach. You guys looked so happy, love. It filled my heart with peace for a few seconds, knowing that somewhere up there you are enjoying life singing together all day.

Then I saw my beloved Alex with a cute boy. My heart melted, I can’t even explain how much I wanted to run to hug him and gossip about it.

Baby, he looked so peaceful. I always wanted that for Alex. I didn't know whether to be happy or cry because that didn’t actually happen, so I did both.

The penultimate time was a few nights ago when I was walking in front of the Orpheum and I heard your voices. How wicked my mind is, right? A knife to the heart would hurt less.

And now, I can't even get close to your grave because I'm imagining you all again.”

Y/N doesn't know what to do, if she gets close enough will they disappear? What If they don’t? Will she bear to see them up close? She has been dancing with their ghosts in her dreams for so many years, but It’s not the same as doing it when she is fully awake.

She is about to run out of there in fear when the silhouette of a fourth person catches her attention. She doesn't know why, but it immediately reminds her of Rose. Could it be that she is imagining her friend too?

Curiosity is stronger than fear, like all those times when she got into trouble with her boys. She walks carefully towards her grave which is next to her beloved Luke.

“I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“I don't freaking snore, I told you a million times already... and now I'm talking with my imagination, great.”

The band turns in shock towards the fifth voice. That's when she can see the girl's face and realize who she is.

“Julie? But, how?”

“Y/N?” Alex whispers on the verge of passing out.

She starts to panic, just before the boys can do something about it, a new person appears behind her.

“Hey, you took a long time." She turns around and jumps into the arms of who has become her only friend in recent years.

“Phoenix, thank god.” Her body continues to shake but she clings tightly to her friend while crying uncontrollably.

To say the ghosts are confused would be an understatement. And apart from that, the guitarist is having many conflicts with the jealousy that he is feeling at the moment. They haven't seen each other in 25 years and when they finally do, she runs into someone else's arms and clings to him like her life depends on it.

What does that mean for them? Is it too late?

“Beautiful, what's wrong? Who are they? Oh, wait. You guys were at the club a few weeks ago, you're friends with Willie, right?”

Luke feels like dying all over again hearing him call her that. She continues to shake but finally lets go.

“What? You can see them?”

“Shouldn’t I?” He looks at her skeptical and shifts his eyes from her to the ghosts.

“I- Oh my god. I'm going to pass out.“

“Baby, look at me.” Luke’s voice is a mix between a plea and a demand. The terror of knowing that perhaps he has already lost her without having had the opportunity to fight for her clouds his judgment and tears begin to fall from his face again.

25 years. 25 years fighting not to forget his voice. 25 years having him only in dreams, in memories, in melodies. 25 years waiting for him. 25 years on her own.

She turns slowly to meet those honey-green eyes she craved for so long to see, a painful smile from Luke makes her smile through tears.

She carefully lifts her right hand and gently draws it to his cheek, almost exploding at the feel of it.

“You came back. Oh my, It’s really you.” She jumps to the guitarist, entwining her legs at his hips, her arms tangled with all her strength around him, her head buried in his neck inhaling his scent. Tears coming out as if to drown her, all the pain and suffering that she faced all these years finally leaving her body.

Luke wraps her tightly in his arms, still unable to process what’s happening.

Alex and Reggie begin to smile without fully assimilating what is happening, while Julie begins to jump of joy.

“Babygirl, I'm sorry to ruin the moment but I have to rush to the club. Will you be okay here?"

“She's always safe with me." The guitarist growls, and Y/N starts laughing when she hears it.

"The jealous, protective baby in the beanie is right, don't worry Nix. I’ll go and find you later."

Phoenix nods with a smile and disappears. Julie begins to scold Luke while Reggie and Alex approach to touch the cheek of their best friend, still in the arms of the guitarist who does not seem to have any intention of letting go.

“We should go home to catch up. Reggie and I will accompany Julie, it seems that you two should speak alone first." Luke doesn't think twice and disappears with her in his arms.

“Good things happen to good people.” Reggie whispers as he hugs his friends and they start walking home.

Luke and Y/N reappear in the studio and they are both shocked for a few seconds. The girl trembles again in fear of dreaming.

“Hey, come here baby. Shh, I’m here, I promise.”

“Don’t leave me ever again, please.” He can see that it is very difficult for her to understand that is really happening, and to think that she lived without him not 2 but 25 years makes him want to cry again.

“I won’t. I promise, beautiful. Never again.” Luke wraps her in his arms, but she lifts her head from his chest to push her lips against his. The kiss is urgent, but they both instantly recognize each other and fit in perfectly. Luke picks her up again and gently lays her down on the couch, both desperate to feel the other, to recognize every inch.

“I missed you so much baby, I love you more than anything.” Luke whispers between kisses, not willing to have her an inch away from him.

“I love you my love. I love you, I love you, I love you.” She says while kissing the love of her life, happy for the first time in 25 years.

Before things get to escalate, the rest of the band shows up in the studio followed by Julie who clearly walks through the door.

"Let go of her man, it's our turn!" Y/N gets up quickly from the sofa while her boyfriend complains and she throws herself at both of them who pick her up as best they can and spin her in the air.

They put her down and Julie and her stare each other, both raise their arms and meet in a quick but sweet hug.

“You said my name back there, how?” The question that she has stuck since she met her finally coming to light.

“I met your mom many years ago when I came to visit the studio and realized that she could see me. We were friends for many years and I had the opportunity to see you grow up, but I always made sure to be upstairs when you came in in case you could see me too.”

“Well, now I understand how Carlos felt when he found out that we lived with ghosts. And It sounds like mom watches over us both from heaven.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she does.” Both girls smile and hug each other once more.

“I can't believe I endured 25 years without having those beautiful arms around me.” She whispers as they both lie on the couch, Luke has her completely cornered in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It breaks my heart that you have suffered that much for so many years.”

“It was not your fault. You lost as much as I did that night. Besides, I always knew that you would find me sooner or later. We belong together.”

“We do. I, I k-know we have way more to talk about but, who was the dude from the cementery?”

The insecurity in his voice is evident and Y/N can't help but smile. His emotions are complex, real, and nothing can make her happier than that.

“I’ll tell you all about my friend later, okay? For now... dance with me? I want to dance with the real deal.” He smiles and they both stand up, hugging each other as they slowly move through the studio as they did many times before life separated them.

The Luke in her arms is her Luke, the same one she has been waiting for so many years, finally back in her arms. And just as she thought when she lived, she will dance with his ghost for all eternity.

Thank you for reading✨✨

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