#i hope ur having a swell night/day too my dude!!!

[nicole-2099]

•Opposites always attract•

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HH. Hyunjin xreader.

Enemies to lovers trope.(kinda..?)

[‼️WARNING‼️]: 「•Smut, fingering, teasing,unprotected s3x,•」

‼️18+‼️ LAVE IF UR NOT OLD ENOUGH. NOW! >:[

Ima get straight to it😭🤚 I also haven’t posted in a few months Soo I got no time to waste!!

Note; also I haven’t written in a while so if it’s a lil scrambled I’m sorry no I didn’t proof read shi I’m too lazy anyways HAVE FUN READING U MF<3

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Well, let’s just say you and Hwang Hyunjin aren’t very fond of each other, he hates you for many reasons but his go to reason is the fact you and his best friend jeongin got closer, but he shouldn’t even hate you. You and jeongin have been friends for a while, plus not to long ago you moved in with jeongin and hyunjin, so you hoped hyunjin would grow out of his hater era. Wrong. Hwang Hyunjin was your biggest opp ever! He never left you alone especially when you’re busy with university and tests everyday. He always had something to say or do to make your day so much more worse, not like it’s not already.

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“Ugh could this night get any worse.” You’d say combing you fingers threw your hair murmuring to yourself about how your going to fail this upcoming test, but silence never lasts long. Sure enough Hyunjin came through the door like he’s the FBI.

“Shut up I was trying to sleep but it’s hard with you fucking talking to yourself nonstop.” Hyunjin said as he walked into your room and shut your laptop and turned your light off clearly annoyed with you.

“Dude wtf is your problem, leave me alone I’m busy.” You’d say getting out of your chair pushing him away from your desk. Hyunjin glared at you with ice cold eyes, clearly mad and pissed off, he’d step closer to you his body inches away from you as he bent down to get down to your level “Idgaf what you’re doing, stop. Doing it.” He’d say as he grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you onto your bed “Go to fucking sleep.” He’d say as he walked out of your room and closed your door.

You’d lay there in your bed as you thought about how your probably going to fail and be a loser, tears swelling in your eyes as you thought of all of the disappointment your family will be in when they find out your failing as a person, curling yourself into a ball your knees to your chest as you tried not making to much noise so you don’t get yelled at again.

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Suddenly Hyunjin came into your room again “DIDNT I FUC-…are you crying..?” Hyunjin asked his tone instantly changing from anger to worry. You’d shake your head wiping away your tears quickly as Hyunjin walked over to your bed side and sat down next to you lifting your chin so you’re looking at him. “What the fuck are you crying over brat.” He’d say trying to still keep his cold exterior, but you knew he cared enough about you to stay in your room for more than 5 minutes. “I’m fine, I’m just tired..” you’d say as tears started to form in your eyes again. Hyunjin shook his head knowing you were lying to his face making him annoyed with you again, then he said “Stop lying to my face idiot, what’s wrong, your to tough to cry over me yelling at you so what’s up?”

He was right, you never got so upset to the point you cried when he yelled at you. “It’s nothing I, I’m just I’m stressing over the tests, and you coming up and shutting my laptop didn’t help.” You’d say your voice quivering as tears streamed down your face again, your hands shaking as you tried to calm yourself down. Hyunjin sighs before saying “Oh fuck you, I deal with 10x more stressful things and look at me, I deal with it fine.” You took in what he said for a second. Maybe, just maybe, a good fuck would help out with your terrifying thoughts. “I mean.. the fuck part might help me stop crying.” You begin saying before he quickly responds with “Alright, lay down.” You look up at him wide eyed. “Wait actually-.” Before you could finish your sentence, Hyunjin kissed you without warning, grabbing your face and pulling you into him. You’d pull away in shock as you stare at him in awe 🫢. “What?” Hyunjin said as he looked at you. “nothing I just didn’t expect- you know, for you to do that.” You said your eyes shifting to look at your hands. Hyunjin smirks at you as he lifts your chin up so your looking at him. “Don’t get all shy now, you did ask for it, love.”

You’d think about what he said for a moment, he did have a point you did ask for it. “I guess I did- but” before you could finish. Hyunjin leaned into you again pulling you in for another kiss. This time you felt your body melt into it, you don’t know why, it’s not that you don’t want it, but you’re confused on why you do. You’d pull away from the kiss for a moment before feelings his hands all over your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he straddled your hips over his lap pressing you against him. You’d struggle for a moment letting a small moan, as his grip tightened on your waist and hips. “Hey, look at me.” He said as you looked up at him as he calmly whispered to you, “You sure..you want this..”

You’d think about it for a second, nodding in response. “Mhm...” Hyunjin gave you a small smile then he pulled you into him again, this time leaving small kisses and bite marks on your neck marking you up. With a soft moan your back arched upwards, your chest and hips pressing against his chest and hips closing the small gap between the two of you. “Hey shh, we don’t want Jeongin to hear you do we?” He’d say running his fingers down your side holding onto your hips, you’d shake your head covering your mouth with your hand praying you could mask the sound.

Hyunjin smirks as he pulls your hand away from your mouth, lifting up your chin, his hooded eyes locked onto your eyes as he kisses your lips. You pull back for a moment before just giving in and leaning into him more.

He’d pull away from you his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. “Take it easy pretty.” He said in a hushed tone.

You try to calm yourself down, trying not to seem desperate and touch starved, but is it really your fault (Yes actually it is)

Hyunjins fingers run down your side and squeeze your thigh, he looks at you with a spark in his eyes and his fingers lightly rubbing against your inner thigh, as you try to hush your moans, Hyunjin soon then looks up at you for a moment looking for a look of discomfort or dislike as he slowly pulls the hem of your shorts down and tosses them on the floor as his fingers slowly run up your thigh getting closer to your core that was practically soaked from how turned on you were.

You let out a soft sigh gripping onto the sheets as his fingers gently rub on your clothed clit, his eyes still searching your eyes for any discomfort, you’d move around a bit being the touch starved girl you are, but Hyunjin holds you down his hands keeping a firm grip on you. “now now pretty, don’t move around so much for me, yeah?” And with a hushed sigh his fingers slip under your panties and start rubbing against your desperate pussy.

You gasp your body arches upwards as your try to keep quiet as you try and hush yourself with a pillow. Hyunjin looks at your desperate attempts to keep yourself quiet with a smirk on his lips, as his finger start to slip inside you slowly, his other hand keeping your legs open.

As you felt his finger inside you, you could barely think straight, you face shoved in a pillow as you whine and whimper you sounds already begging for more.

And hyunjin notices it his fingers slowly going in deeper curling as he slowly starts to thrust them in and out of you gently, making your pussy clench tightly around his fingers as you moan and whine squirming as he holds onto you with a firm but gentle grip.

“Feel good? pretty..” He’d ask his fingers thrusting into you a bit quicker and harder.

“oh yeah you look so fucked out right now and I’m not even inside you yet..” he’d say looking down at your face, it was red and flushed as cover your mouth muffling your sounds.

“I can’t- help it..” you say your voice shaky and desperate, your grip on the sheets tightening as he sped up your head arching back your eyes shut tight your legs shaking.

“Hyunjin pleasee..” you beg desperately your voice cracking as you try not to scream out. Hyunjin looks down at you with a mischievous smirk as speeds up, but pulls out his fingers right before you almost cum. “Now now if you cum now pretty, it wont be so fun anymore will it..?” You whine and squirm around begging for some kind of release. “Noo don’t do this..me.” You groan.

Hyunjin notices how desperate your being and leans down close to your ear, “so do you not want me to fuck you.??” He says with a playful teasing tone as he starts to undo his pants, know what you want already, you look at him eyes pleading and begging as you say your voice needy. “I didn’t say that hyunjin Pleaseee!!”

Hyunjin chuckles at your cute response loving how desperate and needy you were acting just to get fucked, “I’m just messing with you pretty, you did so well keeping quiet for me so you deserve this..” and with that he pulls his pants and boxers just enough for his dick to spring up, precum dripping off the tip as starts to grind the tip just over your already soaked puffy pussy, teasing you further.

You’d look at him eyes begging for it, so he did just that slowly he’d push the tip inside slowly going a little deeper before stopping for a moment to let you adjust, and that was good cause when he went in deeper you instantly gasped your body arching as you let out a moan.

Hyunjin looks at you eyes full of need as he slowly starts to thrust in and out of you slow and gently at first but after a bit he speeds up causing you to let out a moan your body shaking.

Hyunjin looks down at you his face slightly flushed but not too noticeable, his thrusts speeding up as he speaks in a shaky breathless tone. “you look so cute right now..fuck this is why I tried my best to hate you my whole life, because I knew if I didn’t at least try I’d be in love with you..” his words ring out in your ears for a second sending a shiver down your spine, but his words quickly fade in you mind as your to busy trying to keep your mouth shut while you get your pussy fucked up.

“God you feel so good right now..” hyunjin moans his voice almost sounding desperate as he thrusts into you deeper making you cry out your legs shaking slightly. “Aww you’re close already pretty.., well thats-..fine..” hyunjin huffed his hands going to grip onto your hips as he speeds up a bit more, feeling you clenching around him tightly.

You’d squirm your legs shaking as you close to your release, also feeling him twitch inside you as his thrusts get more aggressive slamming into you.

“Fuckk your close too..” his chest heaves as he continues to thrust into you until the both of you reach your limits, you tighten around him your legs shaking as you cum, and he groans thrusting into you one last time before filling you up.

“Fuckk..” he sighs his body shaking as he pulls out of you and lays down next to you for a moment trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck I hate you..I hate you for making me love you..” he says with a sigh and he pulls you into a tight hug keeping you close while the both of you start falling asleep.

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The next morning jeongin walks into your room trying to see if you’ve seen hyunjin and there he was in your bed with you sleeping, jeongin looks at the two of you blankly (in utter shock) as he walks out and shuts the door.

FINALLY ENED UP FINISHING THIS UGHHHHH.

[smolspoopy]

I just saw your phantombur fan-art and it is absolutely my favorite thing also you just seem so great have a lovely day/night <3 Anon

T HANK YOUUUUU AHHHHHH

I had a whole illustration planned for phantom-bur's antiquarian home and that's why I made the design, but then it got blown up and I lost motivation :,^)

Maybe one day I'll come back to it, but thank you!!! I had alot of fun designing him and looking at vintage mens fashion uwu

[spiltscribbles]

Im so excited!!!! Here’s a little “It’s always been you. You and only you.” sprinkled in with Green-Eyed Epiphany

~Notes: OMFG bubby!!!! You are so beyond adorable! Thank you So SO much for the sweetness!! I really hope you like this XS and fingers crossed  this fits the promptXS <3 <3 <3

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Prompt Smash Game  |  Send Me A Prompt💜   |  A Reblog Is Like A Huge, Warm Hug!!!

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~R: my mom’s working the night shift at the clinic👀👀

~S: Kinky😏

~S: I can be there in 15

~R: make it 20 and get Chinese x

~S: sometimes I think ur j using me for the food

~R: and bring henny😈

.-

It’s seventeen minutes since Remus sent the last text when the front door of his modest ranch house begins to thump with a familiar wrapping that’s three quick knocks followed by two slower ones, and he has to wrestle down the eager grin from his face when he swings it open to find one of his closest friends standing at the threshold in that customary  weathered, leather jacket that he found two summers ago when Remus had taken him thrifting for the first time, and an impish sort of smirk that definitely would look ridiculous on anyone else, but only makes Sirius all the more maddeningly attractive. 

“What took so long?” Remus asks mildly, pulling him indoors by the sleeve and gesturing for him to set the goods on the kitchen counter once they cross the small foyer.

“You wound me, Lupin.” Sirius retorts, quick-silver eyes flashing before he pins him against the island and puts his hands on either side of his waistline with more gentleness than Remus would’ve expected before they began this whole sorted affair— Okay, maybe that’s the wrong word for it?

It’s not an affair, or tryst, or carrying on or whatever the fuck else Lily says when she’s teetering on the wrong edge of tipsy and thinks it’s her right to call Remus out on his bullshit— on his stupid, beyond obvious crush he’s been fostering for one of his closest friends since junior high.

It’s none of those things— It’s not nearly as dramatic.

It’s just— Just that yes, Remus has been harboring a tiny infatuation  for Sirius ever since that first day of the seventh grade  when he had moved to this tiny, coastal town after his parents divorce. But how could he have not? Sirius is hilarious, and a genius, and so gorgeous that sometimes it feels like his insides are twisting up whenever he glances over at him. And on that first day, he had just caught Remus’s eyes from across the library shelves before classes begun, and smiled in that uniquely electric way of his, and asked if Remus could put slime in a very specific locker, (Snape’s), for a very specific reason, (Because he kept following Lily around like a creep), on account to no one suspecting the new kid. And yeah— Remus was lost on him an embarrassing amount from then on. 

Sure, it can be regarded as kinda pathetic on Remus’s end— kindling this nest of emotions so close to the chest— but also it’s not as if he’s been lovestruck by his crush, like it’s some sort of waterlogged scarf he’s got dragging him down. His attraction towards Sirius is like a soft melody that’s swelling in the backdrop of all their interactions, nothing overwhelming— not a flood plane, not yet at least. It’s warm, and it’s familiar, and it’s persistent like a flutter of a humming bird’s wings.  And Remus doesn’t mind pining over someone as fantastical as Sirius Fucking Black.

Graciously, in some strike of incredible luck, Sirius never caught on to Remus’s silly feelings, not until that night when they were watching an old movie in Remus’s basement while James and Lily were celebrating an entire year together— save for all their sudden stops and just as speedy starts— and Peter was visiting his grandmother in Tampa Bay. It was the first time they had been alone together since Remus broke up with Caradoc for the final time, and Sirius just looked so fucking good in that casual, white v-neck and his skinny jeans that make him look like some echo of James Dean on his best day. And Remus isn’t sure who exactly moved forwards first, or how the fuck Meg Ryan wandering the Seattle streets was some sort of aphrodisiac, or why Sirius— who could have any guy he would ever want— was actually humoring him, but one second they’re lying down on the sofa— Remus caged between Sirius’s expanse and the cushions behind them— and the next he’s tasting PBR on Sirius’s lips, and has got a fist full of his dark hair, and is thrilling at the feeling of Sirius’s thigh between his legs. And yeah— it just happened like those sort of things are want to do, and by the end of it they were sticky and breathless and diffident in ways they never been around one another, in ways Remus reckons Sirius has never been around anyone.

But the next weekend, when Sirius’s latest sorta— but not really— boyfriend had canceled on their dinner plans, Sirius wandered over to Remus’s bedroom window and it was another tumbling of frenzied hands and loosen buckles and thrusting hips. And then it just became an easy release— a sort of poetry, an understanding in all but name.

And that’s fine. They don’t have to talk about it. Remus knows that Sirius isn’t the type to settle down with a partner, to go bowling for a date, or texting countless messages that amount to nothing at all at the end of the conversation, or putting up with another dude’s parents taking photos of them before leaving to prom or homecoming or whatever the fuck else. And Remus is sorta sick of the idea of love, of trying so hard only to end up heartbroken and eating a gallon of Chubby Bunny in his favorite sweats and cursing John Hughes for pretending Hollywood romances can happen to ordinary high schoolers. 

So yeah— This thing they’ve fallen into with each other is good. They’re friends— best friends— and they have fun and they’re apparently really fucking good in bed together, and Sirius never looks at Remus with pity when he spots him gazing at his profile absentmindedly, and he doesn’t mind when Remus traces invisible designs against his skin when they’re soaking in the after glow, and he never treats him  any different. Sirius still slings his arm around Remus’s shoulders when they walk down the halls, and he still buys him his favorite chocolates when he feels poorly, and he still faces Dorcas's disapproving wrath when he drags Remus out of the library to have a little mischief— whether it’s smoking a blunt in the abandoned skatepark in town or playing some stupid prank on those assholes in their year. 

For all intent and purposes, they still behave the same they’ve always acted around one another, but just with the miraculous addition of mind-blowing and dulcetly ductile sex.

This is good, this is fun, this is completely untethered from the bull shit of romance.

And if Remus mouths against the juncture of Sirius’s neck a little too intensely— trying to pry off the memory of the hickey Sirius had been sporting after spending the weekend with Gideon Prewett— Well no one has to be any the wiser, and by the sound of Sirius’s hitched breaths, he seems not to mind even slightly.

“Except my apology?” Remus asks, more coy than he ordinarily acts as he drops his arms around Sirius’s neck, and leans on the balls of his feet to whisper against his temple.

“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” Sirius retorts, labored as all get out, kneading his fingers into Remus’s ass that’s only covered by the thin layer of his plaid pajama bottoms. “You are going to have to do a lot more for me to forgive the lip.”

Remus laughs in a stammering sort of way as Sirius tugs him along, walking backwards to his room that he’s become incredibly intimate with since the first time they did this three months ago. 

“Sirius, the spring rolls— they’re gross if we have to heat them up again.”

“I’ll postmate us knew ones,” Sirius insists, covering Remus’s mouth with his own with fervor. “C’mon babe, do not tease me like this.”

Sirius must’ve caught his mistake, because he suddenly goes as red as Remus feels— The pet name was to close for comfort considering their strictly friends with benefits nature, but Remus is already half hard, and he really does not want to end this, so with a sly wink, he returns to nipping at Sirius’s jawline, rutting against him in a very unambiguous way. “Fine, if you really don’t think you’ll need the nourishment for your stamina?”

The words have their intended effect, and Sirius makes a small growl deep in his throat before practically tearing off Remus’s shirt, and dipping beneath the waistline of his pants, scooping him up and racing to the bed.

And they get lost in one another beneath the pale glow of Remus’s lamplight and the moon spilling through the window, relearning each others every patch of skin for minutes on end that wax and wane like the delta of ocean waves, unspooling into something tangible and tantalizing with every kiss punctuated with teeth that Sirius trails across Remus’s collarbone, and the way Remus palms greedy hands up and down Sirius’s back until he gets the hint and undresses.

“Well come on, you’re not an invalid, Lupin.” Sirius jeers and Remus chuckles as he follows suit until they’re both finally, blessedly nude. And with an easy assurance of them having done this more than a dozen times now, Remus crawls into his lap and kisses him straight on the mouth, preening how Sirius moans against him— canting up wantonly and grabbing at his hips with a sort of intensity that will probably leave bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers, and Remus absolutely adores the idea of that, feels something hot and needy and desperate unfurl in his gut as he presses their mouths more forcefully together, going buzzed when he gets to relish in the sensation of their tongues running against one another, and the taste of the ridges on the roof of Sirius’s mouth, and the slide of the soft skin of his inner cheek— gasping when Sirius pulls away abruptly, panting an almost reverent, “Mother of God, Remus,” and tackles him flat on his back before they commence, with the addition of both their hard,  leaking cocks thrusting against one another and Sirius’s hand in Remus’s hair pulling that bit more forcefully while his other one roams the dips and planes of his side— skirting against the divots of his stomach muscle before he wraps it around the pair of them and begins to pull in earnest, to the rhythm that Remus swears was strung from the heavens above.

“Oh— Oh, yeah— Sirius,” Remus breathes out in a haggard sort of way, words that he refuses to ever call a mewl even if they’re stretched out and crackle with emotion.

“Yes—, just say that again,” Sirius practically demands, his mouth completely covering his ear in a wet, hot heat— his teeth scraping against the soft shell. “Remus, baby, just say my name, tell me you want it.”

And God, Remus is feeling so heady— like he’s floating and he couldn’t possibly come back down— that he probably would’ve listened to anything Sirius asked of him, especially if he does that thing again, when he squeezes the slick length of them with a tad more force than they usually play at. “Sirius, Sirius. Sirius, please, I’m close,” Remus shrills in an unsteady staccato— his normally smooth tenner going pitchy and pleading, and he can feel his toes curling, can feel the eminent release coming— What he does not expect is to feel something poking at his entrance, didn’t expect to be struck dumb by the sensation of the tip of Sirius’s large, dry finger poking right there, right against the fluttering hole, while he’s still pumping them in tandem, and the second it hooks inside Remus goes a startling sort of static , sees blasts of white blotching his vision and his head thrown back and his dick spirting out heavily against Sirius’s deliciously defined torso.

And he’s just breathing heavily now, during the come down, can barely make out anything  through the heavy weight around him, the one  cushioning his head— but he does graciously feel Sirius’s cock fucking into his own hand against Remus’s thigh and then idly the feeling of his come splattering him, but then after that he can just barely hear the distant padding of feed against floorboards, followed by a wet washcloth being dabbed against his skin. So when he finally forces himself to focus, he sees Sirius cleaning himself off, wrapping it into the pair of joggers Remus was wearing earlier and tosses it to the corner of the room. 

“Rude,” he scolds with no heat, shuffling closer to him when Sirius lies down besides him once more and circles an arm around his torso.

“THat’s what you get when you’re acting like a lazy fuck,” Sirius counters, smug as all get out while he threads a hand in Remus’s hair.

“Hmm, didn’t see that in the papers recently. Is it a new law?”

“Yeah, actually just past on the senate floor.”

“Interesting… Well considering that only one of us has a senator for a father, I really have to ask to see the power-point you shared with him to get this bill through the stalemate,” Remus’s head bounces against Sirius’s chest from the force of his laughter at the barb.

“Oh, stuff it, Lupin.”

Hiding his smile into Sirius’s skin, Remus does as told, and they both just lie there, as if everything’s gone suspended just for the pair of them, just so Remus can count out the beats of Sirius’s heart pulsing against his sternum, and can feel the way their legs tie into one another, and can feel Sirius mouthing against his temple, blowing his curls with every exhale. 

And Remus thinks that he’d do anything to remember this exact moment for every single day from here on out.

But then the quiet is abruptly and permanently punctured by the sound of his phone chirping, and he has to breathe in deeply before separating from the warmth of Sirius, and fishes down for the device that’s still crammed into the side of his bed from where he had hidden it after that initial text.

“Is Dearborn still on your ass to try again?” Sirius asks, a bit stilted.

Remus wonders if he’s just imagining the tension twisted in the question, but reasons that Sirius’s never been Caradoc’s biggest fan, so he just shrugs it off— really doesn’t want to get into some stupid argument about his asshole of an ex when he’s still feeling so content. “Nah, ’s James. Still trying to force me to go to the homecoming dance with you guys.”

“Oh,” Sirius retorts, lips pinched while watching Remus redress. “You should go, Marls is pregaming and you know she always gets the good shit.”

Remus shakes his head while puttering over to find a new pair of sweats and a sweater. “Nah, just not feeling it this year— Erm, you’re taking Gid I assume.” He’s not sure why he asks it, supposes he’s always a glutton for some pain and shitty feelings to inspire his playlists habit, but also maybe it’s him trying to sober himself. Trying to remember that despite this— despite everything they just did and  how easy it’s always been for them to fall into step with one another— Remus isn’t good enough to be seen with Sirius in the light of day. He’s probably not handsome enough or cool enough or something else that makes Sirius absolutely revolted from the thought. Probably that he’s beyond bookish, and looks painfully virginal and isn’t nearly as sly or snarky as his other conquests.

Truly, Remus should just be thankful that Sirius wants this at all, he shouldn’t be so crazed over the why nots of the situation— it’ll only kill him trying to be something he never could actually affect with any credence.

Schooling his features to something passably indifferent, Remus pivots to face him again, is startled when he finds Sirius still naked and staring at him with a burning sort of intensity in his storm cloud eyes. 

“He hasn’t said anything, but I guess he’s assuming as much,” he finally says, running a hand through his overgrown fringe, that familiar twitch of the corner of his mouth grabbing Remus’s attention. The one that tells him Sirius is actually irritated about something he’s not letting himself say out loud. 

“Erm, good? Gid’s a decent guy.” Remus mutters, head ducked once it gets to a point that he can’t stand Sirius looking at him like that— Not after how blissed out and ferocious he had been groping every inch of Remus only moments ago. “You guys are nice together.”

And it’s like the breath before the worst of storms when his words collapse between them, making the pregnant silence go suddenly suffocating.

“Right,” Sirius intones once Remus levels their gazes, hurriedly standing and collecting his own clothes, fracturing the moment completely. “Right. Whatever, yeah. I’ll go to the fucking dance with fucking Gideon Prewett. That’s good.”

“Sir—“

“No, it’s fine. You can just stay home, and mourn over that douchebag Dearborn some more, even though you ending it with that dick was the best decision you could’ve made, Remus, and I’m not even saying it just because I’m petty. He is a prick, and you need to finally get a clue how much better you deserve, damn it!”

Remus’s head feels like it’s swimming. Why is Sirius so angry all of a sudden? Does he not like Gideon? Why can’t he just cut it off like so many times before? And why the hell is he petty over Caradoc? The entire situation feels like someone’s just handed him a wedge of Swiss cheese and told him to knit it back together. 

“What is up your ass?” He decides is an appropriate enough question for his floundering, and shutters back only slightly at how fuming Sirius looks when he rounds on him— clothes disheveled and fearsome glower heavy on his face. 

“Whatever Remus, if you can’t see that Dearborn is bad news—“

“I’m not pining for Dearborn,” Remus interjects, really doesn’t feel like listening to one of Sirius’s ridiculous diatribes about him, not now. Not when he’s still so bewildered by everything else. “Why would you think that?”

The fire in Sirius’s eyes vanishes as quickly as someone blowing on a candle, and it’s his turn to gawk, gaping at Remus, shoulders dragged down and eyes wide. “Wait— You’re not?”

“No…. I haven’t even thought about him for weeks.”

“Oh.” Sirius looks contemplative for a moment, before the righteous anger that only he could ever wear with such conviction, melts over him once more. “All right, then what the fuck is this?”

Remus stiffens, feels his veins lace with ice, an his breath catch somewhere in his throat, really does not think he’s ready for this conversation. “This?” 

“Yes, Remus, this!” Sirius demands, sounding harsh in comparison to the barely croak Remus had spoken with. “Listen I don’t care if you want me to wait some more, if you need to lick your wounds or whatever. But why are you like pushing me on other people? Why do you want me not to be around? why do you  want me to go out with other dudes?”

Remus lies back on the chest of drawers now, feels beyond dazed. “What the hell are you talking about, Sirius?”

Sirius clenches his teeth right then, the hinge of his jaw going taught 

before he skulks closer, not letting Remus drop his gaze. “Is it me? Is it that you just can’t see me that way? Are you just stringing me along or something? Because I really didn’t think that was your style, but if it’s that, then Remus—“

“Stringing you along?” Remus asks in a voice barely above a whisper, just needs to feel his lips forming the absolutely risible words, even if it makes it so something dark passes across Sirius’s beauteous features.

“Remus, I swear to God! Stop repeating everything I’m fucking saying!”

“Then start making  some damn sense!” Remus snaps, suddenly heated as he straightens and pins him with a proper scowl. “What in holy hell are you going on about?”

“God! Do I have to spell it out!” Sirius barks, cutting the final step dividing them and grabbing for Remus’s shoulders with a tight squeeze. “I know you just wanted to fuck around with someone after Dearborn showed his extreme dickitude, and listen, I was so fucking ecstatic that you wanted me for it. But I can’t do this in-between shit anymore! I’m sorry, but I can’t! And I get if this is annoying, but I’ve been crazy for you for so long. And I just can’t keep myself at an arms length anymore, not now that we’ve really had each other, not after you let me actually touch and taste and fuck you and— Damn it, this isn’t coming out the way I wanted, all right! Damn it, maybe Evans was right and I should’ve made queue cards like some dumb ass— But then James pointed out how unromantic that was, and Marlene said—“

Gently, Remus puts his shaking fingers against Sirius’s lips, effectively killing off anything else he’s about to say. And slowly, everything is beginning to slot into place, and he’s so spiteful over how they’ve been such idiots this entire time— swears to put salt into Lily’s coffee next time he sees her. 

“I didn’t know you actually were into me Sirius.”

Stunned, Sirius’s dark brows hike up to his hairline. “How the hell didn’t you know?” He demands against Remus’s fingers, thunderous and insulted looking.

“Because you never fucking said as much!” Remus defends himself, feels a mangled sort of laughter squirming out. “God, we’re idiots.”

“We’re?” Sirius asks, hesitant and red faced before Remus moves his hand to peck softly against his mouth. 

“I’ve been half in love with you for years you absolute ass-wipe, it’s always been you! You and always you.” Remus tells him breathily, still fighting down the last remnants of his actual, god forsaken giggle— like he’s thirteen again and getting buzzed off his mom’s peach wine coolers. “I only never said anything because I never thought I’d have a chance with someone like you— Someone so— so— Someone so amazing.”

The smile Sirius favors him with right then is something absolutely incandescent, and his eyes shimmer with a very distinct sort of joy that Remus wonders if anyone besides him has ever witnessed. “Then you’re definitely the biggest idiot between us, Lupin.” Sirius declares, knocking their foreheads together, and lacing his hand into Remus’s own before squeezing meaningfully.

“Fuck off,” Remus snorts, presses forwards for another languorous kiss, not feeling in danger of being swallowed whole any more— finally letting himself drown and knowing that Sirius will be there to pull him back up no matter what. 

“Oh, I could get used to this,” Sirius smirks, snakes his arms around Remus’s waste that bit tighter.

“Hmm, there is the problem that I usually don’t put out until at least the third or fourth date,” Remus says mildly.

“Pff, ‘s fine, Lupin,” Sirius insists, grinning beatifically. “I like you being a hussy for me!— Oof, careful with the merchandize, you were speaking some real exaltations about that part of my anatomy not too long ago.”

Moving his knee from the point at hand, Remus sticks out his tongue at him. “See if you ever get any ever again, Sirius Black.”

When Sirius laughs, it sounds like the strike of lightening against unmarked land, and the honey cloaked side of a knife’s edge, and like everything splendid Remus has ever known. And he thinks that yes, he could get used to this right back.

.-

[todoscript]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬

@grow-a-smile-for-a-while​ requested: i request 7 fluff + 10 angst please? With either Bakugou or Shinsou. (With 10 angst being them worried about the readers mental health) Thank you so much love ur writing!!1! 💗💗

anonymous requested: 7 fluff soulmate au for shinsou please!! Love your work 💛

prompt for milestone event: “I think you might be my soulmate.” + “I’m worried about you.” genre: soulmate au. angst with a bit of fluff. pairing: shinsou hitoshi x fem!reader word count: 3.1k+ warnings: implications of mental health issues.

author’s note: I combined the two requests since they both share the same prompt! This is actually my first time writing a soulmate au so I hope it’s alright. Special thank you to my lovely beta readers @tamasoft​ & @etegomanere​!

Throughout his entire life, Shinsou has only ever known the colors white, black, and gray.

They’re colors that prevent him from fully embracing the world as he walks through life each day peering through muddy lenses. Some say beyond the glass that obscures them all lies a realm painted in beautiful hues, teeming with an euphoria of colors outside the monochrome of perpetual black and white.

If such a paradise exists, Shinsou has yet to see or meet anyone that has ever set foot in that world. In fact, he honestly doubts such a thing is real, and has long adapted into his endless days stuck between the grays filtering through his vision.

However, today, he experiences something entirely new.

Today, he sees the color red.

It starts early in the morning, from the very moment he lifts himself up from his bed at the white sunlight trickling into his dorm room. There, with unlidded eyes, he glimpses into a vibrant, spontaneous pigment that lines itself on the outside.

Shinsou blinks twice, squinting, unsure if the grisly stain invading his vision is really there. But after consecutively rubbing his eyes in an attempt to brush it away, he groans when the angry color has yet to leave. The crimson that surrounds him is very much real.

With an average person, they’d be ecstatic, absolutely joyful at the change happening before—no, within their very eyes. What they’re seeing now is only a step forward toward that rumored world of infinite hues—a whole artist’s palette of colors waiting for them. Sadly, that isn’t the case for Shinsou as he realizes he’ll have to go about his day lugging such… severity surrounding him.

The extremity of the hue that covers the corner of his sight reminds him of fires setting ablaze in the thick of a forest. It hurts to look at, hurts to stride through his day with such an intense color following his every move like it’s tormenting him. If this is what the other colors are like, he’d rather keep to his monochromatic existence, please. Just even looking up and darting his head around is enough to give him a headache.

“Whoa, my man Shinsou, you okay?” Shinsou’s classmate, Kaminari, asks him while the upbeat boy takes his seat to his right, noticing the grim expression on his classmate’s face that likely isn’t due to any lack of sleep this time, considering its austerity.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Shinsou assures, managing to suppress the extra strain leaking out when he turns his head. With the red intensifying at his movements, he wills himself just to look straight ahead for now. That’s all he needs to get through the school day anyway—directing his eyes to the front of the classroom where their homeroom teacher, Aizawa, enters to give them the news for the day. And yet, he can’t help but allow himself drift to your empty desk lying to his left, located one seat down the column from his.

He grumbles. That makes it three days now—three days since you last attended class.

Shinsou knows you haven’t been going to class because you “weren’t feeling well”—the answer you gave him when he approached you last night as you were walking down the hallway to your room.

He knew something was wrong. Your demeanor in that moment felt off, it was strange and unlike you.

You were rubbing your hands up and down your skin, acting like just being in his presence was nerve-wracking, and you never once met his eyes during the conversation. No matter how often he craned his head to see you, you made a point to turn away each time. And much to Shinsou’s concern, he also caught onto the heavy bags afflicted beneath your eyes. You looked like you haven’t had much of an ounce of sleep, despite taking time off from classes to recover. It only seemed that you were only getting worse at that point, and he grew worried every second in front of you.

But before Shinsou could pry further, you hastily ended the exchange with a sputtered good night and retreated back to your dorm room, slamming the door shut as if to reinforce a barrier that would keep him away. The next thing he knew, he headed to sleep, and woke up seeing the color red.

Staring at the vacant desk instills something in him that makes the red glow brighter, consuming more of his grayscale almost angrily. He winces as the throb courses through his head with growing intensity.

“Shinsou, you alright?”

Aizawa directs his concern toward him in the middle of his lecture when he notices Shinsou shrink in his seat at the pain. From the very moment he turns to answer his teacher, the pulses bleeding into his head subside, and the fiery hues return to a tamer tinge.

He answers Aizawa with a small nod, though it isn’t enough to dispel the teacher’s doubt right away. Aizawa, in turn, raises a brow, discreetly gauging his student’s condition. Luckily for Shinsou, it isn’t long until he brushes it off and resumes the lecture, gathering the students’ attention again, aside from the boy on Shinsou’s right.

Kaminari flattens his hand next to his mouth, words coming out in a whisper only audible enough for his friend to hear, “Dude, I don’t think you’re okay… You looked like you were going through some severe migraine when I got into the classroom.”

“I told you, it’s nothing, okay?” Shinsou replies, not diverting his eyes from the front of the room and putting Kaminari’s concern to rest for now as he shrugs in return.

However, his words aren’t enough to impede his headaches from coming back during the day. They grow more potent than ever as the crimson ignites across his vision.

What the hell is going on? Shinsou questions at this point when Midnight, their instructor for today’s hero course, advises him to head to the nurse’s office after he stumbles across the training field one too many times to be healthy for him. Begrudgingly following her order, he lugs himself to Recovery Girl’s office, who advises him to have a seat before she assesses his condition.

“So, you’ve been having headaches, have you?” the old woman asks, voice coming out like sandpaper while she scans across a page on her clipboard. “Tell me, when did they start?”

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck. “Just this morning, when I woke up,” he answers, “and they’ve only been getting worse.” He leans forward on his elbows settled atop his thighs, grumbling under his breath over the mess of his day so far. The red surrounding him swells relentlessly in waves. He narrows his brows tightly at the vermillion adjoining his hands, delving into the crevices of his palms as they pulse like a heartbeat.

Recovery Girl hums between those thin, balmy lips of hers, gloved finger beneath her chin before she decides to hop off her seat and head toward the cabinets.

“Well, this isn’t a wound or physical injury of some sort, so I can’t use my quirk to heal you. However, I can prescribe you a drug used to relieve migraines if that’s fine.”

He nods and Recovery Girl rummages through the shelves and pulls out a transparent container. With her small steps slowly approaching toward him, Shinsou gets up to meet her in the middle, hand held out to retrieve the medicine.

“I also suggest you head back to your dorm for now and rest up. You’re in no condition to train at the moment.”

“Right, thanks,” Shinsou says, burying the container in the pocket of his pants. He gets up from his seat, steps proceeding to the exit of her office. When he makes it to the doorway, a thought finds its way at the forefront of his mind, and he pauses for a minuscule moment.

“Recovery Girl,” he decides to call out, head tilted in the small woman’s direction.

“Yes?”

“Has Y/n been seeing you recently? About her… unwellness?” He words carefully, unsure of how to put your condition to light when he was still kept in the dark from you.

Recovery Girl shows her confusion between the small, wrinkled features on her face. She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t heard or seen much of her recently. Why? Is something wrong?”

Shinsou’s lips purse together, an uneasy feeling creeping on him that the stain on his vision reacts to instantly. He feigns a stoic expression over the backlash not to worry the lady, his right hand clutching over the shape formed on his pocket from the container underneath.

“It’s fine. I’ll check on her when I get back to the dorms,” he tells her, and the old lady simply blinks, her aged, dull senses unaware.

“Very well. Make sure to get your rest and take your painkillers, alright?”

“Yeah, I know.”

With that, Shinsou makes his leave. Unusual to him, however, his steps begin to pick up for some reason at every stride down the hallways of the building. He’s not sure where this urgency is coming from, but he can’t find it within himself to stop moving, and in fact, quickens his pace until he’s making his way back to the Heights Alliance dormitories.

The gray in his eyes is now gone. Red is what consumes his sight, vividly turning every shade around him into crimson. Whatever crosses his path bleeds and quivers in jagged red edges, from wooden floorboards to the sunlight filtering through the windows. He’s not sure what this could mean, but the one thing Shinsou is certain about is that something is wrong. And he needs to go to you.

True to his word, the first thing he does is jab the button on the elevator to the building’s highest floor, walking out after his ascent with eyes aimed at your dorm room. What comes next is three firm knocks against the wood of your door, making a point to let his presence be known on the off chance you can’t hear him.

“Y/n?” he voices, your name echoing in the empty expanse of the hallway on his side, “It’s me, Shinsou. Please open up. I just want to check on you.”

There’s approximately three seconds of pause before Shinsou leans into the door, ear pressing against it to catch any sign of movements on the other side. He hears a rustle or two until it’s replaced by the padding of feet on the floor. Standing back, he prepares for the door to open as the golden doorknob rattles into a turn.

“Shinsou,” you greet quietly with the entrance’s slow swing, where he sees you peer at him from a crack between the door. Your tired eyes find him, and he immediately notes the bagginess still persisting underneath. They give his own dark eye bags a run for their money.

Though his edginess remains, the red dissipates back into grays, blacks, and whites. His head is now absent of those headaches that plagued him as he gazes through those muddy, monochromatic lenses again.

“What are you doing here? Isn’t class going on right now?”

“It is, but I was sent back,” Shinsou tells you, eyes never leaving yours as he observes you attentively. “wasn’t feeling well.”

You cross your arms on your chest, looking down while you squeeze a bit of your skin to busy your hands. There’s a significant silence between you two that Shinsou wishes didn’t drag on for so long. Before he can come up with anything to resolve the tension, you’re already a step ahead, beating him in breaking the silence.

“Well… if that’s all then I’m going to head back to my room,” you say. Your hand clutches the doorknob to pull it back in, but Shinsou’s quick to act.

“No, wait—!”

He braces his foot between the gap just in time to stop the door’s movement, the hinges creaking due to the sudden halt. Staring at him, you’re dazed by his actions as he pries the crack open further.

“Y/n, I know there’s something wrong,” he states, hoping his usual keen intuition is enough for you not question this. He doubts you’d believe him if he ever told you the very color red led him to this moment.

You deny his claims, fingers firm on the knob. “I told you yesterday that it was nothing.”

“No. You’re not alright, Y/n.” His calloused hands cup your face, tilting up to guide you to his eyes—eyes that appear just as gray to you as they are to him. You stare into them, unable to reply at how unyielding he is toward your condition.

Despite the homologous grayscale of colors, Shinsou can see it all. He sees the stress carried in your eyes, down to the tension in your face that tires from feigning smiles every day. He knows you’re hurting just keeping up the withering cracks of your fortitude. Yet you can’t stop yourself from picking up your porcelain again, trying to mend them with the cruddy glue that is your mentality. If you continue this, you’d surely fall apart into too many pieces to put back together.

“Please, talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

You have no idea how much those words have an effect on you. Not until you’re suddenly weeping in front of him, tears spilling down your eyes as your throat begins to sunder into sobs. All he can do is offer you the solace of his warm embrace as he tugs your arm so your form is drawn into his body. He feels the tears prickle into his shirt, wetness seeping into his skin, but he doesn’t care. Shinsou holds you in his arms and pats against your hair gently, treating you like you are delicate earthenware bound to break as you tremble.

“I-I’m just s-so tired, and stressed, and I-I don’t know w-what to do s-s-sometimes,” you sob between words, voice muffled into his chest. Shinsou hushes you softly, unwavering in warmth.

“It’s okay. I know. You can let it all out, I’m here for you,” he assures firmly. The two of you stay there in that position for some time, your cries isolated in the empty expanse of the hallway with the dormitory vacant except for yourselves. When they begin to die down, Shinsou perceives his vision changing again.

This time, what greets him is a muted blue. The shade is not far off from the steely grays he’s accustomed to, but distinguishable enough for him to notice the change. It’s a sad color that reminds him of tears and lonely clouds.

Shinsou glimpses down at you, your body finally still against him, yet he can tell your aches are far from healed.

You sniffle, backing away when you realize you’re still nuzzled into his chest, now stained with damp patches on his white button-up. He gives you your space, smoothing the strands of your hair one last time before he parts. Though he makes an effort to hold your hand as your other rubs the hot wetness away from your puffy eyes.

“You… alright?” he asks, lightly squeezing your fingertips. You don’t give him much, just a slow, descending nod that is enough for him to continue gingerly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your initial hesitance almost makes him retract his question, afraid that he may have poked further than was comfortable, but you mitigate that thought with another nod, allowing him inside your dorm room.

When your door clicks to a close, you lean against it and watch as the taller boy stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

“Shinsou?” you call, and he perks up.

“Yeah?”

“How did you know... what was going on?” you ask, voice drawing out across your room quietly.

For once, Shinsou doesn’t have an answer. He stands there, silent, unable to approach your question with a clear response. But there’s a lingering voice in his head telling him that he knows what led him to you deep down.

The colors.

He realizes the red enveloping his vision this entire time was connected to you. From waking up, glimpsing at your desk, to mentioning any thought of you, the color only ever intensified. And it calmed down at the very moment you opened your door, turning blue from your sadness washing in waves before him.

Shinsou draws in a breath of air. He’s not sure how to relay this notion in any other way than the words that cross his mind.

I think you might be my soulmate.

His heart suddenly flutters at the mere inkling of the words spoken in his head. It sounds almost far-fetched, reminding him of romantic fairy tales narrated in storybooks. Still, he can’t conjure any other resolution than this—can’t find any explanation for these connections of colors that bind your consciousness to him.

A small, inner part in him desires to blurt this out to you, let it be known of the fate stringing your pinkies together through the pigments painted on his canvas. But staring back into your swollen, tired eyes, he knows he can’t do that right now. What you need is for him to be by your side and help you recollect your thoughts. Learning about the possibility that you’re his soulmate is likely the last thing you want to hear in your condition.

He shakes his head, brows knitting together. “I’m not entirely sure about it myself,” he starts warily, coming closer to reach out for your hand again, “but all I know is that whatever happened led me here to you. Told me when you were at your weakest.” Shinsou twines your fingers together, lightly pulling you away from the door and toward the middle of the room. “And that was enough for me to come.”

When the comforting words depart his mouth, he swears that in an infinitesimal moment, those grays of his canvas spatter with droplets of color as he gazes down at you with only compassion in his eyes. That his black and white world transforms into that rumored paradise of beautiful hues for just a second until in the next blink, they’re gone.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, but it’s sufficient for him that whenever he glimmers into your eyes, colors are lying in wake underneath the monochrome. So he clutches your hand in his, allowing you to spill your thoughts out to relieve them off your shoulders as he hopes that one day, you and him can walk in tandem together into the color.

[thetransguard-archive]

couldnt find the promt posts but: joenicky monster/supernatural au? i absolutely adore ur writing btw💕

you cannot hand me the word supernatural and not expect me to think of buzzfeed unsolved RGEHFBRWFHKJL im sorry this turned into a ghost hunter’s au i just don’t know how to write vampires or werewolves or whatever else constitutes supernatural

nicky does not believe in ghosts.

so why is he standing in front of a long-abandoned house, carrying several hundred dollars worth of largely useless equipment, wearing a shirt emblazoned with a big cartoon ghost? he tells himself it’s a favour being returned. his room mate, lykon, is endlessly more enthusiastic then he is, mumbling to himself as he fiddles with the camera that was paid with money that probably should’ve gone to rent.

“don’t look so worried nicky,” lykon says, as they step inside the threshold. his best friend flashes him a wide grin which is immediately contradicted by the alarming creak of the floorboard under his foot. “we’ve got holy water and everything else. we’ll just check to see if there are any ghoulies in here, they can’t hurt us.”

“you know i think this is a load of horseshit. i’m more worried about the house collapsing on our heads.”

“don’t be dramatic, dude. it’s in perfectly good shape.”

as they start setting up lights, laying out their sleeping bags for preparation of sleeping the night in this place, nicky is forced to admit there’s a sort of melancholy beauty to the place. it would have been a very nice house, once, not too ostentatious like the other houses they’ve “investigated”, with high ceilings and large windows, and stunning art covering the walls. landscapes, bowls of fruit, studies of fire and light and the night sky. but not a single person. nicky notices the same sprawling signature on all of the art, and steps closer to see if he can make out a name-

“nicky! let’s start recording.”

lykon begins unrolling the backstory of this house and the ghost allegedly haunting it, and nicky interjects throughout, punctuating the otherwise dead serious narrative with bursts of skepticism and humour, the way they’ve always done. lykon’s little ghost hunting channel is small now but getting bigger every day, and nicky can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it, verbally sparring with his best friend. lykon’s a believer and nicky isn’t, and while they’ll argue fiercely on camera they agree in pretty much every way off screen. apparently this house used to be home to an artist who’d been slowly making his way up in the art world before being murdered mysteriously. with no convictions, the story went that people were compelled to stay away from the house, wouldn’t be able to write without doodling, and smell fresh paint. also the standard doors opening and closing on their own, lights turning on and off, footsteps and the like. nicky was not exactly enthused to spend a night on the dusty floor, but hey. it beat sitting on the couch watching reruns of the same bland reality tv shows.

nicky’s halfway through a longwinded joke when lykon jolts like he’s been zapped, hand gripping nicky’s forearm, eyes darting around in sudden fear.

“what? dude, let go.” he elbows lykon in the ribs gently to get his attention back. “hello? what happened.”

“swear i heard a laugh, from upstairs, maybe,” he replies, face furrowed in concentration. he flashes a smile at the camera. “alright, i think we got all the background done. lets investigate.”

predictably, they find nothing. well, nothing of worth to nicky, but lykon insists that the room that used to be the studio feels colder then the rest of the house, they hear noises from inside the room once they leave it, and the spirit box spits up a few noises that lykon insists are words. a pretty standard investigation, then. they pack up their stuff and tuck in for the night. lykon spends half of it jumping at every little noise, but eventually drifts off as the exhaustion of the drive here finally gets to him. nicky turns over in his sleeping bag, hoping to salvage at least a few hours of rest from the night, but-

is that paint?

nicky breathes in as hard as he can, and it’s unmistakeable, that scent of chemicals that reminds him very vividly of the disaster that was year seven art class. he sits up, rubs his eyes. lykon doesn’t stir and nicky sniffs again. it’s still clear and strong, and now that his ear isnt pressed against the pillow, he can hear faint clattering, like the lid of a paint tin being wedged off. it’s coming from upstairs, where the artist’s studio would be, if he had to guess.

oh, fuck. 

there’s a perfectly rational explanation for this, he reasons to himself, even as he crawls out of the sleeping bag to cram on some shoes and get a torch and a camera. he should probably wake up lykon, but something inside him is telling him, wait, to just see for himself first. maybe we disturbed the paint when we were in there earlier. an old house like this, it’s probably just settling. hell, there’s probably raccoons in the roof, or something. ghosts aren’t real.

the studio is... not how they had left it. it had been such a sad space, everything covered up in white sheets, shelves of paints covered in dust. now, the room is strangely warm, like the summer sun had spent a few hours streaming in through windows that were now uncovered, the night visible through dusty panes of glasses. there is an easel set up, with an empty, clean canvas about the size of a dinner table on it. and on the floor, a thin, fine paintbrush rocks back and forth, like it had just been dropped.

this was entirely too much weirdness for nicky’s brain to handle, but he wasn’t giving up on his hard line stance on ghosts just yet. strangely enough, he doesn’t really feel afraid at all. 

“if this is a prank,” he says, deliberately loud in the empty room, as he bends to pick up the paintbrush. the tip of it is still wet, and the paint looks black on his fingertips. “if this is a joke, lykon, i swear-”

hi, nicky.

the words appear abruptly on the canvas, a rushed hand like whoever’s writing isn’t sure if they can keep it going. nicky almost drops the paintbrush he’s holding, but steps closer. the paint is still wet on the canvas, and it’s the same dark shade as the stuff on the brush. he shines his torch at it. it’s a very dark blue, not a black like he’d first assumed, the colour of a twilight sea.

“what the fuck,” he mumbles to himself, touching the canvas. it’s just fabric on wood. what the fuck.

did i scare you? i didn’t want to do that. 

"i’m not scared,” he says, feeling oddly giddy. “this is a very strange dream.”

i promise it’s not a dream. tah-dah! ghosts are real. i am one of them.

as whoever it is writes, they doodle around their letters with incredible skill, little birds and flowers and suns circling their words. it’s strangely endearing. the paint smell gets stronger and nicky finds that he does not mind.

“what’s your name?” he asks, remembering that he is technically a ghost investigator and he should probably be doing some investigation. his phone is left forgotten in his pocket, though. he doesn’t know if he should be recording this or not.

joe, joseph, but it’s yusuf, really. the art world of my time was not quite ready for a name like mine, but i suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.

“you’re the artist, then.”

who else would i be? as far as i can tell i am the first, last and only death of this house.

“you were murdered.”

yes, but can we not talk about that? it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

the last full stop of yusuf’s sentence is darker then normal, like he’s pressed harder. nicky touches a finger to the canvas.

“i’m sorry. i won’t bring it up again.”

thank you.

nicky takes a step back, the room is lightening around him. he hadn’t realised it earlier, but the windows of this room all face east, which is why he supposes yusuf chose it to be his studio. on some level, a part of him is wondering why he isn’t screaming and running to get lykon right now. he really isn’t afraid, though. yusuf hasn’t meant him any harm.

“why did you choose to talk to me? we were up here earlier.”

it’s harder when more alive people are in my room. you take up so much energy. the handwriting pauses, like yusuf is considering. and most people are so afraid. i’ve tried talking to others before, but they get so scared. you didn’t seem frightened at all.

“that’s because i didn’t believe in any of this stuff.” nicky presses a finger to yusuf’s words, just to check. his finger comes away dark blue. “part of me still think i’m dreaming, though.”

well, you can’t see reflections in dreams, i’ve heard. there’s a mirror behind you.

nicky turns to see a sheet drop off a large standing mirror in an ornate frame, and sure enough, he can see his face, a pale shape in the darkness of the room. he steps closer, and skids a finger over the glass, leaving a smear of paint behind. not a dream, then.

he feels a gust of air, warm, behind him and he turns. nothing but the canvas. when he turns back, that’s when he sees him.

he’s about the same height and build of nicky, standing just behind him and to the side. handsome, a full beard and a rueful smile and curls, and eyes that are the kindest nicky has ever seen. and the most startling thing- he is opaque. his head and shoulders are more or less solid, but his torso peters out into nothing at all.

“ghosts are real,” he says, to the spectre in the mirror, dumbfounded, and yusuf’s half-smile widens to a proper grin. he does a little wave in the mirror and something in nicky’s chest swells. he smiles back.

“your friend downstairs is waking up.” a breath, barely a whisper in his ear. and sure enough, noises from below. he can almost hear the sound of his name.

“i won’t tell him about you, if you don’t want me to,” he says, and yusuf shrugs, flickering.

“i don’t mind, but i'd rather you not. the more people come in here, the harder it is to... exist.” 

nicky can hear footsteps on the stairs now, and he blurts out, quickly, before this bizarre moment is over, before he is thrust back into the mundane of his normal life. “we’re leaving now. can i come back, sometime?” and the thing is, he really wants to, wants to know this strange, sad ghost with messy handwriting and beautiful art, and kind, kind eyes. he has so many questions. what’s it like, being a ghost? are you lonely in this house? and, why do you not have any paintings of people? yusuf meets his eyes in the mirror and smiles again.

“i’d like that.”

“nicky!” the door opens and nicky blinks, his hands dropping to his sides. lykon sweeps his gaze around the room looks at him with a raised eyebrow. the canvas, nicky is stunned to realise, is now as clean and blank as when he’d walked in.

“c’mon man, you know we’re not allowed to mess with this stuff.” lykon steps forwards and plucks the paintbrush out of his hand, the tip still wet with paint, and sets it on the easel. “you said it yourself, nothing in here now. we’ve gotta get going.”

“sì, of course. i was just... looking around. it’s a beautiful room.”

his room mate just gives him a look. “uh okay. whatever, man. let’s go.”

before nicky leaves, he picks the paintbrush back up again, tucks it into his pocket. says to the empty room, slowly filling with light and colour from the rising sun, “i’ll be back, yusuf, i promise.”

the faint ghost of laughter as he walks out feels, somehow, right.

[shorkbrian]

ASKS

Hello again, asks are compiled under the cut. Please block the tag #shorkbrian answers a lot of asks# If you’d prefer not to see these types of posts from me. If I haven’t answered your ask, it’s because I’m saving it for a thirst, drabble, or fic.

I don’t ignore asks, but sometimes getting around to them overwhelms me lol. pls accept my apologies lol k here we go

I am very glad, I legit was so scared that it was too long and that it’d be disappointing bc the smut wasn’t super IN YOUR FACE yknow? But man am I glad to hear that.

I’m looking directly @ you

Someone noticed omg!!!  A lot of times I just put whatever song I played on repeat while writing that fit, but I have a *yandere* playlist that I listen to and it gets me going. Ty for noticing!!!

I’ve considered opening them permanently but I just... idek. I’d have to start deleting or ignoring the requests I don’t vibe with and Idk how to handle that lol. But thanks for the well wishes, hope your next few months treat you well friend!

Watermelon sugar why

Srsly you’re sweet but just wait until I start to really get going with all my nasty kinks okay, then you’ll be rethinking this strategy hunty lol!

I literally stalk @.vermiliren and @.kazooli and @.seita lol. Maybe when I get my blog more cleaned up, I’ll create a list of creators that I enjoy, along with fic recs. For now, here’s a link to my AO3 bookmarks which I read one like almost every single night bc I’m a horny gremlin.

I am the shark king. Sharks are my thing bro u don’t even know. I love them so much, they're dumb and big and beautiful and yeah I wish I was a mermaid who got to swim with them. Also I changed it bc I’m trying to make my blog more *professional* and all that so I can start being taken seriously askjakjdf

Compliments suck, if I'm being down and out honest. This does not bother me at all, I’m just unsure how to respond. I think I would prefer no comments, but I’m trying really really hard to just say “thank you!” and move on before I get uncomfortable. Having to fight with someone about how I perceive my self worth is exhausting, and especially so for the poor person that was just trying to say something nice and be nice to me. 

They do make me quite uncomfortable my dear lad/lassie/lasso. Say what you wish in the tags tho ! I don’t really reply to those, so there’s no pressure on me to have to say something back. I do however, see all the tags ppl use and some of them make me laugh so hard cause they’re so spot on, and it makes my day. like “Mark me down as scared AND horny” and “Bakugou better be able to bench 165 cause imma throw my fatass in his mf lap” and it kills me.

I SCEREAMED AKDHGSYDGASJSD this is the only format I'll be taking asks in now, no compliments just a yes/no answer to if my works help u cum god bless

you used the /gen!!!!! IDK what these are called but the /S and /gen and /J save my life!!!!

Frick you’ve figured me out, I do try to put like a nail-in-the-coffin sentence at the end. A lot of times it never works right, but I cannot for the life of my figure out how to end a single post ever. If anyone knows hmu pls ty

(Also ps I checked out ur blog cause yans are my jam and it is very much Not garbage!!)

That’s very kind of you, but pls don’t stay up past midnight it’s bad for ur Brian you’ll make bad decisions bro trust me all of my stuff is written after midnight

You will lafff..... but I will tell anyways..... I was prescribed a “life coach” after I got out of the hospital, which was really just a poorly disguised softcore “make sure u don’t yeet urself” type of thing. He had me write down things I liked about myself, and when I returned the sheet of paper still blank, he wrote stuff down for me. Like five sentences of “My hair and skin are unique and special” “I like animals and enjoy being kind to them” “I am worthy of respect” etc etc. and I had to look in a mirror twice a day and say those sentences to help “boost my self worth”. It sucked so bad dude, and I like got upset about it every time it came up, until finally my therapist was like “... this aint doin this sad bitch no good” and my parents got designated for yeet watch instead.

I know, logically, that (the majority of) people are not purposefully taking time out of their day to make me feel bad. They're trying to be encouraging and loving, and I appreciate it so much. But like... what do I say? If I say thanks, it’s almost like acknowledging what they're saying as true, and I can’t live with myself thinking I’m more than I am. I’m sorry you’ve had experiences that make compliments difficult for you also, I understand bro and I hope that your future holds healing and peace for you. 

Hopefully I won’t vent as much anymore lol, I’ll try to do that on my sideblog where I reblog really trigger-y memes akjdafhkjf. But thank you for your kind words bro, they’re appreciated and put in a nice lil jar.

Ah dw! This doesn’t sound like a jab. I think all of us r so sad n depressed and feel unworthy of love, so the fantasy of a Yan coming and forcing it on us and not leaving even when we lash out is just..... so attractive my heads gonna explode

me, thinking about kiri at any given moment like:

I have the next Hybrid! Kiri fic like lined up, but I’m so demotivated be I was SO CLOSE to finishing, and then wiped my computer like an IDITO

Waso, I’m taking horseback riding lessons bc my mom went:

and my grandpa told me that one of his horses was named Awaso and I immediately thot of u fun fact. But you’re so very kind, and I enjoy seeing you in my inbox. I’m never tired of u homie. You are loved and important, and it’s not an illusion. Even random strangers on the internet can feel soft towards you bro, and dats me, I’m the random stranger that likes u.

So I took Russian for a year, my dear friend, because I wanted to see if the language myth of “Russian is the hardest, Korean is the easiest” was true. I would say yes. So instead of like translating this and typing out a coherent response, I’ve resorted to google translate I’m so sorry but Виктор мог плюнуть мне в глаз, и я бы поблагодарил его. Also, the way Vitya is written in cryllic makes my heart swell it looks so cozy idek what I mean by that but it does? I treasure you man, hope to see you around in the new year and maybe??? we be good friends

Can any year be good when Kirishima Eijirou doesn’t exist?

cryface;;sad.jpg

I just imagine anyone who comes across my stuff, sitting at their computer shocked and slightly horrified, maybe turned on like

Daddy Aizawa makes me

Wait!! I have something to aid your troubles!!

ur welcome now u can be horny whenever you’d like 

pls every time we talk about Kirishima I have to act surprised like 

LISTEN BBYGORL I have had therapist Suga in the works since *checks notes* November. I am excited for it yeahhhhhh but sadly, I don’t think I will be continuing piano teacher Suga. The story is petered out in my mind, idk where it would go. Therapist sugarbird tho? We have some thots about this. Coming soon to theaters near you

[yellowbeamss]

its 1.30 am i kinda miss u

disclaimer: there’s gonna be a lot of grammatical errors or whatever, i’m just writing this as i’m having one of my mental breakdowns. if u know me and ure reading this, dont worry im gonna be alright !! and if u dont,, hey stranger i hope u pray for my happiness and healing :)

- shit okay, i guess ill start by saying i miss u. i miss the way u would send me to sleep at night, the way ull beam at the sound of my voice on the other side of the line, the way ud be head over heels over me, the way ud react to the stories i tell u, the way u keep up with me talking about books when its way past our bedtime. i miss it all, ur warmth, the way u used to hold me close, the feeling of my hands inside urs, ur scent, ur smile and everything about u. its been hard for me, so hard. i can’t get past even scrolling through old pictures, how am i ever gonna build the strength to delete them? sometimes my memory willl just rewind the times u held me close, the times when ull end each and every of ur sentence with I LOVE YOU, yes with enthusiasm and all. and whenever my mind does that, i get dragged into this pit full of darkness. reminds me of tartarus; and just like tartarus no one ever survives from it- so i dont. i struggle to fight each day, counting days since u left me to hold my own hands and to stand by my own. i think what hurts me the most is when i remember the promises we made to each other. god the lump in my throat is swelling right now, i wish ud feel it too. 

remember how u promised me forever, how everytime i wake up from a bad dream ull be there, telling me it’s alright and telling me that no matter what happens, ure gonna stick by my side NO MATTER WHAT!! remember how for now was our anthem and 17?? remember our promise to not give up on each other? remember all of that? i guess u dont remember all of that since it seemed so easy when u let me go. no heaviness, no regrets. u were just determined to get rid of me.

i wish u knew how hard u broke me that night. all our dreams, crushed. hopes, shattered. there was no light. yet there were more promises. “ sayang, i just want you to know that at the end of the day. i’ll find u” words i held on for days not knowing if u actually mean it. dont know how much thats worth to u now. another bullcrap?? not surprised!! promises are meant to be broken right?? u said ull come back then a few weeks later “dont hope for much”. shit fucking hurts dude. and how u just forgot i existed, just like that. like how can u not miss it at all. were u just pretending all this while? was it all for show, was it superficial?

THE AMOUNT OF QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR YOU.. dont even get me started. when did u fall out of love? what was i lacking? was it me? was i suddenly not worth anything anymore? was it easy for u? do u think about me often?  do u find it hard to sleep? how often do u cry to sleep? do u even grieve over me? do u wake up in the middle of the night crying over the same voice and face visiting? because i did. i lay awake, wondering where was my fault and flaw in what we had. was i too hard to love? am i just not worthy enough? did i ask for much? AM I NOT FUCKING WORTH IT??? where do is stand in ur ife? why didnt i love u harder? if only i understood u better. if only i didn’t want to call u ever night. if only i didnt love u too much. so many ifs. these were what was spiralling inside me for weeks. still is if ure wondering though i doubt u do. u dont give a shit.

do u wanna know about my nightmares, the bad dreams i woke up to about u? the voices in my head? how i break down in the middle of nowhere as my head replays the exact words u said when u dumped me?? how i wake up crying from the same dream about u leaving?? i hate that i let u in so deep. i hate that i keep reminiscing all our better days when u clearly left me alone when i needed u the most. i hate that i let u break me this bad. i hate that despite all that i have said, despite all the rage and hate, i hate that i understand. i understand how hard this is all to u. i understand how bad ud feel knowing u break someone this bad. i hate that despite everythig uve done, i still cant unsee the good in ur heart. i hate that despite ur absence i still cant find ways to unlove u. 

i pray to god everyday to heal me, to fix each and every of my broken parts inside me. 

i also pray to god for ur contentment and happiness, for the burdens u carry to feel lighter without me around. i also pray that He eases ur journey in whatever ure going through. i pray that He’ll take care of u now that i am not allowed to do that anymore. and i hope He granted all of it. i hope He hears me. especially because i want u to feel better, i know how dark it must’ve been for u. i never thought it would come to this. we were so happy. no red flags whatsoever. 

of course i also hope ure suffering. i hope guilt drains ur life out of u everyday. i hope it hurts u as much as it hurts me.  in spite of everything, of course i also wish u well. 

i don’t know if there will ever be days when i can unfeel ur absence again, when the sudden pain doesnt come anymore. i dont know if im ever gonna be okay but heres to everything ive been keeping inside of me. now out at last.

[hotdadlicense]

ahh for my dearest zhenya @fapfapfashion lover! heres that bfu post i said id make for you like monnnnnths ago i PROMISE i never forgot! just :(:( life. but anyway this was FUN i love youuuu! disclaimer: im not rly in the fandom this is all stuff i see through like just some friends reblogging stuff every now and again and whenever i go to the tag to find stuff sometimes but ANWAY I HOPE its semi coherent <3<3<3 love YOU.

OKAY I FEEL LIKE i said YEH ILL MAKE YOU A MASTERPOST FUCK YEAH but now im like hmmm making a buzzfeed unsolved masterpost is.......not that much cos its like? all there on their youtube channels like its not like music or stuff where theres yknow albums! singles! unreleased songs! special live performances! music videos! documentaries! band info! like its all over on buzzfeed multiplayer youtube and buzzfeed unsolved network youtube but whatever i can ramble about dumb shit and link some stuff so ayeee.

heres the links to the actual videos:

SUPERNATURAL

+ season one // two // three // four // five

+ supernatural: postmortem

TRUE CRIME

season one // two // three // four

+ true crime: postmortem

all eps in order (including postmortem)

personal favs

a vid that bab @chantillystars linked me and i watch it every time im feelin not fresh so i can smile

someone elses better done video round up master post! op ur incredible

now under the cut cos i realy did ramble :(

okay so THE HOSTS!

RYAN BERGARA (insta//twitter)

the fucking creator and inventer of bfu its his baby and im so proud of him and how far its come <3

when the season finale of the latest supernatural premiered it trended at number 1 over the fucking new lion king trailer and he got emo on twitter and insta about it and i cried a lil bit

fucking loves sports basketball or whatever themeparks popcorn and paddington bear

not scared enough of ghosts to not sleep in a haunted house but is scared enough that he absolutely will scream the whole entire time that he is in said haunted house

first ghost encounter was on the queen mary when he was a teenager. the ghost knocked his toothpaste of the shelf and he freaked. and now he has shat his pants at every bump in the night since. icon!

works his ass for to produce mass amounts of content for us like its fucking insane? all up there are like 9 seasons of bfu plus post-mortems and its only been going since 2014?? plus everything else hes got happening??

rly sweet and funny but like in a frat boi kinda way but like. a frat boi you could trust?

SHANE MADEJ (insta//twitter)

wasnt actually the original cohost!

(BRENT was the orignal host but had to beg out a couple episodes in cos he was juggling too many commitments so which fair!)

ryan and shane were desk partners and longtime buzzfeed pals that ? if i remember correctly? interned together back when they first started?

ryan turned to shane one day and was like ‘yo, wanna cohost this show with me?’ and shane was like 'sure.’ and honestly trying to picture it now without shane?? okay ryan and shane just bounce off each other so well theyre like a dream team. god bless them being desk buddies and work pals.

shanes a freak

does not believe in ghosts spirits orbs and all things that go bump in the night like he seems to genuinely want to but like. science and his big ass brain wont let him.

very smart! can rly work a patterned floral shirt! or plaid! kinda gives a dad vibe in glasses but then he talks and its like okay please never supervise a child!

v into history! so much so that he has his own lil show on buzzfeed aka:

RUINING HISTORY

stars him along with ryan and sara (his beautiful and smart and talented gf who also works at buzzfeed <3) with some other ever changing cohosts

hes also responsible for The Hot Dog Saga aka THE HOTDAGA and i know there are people that adore it but! in their own words! id rather walk into the sea.

ryan, too, hates the hotdaga and i feel like this was? about the hotdaga after shane sung something fuck if i remmebr

RYAN + SHANE

these gifs are from the ?second ep? i saw of them honestly it rly sums up the ryan/shane dynamic i guess

but like. the way ryan looks and laughs whenever shane says something mildly funny? hearteyes mutherfucker

above when i said shanes a freak? yeah.

ryan letting shane live as long as he has? true friendship

whenever theyre at the lil desk in their lil basement talking cases shane just talks shit and ryan just lets him and i fucking love them

the LAST FRAME

oh one time they lucked out with a hotel that had a jacuzzi tub <3

yknow what? this was actually kinda sweet. like yeh bitch

shane madej: nations greatest tragedy.

i can hear this in my head just looking at these gifs and it makes me laugh everytime and thats BAD cos a child fucking died

shanes a freak pt.2

OH SHIT one time in postmortem they joked that brent was coming back and shane was leaving and fuck? they had to actually address that it was a joke fUCK

its not all shittalking and screaming there really is some fond and happy shit too

bfu most recognisable and iconic line.

shanes hottest pick up lines when hes on site

the comments on the video for this ep about this part are fucking hilarious please read when you watch that ep

okay its common knowledge that shanes a demon which ill tlak about in a sec but THIS SCENE RIGHT HERE? ryans the fucking demon. like the way hes just standing there, hands clasped behind his back, giving shane (whos acting like a CHILD) that Look? demon bout to kill the dumbass chillin at a haunted house on halloween. come to collet a soul or 10. magical!

OKAY SO SHANE TALKS SOME BIG GAME IN THE EPS but HIS love for ryan will always melt my heart like HE LOVES and cares about ryan so much and supports buzzfeed unsolved so much and whenever things get dumb on social media shanes ready to call it out and make a post or just like. praise ryan (like he rightfully deserves) and yeah im emo about it anyway hes shane being cute part one and heres shane REALLY FUCKING going all out (!!!!!!!!!!.meme)i LOVE him also being cute part two

‘id walk into the sea.’

shanes a freak pt.3

ryan: “Are ghosts real?” shane: *this dumb face*

NERDS

i laughed for like 10 minutes the first time i watched this part thankyou shane

THEM LAUGHING TILL THEY CRIED ABOUT SOMEONE THAT DIED PLAYING THE PIANO

a real insight to shanes mind

ryan really puts up with this

shane got a bowlcut once just for funsies like okay youre no joba but good job i guess

TROPES/ICONIC MEMES/WAHTEVER:

shanes a demon

+ free real estate.meme

+ the office.meme

+ he aint right

+ JALDSHFK FUCK

+ ryan acknowledging that shane is a demon thankyou

+ like the good thing about having a guest fill in on the few times shanes been away has been ryan always being like okay so the demons not here so lets just acknowledge That

goatsman bridge

+ the video that started all this aka the one you reblogged hehhehe

+ what a fucking JOKE

+ an absolute JOKE

+ bridge owner fuck OFF

+ ksdjhfgjhsdkj.meme

sallie house

+ shane was insufferable this episode i fell in love for real how did ryan LIVE

+ like imagine trying to feel your heart beating while fucking shanes over there doing That

+ rock n roll buckaroo

+ swell has become apart of my daily vocal i hate

bobby mack

+ ‘hey there demons. its me, ya boi.’

+ ‘and frankly i dont believe in you, so i feel like im writing a letter to santa claus right now.’

+ tweet.meme

+ overall a great ep

+ can shane calm the fuck down okay i need ryan to make it out of this SAFELY and ALIVE

father thomas

+ ryans FACE also shane being that annoying sibling to ur parents

+ father thomas really went into this thinking he could help these boys to be fair shane was taking notes. ryan was just? dying inside

+ freak

+ imagine being like a 70 yr old priest hearing some dudes walking into ur congregation and overhearing ‘jesus said chill.’

bigfoot

+ ryan does not rly believe in bigfoot but shane does so like you win some you lose some

+ in the least shippy way possible this epsiode is ultimate soft gays going on a hike

+ like its just such a sweet domestic ep

+ <3

+ just happy babbey

[olllmaatta]

hang an anchor from the sun

connor didn't expect to leave the world cup as jack eichel's friend, yet here he is.

and it keeps on snowballing from there.

(this is for @dyllarkin i’m sorry this took me so damn long lmao hope you like it anyways fam)

ao3

Connor finds out about the ankle sprain from NHL.com, picking up his phone after a cooldown cycle in the gym after morning skate. Immediately, he goes to compose a text, something like that sucks or I’m sorry or hey, if you need to talk, just let me know because apparently they’re that kind of friends now. (The World Cup was weird.) But then he remembers how much he wouldn’t have appreciated texts like that back when he broke his collarbone, how much they reminded him of all that he wasn’t doing. And sure, they’re not rookies anymore, but both of them do still have the weight of failing franchises of their shoulders.

So instead, he googles o shit i’ve fallen and i can’t waddup and texts the resulting image to Jack, captioning it is this you?

He doesn’t wait for a response, resolutely putting his phone away and going to shower. If Jack doesn’t text back, that’s fine. He’s probably hopped up on drugs anyways, and Connor is almost definitely not high on Jack’s list of priorities. That’s fine. It’s fine. As long as Jack will be back on the ice in a month or so, everything will be fine.

Jack still hasn’t texted back by the time he wakes up from his pregame nap, but Connor tells himself again that it doesn’t matter. He’s got to get to the rink and focus on his own game, the weight of the C on his chest feeling like more than just a letter and a title. Last year, he was the prophesied saviour, the Next One, but now? Now he’s supposed to be the leader, and he’s not sure if he can do it.

All that fades away when he steps onto the ice, however, blood rushing and skates cutting through the fresh ice. This is their season opener, and hell if he’s going to waste it thinking about a friend on a different team who sprained his ankle. He’s got bigger fish to fry tonight.

And the game itself might not be the prettiest he’s ever played, but he comes away from it with two goals and an assist and his first win as captain of the Edmonton Oilers under his belt, so that’s good and all. He also gets Johnny asking him if he’s heard anything from Jack, as if Connor’s supposed to be keeping track of him just because – well, just because he’s Connor McDavid, he supposes. “He hasn’t texted me back,” he had said, shaking his head.

Johnny had looked surprised, as if he had expected something more from their relationship. “Me neither,” he had settled for saying, however. “If you hear anything, let me know, okay?”

Connor wonders about this, because if Jack was to text either of them back first it would definitely be Johnny, who was a. exclusively Jack’s liney throughout training camp and the first game and b. not Connor McDavid, whom Jack had apparently only very recently stopped hating. But then he’s finally on his way home, having passed on requests to go out tonight in favour of – honestly, he doesn’t know.

His place is quiet and empty when he gets back, just like he expected, but he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if there was someone here waiting for him, maybe sitting on the couch aimlessly watching whatever plays after postgame or snacking on the chips he keeps hidden from himself. But there’s nothing waiting for him at home but the darkness and the chill of heating that somehow still hasn’t kicked in.

Shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he plugs his phone into the charger on the countertop and rummages in the fruit up drawer of his fridge for a snack, looking to get an early night. His phone buzzes as he rinses an apple, and he ignores it for a moment, thinking that it’s got to be someone texting to congratulate him or something. He’ll deal with that later. But then it keeps on going, telling Connor that he’s got a phone call from someone that evidently will not be dissuaded by his not coming to the phone. With a sigh, he picks up without looking at the screen. “Hey, this is Connor,” he says.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jack responds. “I – I got your text.”

Connor laughs despite himself. “Did you appreciate it?”

“You’re a few months behind the times,” Jack says. “But yes, I appreciated it anyways.”

“Good to hear,” Connor says.

Jack’s silent on the other side of the line for a moment, the two just listening to each other breathe, but then he finally says, “It sucks, you know? That it happened at practice and all.”

Connor hums in agreement, taking another bite of his apple. “You’ll be back soon,” he says despite knowing just how little statements like that actually do to help.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says. “Good game tonight, though.”

“You watched it?” Connor asks, pleased despite himself.

Jack laughs. “Caught a few minutes in the third. You looked good.”

“Thanks,” Connor says. “You – get better soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says dryly. “Whatever the great McJesus says. You sure you can’t lend me some of those godlike healing powers?”

“Healing powers my ass,” Connor responds. “You think I wouldn’t have used those when my collarbone got fucked up?”

He can hear Jack’s grin through the call. “Man, you probably just wanted a break. Lazy-ass motherfucker.”

“Fight me, see if I’m lazy,” Connor shoots back.

“Dude, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to fight you a year ago,” Jack responds.

Connor smiles even though he knows that Jack can’t see him. “Yeah, well, what about now?” he asks before he can stop himself.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Connor’s worried that he’s misstepped, somehow, and Jack’s going to hang up on him and ghost him and fade out of his life and the very idea is terrifying.

But then Jack laughs again. “You’ve got the worst taste in everything, of course I’d still fight you,” and Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

(He lies awake thinking about this when he finally hangs up and goes to bed half an hour later. It scares him how much Jack’s insinuated himself into Connor’s life, made himself indispensable and irreplaceable. But he accepts it – he has to accept it, because now that Jack’s slotted himself into a hole in Connor’s life, Connor doesn’t know how to let go.)

(And that’s okay.)

Jack texts him even more than he used to while he’s in the middle of recovery, something that Connor most definitely did not expect but embraces wholeheartedly. It seems that he wakes up practically every other day to some kind of complaint about how PT fucking sucks or to some dumb meme that he found while browsing Reddit. It’s strange, this easy friendship they’ve somehow fallen into together. And, sure, this may have been what Connor was looking for when he asked Jack to hang out that one night during the pretournament games, but he can say with some certainty that he never expected to be this successful.

When Buffalo comes to Edmonton, Jack’s not on the plane (for obvious reasons). Connor tries not to be terribly disappointed by this, but it was still one of the few chances he had to hang out with Jack and it’s a shame to let it go to waste. Wish u were here, he texts before he can stop himself, and then forces himself not to avoid his phone for the next forty years. It’s completely normal thing for a guy to text his friend, right? It’s not going to – Jack isn’t –

Me too, Jack responds.

Connor’s heart swells with fondness, even when Jack adds, we’re still gonna beat ur ass tho.

“Who’s got you making such a stupid face?” Nursey asks, leaning in in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Connor’s phone screen.

“Your mom,” Connor shoots back automatically, pocketing his phone.

(He’s informed by three separate people in the next five minutes that he’s still grinning like a loon.)

Connor sends Jack a few Snapchats of his latest attempt at cooking after a game one night. He forgets about timezones, however, and doesn’t get a response until the next morning. It’s Jack, just woken up, hair messy and face still creased from the pillow. Connor thinks he’s beautiful.

He also spends too long staring at the picture to actually process the caption.

So instead of responding generically, he chooses to leave Jack on opened and call Stromer instead. “What do you want, Davo?” Stromer says, mildly miffed. “I have to leave for practice in five minutes.”

“Jack Snapped me as soon as he woke up and he looked so good,” Connor says bluntly.

Stromer cackles right into the phone, forcing Connor to pull his ear away from the speaker. “Jesus Christ, that’s why you called me? I thought you were like dying or something!”

“I am dying here,” Connor whines, flopping back on his bed, dropping his phone next to him.

Stromer probably rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so dramatic over Jack fucking Eichel, man, what the fuck happened to ‘he’s objectively hot but also an asshole so I’d never fuck him’?”

“Fuck you, I don’t sound like that,” Connor protests halfheartedly.

“You’re completely stupid over him,” Stromer laughs, completely ignoring Connor’s misfortunes. “I can’t believe this, oh my god, this is fucking gold.”

“Shut up and let me pine in peace,” Connor says.

Stromer laughs. “If you wanted peace, you wouldn’t have called me.”

“You’re right,” Connor sighs, rolling over onto his stomach. “Distract me. Has Brinksy done anything supremely stupid lately?”

“You don’t even know,” Stromer laughs, staying on the line even as he gets his stuff into his car and drives to practice. It’s comfortable, feels like home, and Connor can pretend that he’s not thinking about Jack at all.

When he finally gets off the phone, though, there’s another Snapchat waiting for him. Can’t believe you’re leaving me on opened, Jack says against the backdrop of an unknown road outside a car’s windshield.

Sorry, Connor responds, retaking the picture five times before he’s finally satisfied.

Amidst all the talk of another McDavid-Matthews matchup (which Connor for one thinks is dumb – Auston’s a pretty cool guy and they played on the same line on the World Cup, so the media should maybe stop), Connor gets a text from Jack that simply says I’M CLEARED!!!

And that means that Jack’s going to be playing against him when the Oilers go to Buffalo, and sure, that should be exciting, but then Auston gives him the most shit-eating grin from across the faceoff dot and says, “Got any plans in Buffalo?”

Connor may or may not shove him out of the way with a little more force than is necessary.

(Honestly, Auston’s one to talk. Connor can see the way he and Mitch look at each other. It’s disgusting. He shouldn’t be forced to suffer like this.)

(I swear to God matts and marns are trying to get into each other’s pants, he texts Jack after the game. If he has to suffer through this, Jack’s going to too.)

(Not something I want to b thinking about, Jack responds.)

Jack looks good across the faceoff dot in Buffalo. Connor wants to tell him as much, but the ref is still looking between them like he’s afraid they’ll start fighting or something, so he swallows the words and goes for the puck. But it’s good, though, all clean hits and exhilarating races for the puck, and Connor feels at home in his own skin.

He’s still mildly bitter about the OT loss, though, especially since he didn’t manage a goal of his own and the Oilers choked at the last second again, but at least he put up two points to Jack’s one so that’s something. He can work with that.

And Jack appears at the visitor locker room after the game, freshly showered and back in his game-day suit, wide grin and stupidest hair and all. Connor’s fairly certain that he’s got the dumbest look on his own face just by the way Nursey’s barely holding in his laughter in the next stall over. “Yo, Davo, want to come get dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Connor says, smiling despite himself.

Nursey wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously. “Be back before curfew! No funny business!”

“We can’t cover for you if you miss team breakfast,” Ebs adds with a shit-eating grin. “So try not to go home with him, okay?”

Connor sighs. “Get the fuck outta here,” he says, but without any real heat.

(He’s thought about it.)

(He’d never tell Ebs that, though.)

Jack takes him to get wings, because they’re in Buffalo and they’re both huge fucking clichés. No one in the restaurant pays them any mind, which Connor is supremely thankful for. “Let me order,” Jack says as soon as the waitress leaves them to pore over their menus.

Connor shrugs. “You know what’s good,” he agrees.

They’re quiet once their waitress has taken their orders and left. Both their phones are out, but it’s not as awkward as Connor might still have expected. Instead, it’s comfortable, an easy companionship, and Jack keeps on wordlessly getting his attention just to show him funny Instagram posts or dumb videos.

Then he suddenly says, “They asked you about me again?” He slides his phone across the table to show Connor an article on nhl.com about the game that they just played.

Connor shrugs. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them about all the time you’ve wasted on Reddit when you should have been napping or the ridiculous number of dumbfuck memes you send me.”

“Excuse you, those are good memes,” Jack shoots back, mock-offended.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good meme’,” Connor insists, complete with air-quotes and all. Nevertheless, he slides Jack’s phone back to him. “But I didn’t throw you under the bus, is what I’m saying.”

“So what did you say? ‘A good guy’?” Jack reads, laughing. “‘Always kind of talking’? ‘Always kind of the centre of attention’? Wow, what a stellar review.”

Connor laughs along with him. “Hey, they asked what you were like,” he responds.

“‘I definitely enjoyed my time with him’,” Jack continues, voice softening. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, quieter this time. “Always.”

“I – ” Jack obviously doesn’t really know what to say here, and Connor is content to let the moment stretch out between them, taut with some kind of strangely comfortable tension.

Their food comes, breaking the silence, and Connor makes the appropriate noises about the deliciousness of the food, but in all honesty he can barely taste it. He’s too busy staring at Jack’s freckles and the way he licks sauce off his fingers.

“Hey. Hey. McDavid. Connor. Earth to McJesus.” Jack snaps his fingers in front of Connor’s nose, startling him out of his reverie. When Connor blinks in surprise at him, Jack’s voice softens and he adds, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Connor responds, turning back to his food. “Just – thinking about shit, y’know?”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Because Jack has a media façade and apparently also a “friends” façade, because the Jack Eichel Connor used to think he knew back before the draft would never have asked anyone if they wanted to talk. Not even Hanifin.

Probably.

But Connor would probably die of mortification if he actually told Jack what he was thinking about, especially since there’s a spot of sauce on Jack’s chin and all Connor can think about is licking it off. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

Jack finishes another wing, wiping that smudge off his face, and grins. “So anyways, did I ever tell you about the time Reino went to Walmart when he was drunk off his ass and blew like a thousand dollars?”

“Hey,” Jack says quietly when they pull into the hotel’s parking lot, pausing the music. “Mind if we – park for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” Connor says, confused but willing to roll with it. Once Jack’s parked and turned off the ignition, he unbuckles, turns to Jack and asks, “What’s up?”

Jack sighs. “This – I – thanks for letting me take you out to dinner, I guess. I had a great time.”

“I’m glad I could bless you with my presence,” Connor says, grinning. Then, because he hates himself, he points out, “You didn’t – take me out, though. It wasn’t a date. We just – got dinner together.”

Jack mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “would’ve been nice if it was” but Connor really isn’t willing to take that chance, so he ascribes it to wishful thinking.

He also really doesn’t want to get out of Jack’s car, though. It feels – safe, somehow, like everything outside waiting for him, pressuring him, can’t reach him while he’s sitting in companionable silence with Jack Eichel. And when he looks over at Jack, the lights of the passing cars fly over his face and play off his hair and make him look ethereal, and Connor –

Connor wants to kiss him.

(Okay, fine, Connor always wants to kiss Jack now, but now? Now he can’t think about anything else, caught up in the barely-visible fan of Jack’s lashes and the bow of his lips and how much he wants.)

Suddenly he notices that Jack’s been watching him this entire time, and he thinks that – maybe – he seems some of what he’s feeling in Jack’s eyes. And he doesn’t want to say anything about it, because what if he’s wrong, but his traitorous lungs decide to breathe out a “Hey”.

Jack says something at the exact same time, maybe “So” or “Well” or another superficially-meaningless word, but it doesn’t really matter because they both burst into laughter a second later, the moment broken.

And Connor thinks that – that maybe this is it, that Jack’s going to turn the engine back on and go drop Connor off at the loop and that will be that, and there’s something inside him that rebels at the very idea of leaving Jack again like this, everything unspoken. But – but it’ll be fine, he thinks as they calm down, reduced again to dopey dumbass smiles.

Then Jack sighs, mutters “Fuck this shit”, and unbuckles his seatbelt. Before Connor can tell what’s happening, Jack’s leaned over the centre console and –

and is kissing him.

One arm tight around Connor’s shoulders, the other one cupping his face, and Connor could melt.

But by the time his shocked brain has finally processed all of this, Jack is pulling back, and Connor already misses the weight of his arm. He grabs blindly at Jack’s hand before he can get too far away. “No, please – c’mere – ” he stutters out, before pulling Jack back into him – or himself into Jack – it doesn’t matter.

They fall together like gravity this time, drawn to each other and feeling the weight in the way Jack sucks at Connor’s lip, the small sound Jack makes when Connor works a hand into his hair, the desperation with which they’re clutching at each other, trying to get as close as possible.

And it’s not perfect, the gear shift digging into Connor’s thigh and the awkward angle straining his back, but it’s also everything he could ever want. Jack is warm, his lips are soft, and his fingers are scrabbling at Connor’s dress shirt, trying to untuck it. Just the thought of skin against skin sends shivers down Connor’s spine.

They break eventually, but it’s not a sure thing, Jack darting in to kiss Connor again like he can’t help it. When they finally stop, lips tingling and hearts racing, Jack rests his forehead on Connor’s, still cupping Connor’s cheek.

He leans into the touch. “I didn’t – I didn’t think – ” he says in disbelief.

Jack smiles, and it’s stupidly charming. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

And Connor can’t help himself, pressing back into Jack’s mouth again, because now he’s allowed. He’s allowed, and Jack is solid and real and here, not just a name at the top of his phone screen or a voice at the other end of the line, and Connor wants to be lost in this moment forever.

He can’t, though, and that hurts more than anything else. He tastes the lingering sweetness of Jack’s Diet Coke on his tongue and feels the breath stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how he’d ever let this go.

But he has to when his phone alarm goes off, telling them that his curfew is fast approaching. It’s so hard to tear himself away from Jack, though, when Jack’s lips are so red and kiss-bitten and inviting and who knows the next time they’ll see each other.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jack whispers, breath ghosting across Connor’s lips.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees shakily. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses Jack again, one last time, and then forces himself to open the car door and get out, refusing to look back. If he did, he’s not sure if he could still make himself leave.

“– so dumb, Jack, Jesus Christ, why did you ever think this was a good idea?”

“We’re in fucking Aruba,” Jack says, sticking his head out of the bathroom. “No one’s going to recognise us. It’s going to be fine.”

“What if they do?” Connor demands, almost hysterical.

Jack sighs and puts his comb down, reeling Connor in with his other hand. Connor goes willingly, tucking himself into Jack’s side like he belongs there (because he does). “Then they do. We’ve got a plan, remember?”

“Yeah, but – ” Connor starts, before turning to bury his face in Jack’s shoulder. “I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Jack says firmly. “No matter how hard it gets. I just – I just want to hold your hand in public, okay? And if we can do that here, I’m going to do it here.”

Connor can’t find his words. The only thing left for him to do is kiss Jack, so he does, backing him into the bathroom counter. It’s familiar, now, but the way Jack’s tongue feels against his is not something he’ll ever get tired of.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever said it to Jack.

“I love you,” he says again, and it feels like a revelation.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and it’s something he’s always known.

Jack says “I love you too,” breathes it into his mouth and speaks it with his lips and hands and body.

They lose track of time like that, pressed up against the bathroom counter and lazily making out, but it’s all good. It’s all good, because it’s the offseason and they’ve got time, and they love each other and that’s –

It’s all that matters.