#i think she too wants to go back fo the way things were

[fastasyoucant]

𐙚⋆.˚ tailor-made lovin’ | annie moore oneshot.

cw | suggestive. black fem!reader. wlw. MEN DNI. she’s not with smoke. tiny mention of homophobia. allusions to cunnilingus. lowk reader act like preacher boy @ the end oops :3 word count: 1.4K

The Mississippi sun had been tucked away in the thick clouds, and a hush rolled over the shop, creating a soft, illuminated look to the room. The familiar scent of sandalwood incense clung to the fabrics surrounding you. Business has been slow this week, ain’t no orders. Ain't a wandering eye in the windows. The scuff marks on the floor reminded you that it would get busy again; time just needed to stretch its legs.

And maybe it heard you.

Because just as you turned your back toward the counter, the bell chimed. “Welcome in.” You nodded, the once furrowed brow lifting with curiosity.

"You the seamstress that I'm always hearing good things about?" Her eyes stayed on yours, letting the calm energy speak words she didn't need to.

“I’m hopin’ I can be that seamstress fo' you! What you need?” A tingle ran through you, realizing your service was essential. You needed the money for sewing materials, food, and a roof over your own head.

“The chest area on this dress here, s’a little tight. I just need it to be expanded or somethin'. You think that could be done?”

“I don't see why not! That’ll be ten.”

“Ten?” The woman laughed, not cruel but knowing. “Naw baby, I ain’t rich.”

Usually, you don’t make deals with clients, but you understood the struggle. She looked like someone who worked hard for every dollar in her pocket— She knew labor.

“Alright, seven fifty?” You tried a lower number, but tried not to play yourself.

“I can make that work.”

A smile had been crafted on her face when you took the deal. The lady unfolded the item that needed altering, a well-sewn, orange, cotton-rayon dress.

"If you don't mind, I need to take a few measurements." You grabbed the measuring tape from the small coffee table that rested behind the register, placing it around your neck.

"I don't mind at all. You gon need me to put it on right? There's a zipper on here that I always tussle wit'. I'm gon' need a bit of help."

You took in a sharp breath, your body beginning to buzz, thinking about helping her slide on that beautiful dress. You remembered the old ladies in the church, whispering about women like you-- folk they said were sinful, unnatural. Folk they pretended didn't belong.

“That’s fine by me.” You nodded your head. “I just need you to sign your name here!” Your hands snatched the loose paper and pen, placing the notepaper facing her, handing the pen to her faithfully.

She leaned onto the counter to write her name. You hoped the gulp wasn't audible. Your eyes gazed down at her chest; you were no better than a man. "Thank you, ma'am." The once blank paper had a soft signature that read 'Annie'. That name sounded familiar, and now that you thought about it, so was her face. You had seen her before. When the mundane smell of incense had been introduced to your senses once again, that's when it clicked.

"You the one wit’ that Hoodoo shop? Down on Terrance Road?" When she heard you realized who she was, those big brown eyes found a sparkle in them. "Mhm," Her head nodded with the syllables.

"I was waitin’ on you to notice, I ‘member you coming in and buyin’ that sandalwood not too long ago." That nostalgic feel to the way she spoke only made the memory clearer.

"That's right! Usually I’m good wit' rememberin' faces. Everythin’ going well down there?" You started up conversation.

“As well as it could.”

Her shoulders fell after shrugging, she most likely didn’t want to speak about work when she was off. So you didn’t impede. “I ain’t tryna rush you, Miss Annie, but whenever you’re ready, the dressing room is that white door.” You tilted your head in the direction of it.

When Annie turned to see where she needed to go, you stole sinful glances at her. Her frame was perfect, the plaid sundress complimented her complexion. “Alright then.” She nodded and made her way to the dressing room. She didn’t spare any time trying to get the dress on. You didn’t want to ask because quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could hide the desire to see her undraped. Then you began to hear her grunt, shuffling herself around into the dress.

“Miss Annie, you need help now?”

“Yes please.”

Slowly dragging in air, you headed towards to room. You carefully opened the door. “Zipper always givin’ me sum trouble.”

“S’alright,” Your jaw clenched, that orange against her brown skin could make flowers bloom in the winter. You began to tug at the dress’s zipper. it was almost as if it was glued in place.

“Damn, this zipper ‘bout stubborn as hell.”

“Ain’t it.” Annie huffed as you yanked continuously until it zipped up.

“Okay, let’s hurry up and get your measurements so you won’t be uncomfortable for long.” You held the door open for her. “You can gon ‘head ‘n step on that platform fo' me.”

She got on the podium, standing in front of the mirror. You were too busy staring at her to notice her looking at you through the reflection. Her lips curled as she noticed that lingering look.

“Do you mind liftin’ your arms?”

Without a word she raised her arms, keeping her sight set on you to hold eye contact. You told her what to do but she was in control. The flimsy measuring tape had made a quiet flick as you quickly took it off your neck.

You wrapped it around her bust, and the tape gently stretched around her body. You met the ends of the tape and pulled it snug.

“Thirty-eight and a half.” You muttered under your breath as you went to write her bust measurement right next to her name. “You can go back and change! I got a hanger waitin’”

You tidied up the register, throwing away wrappers and old receipts. You hadn’t heard that much movement from Annie. “Ma’am, you can—”

She was turned to you, one hand perched on her hip.

“Don’t you think I’m gon need some help gettin’ it off?” With one raise of her brow, you were quick to your feet. You followed behind her, acting like the sinful shadow. No mojo bag could keep you from her.

She walked into the dressing room, waiting for you to get yourself situated. Another breath was taken from the atmosphere when your hands found the zipper again. “Lemme know if this hurt, Miss Annie.”

You made sure to not yank the zipper, keeping every moment more gentle than the last. You got it down to where she could pull it on her own, but she wanted you to do it. She led you to the water; she just needed you to drink.

And you did.

You swiftly unzipped the rest for her. “Um— Anythin’ else I can do for ya’?”

“Mm’, I don’t think so.” She shook her head, the sundress slung around her shoulders. Annie kept her modesty in check, holding it by a thread. “You always this sweet?” A chuckle left her lips, and she toyed with the beads on her necklace.

“Um… I dunno ma’am.”

She turned to face you, her stare seductive and dominant. “You’ve been staring at me like that the entire time I done been in here.”

Your throat went dry.

“Annie— I ain’t mean nothin’ by it.” Your eyes widened as she stated the obvious fact: you were staring. More than you should’ve. And if she slapped you across the face right now, you wouldn’t even be surprised.

“Ain’t nobody say I had a problem wit’ it.”

Annie’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your head so your eyes had nothing else to do but meet hers. "You gon' keep starin'," she hummed, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, "or you gon' do somethin' 'bout it?"

Your breath hitched. You leaned into her warmth. The kiss was careful, you were getting a feel of the shape of her lips, something that you would never forget. But when she kissed you back, she gave you all the permission you needed.

Soon enough, your hands were resting on her waist. Her mouth opened just slightly and you sighed into it, near dizzy from how sweet she tasted. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish now." Annie rushed her words in between the sentences, hungry to get her lips back onto yours.

"I know the way of a woman." You became bold in a blink, her presence was intoxicating. Then you lowered down onto your knees, you looked up at her through your eyelashes.

"Can I show you?"

[cherryview]

i don’t mind at all! mostly because it’s you and equally because i wish i could do the same. it’s cozier down there. like bean bags instead of office chairs.

i will say the hand thing and august’s overall gentle demeanour makes me think about how absolutely wonderful they’d be in a period drama type au… like the subtle gestures that aren’t obvious enough to cause scandal but make you wonder whether they know the impact they have on you…

i will say especially for f!seven… i think often about how they grew up together? like especially for an mc she dated like… they were girls together… they were silly lame highschoolers together… they were each other’s first loves… and mc having accepted that seven wants them not to be those things ever again. and that they’ve both made mistakes. and doing their absolute best not to step on any mines and not to go too far. and they’re being so careful they don’t even realize when seven seems to have, maybe, possibly, started to forgive them. and they think that when they see seven quirk a grin at a joke they make on the bus, they’re imagining things. and seven isn’t responding to what they say when cory pulls them aside the next time because they don’t mind talking to them, it’s because they realized that trying to avoid cory will get them nowhere. like… just seven quietly letting go of their anger and accepting things while mc is accepting that seven will never let go of their frustrations and grudge… is soooo……. and the resolution…………… hello….

i definitely see the appeal of that…

[cocastyle]

I See You

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — breaking my two years of not posting in honor of this amazing movie and character. the Thunderbolts* has reawakened my fire to write and I couldn’t ignore it. so here you go! this will be a bit of a short series. i kind of envision around three parts or so? anyways, i really hope you enjoy this and know this is your last warning before you continue on!! so if you haven’t seen the Thunderbolts* please save this for later <3

also, did you all notice the easter eggs i included ?? 👀

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Bob Reynolds wasn't quite sure how any of this had happened. One minute he was pretty sure he had been dying and the next he was trapped in a series of never ending nightmares. Except it wasn't just his nightmares, there were other people's too.

He knew he had been having these moments where he didn't remember things, knew that there was something going on at a deeper level than he wanted to admit. He thought with Valentina explaining this power he had been given that it would explain everything he had been feeling, that the darkness wasn't truly his but something brought on by this experiment.

But he knew the truth and walking through these endless nightmares only proved that. The darkness was his. It was a culmination of everything he was feeling, everything that had been consuming him, and it had only taken more of a physical form thanks to the Sentry project.

Bob had no way of fighting this thing, no way of taking back control of his body. And at this point he wasn't even sure if he wanted control. After all, he was just Bob. He was useless. He was nothing. Everyone would be better off without him.

So now he was trapped with no where else to go but to walk through the thousands of rooms of everyone's deepest regrets and shames.

It had been an accident at first, but sometime after his own meth chicken nightmare was when he first started stumbling into the other rooms. He saw so many things, felt the guilt and weight that everyone else felt. One in particular had stuck with him when he had ended up watching the loop of a blind lawyer watching his friend die over and over. Bob couldn't watch that for very long before he was hurriedly trying to get to any other room but that one, the blind man's cries still rattling his bones.

Bob didn't know how long he walked for or how many rooms he went through until he got to one that made him pause as he came face to face with Tony Stark. It had been a while since the hero's death, but still seeing the face of the man that had helped bring everyone back from the Blip made Bob falter slightly.

Someone's biggest trauma was Tony Stark?

Bob took a couple steps back, his eyes scanning over the room as he tried to ground himself in what was going on. He seemed to be in someone's apartment. The place would've been nice if it weren't for the fact that whoever was living here clearly hadn't been picking up after themselves in quite some time. And by the look Tony Stark was making as he glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, it seemed he was thinking the same.

Bob knew the signs before he even saw her. It wasn't just the state of the apartment, but it was the feeling in the air. That feeling of despair, sadness, and nothingness. That feeling of knowing you were alone and there was nothing you could do about it. It clung to everything in the apartment and Bob's heart ached slightly at the sight. After all, he knew what this was like. He knew it too well.

"I can feel you judging me," a voice said, instantly pulling Bob's attention to the couch where a girl was sitting with a blanket wrapped around her and a bottle of vodka in hand. She wouldn't meet Tony Stark's eyes as she stared at the bottle, her fingers numbly fiddling with the label. "I didn't ask for you to come over and judge how I'm living. Hell, I didn't even ask you to come over, so you might as well go."

Tony let out a soft sigh, "Kid, you were ignoring my calls. Of course I was going to come check on you."

"Ever think I ignored them for a reason?"

Tony huffed and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table before dragging it over in front of the couch. He sat down in front of the girl, tilting his head slightly as he watched her before saying, "You can't keep living like this."

"You think I don't know that?" she asked, her voice bitter. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony just watched her in silence before saying, "Listen, Steve and Natasha came to see me yesterday and—"

The girl slammed the bottle down on the table so hard Bob thought it would break. Her eyes were red rimmed as she glared at the man and muttered, "No. We're not doing this. You're not going to sit there and try to rope me into some crazy plot to try and bring everyone back. It's been five years and I'm done, okay? I have nothing left in me anymore and I don't give a shit, so just leave."

"Kid—"

"I said leave!" she exclaimed, her eyes beginning to glow white with a power that Bob could almost feel beneath his own skin. "I'm not some sob story for you to try to fix, okay? I messed up and didn't kill Thanos in time and half of the universe had to pay for it. I'm done trying to help. All I ever do is hurt people."

She looked away, her voice rough when she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Bob sucked in a breath at that, understanding washing over him as he watched the broken girl do everything she could not to cry.

"Y/N," Tony began but the girl simply shook her head.

"No, Tony. I'm done. Just leave and go ahead and do yourself a favor and never come back. It's not worth your time or energy and I sure as hell don't want you here," she said, her head still turned.

Tony stilled slightly at her words. "You don't mean that," he told her, but before he could even blink, Y/N had used her telekinesis to pick up the bottle of vodka and send it hurtling in his direction. The man barely had time to duck out of the way before it flew right past where his head had been and shattered against the wall. Tony turned to her in surprise but the girl was already getting up and walking to the door of what had to be her bedroom.

"I miss him too you know," Tony called after her causing the girl to still.

"Stop," Y/N warned him, but Tony ignored her and instead stood up, his eyes not leaving her as he clearly made no move to leave.

"Y/N, he wouldn't want this for you. That kid loved you so much. He would be devastated by—"

"I said stop!" Y/N yelled and before anyone knew what was happening, a force was suddenly throwing Tony across the room. The man thought fast and his nano suit had wrapped around him before he could even hit the wall and Bob watched as the color drained from Y/N's face at what she had done.

She was shaking as she stared at Tony, but by the time he was looking back up at her, the Iron Man mask sliding away from his face, she was cold once again. "Get the hell out of my apartment," was all she said before turning and walking into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bob watched her go, frowning slightly as the scene began to play again.

"That was before they won against Thanos," a voice said causing Bob to flinch in surprise. He quickly turned around to find Y/N a little ways behind him, sitting down at a chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes continued to watch the scene playing out in front of her and Bob was almost beginning to question if she had spoke in the first place when she muttered, "That was the last time I saw him before he died."

Her eyes met his then and Bob stilled under her gaze. She was a couple of years older than the version of her from the memory, a little more put together but in the kind of way that screamed help more than her younger self's look had. She had learned to mask it more, that much was clear. Or maybe it was just that Bob knew where to look, that he saw himself when he looked at her and knew in more ways than one just how tired she was.

"Who was he talking about?" Bob asked, silently cursing himself for that being the first thing he said but knowing he now had to just go with it. "The guy?"

Y/N hesitated, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in thought. There was a tiny moment of utter sadness that flashed across her face but it was gone so quickly as she muttered, "I don't know." She let out a sad laugh. "Isn't that sad? It's like there's blanks in my memory. All I know is that there is this immense feeling of loss not just once, but twice. Every time I try to think of him it's like the image of him only gets fuzzier."

Bob was silent for a moment. "I have trouble remembering things too," he admitted. "There are these moments where it's like I'll wake up from a dream I don't remember having and that time is just gone."

Y/N's eyes flickered his way, her gaze shifting over him in a way that made him stand up a little straighter. "I walked through a lot of rooms before ending up here," she told him, her eyes still studying him as though she were trying to piece him together. "This was the only one I couldn't leave."

"Why?" Bob questioned.

"Why did you stop in this one?" she retorted and Bob blinked in surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she stared blankly at the boy. It was a moment before she looked away and back at Tony who was watching her past self slam the door shut behind her as the memory started back up again. "I just wanted to see him again, I guess," she whispered. "I always hated this moment, hated that I pushed him away like that and left him to fight Thanos without me. Sometimes I wonder..."

She trailed off before shrugging slightly and looking back at Bob. "Guess I was as shocked by seeing Tony's face as you were when you walked in," Y/N said. Bob barely even thought his question before she placed a finger against her temple and let out a small sigh of exhaustion. "Telekinesis," she stated. "Just a fraction of the power I was born with, but it comes in handy from time to time. I knew who you were the second you walked into this memory. Your mind is very loud, but not in the way you'd expect it to be."

Bob wanted to ask her more, but it was clear she didn't want to expand on that comment. Instead she merely tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair she sat in and said, "So you're the one doing this."

It wasn't a question. She said it as though it were fact. Not that she was wrong, but something about the way she said it still made Bob's throat constrict.

"It's not. . .it's not me. It's—" Bob broke off and he could see the way she stared at him, knew that she was reading his mind. She blinked and quickly looked away. "Sorry," she whispered. "I can't help it sometimes. You lock yourself away long enough and you'll find it harder to control what once was so easy. But I get a sense that you know that."

Bob let out a small sigh, his eyes flickering over the past Y/N who sat on the couch with a haunted look in her eyes and a tight grip on the bottle in her hand.

"We've all done some bad things," Y/N told him, answering the questions flying through his mind. "I had the unfortunate experience of being the reason half the universe died. I was there that day that Thanos went to Wakanda to take the Mind Stone from Vision. I was the last one there before he snapped. I could've stopped it, but I let his words get to me and . . . well, you know the rest."

“The Blip,” Bob muttered and Y/N nodded solemnly. He could see her trying to keep it all together, but the tension was practically radiating off of her as she avoided his gaze.

“Go ahead and say it,” Y/N told him, her gaze locked on her past self who was busy hurling the bottle at Tony’s head. “You probably lost someone in the Blip, right? Had to suffer five years without them? Who was it? Family? Friends?”

Y/N didn’t even give him time to respond as she let out a sigh as if everything were pointless, “It doesn’t matter. Everyone still thinks the same thing, but I don’t blame them.”

“It’s my fault,” she admitted. “I caused everyone so much pain and suffering and then, when I had the chance to make things right, I pushed everyone away and locked myself in my room. Then Natasha died. Then Tony. And eventually Steve followed. And where was I? Drowning my sorrows in a bottle like the asshole that I am.” Y/N scoffed slightly at herself, the fury in her eyes something most people would probably flinch at but all Bob could do was soften at the sight. “So go ahead and say what you want. Call me names. Shout at me. Tell me how much of a monster I am. I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

Bob didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say. Not because it was all too much to process, but because he understood it. He understood what she was feeling. The pain and the anger. The guilt and regret. The shame. He understood it in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But the silence was loud and Y/N wouldn’t meet his eyes. She just stared at the scene in front of her as her past self’s voice filled the silence between them, her voice rough as she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Y/N flinched at those words, her face crumbling slightly as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Bob felt his heart ache at the sight and for a moment, he saw himself sitting there in that chair. But more importantly, he saw her. He saw Y/N for who she truly was. He didn’t know what to say to her to make her better, so instead he just thought it.

I see you.

Y/N's eyes snapped up to him and Bob knew he hadn't had to say that out loud. She had heard him loud and clear.

She stood without another word, her eyes never leaving his as she walked towards him. She was quiet as she stopped in front of him, her gaze turning questioning as she studied him.

You do see me, don't you?

Bob let out a small gasp as her voice echoed in his head. He stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't flinch away not even when she took a step closer so that they were only a breath apart.

I can feel it, you know? That darkness. It calls to me.

"You know where he is?" Bob asked and Y/N quickly shook her head.

"I'm not talking about the Void," she whispered. She gently lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. "Here."

Bob's breath stuttered and he tried to keep his heart from racing as he whispered, "W-what does it say?"

"That it understands," Y/N replied. "That it sees what’s inside my own heart.” She hesitated before giving him a sad smile. “Like calls to like after all."

Bob stared at her, his eyes flickering over her face. He had thought she was pretty before, but up close she was even more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Her eyebrow quirked slightly as if she had heard that thought and maybe she had, but Y/N was already moving on which he was silently thankful about.

“You feel it too,” she said and Bob didn’t need to say it out loud to confirm her thoughts. After all, he knew what she was talking about and she was right. Ever since he had emerged into this room, he had felt a sort of tug. It was the reason he had stayed. He thought it was because of seeing Tony Stark, but it was because he had felt her from the moment he had stepped foot into that room.

It was because he had seen her before ever laying eyes on her and it seemed she had done the same.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bob admitted, his words strained. “Every time I think I’m getting better, that I’ve finally pulled myself out of that darkness, I just. . .”

“Get pulled back under again?”

Bob was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as that same feeling of shame that always crept up when he thought about his problems beginning to rise in the form of a blush on his neck, “Yeah.”

There was a gentle touch against his chin before Y/N lifted his head so that his gaze met hers once more. Her touched lingered for just a moment, but then her hand was dropping back down to her side. Not once did she move the one that was still resting on his chest and above his heart, the only source of comfort either of them seemed to need.

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes getting a sort of far off look as she whispered, “Sometimes the hardest battle you’ll ever face is with yourself.”

Bob felt tears prick his eyes at those words and for a moment, he even felt a sense of comfort. Someone knew what he was going through. Someone understood.

He had never had that before.

“How do we beat it?” Bob’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Y/N seemed to come back to herself at those words, her eyes locking with his once more and her hand tightened on his shirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d like to figure that out. Together.”

Bob swore he stopped breathing at those words.

“Together,” he repeated, tears filling his eyes slightly out of disbelief.

Y/N merely nodded and she gently reached up, her thumb quickly swiping under his eye to brush away a stray tear that had fallen. Her own eyes were lined with tears as she whispered through a soft laugh, “Yeah, together. As long as you’re okay with being friends with the girl who does nothing but screw everything up.”

Bob couldn’t stop the small grin that began to peak out, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he opened his mouth to respond.

It was then that the doors to the room flew open, darkness flooding in and covering the walls and floors with black tendrils as it raced towards the two. The two stumbled back and away from each other as they tried to avoid the darkness creeping in and Y/N let out a small shout when her past self and Tony dissolved into nothing but shadows.

“Bob,” Y/N called out, but the boy was already reaching for her. He had ahold of her arm within a second and he pulled her to the one corner of the room not covered in darkness just yet.

His eyes were wide as he scanned what was left of the room, his grip tightening on Y/N’s arm in slight panic and confusion as he tried to process what was happening.

The darkness had never come after Bob before.

Not like this.

Something had signaled the Void. Something had scared him.

Bob’s eyes flickered to Y/N who was leaning into his touch, the tips of her fingers already beginning to glow white as she clearly analyzed the situation. His fingers felt warm against her forearm and for a moment he let himself remember the feel of her hand on his chest, the way her breath had fanned his face, and the way her words had wrapped around his heart like a hug he hadn't know he had needed.

And he knew.

The Void fed off of his sadness and loneliness and whatever Y/N had been making him feel was the opposite. The Void would do whatever he needed to crush this feeling, to stay in control. Even if it meant there were casualties along the way.

Bob’s heart ached at that thought and he quickly turned to Y/N who was backing closer to him as they were pushed further into the corner of the room and her memory. She moved her arm out of his grasp in order to hold her hands up, a white light emitting out against the darkness as she tried to hold it at bay.

"Bob, what's going on?" she asked. "What do we do?"

"I—" Bob was panicking now, the thought of Y/N getting hurt making him feel so many emotions that he hadn't felt in a long time. It scared him how much he felt towards the girl within just one conversation. He already knew he would do whatever needed to be done to save her and that thought alone scared him in more ways than one. Even more than the plan that was beginning to develop in his head, the plan that would save Y/N but would mean leaving her at the same time.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Y/N's head whipped in his direction. "Bob, no. You can't run. You have to fight this thing. If you don't, the darkness will only continue to consume you," she said.

"Cause you know what that's like?" Bob retorted, his panic and fear making him sound bitter. "We just watched the same memory over and over of you letting the darkness take over. If you can't fight it, what makes you think I can?"

Y/N's eyes softened slightly. "Bob," she started, but the darkness pushed closer towards them and she let out a strangled sound as she strained to keep her powers in check.

Bob watched her for a second, his eyes flickering over her one last time before he leaned forward. His lips brushed gently against her ear and he felt her shiver slightly under his touch. His breath came out shaky as he whispered, "I would've liked to be your friend."

Then, before she could do or say anything else, Bob had pulled back and thrown himself against the wall of the memory. His body broke through the barrier and into the next room, the darkness leaving Y/N behind in favor of chasing the boy.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out as she attempted to lunge after him, but the darkness threw her back and by the time she was up on her feet again, the memory had sealed itself around her, forcing her to relive the same moment with Tony while Bob got away.

- - -

Bob didn’t know how long he ran for. All he knew was that it took forever for him to get back to his own rooms. He almost cried when the meth chicken scene appeared before him, but he didn’t stop there. He continued his trek even after the darkness eventually faded away, now satisfied that Bob was back where he belonged.

Everything was just too loud, the memories too much for Bob to withstand while that feeling of utter loneliness crept up on him once more. It was foolish of him to think he could ever have someone understand him, that he could ever have someone in his life without hurting them in the end. He had done this to himself.

He deserved to be alone.

At some point Bob eventually managed to find the attic of one of his memories, the only quiet place in this miserable void, and he was quick to tuck himself away in there, away from all the noise and the darkness that he could feel feeding off of everyone's chaos.

It was only then that he sat down and curled in on himself, his breathing shaky as he tried to push every last thought of Y/N out of his head.

"She's better off without me," Bob whispered to himself like a mantra, his head tucked close to his knees as he let the stillness envelope him in a hug much different than the one Y/N’s words had given him. “She’s better off without me.”

“Everyone is.”

[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is — ldh

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. friends to implied lovers, drunk confession wc. 1.5k summary. sober you would beat you up if she heard the bullshit spilling from your mouth; in which alcohol is both your best friend and your worst enemy warnings. excessive amount of fluff, reader’s drunk as hell, Donghyuck’s love language is acts of service  an. a little warm up writing before I start writing longer fics again—I REALLY like the drunk confession microtrope,,, this whole thing was either written at 5AM on my work breaks or 5AM bc my sleep schedule is fucked up,,, pls enjoy!

You couldn’t give any less of a fuck that the bare soles of your feet were touching the cool pavement. 

In fact, you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything.

Mind hazy, still tipsy from the shots your cousin had shoved in your hands, you briefly recall Donghyuck telling you that your mom had requested to bring you home—something about staying back to help clean up the venue and something about crashing out?—who the hell cares. 

You let out a snort for no reason.

Maybe you should’ve brought extra shoes.

But again, you don’t care.

Donghyuck tails you, not too far behind. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, a smile playing lightly upon his lips as he watched you stumble under the lights of the venue. He knows he should be at your side in case you lose your balance, but it hadn’t even been five minutes since you declined his arm.

“You sure you don’t want to wear my shoes?” 

You stop in your tracks and look back at him. It’s only now that you notice how sweaty the man was, bangs stuck to his forehead from all the dancing. This could also explain why your feet were killing you, “What shoes would you wear?”

He holds up the pair of heels dangling from his fingers, “Yours.” 

You scoff and continue walking, “You in heels? Funny.”

And although your intentions were to offend Donghyuck, the smile on his face stays put, “Well, if it means you could walk comfortably, then I’d endure that pain and embarrassment.” 

You roll your eyes, using all the strength in your entire body to not physically react to Donghyuck’s choice of words, “Please never say that ever again.” 

“I’m serious,” he responds, “Also, I told you about bringing extra shoes.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes trail further down the walkway, noting down that the parking lot was inching closer and closer. He recalls from this morning that the parking lot was sprinkled with pebbles. He frowns, “Can you please just put my shoes on?” 

“I’m fine, Hyuck,” you groan, “I think that the car isn’t even far from here.” 

“You’re right but…” 

You hear him sigh out deeply before you hear his footsteps pick up in pace, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The alcohol pulls your eyes shut for just a moment, and when you finally gain control of them again, you find your best friend kneeling down in front of you, back turned towards you, “Get on.” 

“Hyuck, I said I was fine,” you attempt to walk around him, but the man somehow predicts which way you’re going and scoots right in front of you. 

“And I said to get on,” he orders gently, “Please.” 

The ���please’ causes you to giggle and you find yourself staring at the back of his head, dwindling on a few possible answers. His hair looks soft, like something you’d want to reach out and touch. “Don’t wanna… risk you dropping me.”

If you weren’t completely insane for your best friend, you would’ve hopped onto his back no problem. Hell, with the alcohol you felt a little bit bolder than usual, but nothing could mistake that little kick in your heartbeat telling you that if you decided to take his offer, you’d probably melt the second you make contact with him. 

“I’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t,” Donghyuck threatens (was that even considered a threat?), “C’mon.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. But your actions completely contradict your words as you carefully secure yourself onto Donghyuck’s back, arms wrapping right around his neck. He follows in pursuit, hooking his arms right under your knees before he stands up. “You suck.” 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” he laughs, “I’m strong. I won’t drop you.”

Your brain’s telling you to mock him back, but your words falter because you’re hit by Donghyuck’s perfume. Fuck—of course he smells good. You can’t remember a time that he didn’t. 

It takes every ounce of your sobriety to not bury your face in Donghyuck’s hair. 

“I actually had fun,” Donghyuck begins, referring to the wedding, “Honestly, I was scared to meet your other relatives. You always talk about them and they sound scary. But I actually had fun.” 

“That’s good,” you reply quietly, almost dazed, “I’m glad you had fun.” 

Your head flops onto Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair falling in front of your face and tickling his ear. His car finally comes into view and Donghyuck wastes no time to swing the door open. 

“There you go, Princess,” Donghyuck jokes. He lowers you down gently, allowing you to plop into the passenger seat. Once he’s sure you’re seated, he turns around to face you, combing the mess of hair away from your face. “Comfy?” 

“What if I said no?” You giggle, head falling back against the headrest. 

Another sigh leaves Donghyuck’s lips and he pokes your side, “Then I’d do whatever it takes to make you comfy.” 

“Quit talking like that,” you groan.

He hums, “Like what?” 

The leather seat squeaks when you shift to face the other way, letting your eyes draw close. 

Fatigue was definitely catching up. 

I don’t know… you think, Just… like that. 

And although your mind struggles to piece letters together to word how you were feeling, your heart knows exactly what you were thinking about. 

Donghyuck shuts the door and his shadow crosses the light leaking through your eyelids. The driver’s door clicks open and then Donghyuck’s settling in the seat next to yours. 

“Well…” You hear his foot hit the brake before he taps at the button to start the car, “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmmm…” your lips form a pout, suddenly hit by the events of the wedding. You feel like you’re teetering between sobriety and intoxication, unsure whether or not you should be genuine, “Yo.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow and tilts his head at you, “Yo?” 

“Yes and no,” you clarify, almost as if he was supposed to know what you meant, “I had fun but didn’t.” 

Again, Donghyuck’s eyebrow jerks, “Whatever you say.” He’s unsure whether he should wait for you to settle before he pulls out of the parking spot. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” You whine. One of your eyelids draws open, just enough to peek out at him. 

He huffs, playing along, “…why?”

“I had fun because my cousin and her partner were cute and the dancing and the drinks, the games and everything…” You list, “But also, I didn’t have fun because all I could think about was the fact that I may never find the love they have.” 

Your best friend lets your words sink in, trying to make sense of it while stringing together the right words to say—ones that wouldn’t give it away. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you will find that love you want.” 

Then tears start leaking out of the corners of your eyes and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to reach over to wipe them away. He can’t help but laugh, watching as you’ve finally reached your crying phase, simply meaning that you’d pass out next, “Why are you crying? I’m telling you the truth, you know.” 

You shrug sluggishly, “I don’t completely doubt you, Hyuckie.” Another tear slips out and you feel the pad of Donghyuck’s thumb swipe across your cheek. 

“Then why are you crying?” he frowns. 

“Well, what if…” you trail, “What if the love I want is with you?” You’re too far gone to even realize what you’ve just said, “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…” 

The pounding in Donghyuck’s ears almost drown out your voice. You’re speaking so quietly that he needs to lean in to hear you. 

Another tear—wipe.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding, if it wasn’t you I was waking up to, if the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…” 

Your eyes remain close and the more you speak, the more spaced out the words come out your mouth. Sober you would not believe what you were confessing to a sober Donghyuck.

“I want you to love me,” you finally confess, like saying it out loud validated all your feelings, “And everyday I feel like that’s too much to ask.” 

“We should talk about this another time, Y/N.” 

You groan at his response, almost as if you weren’t satisfied with his answer. But before he could get another word out, he watches as your head flops onto your own shoulder. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck chuckles to himself, shaking his head. He reaches over and pulls the lever to recline your chair, letting your head fall back comfortably, “There you go… comfy…” 

Donghyuck sits back in his seat and admires you for a moment, a delicate frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He wishes you weren’t drunk and saying these words, afraid that when the alcohol wasn’t running through your body, that none of them would even mean anything to you. 

Because if the love you wanted was with him, he’d do anything—everything—to give it to you.

[hearts4chriss]

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍.

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐁𝐒𝐅! 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐏𝐎𝐂 𝐛𝐬𝐟

prompt by this request: "chris getting jealous bc his bsf seems flirty with matt so he confesses his feelings and it ends with smuttttt”

contains: HELLA SMUTTT, Chris confessing his feelings, mad jealous Chris, dom!chris, suggestive, “flirting” w Matt??, Chris and yours first kiss, choking, spanking, degrading names (slut, whore yktv), MUCH dumification, use of pet names (mama, baby, sweetheart, good girl, pretty girl, sweet girl ), stomach bulge!, flashbacks of Chris fantasizing about you, overstimulation, cream pie, squirting, Chris having a massive cock obviously, missionary, slight m!oral, aftercare as always!! Heavy ( bath tg, praising, concerned!chris reassurance

a/n- this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so here it is

For years, since we were kids. I’ve always had a huge crush on my bestfriend.

I couldn’t get over her no matter how hard I tried and it grew more and more especially since she lives in LA now and we see her almost everyday.

It got worse. So bad. I needed her

I remember seeing her in an orange bikini complimenting her gorgeous features. The way the bottoms hugged her curves making her ass pop out was enough to make me finish in my pants.

She was gorgeous, I wanted to have her badly but it was Nearly impossible fo get her alone.

Especially with Matt around. It pissed me off when I’d see them laughing together or making tiktoks.

That’s my girl

I remember sitting in my room scrolling on instagram when I got the notification she posted on her story

Fuck she looked so good.

the way the grey shorts hugged her ass just how I liked, she looked so gorgeous too.

I, unintentionally started palming myself through my sweats.

I couldn’t help it she had such an affect on me.

I pulled my sweats down revealing my boxers with a wet spot where my tip was.

“Shit”. I groan pulling them down fully as my dick slapped against my stomach begging to be touched, wishing it was her hand and not mine.

I began to stroke myself with shaky hands imagining it was her lips wrapped around me and I throw my head back against the pillows as my mind wandered

She was irresistible, I had to have her.

We always had a flirty thing going on and I didn’t think it would get this far.

Until…

Today was on of those days where I was in the kitchen leaning on the counter drinking a Pepsi pretending to watch TV as I listen to her faint giggles as her and my fucking brother watched TV.

I felt my hand tighten around the can as I saw how close they were, knowing he didn’t like her but I didn’t care. I wanted her all too myself.

I sighed throwing my can out coming up with an idea to figure out a way to get her for me.

Matt and nick going to get food.

“hey Matt, wanna go get some food? Y/n likes this Chinese place it’s about an hour away, nick prob wants to go”. I say smiling with a cocky grin and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay fine I’ll be back in like 4 fucking hours nick let’s go!”. Matt tells and Nick comes downstairs.

“Y/n, you’re so lucky we love you”. Nick says sarcastically and they walk out the house but fuck something about the way Matt looked at her before he left just made me more pissed off.

“Chris?”. I stand up adjusting my shorts as the grey material rolled up my ass and my tank top hugged around my tits the watching Chris’s eyes wander.

“What the fuck are you trying to do to me”. Chris mutters into my ear, his hand wrapping around my neck and my breath hitches.

“W-what are you talking about?”. I shudder as his blue eyes pour into mine with an unhappy expression giving me a pity laugh.

“Flirting with my brother in front of me? Seriously?! Is it not obvious how much I want you?”. Chris confessed his nose touching mine making me gulp, my thighs closing together accidentally.

There was no doubt Chris was attractive but hell if I knew he liked me shit I’d probably let him fuck me or something.

“You? Want me?” I said slightly confused and utterly shocked and he takes a deep breath.

“you have no fucking idea how much I want you, and I have no problem showing him that your my girl”. Chris gave me a sly smile picking me up by my ass carrying me downstairs to his room.

“C-Chris wait-“. I was cut off by him kissing me and I melt into his touch. His hands grip my ass tighter making me gasp, his tongue massaging mine as I moan into the kiss.

“Strip”. He demands standing me up and I tilt my head. And he gives me those eyes and immediately comply beginning to peal of my clothes leaving me in a matching set of orange. Chris’s favourite colour.

“Fuck ma you look so pretty..all for me right?” He asks his hands playing with my bra strap making my panties dampen.

“Yes Chris- all for you”. I match his gaze and he smirked pushing me on the bed as I scooted back leaving him room to climb above me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you”. Chris leaves a soft kiss to my cheek practically ripping my panties off me and I squirm.

“Chris! I liked those!”. I whine and he rolls his eyes pulling down his sweatpants and boxers in one movement and his thick, and painfully hard cock springs out hitting his stomach and my heart beat picks up

how the fuck was that supposed to fit inside me?

Chris took in my nervous expression and let out a soft laugh placing his hands on my thighs

“Spread ur legs for me”. He taps my legs and I spread them apart revealing my wet pussy, the arousal glistening on my inner thighs.

he runs a finger along my slit and I jolt slightly at the sudden sensation.

“shit- ur so wet, did i make you like this? Or was it my brother”. Chris asked tilting his head, his jawn clenched ans my breath hitched as he continued moving his finger.

“No answer? Guess I’ll fuck the answer out of you”. Chris pressed my legs against my chest before slamming his cock deep inside me, stretching me out painfully I almost couldn’t take it.

“f-fuck Chris! T-too much!”. I stutter trying to push his hand away but he quickly slaps it away, using my legs as leverage to begin pounding my inside me.

Chris didn’t give me time to adjust to his large size, tears already forming on my eyes from the pleasure.

“shit- your pussy feels so good, better than I’ve imagined”. He let out a deep groan watching how my pussy sucked him in, Chris’s hips driving into mine as I squint my eyes shut.

“Already becoming a mess on my cock? Should’ve kept matt here so he could see how much of slut you are for me”. Chris grips my neck angling his hips to thrust deeper and I squeal, my eyes meeting with his blues, an electric feeling shooting through me.

He wouldn’t let up his pace, his cock plunging into my tight hole as the pain turned to pleasure thankfully as my cunt morphed to fit his dick.

And Chris was fucking right, I was a slut for him and I has tried to hide it this whole time by being innocent and flirtatious with his brother but the second I was underneath him, I was begging for him to touch me

“Oh shitt- d-don’t stop- fuck”. I throw my head back on the soft pillows, moaning curses breathlessly, my tits bouncing with his quick and hard movements, bound to leave bruises between my thighs burning with sensation.

“mmph fuck- wasn’t planning on it pretty girl”. He moaned, completely infatuated with how I wrapped around him perfectly, like I was made for him. And shit- was he made for me.

She felt so good, almost as if her pussy and every thing about her was made for me.

I couldn’t get enough of her, the Moans and squeaks of my name leaving her swollen lips could’ve made me cum on the spot.

the way she could barley form a sentence as I fucked her, and I wasn’t even close to being done with her yet.

I was going to make sure she knew that she was mine, my fucking girl.

“Chris-you feel so good”. She moaned my name again, turning me on much more than it should’ve, the way her eyes barely opened, and how she’d bite her and stare at me grasping her breasts.

“yeah? you like when I fuck you dumb like this? Can’t even get a word out?”. I taunt, I gripped her neck tighter, her legs finding their way up on my shoulders crying out my name like it’s the only one she knew.

I couldn’t even answer, the things he were asking me required my full attention and shit- I was so far gone.

“I suggest you answer me ma because your about to to cum”. Chris presses his chest on mine, our noses touching as he breathed heavily into my mouth while I reciprocated the same action.

“mm-m I-fuck I-i love it”. I shudder on each word, praying he heard me because I really could not talk right now. I squeezed my eyes shut and he chuckled seeing how speechless he fucked.

“God I could listen to you like this all day”. Chris grunted into my ear as I felt the stomach coil I had began to burst unexpectedly from the overwhelming pleasure.

Chris made me squirt

“S-shit! I’m sorry I-“. I shook as the fluids made a mess over his lower stomach but gasping as he didn’t slow down.

“Never apologize that was hot as fuck- got one more in you?”. He pants resting his head on my shoulder quickening his pace and I whimper gripping his back.

“Oh god Chris- I-I can’t”. My nails run down his back making marks and he bites his bottom lip as I pulled him closer.

His hips pushing into mine, as my juices had coated his cock, leaking out of me creating a wet sensation of our sex.

“You can take it baby, being such a good girl, fuck just one more”. He let out a shaky moan throwing a my leg around his waist and I let out a loud moan at the angle Chris’s cock hit, brushing my g-spot.

“C-Chris ur so deep-“. I let out pornographic sounds and he gave me a deep kiss before pressing his hand where his dick was poking through.

his hand pressed down on the bulge in my stomach and I felt the tears run down my face from the overwhelming pleasure.

“that’s all me baby- fuck I love ur pussy so much-“. He stutters throwing his head as hair sticks to his forehead, the sight was more than appealing.

His slightly parted lips producing whimpers, curses and moans of my name. The way he squeezed my hips making sure I could feel every thick inch of him and the sweat coating over his body.

Her lips parted releasing pants and moans of my name and the occasional “fuck”, her hair now sweated out with hickeys along her neck and tits reminding her that she was mine now. The way her nails would grip my back drawing marks that showed how much she enjoyed it.

“Oh shit- ma- can I cum inside you? M’need you so bad-“. He moans into my neck and I shiver and chant yes’s.

Chris released his seed inside me triggering a second hard orgasm for me, creaming his dick as my body shook.

I turned my head to lay on the pillow before he could catch a glimpse of me, slowly sliding his cock out of me.

He took one look at me and his eyes immediately shifted to one of concern

“wait wait shit- did I hurt you?”. Chris started, seeing how my legs shook from the orgasm I just had.

“please talk to me”. He cupped my cheeks and I gave him a soft smile.

“I’m fine Chris that was- shit- the best sex I’ve ever had”. I let out a quiet sigh and a smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled me into a bridal style hold.

“Well come on let’s get you cleaned up, I wanna spend time with my girl”. He giggled like a child and I rolled my eyes as he carried me into the bathroom running a warm bath for both of us

“No seriously tho your okay?”. He said softly rubbing my shoulders as we soaked in the warm tub.

“Chris the way you put that dick on me I’m more than ok”. I kissed his cheek and his cheeks flushed a bit as he leaned back against the tub whilst I’m in his arms.

She’s really my girl.

@sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chriss @nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @hoesformatt @luv4kozume-deactivated20240512 @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @vanteguccir @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @imaslut4kehlani @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @sturniololoverr @gamermattsgf @lilyloveschris @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @ineedchriscock @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @luhsexcbihh @nickgetsmewetter @rubyjaneaxx @love4chris

[mandalhoerian]

(6) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

When a last-minute opportunity presents itself to become a distraction from the shame of not attending the reunion of your university friend group, you take it. One thing, though, yes, you might have been wrong for chickening out. But falling overboard in a storm, almost drowning, and getting saved by the biggest oddball of a skinny dipper out in the wild is a bit too much for instant karma, you think.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 13k | read on ao3

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note: apologizing for late chapters is getting old now i know, but i swear it would have come out earlier if it hadnt been for tumblr's ridiculous mature content label flagging issue . i've been wrestling with that bicth now ever since that update dropped on the 11h. all seal raf chapters are FLAGGED and i cant get them out of superhell. and apparently its their image recognition bot, i had to change the banner image. god if i have to deal with this bs AGAIN im crashing out i hope you enjoy the chapter

The wetsuit is half-zipped, clinging damp against your hips, something that doesn’t quite want to let go. You’re sitting on the flattest rock you can find near the lip of the cove, knees drawn up, elbows balanced on them, phone balanced precariously between your fingers. The mist is still stitched thick between the cliffs, and the morning sun hasn’t quite managed to cut through it yet. Cold air brushes against your bare arms, lifting the baby hairs, biting gently. Your knees are cold. Your mind is worse.

The group chat lights up again.

You scroll without reading at first, just watching the little cascade of names and icons — familiar and sharp-edged in ways you can't explain. It’s watching someone else’s memories keep moving while yours have stalled out in the same old frame. Same island. Same ferry. Same breath caught in your throat.

Yesterday’s conversation still occupies your mind, and you read through it once more.

"F4NT4STIC 4 REUNION ERA" (Yesterday, 13.37) [ tara ♡ ]: LADIES . YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT ISSSSSSS [ simone (����🤙) ]: girl i already took the days off. if yall flake i’m showing up to macie’s with a suitcase anyway [ fleetwood mac ]: LMAOO i mean my living room is still 80% cardboard boxes but sure, suffer [ simone (👹🤙) ]: if there’s karaoke i’m unplugging the speaker with my teeth [ tara ♡ ]: also HELLO??? miss ferrymaster of heartbreak bay??? [ tara ♡ ]: we see you reading and not respondingggg [ tara ♡ ]: THE WAY SHE’S STILL NOT ANSWERING [ fleetwood mac ]: come online and disappear if you're alive. don't write anything if you’re still in love with your ex [ fleetwood mac ]: you’re still in love with him???? [ fleetwood mac ]: damn it didnt work [ simone (👹🤙) ]: she’s gonna come back in like six hours and act like nothing happened [ simone (👹🤙) ]: literally text back. we're not mad you couldn't come. stop acting like this is a break-up !!!

(Yesterday, 23.35) [ you ]: sorry. alive. extremely salty. [ you ]: had to scrub barnacle residue off my soul before texting back. [ fleetwood mac ]: SYBAU girl you disappeared like a victorian child into the mist 😭 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: anyway. macie's wine count is at 3. tara made a playlist. theo hasn’t cried yet [ you ]: bold of you to assume he won’t [ fleetwood mac ]: we placed bets. i give him until desert [ tara ♡ ]: also you were right, he brought the seal mug he made in his pottery course. Unironically. [ you ]: I feel the emotional blackmail all the way from over here … [ fleetwood mac) ]: i had to leave the room. i was spiritually unprepared [ you ]: move it like half an inch every time he looks away and pretend like nothing happened to freak him out that paranormal shit is going on. for my sake. please [ tara ♡ ]: That's horrible. How do you come up with stuff like this? Do you want us to get kicked out if he makes a scene? [ tara ♡ ]: I'll send you pictures 😘 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: we set a place for you vtw. it’s got a rock on it. and a fork. [ you ]: that’s exactly how i would’ve wanted it <3

Your thumb pauses above a message. Just names. Names that once belonged to cramped dorm rooms, midnight indomie, and mutual breakdowns in libraries that smelled of old glue. The kind of friendships that were lifelines — loud and chaotic and necessary. And they still are. But you’re quieter now. Less sure what part you should play in their world.

Tara’s already published several scientific papers, both on her own and with her teacher — ResearchGate profile overflowing with content. Simone’s backpacked solo through South America and made it look unreal the entire time, every photo gold-dusted and cinematic and you’re sure she lives in an indie travel documentary. Macie just got picked up for a docuseries pilot. The one who shall not be named passed his bar exam and launched a website in his name that has to be surely coded by a tech god and branded by a Parisian design firm.

And you?

You still have this wetsuit from sophomore year. A freezer full of discount frozen meals. A collection of ferry schedules memorized down to the second.

You still work shifts that stretch into your bones. Still sleep in the room with the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to the ceiling at fourteen. Still get asked by tourists if you ever get tired of paradise. As if it’s not the same damn shoreline every day. They don’t know paradise comes with guilt-paid free health insurance and the inability to look into your parents' eyes without sweating through your shirt.

The museum front desk application sits untouched on your desktop. The deadline came and went while you were distracted by nothing in particular. There’s a half-written email to the local heritage center still sitting in your drafts. Volunteering was mentioned once, briefly, in passing, and never again.

You told your advisor you were taking a year. Time to figure things out. To recalibrate. To breathe.

But the year kept slipping. One month into the next. One season curling into the other. You started taking the same walk every morning. Then you stopped bothering with a route. Some days, even brushing your teeth was something that had to be earned.

You tried to make plans. Tried to start a spreadsheet. Color-coded your week and pretended it meant something. It lasted three days. Then the shame of seeing your own optimism undone by inertia sent you spiraling into the sea with your phone on do-not-disturb.

Sometimes you wake up already disappointed in yourself. Sometimes you manage to coast until lunch. The rest of the time, it sneaks up in strange places: folding laundry, stirring pasta, passing your own reflection and not recognizing anything urgent in your own eyes.

You keep saying you’ll get out. That it’s temporary. That you’re not stuck. You tell yourself that so often it’s started taking the shape of a prayer. Or a dare.

But every time you scroll, you feel it. That sharp, quiet pinch in your ribs. You're watching a starting line recede in the distance while your legs stay tangled in the sand.

A sharp twist of your mouth curls before you can stop it, too bitter to be a smile, too wry to be pain. You toss your phone a few inches further across the towel, willing the distance keep the elephant in the room away for a while longer.

And Theo. Of course he’s there.

Ha.

You sit still. A breath leaves your nose. The rock beneath you is cold, uneven, your palms flat against it. Wet grit clings to your fingers. You focus on that. The gulls loop overhead, shrieking into the pale air. Below, the tide moves against the rocks in shallow bursts, licking foam into the cracks and pulling it back again with a hiss. The world hasn't stopped, but it’s ignoring you on purpose.

No, you're ignoring it on purpose. 

A sleek head breaches the surface a few yards out, rising between two fingers of rock where kelp sways below in long green ribbons. A huff leaves him in a pfbbbth sound — short, damp, unimpressed — and he glides forward in a meandering path, stirring flecks of foam in his wake. The water around him flattens, then rolls behind his body in lazy spirals. Even the cove is used to making space for him.

You don’t smile. It almost happens, your face twitches because it wants to. But it doesn’t make it all the way. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted just slightly.

"Someone’s a little restless today," you mutter.

He barks again. Short. With an imaginary question mark at the end of it. Surely it’s because he hasn’t received his usual cooing greetings and your, “Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie,” — but your spirits are as gray as the weather. You can’t summon the cheerfulness.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming."

You slide into the water slower than usual, the cold biting at your ankles and climbing. Raf circles once, then again, but doesn’t dart off the way he normally does. He floats closer instead, trailing you as you wade out to the deeper part. When your feet finally lift from the sand, you turn toward him.

"I should’ve just gone," you say. "I don’t know why I’m so scared of a little get-together. Who cares if I’m not working yet? I should just say I’m taking a gap year… Like for uni graduates. Or say like I’m looking into Work and Travel but haven’t really liked any of the choices or something."

He tilts his head. How clueless and cute. Smooth brain. No ridges or lumps, no valleys or bumps; all ideas slide right off.

"You don’t even know what LinkedIn is," you mumble. “You’ll never have to. I’m so jealous, you don’t even know.”

Raf makes a bubbling snort.

You hate how bitter it makes you, sometimes. Hearing them talk about opportunities and networking and beautiful apartments with friends who leave them soup in the fridge. And you smile, as you’re supposed to. It’s good news. You’re proud. You are.

But it still seeps into the spaces between each of your vertebra, shapes you into a shrimp before the stateliness of ambition and purpose, making you feel small for not having more to offer, and worse for resenting even a flicker of it. There’s something sour in you that can’t be sweetened into a lemonade.

And you don’t want to be that person. You don’t. But you are. Quietly. Privately. The kind of ugly that you don't admit aloud unless you’re alone. Or talking to a seal.

"I hate that I get annoyed," you say under your breath. "Every time one of them says they’re doing great, I get that twist in my stomach like I swallowed a rock. Even when I’m proud of them. Even when I love them. What does that make me, huh?"

Raf offers no reply. Just a slow blink and inquisitive, a train’s choo-choo sounding breathing from his flaring nostrils.

"It makes me pathetic. That’s what."

Your throat tightens. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove and look up toward the cliffs, eyes still hot.

"There’s something you’re unlucky with. You know what?" you say, voice hoarse. "Of all the fish in the sea, you ended up with me. Should’ve gone for a marine biologist. Or a rich heiress with a yacht."

Raf surfaces again, blinking at you with deliberate slowness that mirrors a cat’s. Then, with a low chuff, he glides closer and presses the side of his head against your shoulder. You’re still floating when he wriggles around, flippers flopping clumsily, and half-latches onto your side, a wet, overgrown toddler trying to hug a pool noodle. His whiskers tickle through the neoprene.

You flip onto your back and float, arms out, hair fanning around your head with a seal glued to you. The sky above is pale and empty, the kind of soft gray that feels too big when you're already too full. You drift for a moment with your ears half-submerged, the world muffled except for the splash of Raf's flippers somewhere nearby. Clouds move. You don't.

"Watch. You’ll get discovered by some cute environmental documentary crew next and leave me behind. Get famous. Start an OnlyFans for your flippers."

Pause.

“OnlyFins,” you snort to yourself.

Raf lets out a long, wet blort, and disappears underwater with a cute bloop. 

You barely have time to curse before something nudges your ribs — hard. Then again. And then you’re yanked downward, the flipper hooked around your waist is basically an overly confident tugboat.

You surface with a gasp and a splash, hair in your eyes, sputtering.

Raf bobs a few feet away, grinning in the smug way only a seal can, going "AUUUUU," over and over again, following that up with a performative spin and a slap on the water.

"No more jokes, fine," you cough.

He dives again, leaving a trail of bubbles — pops up, and pauses, twisting back to look for you. His head bobs once. Twice. Then he disappears again, darting just beneath the surface, drawing a path for you to follow. A loop, a spiral, a flourish. He resurfaces ahead with a sharp snort and flicks water in your direction.

You blink water from your lashes. "Okay, okay, I get it. Impatient little show-off. Seashells aren’t going anywhere, let me go get my gear, damn."

He dunks under again, tail flippers wagging just enough to be smug about it.

And after your preparations, you follow.

Because if anything makes sense — if anything ever feels whole — it’s this. Salt in your mouth. Raf’s stupid flipper smacking water like an impatient bunny stomping his foot. A sky so wide you can’t get your arms around it.

You may not know how to move forward. But here, right now, you don’t need to.

Here, you can just be.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, the dive with Raf has dried to salt on your collar, and your limbs are already back in work-mode — anchored, alert, one hand on the wheel, the other near the comms, watching the weather shift with a sailor’s instinct and a whole life of knowing exactly when things stop making sense at sea.

The last round trip of the day is quiet in a different way today, though. No commuters or tourists, and no one but you on board.

A rare fluke of timing: your dad tied up with engine trouble on the backup skiff; the senior deckhand down for the count after slipping on ice during today's last unloading shift and sent home limping; the second deckhand called out with food poisoning from bad market shrimp; the engineer out for two weeks recovering from wrist surgery after trying to fix a rusted coupling by himself; the backup engineer already covering freight route duties on the north side; and the high schooler who usually mans the snack kiosk bailed last-minute for a school recital he 'forgot' to mention until this morning. Even the part-time lookout who mostly just watches Raf from the upper deck found a way to slip away.

You’d said yes before your dad even finished the ask instead of just cancelling the entirety of the day off — if a perfectly fine excuse for why you didn’t show up at the reunion made itself available to you, you would take it without question. It was serendipity, why let it go to waste?

And it was only one run, the weather wasn’t supposed to break yet. You knew the route. You could handle it.

Though, frankly, it felt good to be trusted with something this real and just empty your head for the rest of the day.

So it's just you, the hum of the engine, and a stretch of sea that's growing moodier by the minute.

You clock it before it starts showing.

The pitch is wrong.

Movement is expected, up-down, up-down, sometimes with more vigor and distance. No, it’s not that. It’s the angle, the timing, the tension underfoot that rolls in just a half-second too late. The swell pattern doesn’t match the forecast, the wind has teeth it wasn’t supposed to, and the gulls have gone silent over the water.

You glance up from the console, watching the sky fold itself into layers. That soft lilac haze from earlier has gone bruised at the edges. There’s a kind of waiting baked into the air now, the hush before the sky opens its mouth and howls.

You should’ve already turned back. You know the signs. You’ve trusted them before.

But the timing’s tight, and you know the shape of this route better than the lines in your palms. If you hold speed and cut between the outer channel markers, you might beat the worst of it. The system’s moving in fast — but not fast enough to make you fold early. Not if you don’t have to.

Besides, there’s only one round trip left back home. The radar isn’t red yet. The pressure’s dropping, but the water’s still got give in it. Dad made worse calls in tighter windows.

So you stay the course.

Pushing until everything starts pushing back.

The ferry bounces over a swell so hard you almost lose your grip on the wheel, rattling the life preservers along the wall with a thwack loud enough to echo inside your skull. Water sprays white across the decks, and something about the sound makes your bones ache. For a moment, you swear you can taste seaweed. Feel the drag of sea lines on your wrists, rough as rope burn.

But you catch yourself. Stabilize your footing, hands steady on the wheel, leaning into the rise and fall as they taught you in driving school all those years ago. The first day your father stood beside you and showed you how to balance the revs and the brakes on this machine, how to feel each part working together to drive, how it wasn't about forcing the craft, but guiding it with trust — it’s all muscle memory.

Trust the machine. Trust your gut. Trust your judgment.

So you do. And you guide. Until the storm arrives. Until the weather begins to roll in dark as tar — resentful black clouds, brindled with light, coiling together as if building, brewing, churning in unison above. Eerything then becomes curtained with rain and water, a shower splintering against the ferry roof. Sheets of water cut across the deck is a fog obscuring everything further than a foot away. Wind batters against the sides of the hull, shrieking louder and louder every minute, whistling shrill through every seam and corner and vent, and by now the ocean is actively trying to shove this boat off the face of the earth.

Everything turns sideways for one split second, and your heartbeat almost rips out of your throat, and when the ship steadies itself it takes several painful heartbeats of thinking I fucked up, I fucked up before you regain equilibrium and resume steering.

Everything starts to make sense. 

Raf had been strange from the moment you showed up this morning — clingy, louder than usual, almost pacing the cove. He kept making pup noises at the tide, splashed too close to shore while you suited up, and refused to go too far in the open water — his favorite thing was to drag you out further before. When you finally entered the water, he didn’t dart ahead the way he usually does. He hovered, brushed against you, circled you so tightly you had to push him off just to move forward.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too busy rereading texts, too busy spiraling over group photos and inside jokes and what-the-hell-was-he-thinking-by-showing-up.

Raf’s insistence was a complication you didn’t have room for when you’d been already feeling stifled enough. Even underwater, he kept doubling back to check on you, tapping your hip with his nose, making strange high-pitched whines that only made you more irritated.

When you got out, he followed you up the hill, paralleling you from the sea. Right up the ramp. Flopped against the loading zone and refused to budge, and not in the usual cute way. He clung to your boot when you tried to walk. Grabbed the hem of your jacket and yanked. Made noises so loud and pitiful that a couple tourists pulled out their phones to call wildlife protection. They thought he was hurt.

You shoved him back toward the cove and joked that he was a diva — a barnacle, a stage-five clinger.

He bit Elias when the poor old guy tried to help nudge him off the deck.

You didn’t look him in the eye when you closed the gate. Didn’t even wave, muttering something about spoiled animals and going inside. Because you had a job. Because you were on the schedule. Figuring out how to phrase it, how to make ferry work sound intentional, how to talk about staying without admitting you failed to leave. You practiced the words, hoping the right ones would dull the sting.

You didn’t notice how restless he went in the way he took the lead once the engine started.

You didn’t want to.

You'd practically ignored him the entire day for being annoying. To entertain the idea he was like that because he sensed the incoming weather... but you were too wrapped up in the reunion and your own spiraling thoughts to notice what he was trying to tell you. He knew something was coming — you’re sure of it now — and you hadn’t listened.

Too busy nursing your own useless grief.

And now you’re the only one out on the water when the storm decides to bite, regret and fear coiling around each other snakes in the pit of your stomach. The poor little man must be terrified wherever he's hiding. You hope he's tucked away safely somewhere sheltered and cozy, not roaming around trying to find you and ending up hurt or lost or trapped. If something horrible happened to him during this storm, it would be all your fault.

And now, as the radio crackles to life, a sharp burst splinters through the chaos, and all those words ash-scatter.

"—ayday—day—fishing boat—toward—Devil’s Teeth—repeat, Dev—no powe—can’t steer—"

It cuts out, sharp as a snapped line.

Your hand’s already moving. Mic in hand before the words even sink in. "Copy, how many aboard?"

Nothing. Just static, thin and needling, buzzing against your skin.

Your heart doesn’t lurch. It drops clean and heavy, straight into the pit of your stomach.

You flick your eyes to the GPS. The rocks are close — less than a kilometer to starboard. But you don’t need the chart to tell you that. You can already see them, those serrated black silhouettes clawing up from the water ribs punched through the ocean’s skin.

The Devil’s Teeth. The name alone carries some horror. They don’t forgive. Sharp enough to sheer a hull clean if you come at them wrong, but deceptive enough to trick even seasoned sailors into thinking they’re safe.

Above the water, they jut out like gap-toothed palisades — almost orderly, almost safe. From a distance, they seem to mark a clear path, multiple narrow channels that promise passage. But beneath the surface, the truth spreads wide and uneven, masked by the shifting tide, what looks navigable from above is a maze fanning out is a hidden reef below, disguised by the illusion of space, a trap waiting to splinter anything that trusts too easily.

Now, you watch from the waterboarded windshield as the ocean breaks against them sideways, spray exploding into the air in fractured bursts, mist swirling breath from something alive and restless. You’ve seen them before. Too close once, from a rescue boat.

You know the pattern they form, the way they beckon, offering what looks to be safe passage only to tear apart anything foolish enough to trust it. And you know the names of the people they’ve taken.

You flick the comms again, voice tighter now, a thread of instinct winding tight in your chest, tugging you toward the danger. "Any vessel transmitting, identify yourself.”

The wind shrieks through the cracks, high and thin, something caught between teeth. Water lashes the glass, streaking down in frantic rivulets as the ferry pitches harder, the deck groaning with the weight of the sea.

Your breath catches as you scan the horizon, nothing but the vertical outlines of the Devil’s Teeth. Black knives from the churn. For one terrible moment, everything slows. The sea draws back, coiling, holding its power just a beat too long. Waiting.

And then it breaks.

You move, but it’s not a choice. It’s reflex tangled with terror, the wheel wrenching in your hands as the ferry shudders beneath you. The shift is too sharp, the hull protesting with a low, gut-deep moan as it fights the turn. Your muscles burn, braced against the pull as the deck tilts hard, balance slipping for half a heartbeat. The bow dips — just a fraction — before you correct, knuckles losing color where they grip the wheel.

The spray blinds you for a moment, mist shearing across the windshield. But you blink, steady, locked on the path that doesn’t exist but has to be there. The space between those treacherous spires where, if you’re off by even a meter, the sea will swallow everything.

Raf knew. He tried to tell you. Fuck, you hope he’s not out here. He’s too much of a smart cookie for that, but still, you hope to god he’s safe.

The comms hiss softly, a broken thread of sound lost in the roar that fills the wheelhouse.

"—adrift—can’t—hold—taking on water—drifting t—engines are—"

Static. Again.

But you don’t need to hear it. The truth is already laid bare on the horizon.

Your eyes are locked on the shape just beyond, the battered fishing boat barely holding its own against the waves. A thing too small for this weather, its hull pitching wildly, the wind tossing it like it’s a toyboat in a child’s pool.

You flick the comms again, voice tight. "Vessel approaching Devil’s Teeth, do you copy? Repeat, do you copy? I need the status of anyone aboard!"

The answer is silence, thick and pressing.

But the sea answers instead.

Each wave shoves the boat closer to the rocks, their sharp edges barely visible between the peaks of the swells. You can make out three figures, barely, blurred shapes clinging to the railing, fighting against the chaos, one at the bow, steady but strained, another near the stern, slower, unsteady.

And the third—

A hollow space where someone should be.

"Shit," you breathe, throat tight.

You throttle down, the ferry groaning as the engine strains against the push of the current. The bow swings wide, cutting across the waves, too close but angled just right to shield the smaller boat from the worst of the wind. The wheel vibrates in your grip, the metal cold and damp, the pulse in your fingertips matching the beat of the sea.

The deck is bobbing harsher under your boots as you cut the engine to idle. A deep, unsettling quiet follows, the kind that means the sea is holding its breath.

You shove the throttle down, setting the engine to idle, the ferry rocking in protest as it fights against the churning sea. You can’t leave it drifting for long, but there’s no choice now.

The door to the deck slams open under your hand, wind tearing through as if the sea itself is trying to conquer its way inside. Salt spray slices across your face, cold and biting, nails and claws of an animal trying to get you. You barely register the sting. Your focus is on the deck below, where the equipment locker sits by the stairs. The rope should be there.

You swing down the short, steep steps, boots skidding slightly as the ferry shifts beneath you. The locker groans as you yank it open, cold metal biting into your fingertips. The rope’s there, coiled tight, damp and heavy.

You haul it out, the weight dragging at your arms as you push back up to the deck, boots pounding on slick metal, breath burning in your throat. The rope is rough and solid in your hands, the damp fibers biting into your palms as you step toward the railing, eyes locked on the men still fighting the sea.

"Line! Now!" Your voice barely carries, but the men on deck move. One of them, older, face lined with years of fighting the ocean, catches your eye, and you know you can trust him with this. He knows. He moves fast and nimble as you toss the line, and he hauls hard, pulling the boat closer inch by inch.

The younger man beside him fumbles, hands trembling as he secures the line, but his eyes are wide and fearful, darting between the shifting boats, the storm reflected in them. You can't have him slipping.

"Hold!" you shout, stepping to the edge.

The fishing boat rocks violently, a wild thing barely clinging to the world. But it holds. For now.

"Get them across!" You wave the first man forward, stretching your hand. His grip is iron, calloused and cold, and he hauls himself over with a grunt. The second follows, shaky but determined. His boots slip, but you grab his arm, steadying him as he clambers onto the ferry.

"One more!" The older man’s voice is barely audible over the wind. He points—

And you see him.

Near the stern. Slumped, half-draped over the edge. Too still.

"I’m going." Your words are lost in the chaos, but you’re already moving.

The wind slams into you the moment you step across, boots slipping on slick metal. You grab the railing, knuckles white, muscles straining as you pull yourself onto the listing deck. The world tilts beneath your feet, the boat rocking harder as if it knows it’s losing.

"Come on," you mutter, heart pounding.

He’s heavier than he looks. Deadweight. His clothes soaked through, dragging with seawater. Your fingers slip against the slick fabric as you grip his arm, muscles screaming as you try to pull him up.

"Help!" You barely need to say it. The older man is there, hands grabbing the man’s other arm. Together, you drag him inch by inch toward safety. The wind howls, the sea pushing harder, trying to reclaim him.

You’re so close.

"Almost there," you breathe, arms burning with the weight.

The man’s head lolls, his breath warm against your neck, but it’s faint. You brace, dragging harder, the metal beneath your boots slick and treacherous. Every muscle in your body screams for relief, but you hold on.

"You hang on, girl!" The older man shouts, his voice raw, but the younger one is there now too, reaching to grab the man’s collar and help.

"I’ve got him—" You don’t finish. The deck tilts—

The ferry shifts—

And the wave hits.

It’s not a push. It’s a blow. A force that tears you off balance, rips your grip from the man, and sends you weightless for a heartbeat before the world crashes back in. Or, you crash into the world. It resembles falling on solid ground from considerable height, except that it swallows you right up.

Cold.

Needles slip beneath your skin, knifing past layers of wool and overalls until nothing is left but frost-bright pain. Nothing blazes brighter, burns colder; the sea owns it all, every sensation, every heartbeat, every flicker of memory, snuffing them out one by one until all that remains is fear. Cold, bone-deep, blinding fear that has you kicking and flailing.

The water wants you. It pulls without pity, claws without remorse, wrenches without warning. Everything happens at once: pressure and chaos, liquid ice tearing at your lips and choking down your throat. The current twists around you, a tangle of unrelenting hands dragging you deeper even as you fight.

Down. And down. Until light bleeds away, dissolving like ink in water.

Something flashes just outside your blurring vision—

Then something else—

And another—

Infinitesimal silver glints cut through the dark. Shifting shadows dart between the pinpricks of pale light as shapes coalesce above. Thin silhouettes slice through the dark, through the gloom as you fall farther from safety. The pressure builds, crushing against your skull, a terrible humming filling your ears as if the entire ocean is singing an ode to your demise. Your chest begins convulsing fiercely, throat contracting in response as you begin thrashing around, lungs on fire and desperate for oxygen. Drowning in the sea, alone, terrified and hopeless, primal instincts demanding you do everything you can to stay alive, struggling uselessly to kick upwards towards the surface.

Wherever that is.

You reach upward desperately with a lone hand, vision having tunneled from lack of oxygen and panic combined. In that brief moment, something soft brushes the tips of your fingers. Like... fur...?

There's no way to know. Darkness has already consumed your consciousness, the struggle to survive giving away to oblivion and acceptance the moment your lungs breathe in water.

                    Singing.

Somebody has been singing to you.

Nearby. Simple, wordless, a melody winding slowly through the haze. Notes rise and fall around you — lavender smoke, crocheting your consciousness together bit by bit. You think maybe the song sounds familiar, that you could remember how it goes if only you could focus enough. As it is, your pulse stirs in time with the tune, waking limbs that were limp and numb as they thaw, muscles flexing as if remembering the shape of themselves.

Warmth comes first. Gentle heat kissing along the edges of your senses before bleeding inward in honeyed tendrils. Softness next: fur beneath your chin, blankets pulled tight across your chest.

The quiet of snowfall settles around you after that, muffling, easing, cushioning every inch of you as reality drifts into your awareness.

Everything returns in increments: salt crusted to your lips, drenched clothes wrapped around your frame, a layer of sodden clay. Beneath you: sand. Matted to the backs of your arms, your calves, the hollow of your throat. Behind your shuttered eyelids, sunlight filters softly. Red glow, distant orange. Sunglow, the color of melting copper. There is sky above you and beach below, but most importantly — there is breathing inside you again, each exhale shuddering as your pulse struggles toward normalcy, softly but surely.

Slowly, ever so gradually, you pry your eyelids open.

A canopy of branches, feather-soft green interspersed with golden brown, stretch overhead in a gentle dome. The bark glistens in the morning light, sticky still from the previous storm. Below the shelter, sand stretches outward in a sweep of endless shoreline, punctuated only by tufts of grass and gnarled driftwood that form a natural barricade from any casual passerby. The tide ebbs gently just past that barricade, washing fizzy seafoam high up the shoals before sliding back out lazily in a smooth curl, and further still, the horizon stretches — spun cotton candy, pink on blue, melted into haze at the edges, mingling seamlessly with the sky. And you're tucked carefully among the roots of one of those great trees, cradled and swaddled by the same fur-coated bundle your cheek is pillowed on, wrapped protectively in its embrace and held secure.

It takes your brain a full minute of groggily attempting to piece together these strange details before you realize there's a figure in the water, maybe twenty feet out, half-shrouded by the hush of early light.

Your brain coming back to you is akin to hitting the floor after falling for some time. You flinch. Sit up too fast.

A tangle of dark gray, thick hide spills from your shoulder, pooling in the crooks of your elbows. You shove it off with a gasp, limbs sluggish but panicked, fingers catching in the strange texture. It hits the ground with a muted thump, heavy as wet rope but somehow dry and fluffy at the same time. The cold hits you immediately then, skin pebbling beneath the cling of soaked denim and wool and the frigid touch of salt wind. A full body shudder grips you, hard, teeth rattling in your skull, blood singing through your veins faster.

But not even that kind of cold is enough to distract you from the sight before you.

There’s a person waist-deep in the shallows, facing the sun.

Long hair drips like spun violet ink down a narrow back, plastered in curling sheets to sharp, bare shoulders. You've never seen natural hair that long in your life, it trails all the way down her body to fan out against the waves, streaming in shimmering bands over the crests of each swell, lit gold in the early sun. She tilts her head back to face the dawn fully, and you can only see the barest hint of her profile from the angle, the delicate slope of nose, the lushness of parted lips. There’s something arresting about the stillness of her, the way the sea seems to hush around her body. A statue the tide forgot to reclaim.

For a breathless, silent moment, she simply stands there, perfectly balanced, completely undisturbed, arms spread at her sides as if greeting the daybreak directly, skin glittering in the light, slick with seawater and—

A scar. A slash across one side of her shoulder, pale even against her skin tone, stretched tight as though dug deep enough to make bone.

Huh, you absentmindedly think. I think it's the same side as Raf's?

You break out of your trance with a loud gasp with the thought of your seal friend, which causes her to whirl around to face you, startled and wide-eyed.

Which brings another revelation. The person in question is a man, not a woman.

Skinny dipping, at that.

Your brain catches up to your eyes in a rush of static and shock. This is a Family Feud moment.

Name something a burglar would not wanna see when he breaks into a house.

The contestant yelling it with his whole chest. Naked grandma!

Naked HUH?

The buzzer in your head goes off.

Question: What’s the last thing a girl wants to see when waking up alone on an unfamiliar beach after falling unconscious?

Answer: Naked man.

You make a strangled noise and scramble back so fast the pelt half-slides off you, and at the same time, sharp pain lances through your right side, turning the motion into more of a hunch than a duck and roll. The sudden flare knocks what little breath is left out of your lungs, knocking sense back into you in the process.

Wait, what happened? Why does it hurt?

"Easy! Easy." The naked dude darts forward through the surf without missing a beat, water splashing everywhere with his hurried strides. The sound of his approaching footsteps makes you instinctively curl inward, arms hugging tight around your midsection while wincing. You don't look up, mostly out of embarrassment, and your thoughts immediately go brrrr when you become hyper aware of the fact you're definitely going to see things you won't be able to unsee. "You'll bleed again if you keep squirming like that! All my hardwork's gonna go to waste!"

You flail one arm between the two of you in a futile barrier while the other cradles where the injury is, still keeping your face down and staring down furiously at the ground to avoid looking anywhere higher than knee level. "Ah-ah-ah! Stop, stop!”

The sloshing of jogging doesn’t stop.

“Just — man, don't charge at me, I don't know you!"

He stops short as though you've thrown a rock at him, legs cutting off mid-stride with a chaotic splash. For one blessed second, all is still again — except for the water lapping at his shins and your pulse banging against your teeth.

Then, a noise.

A half-choked sound that might be a laugh. Or a cough. He doesn’t come any closer. Just stands there, suspended mid-motion, your words having pinned him in place. The water stills around his legs. The surf hesitates, then draws back with a hush. You're still locked on a particularly blurry patch of sand wet with the red of your congealed blood like your life depends on it, but you hear the the tiny inhale that catches weird in his throat, and the breeze picks up with a stutter again.

He erupts worse than a volcano all of a sudden. “You’re joking! What? You don’t know me? You don’t know me? After everything — you just made me go through, that’s—”

“—a very reasonable response!” you shoot back, your voice high in octave, blood rushing so rapidly to your head that you’re not even comprehending properly.

“Wow,” he says, all affronted drama and wounded pride in one breath. “It's not like I'm gonna eat you. Humans aren't even safe for consumption anyway!"

"Whoa-hoh—" you start, but he steamrolls over you before you can properly get a word in.

There’s the wet slap of a foot shifting in the surf, heralding that he’s gearing up for a rant. “Most people say thank you, you know. Or ‘hey, cool of you to make sure I didn’t die horribly’—"

"You're naked, random guy!" you shout hoarsely, throwing out a pathetic arm to shield you from any and all compromising views. This is the politest way you could have put it. The next best thing was to shout, 'Don't come near me with your dick out.' Which. Yeah.

An awkward pause follows the admission, thick enough to make you glance up before thinking twice about it. You get a flash of purple before you look away once more, clutching the strange gray fur to yourself as some sort of feeble shield.

"—der why," he mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

"Excuse me?"

He deadpans, stopping just short. “I said, so now you’re body-shaming the guy who literally rescued you from certain death?”

“I’m shame-shaming the fact that you’re approaching me with your — your — entire situation out in the open!”

"You have my pelt," he says, with almost childlike seriousness, expecting you to be able to read his mind from the tone of his statement alone.

"Uh, okay?" you respond articulately, weirded out by how the conversation was lacking common sense. "What does that have to do with your clothes?"

This time, the quiet stretches out like taffy.

“I want you on the other side of this damn island if you’re an exhibitionist, I swear to god don’t think for a second I’m not capable of—”

“I am not!” The way his voice changes pitches has to be studied. “Have you lost your mind in the ocean? I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing after everything I’ve done for you—”

You tune out his yapping. Yeah, this isn't getting anywhere. You're stranded on an island with a man you don't know, politely asking him to put his penis away, which, he won't get the hint for some reason and making it a 'I am who I am,' moment. Do you have to yell "Pervert!" at this guy for him to get a move on? Things couldn't get more absurd.

You rub your forehead wearily and groan in defeat. Is there something ironic about this exchange? Because you sure feel there should be something ironic here. There is probably supposed to be a joke somewhere here. The universe loves to deliver them in bundles.

An idea strikes you.

"Here, hold on," you say, shakily standing up while keeping your face diverted elsewhere. Your side does hurt, but the burn doesn't stretch as bad as when you felt it at first. "Just... turn around, please. No sudden moves."

"No sudden moves?" He answers with audible skepticism, the shuffling on the sand giving away his complying after a moment. The nervous waver in his words does manage to placate you somewhat. An exhibitionist wouldn't act this way. “I’m turning my back to you. How am I gonna know what you’re doing? For all I know, you could be ogling me with your squidlike human eyes, which, mind you, I wouldn’t blame you for—”

God, he loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?

Muting him out once more, you pick up the fur coat blanket thing from its dropped position with an audible, "Hup!" It's bulky in your grip, almost too thick to lift, yet remarkably light at the same time — trying to pick up water without getting wet.

“—I’ve been told I’m distractingly shapely in the flesh, but I didn’t exactly wake up today planning to be admired in the wild. And it’s not even my best side, you know? My shoulders are uneven. I think. They used to be non-existent—”

You're in no position to be in awe right now though, so you brush off all possible questions concerning the bizarre phenomenon until later. With as much caution as you can muster, you raise it up like a curtain until the only part you can see of the man is his luscious hair, and start walking up to him.

“—Not that I’m implying anything. You are not the ogling type. Then again, I once trusted a cormorant and it stole my entire lunch while I was mid-swim, so what do I know? I’m just out here, my back wide open, accosted, and trying very hard not to hold a grudge—”

Then, you drape the cloak of fluffiness onto his shoulders in the gentlest manner you could possibly afford, avoiding touching his skin. The pelt closes around his back, reminiscent of the wings of a giant bird closing protectively, encasing him from neck down to calves. A gasp slips out of him. So small you might've missed it if you hadn't been holding your breath, waiting for any negative reaction.

His own hands come up to pull the flaps snugly closed, then he slowly looks over one shoulder at you with such stunned wide-eyed silence you almost want to crack a smile at him, but promptly freeze in place as soon as you lock gazes.

Not only does he have the most enticing eyes you've ever seen with vertical heterochromia transitioning from blue to pink like a bi-color tourmaline, but he has such an attractive facial structure that is both masculine and delicate all in the same breath it punches all of your buttons in one go and oh god — it is so not helping this entire situation. This stranger is the epitome of beauty. Handsome face and lovely features and soft bone structures and everything you didn't expect from a random naked dude on a beach you couldn't recognize as a local.

And the hair. You'd seen it from afar already but... it reminds you of strands of ashen lavender blossoms dripping with morning dew, wet waviness disappearing underneath the collar of the pelt. You'd kill to have this Rapunzel hair. It's unfair how a man—

You snap back to attention with a hard blink as the initial shock wears off.

"There you go, now I won’t get flashed," you exhale with obvious relief, trying to will yourself to act casually so you don't seem weird to the stranger who probably saved your life.

His head tilts, just barely. Long strands of wet hair slip over his shoulder as he stares down at the pelt wrapped around him — your handiwork. The fur shifts slightly under his touch, and he goes very still, watching it settle again. You wonder what he’s waiting for.

“You gave it back to me,” he says.

The words come out soft, a little too careful for something so simple. He looks at you, expecting the world to shift around what he just said. He’s silently saying this should mean something to you, too — but it doesn’t. And that mismatch only deepens the quiet between you.

You blink.

He lifts the edge of the fur in his hands, shaking it, then looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

A pause. “Right,” you say slowly. “And… that’s important to note because?”

He shifts his weight, brows drawing together in a look that’s too serious for the situation. “You could’ve kept it.”

"Wet as my clothes are, you need it more than I do.”

He is surprisingly docile and red in the face now that he has something on for modesty and can’t quite look you in the eye. The tips of his fingers peeking from all the fur in his grip are fidgety.

You give a wry grimace before remembering the manners Dad always told you to have around new acquaintances. "Yeah, um — uh, thanks. For saving my life.”

You tell him your name, and bow your head a bit in acknowledgment. His shoulders pull in tight at the sudden gesture of goodwill — though you aren't quite sure why — but relax after a breath as he meets your stare squarely, searching for something. The intensity throws you off balance; those odd and piercing mismatched shades fixed solely on you make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in both curious and fearful wonderment.

"And you are...?"

"Oh," he says, as if the question took him off guard, too. One hand comes up to brush through damp locks. Almost self-conscious, if the look on his face is anything to go by. There’s some sort of a faraway look in his eyes. "Raf — Rafayel."

"Were you the third guy on the fishing boat, Rafayel?" You recall that last crew member was slumped half overboard and passed out, prompting the rescue attempt that sent you both to sea in the first place. If Rafayel was wearing his pelt when you attempted to pull him up, the added weight could have been a factor in tipping both of you over. You find it's all a blur in your memory, though, and suppress a shudder. "Did you fall with me or—"

A shadow passes over his features as quickly as the changing tides. When he speaks, though, it's measured, almost cautious. "Yeah, I—" He pauses, shakes his head. Locks those impossibly colored eyes on you again, bright in the early morning light. "How are you feeling, though? Still hurts?"

"My side feels bruised like I was elbowed in the ribs but besides being chilled to the bone from falling into the ocean, I'm alright," you supply honestly. "I saw the blood on the sand, though. It feels unreal that I'm up and about right now. How can a scrape bleed that much?"

Rafayel's mouth goes flat as a line, looking you up and down with a concerning intensity deepening his tone. "You're lucky I was able to pull you back from the worst of it."

Shallow as it is, your wound isn't even dressed, but you decide not to engage in a conversation about the technicalities, patting him on the arm once in thanks and walking around him to get out of the forest line's shadow.

The beach stretching wide and strange before you is a postcard you don’t remember collecting. The sand is darker than you're used to, siltier, almost gray, and littered with glinting shells you don’t recognize, long and spiraled in augers, brittle as glass. Pale reeds jut from the shore at uneven angles, hissing faintly in the breeze, and the driftwood here is stripped bare, almost white, tangled in patterns that look too intentional for nature.

The water itself is clear, almost iridescent, casting strange reflections across the shallows, warped ripples that shimmer pink and green, an oil slick pretending to be pretty. And further out, offshore, strange half-drowned statue-shaped stones loom out of the surf.

You know this archipelago better than most, its coastlines and hidden inlets, the soft-bellied coves that tourists miss, having traced its map with your own hands, ferry lines, rock clusters, the way sandbanks shift after storms. Usually, it takes you seconds to place yourself. A curve in the shoreline, a type of dune grass, the slope of a treeline, something always gives it away.

But this place doesn’t register. No matter how long you stare, it refuses to sort itself into something known. The landscape’s been scrubbed clean of every tell you’re trained to read.

The most logical possibility is Seolhwine’s Hook — the island nearest to the Devil’s Teeth. That makes the most sense, right? You were heading back when the squall hit, and it’s the only one close enough for a current to drag you to overnight, and for Rafayel to be able to swim with you. But even then… even that doesn’t feel right. You’ve docked at Seolhwine’s before. This doesn’t match.

“I hate to say it but... Do you know where we are?” you ask finally, turning to him.

"My aunt's," he answers with a straight face.

You pause mid-shiver, your brain tripping over the simplicity of the statement.

You give him the flattest look you can afford, eyebrows lifting slowly. The pelt is clutched too high at his chest, his fingers wound tight in the fabric, you think he might be afraid of dropping it, though it doesn’t seem he notices he’s doing it. You can’t tell if he’s being deliberately evasive or if he genuinely thinks this is the helpful version of an answer.

"What?"

"Look, I’m all for jokes usually, but right now I need an actual place name — not just that your aunt lives here. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I just want to figure out how to get home—"

"It's my aunt's island."

You blink. Once. Twice. The explanation hangs in the air, weirdly self-satisfied. And it’s not satisfactory at all. Not even close.

What’s with the serene confidence of someone stating the color of the sky, as if “my aunt’s” is a perfectly normal answer to what island are we on? As if those two words magically orient you on a map?

You wait for more. Anything. The punchline. The name. Even a smirk. But there’s nothing.

Is he joking? Is this some elaborate bit? Or does he genuinely think that’s helpful?

The frustration in you sharpens. You’ve had to deal with flaky locals and clueless tourists and broken ferries before, but your patience is thinning by the second. You’re exhausted, still damp, still bleeding a little, and now stuck playing twenty questions with the world’s most uncooperative pretty boy.

"My aunt’s island."

He says it again, but there’s a slight shift in tone — firmer. He's correcting you. Thinks you’re the one being slow. And somehow, that makes it worse.

You stare at him. This time longer. He looks so damn earnest about it, truly believes he’s given you a helpful answer. It’s not smug. It’s not sarcastic. It’s not even deliberately vague to give away he’s fucking with you just to be a tease. It’s literal. Painfully, infuriatingly literal.

You’re trying to get directions from a very impatient child who only answers exactly what you ask and nothing else. Nuance is definitely a foreign language he never got taught.

But something tugs at the edge of your thoughts.

Because as stupid as it sounds — and it does sound stupid — it’s not impossible.

You look around again, really look this time, and you realize something’s been bothering you since you first stood up. It’s too pristine. Too quiet. There’s no old trailhead, no ferry dock, no graffiti-scuffed boulder where kids have carved hearts. No signs. No fishhooks, no cigarette butts. Just wind, tide, trees.

It clicks.

They’re marked on the maps you’ve seen, but only just. Annotated with little circles and names like SH-07 or East Ellinor. Places people like you aren’t supposed to go. Places the ferry routes steer around.

You’ve never been to one. You’ve never had a reason to. The people who owned them had their own transport, their own staff, their own little worlds with locked docks and private everything.

That’s why you didn’t recognize it. It’s not not on the map. It’s just never been part of your map.

You exhale, slow. Let the realization settle.

"So you're saying this is one of the private islands."

Rafayel’s brows lift in vague approval and he nods fervently. "Yes! That. Exactly. It's very private."

You rub your forehead, as if that’ll push the absurdity back into place.

Of course it is. Of course you almost drowned and then washed up on a privately owned island like some shipwrecked stray. Of course the first person you meet is a socially weird, mostly-naked man claiming ownership through familial inheritance like it’s a perfectly casual thing to drop.

You stare up at the sky for a moment, trying to piece together how the hell you even got here.

None of the private islands are anywhere near the Devil’s Teeth — most of them are tucked deep in the inner chain, clustered where the water’s calmer and the currents don’t rip you sideways. But this? This place isn’t close to any of that. You were unconscious, but you remember the storm. You remember going overboard, water in your lungs, panic in your throat, and then nothing. Blackout.

But you weren’t alone.

Rafayel said he pulled you out. Which means he swam you here.

You glance at him again, still draped in that ridiculous pelt and giving you weird pointed looks conveying that he wants to tell you something so bad. He doesn’t look winded enough for someone who hauled another body through open water during a storm. But if he did — if that’s how you got here — then he swam farther than you can make sense of. And maybe lost his clothes in the process. Somehow the latter makes more sense compared to the hypothetical that precedes it.

You were near open sea. This doesn’t add up. Even if he unexpectedly took you somewhere else than Seolhwine's, it just happening to be his aunt's private island is no coincidence.

You look back at him, more confused than before.

"Come," he says softly, extending his hand toward you with palm upward. "I'll take you to her. We'll help you get home. I promise."

A dozen different responses crowd your tongue as you stare down at his offered hand. All the questions rattling between your ears, each booking it for your lips faster than the next. None make it far. Suspicion should be there, but your instincts are unresponsive. They don’t find anything worth questioning about the situation despite the red flags.

Sure, maybe a weird randomly naked guy saved your life, brought you to a secret beach that doesn’t look on any travel maps, and claims to have ties with some rich aunt that owns the whole damn thing...

But he isn't dangerous.

You know that fact unequivocally. Call it a hunch, maybe? Gut intuition. It makes no sense considering your rational side has zero interest in jumping through hoops to trust the random person that literally dragged you out of the ocean to the least convenient place he ever could — but then again, life tends to toss the strangest circumstances and situations your way whenever you least expect it.

What matters most is getting back home, your parents have to be dying of worry — a search party must be out there wasting resources. Having someone who seems oddly comfortable on the island lead you directly to shelter would certainly speed things along.

"Hey," he gently adds when you're quiet for too long, breaking the train of thought running rampant inside your mind. The softness in his tone brings your attention back to him entirely, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He offers his hand a little higher, which draws your focus back on it with curious clarity. How smooth it lookd, even from this distance, perfect nails without a single scratch or imperfection, fingers delicate, elegant bones visible under the pale skin. "I just want to help. You're safe with me. I won’t hurt you."

You stare at his hand, then at his face, then back again. The tone is soft, the words gentle, but something about it scratches at the back of your brain. The kind of voice usually reserved for nervous animals crouched under porches. Any second now, he might start whistling and offer a treat.

Though the weird phrasing shouldn't work its weird magic on you, it does. Maybe because it sounds so nostalgic and familiar in a way that it invokes a sense of safety in you? Or maybe because you're tired, soaked to the bone, bleeding lightly still, and sore all over and this guy seems too nice to be anything less than honest?

Perhaps both. Probably both. You really have no business trusting strangers who wear big pelt blankets instead of actual clothing and give basic information away akin to some kind of social anxiety sufferer with performance issues, yet here you are, contemplating on the idea of taking his hand.

What the hell, you think eventually. Sure. What alternative is there? If the worst comes to pass, you intend to make him have one less limb to his name — it would be his own fault for walking around like a Resident Evil nude mod. How did that one text post go? Boy put that boaner away lest a sloppy little critter grabs hold of it.

But you’re not that sure what kind of answer you expected when you ask him where you’re headed, but he doesn’t so much point as let his hand drift outward, loose and imprecise — more communion than instruction, as though the land might whisper the route if you stand still long enough. He plants himself in the emptiness with the ease of someone who’s never needed a map, naming vague landmarks with the casual grace of someone expecting the road to rise just because he’s ready to walk it.

As someone who has mastered the art of minding your own business, you don’t call out this behavior. As long as he gets you someplace you can call help from, Rafayel is free to be a weirdo.

But you do press him for information.

“She has lavender near the steps, and her door is the color of the sea,” he offers, like that narrows it down. “The path smells of sage sometimes, if the wind’s right. And there’s a stone shaped like a sleeping dog near the turn — you have to squint a little. The house groans when it’s too warm. There’s a wind chime that only rings when someone she doesn’t like shows up. And the garden gate bites if you don’t know how to open it.”

Not helpful. But then he refuses to add anything else more along the lines of fucking common sense and normal people direction-giving. What does he expect, the scent alone pulling you in the right direction if you just walk long enough?

And maybe he's right. Maybe you're the weird one for expecting something as formal as an address out here. If this really is a private island, there might only be one house. Maybe 'lavender and a blue door' is all anyone needs. Maybe people out here remember things by the curve of the land and the way the air smells after rain.

It isn’t a real plan. It’s the shape of a promise, just strange enough to follow, just vivid enough to believe in for a little while. The way he speaks about it, there’s no room for doubt, and you’ve learned to believe in the word of a local in all your years of living around the archipelago.

So you follow.

The pelt shifts when he moves, catching bits of drift and sand, trailing slightly as he walks beside you through the underbrush. He doesn’t shiver, unlike you. And that makes sense, considering how warm and cozy you were when that thing was your blanket when you first woke up.

The morning light hasn’t yet burned the fog from the trees, and the forest path ahead is dappled in grey. Your boots sink into the softened moss with a squelch. His bare feet barely make a sound, but your skin does hear something because of your wet socks.

You glance sideways at him. No wince, no flinch, not even when he steps straight on a gnarled root that would have you cursing in three languages.

“Seriously?” you mutter. “You don’t even feel that?”

“I’ve walked stranger paths,” he says. Great.

You stop walking with a groan. The wind catches your soaked clothes, cutting straight through to the bone. Your arms are already shaking.

“Okay. New plan.”

He watches as you crouch in front of him, back turned.

You look over your shoulder with an encouraging gesture for him, “Climb on.”

He tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Piggyback. You're barefoot, this path is hell, and I'm freezing. Carrying weight warms you up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You're not that heavy, and I’ve hauled crates bigger than you off ferries for years. So. Just. Climb on.”

He makes a strangled noise. “I didn’t learn bipedalism just to be carried like a pup by you!”

Such drama. There really is no time for this and you’re not in the mood for negotiations.

You grab one of his wrists and tug it over your shoulder. His entire hand twitches in response. “If it makes you feel better, this is entirely me being selfish. I want to get warm.”

He hesitates, and it’s not pride, he keeps glancing at your side, where the torn side of your turtleneck still clings damp and darkened. His hands hover like he might stop you.

“You’re not healed,” he mutters. “Not properly.”

You hitch his arm higher on your shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“That wound’s still raw.”

“So are my fingers. Cold does that.”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“Listen, enough with courtesy stuff, okay? I don’t care, I’m freezing,” you cut in. “And you don’t have shoes. We’re both going to be miserable either way, so pick your poison.”

He sighs, dragging it out. Eventually, he caves, muttering something under his breath that could be an insult but could also be a compliment. He hoists himself up, arms settling uncertainly around your shoulders, pelt-covered legs bracketing your hips, and you make sure he won’t slip away from your grip because of the material. You’re trekking along the forest in no time, feeling pleasantly distracted from the cold.

“This is deeply undignified,” he mutters.

“And being inexplicably naked in front of a stranger isn’t? Where and why did you lose your clothes anyway? You still haven’t told.”

There’s no response, except from a huff he lets out from his nose, which fondly reminds you of Raf. It must be a tale particularly embarrassing for him to tell, and he did have the fur to make it up for, so you once again don’t pry. Master of minding your own business.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get comfortable.”

He doesn’t. He sits stiffly at first, as though unsure how much weight he’s allowed to give you. Then he starts shifting. Sighing. Squirming. Grumbling under his breath about the jostling, the pace, the way your shoulder bone is probably bruising his ribs.

"You walk uneven," he complains after the first bend. "See, it hurts after all, yeah? Put me down."

"It's a forest," you grit out. "The ground walks uneven."

"I wish you would listen for once."

"That's a wasted wish on a star. You've known me for like what, fifteen minutes?"

He exhales through his nose again, slow and beleaguered. No witty answer to that one, it seems.

The longer you walk, the more he settles. His complaining slows into occasional muttering, then thoughtful silence. The forest begins to close in around you. Damp leaves brush your arms. The world smells of pine sap, wet bark, and something almost metallic beneath the rot. The silence here is dense, broken only by the soft rhythm of your boots against the ground and the occasional rustle of something unseen in the undergrowth.

Then his voice, soft and close beside your ear: “Do you name the trails you take at sea? Or are they just known to you?”

“What?”

“The water routes. The ones you steer the ferry along. Do they have names?”

He’s talking about sea lanes. You’re about to question how he doesn’t know these things, considering he’s a fisherman, but remember he might not be one. His aunt owns an island. This is a rich kid who probably wanted to fish and got the locals involved in his request.

“They’ve got designations. Letters, numbers. Eights and alphas and things like that. But most of us just… call ’em what we call ’em.”

“Like?”

You think a moment, breath fogging in the damp air. “There’s Shiverstretch. That’s the fast cold current between Dolos and Ternhook. Everyone calls it that ’cause it’s a backslap to the face, especially on the morning runs. And there’s Dead Hour Channel — no wind, no sound, just this long, empty drift. Makes you paranoid that something’s watching. I don’t like that one.”

You feel him shift slightly on your back, listening.

“There’s Longshout,” you add. “Named after a guy who tried to boat through in a storm and ended up yelling for help the whole way ‘til he ran aground on Fallow Reef.”

Rafayel snorts quietly. “That one sounds personal.”

“It is. He still works the east docks. Won’t shut up about it.”

“How do you find your way around, then? I always wondered. Do you read the water like seals do?”

“Reading the water is one way to put it, I guess. They’re charted. We use navigation systems. Landmarks. Depth markers.”

A pause. The trees rumble, disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, brittle leaves dropping pebbles onto the path in front of you. Rafayel shifts awkwardly behind you, almost toppling off to the left before righting himself with a steadying grip.

"Question," you say. "What indicators do you use? Chip on a tree or something?"

He whispers eventually, cheek lightly pressed against yours. You feel his eyes on you. "Smells."

You blink, twisting around to glance at him. He seems surprisingly somber all of a sudden. "Uhhh...."

"Just focus on the road, we're almost there. You'll see."

The path winds past the last of the scrub grass, and then it opens.

The trees fall away in a hush of damp leaves and saltlight, and there, cradled in the middle of the forest-clad small valley, is a sprawling, mansion of a house that doesn’t quite belongs to any century in particular. Can't be called old or modern. The word you’re looking for is neo-classical architecture made to be a beach house. Pale limestone, veined and sun-bitten, gleams beneath the overcast sky. Its walls are streaked with wind-carried brine, but the stone holds strong, weathered soft rather than worn down. And there is the giveaway Rafayel was talking about: blue door.

Lavender spills along the pathway in loose drifts, unruly and fragrant, tangling with sea-thrift and clover like the garden grew itself wild. Carved wooden shutters hang half-closed against the morning chill, and a curved archway frames the entry looks the part of a half-remembered temple. There’s something mythic about it, a story you were almost told once. A place that holds onto memory whether you want it to or not.

And then there’s the scent, ocean first, bright and sharp, but something warmer curling beneath it. Resin, maybe. Incense burned into the beams. Citrus oil in the wood grain.

You adjust your grip beneath Rafayel’s knees as you approach the door. Acting as a barrier between your bodies, his pelt is still slung down your back , trailing behind like a second spine, damp at the edges. He hasn’t said much since the last hill. Just rested his chin between your shoulder blades and hummed, quiet as tidewash.

You reach the first step. Hesitate. The house isn’t grand in the usual way, no columns, no gates, but there’s a heaviness to it. Not unfriendly, but expectant.

You knock.

Silence falls. The melted caramel of sunlight scatters through the dark glass in the windows. Rafayel shifts on your back, going rigid so suddenly it almost jolts you. His breath stills sharply against your spine, and in that single suspended moment, you can feel the piano wire of tension strung through his bones.

You don’t get the chance to ask why. Wood cracks loudly within the doorframe, and there's a pop, a groan, and then a soft, sweet creak as the lock disengages, allowing the door to slowly swing inward with an audible squeak.

The scent hits first, warm and strange. Spiced velvet, a whisper of cloves, dried orange peel, and something more ancient baked into the lintel wood. Then the figure behind it, unexpected.

For an “aunt,” she looks barely older than him. Mid-thirties, maybe, though it’s hard to tell. Her features are sharp, dignified, and her presence is a light cloud, wrapped in layered satin and lace shawl, white and lilac, all shot through with shimmer where the light catches on glinting jewelry. Her hair is swept back, rich violet and pinned with silver shells, and her eyes—

Dusty purple brightening with shock.

“Rafayel?” she breathes, her grip whitening on the frame. Her gaze darts down, takes in the sealskin clinging to your back, the way his taut arms still drape over your shoulders like iron bars. “Gods, is it really you? Look, look at you! Oh... oh!"

Rafayel slides off you, and she practically throws herself out the door as soon as the initial shock wears off, taking two long steps across the threshold until she's directly in front of you, cupping his cheeks with hands that only tremble the smallest bit. He meets her halfway, tilting his forehead to rest against hers as his own hands come up to gently caress her elbows, cradling them lightly. His motions are hesitant at first — touching with clear clumsiness, as if handling glass. But the moment she exhales an astonished little laugh, something changes, he pulls her close, tightening his grasp not to let her blow away on the wind. The woman leans fully against him then, looping her arms around his neck with a relieved shudder that shakes both their frames.

And you're there, a comical stick figure at the background of a well-drawn manga panel with a big arrow pointing at you.

You hope they won't hunt you for sport. Private island. Two eerily good looking family members. Girl who got deliberately delivered there when a closer island was the most blatant option. This has the potential to be a horror movie premise.

But no. Nope. Too late. She glances past his shoulder as soon as her embrace is complete and the silent reunion done with, locking eyes with you, and your soul flees your body, trying to squeeze itself back through your pores like some furtive worm to avoid the full brunt of her curious scrutiny.

She raises one perfectly shaped brow, but before either of you can exchange any words or reactions, Rafayel says something.

You say something, because it's in a language you don't know, one that doesn't bother to make itself easy, sharp at the edges, rounded at the core. It rolls out of his mouth, mist over moorland — thick, tangled, hard to follow. The stone-teeth syllables grind against each other, but every so often, they break open into something strange and sweet, the howl of a reed pipe carried on sea wind.

It just plays into the horror movie vibe because why would he blatantly switch language to probably speak about you, judging from the glance thrown your way, as if you aren't there? Probably conspiring how to eat you! You do feel like tenderized meat.

The woman hums again, a thoughtful note this time, and the conversation carries on in murmured exchanges of tone and gesture — softness here, a flicker of frustration there. And yet you can pinpoint the exact moment everything changes. Rafayel says something. But she draws back, cups his cheeks in her hands, and stares at him hard, searching. Whatever she finds isn’t enough, because she shakes her head once, firm, decisive. He asks again. Another shake, stronger this time, more insistent. Her fingers flex tight against his skin as if she means to hold him there, but he speaks again, something softer, fainter, and her hand relaxes, trembling on the edge of defeat. A faint frown crosses her face, a small downward curl that somehow turns the lines at the corner of her lips into parenthesis, closing off the shape of whatever she might have said next.

"Hey, uh," you finally intervene when their staring contest becomes too intense. They both startle, seeming to remember your existence at once. You smile nervously, holding one raised palm up in defense and nonthreatening greeting. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but could I, um..." Your free hand gestures vaguely to indicate the general situation you find yourself in. "Use your phone? I don't mean to intrude or anything, I just. I got thrown over board during the storm, I don't even know if my ferry was capsized and I really, really need to get back—"

Rafayel says something else under his breath, hasty now, almost tripping over his words.

Her brows furrow in mild concern at his rambling. "Oh dear, I apologize, yes! Do forgive me for being impolite, I forgot myself for a moment there."

You nod politely in acknowledgment of her apology, lowering your arm hesitantly. "Not a problem, it happens."

"It's been so long since our house had guests," she admits candidly, placing an elegant hand over her heart in embarrassment. "Come, come in, please, you need a hot shower and change of clothes." She takes you by the arm and guides you inside. "You're drenched! Look at those goosebumps. Oh, you poor thing."

She leads you into a grand hallway filled with golden hour sunlight spilling through windows framed by sheer white curtains billowing lazily in the breeze, and it is not unlike stepping straight into the interior design section of an expensive department store. You could smell the money dripping off every nook, cranny, wall, and corner. If your wet socks were making muddy imprints on the flooring you knew you'd pass out from mortification on the spot. The floors here look pristine and polished enough for you to see your reflection clearly on its surface. Even the vase tucked neatly into the center of a glossy dark wood console table is worth more than your boat. Everything about this mansion is clean and orderly, it must be heaven on earth for a neat freak like your dad.

"He needs clothes the most, I think," you try to joke, letting her steer you through the main hall with wide curious steps and an awestruck stare. Rafayel, wherever he is behind you two, remains silent. You think he might have disappeared somewhere.

Her grip tightens around your arm like a mother hen dragging her chick into a coop to shelter from winter, her nails lightly digging into the sleeves of your sweater with a pleasant firmness that feels strangely grounding. "Don't worry about him, you focus on getting warmed up now."

"Thanks, ummm..." you begin, hoping it's polite to ask for her name while inside her home. But before you could continue, she turns to regard you with a serene smile — so gentle and graceful she could've been sculpted from marble if it weren't for her very lively personality. She smells nice, too. Floral. Very floral. The same kind of perfume bottle your aunt kept on display near her sewing machine that you stole a few sniffs of when Grandma wasn't looking.

Her attention is summer afternoon sunbeams on your chilled skin. "You can call me Talia.”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The GDA scrambles to recoup losses. Relationships begin and end- badly.  [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: I dunno. It's! Uhm! Ref, you shouldn't say that!

[Part one]  [4]  [Ao3] [6]

5 * Godspeed, Kid [8k]

"You broke my heart, 

I hope you die,

Emptier than how I feel inside,

And when you lay your head to rest at night I hope that you,

Never fall asleep when you think of all the things you do."

Plate Glass Apology - Apes of the State

        "He's not even gonna see it." Your nosy co-worker says. 

        "It's the principle." You say, pouring the milk slower, getting to the bottom of the pitcher where the thick foam sat. "Can't work up the guts to say something so," your words ebb as you delicately shake the pitcher, letting a glob of foam sit atop the caramel latte, "I'll do this until he notices." With a flick of the wrist, you strike the glob through. Leaving a heart of milk foam you hide under a white lid. 

        "Black Americano, London fog, and a caramel latte for Nolan." You push the drinks out all at once. A teenage boy slides off a tall chair at the center table in the lobby. You avert your gaze as he grabs the order, muttering thanks. You watch him walk away, feeling heat in your cheeks and butterflies in your belly. 

        He slides into the chair, passing out drinks. Not taking the lid off the cup, not noticing again. It's whatever, you're too scared to say what you want. Too shy. What were the chances anyway? Cute boy and a yearning barista? 

        His brick wall of a father catches your eye. Mustache twitching up at you before he turned to his son. He speaks low, so low you can't hear.  "I think that girl likes you, Mark." 

        Mark stiffens, going bright red. "T-there's no way you know that."

        Nolan sips his Americano. Nothing close as good to the real thing, but passable for a peaceful morning with his family. "Oh, I know."

        His mother laughs into her palm. The order printer spits out a ticket, you get back to work. 

        At some point, your manager sets you behind the register. The Saturday mid-morning rush is killing you. Understaffed, flooded with orders. The customers keep coming with no end in sight. You're the only cashier, and the people are getting impatient. 

        You can feel the waves of contempt wafting off everyone behind your current customer. Some middle-aged nobody who was currently driving you insane. "I want something hot, no, cold, wait, mmm, maybe hot." You make recommendations. "It has to be keto. Are any of your syrups gluten-free? What's the calorie count per squirt of syrup? Do you have sugar-free milk?" You try and try to steer her in the right direction but she won't listen. The line is growing and honestly, you want it to move so you can talk to the boy in line. Holding his cup, blushing, looking at his feet, then at his parents for moral support. 

        You shouldn't do it. Using your powers in public was a terrible idea, it always was. People don't much like mind-fuckers. You'd been demure using them. Controlling people wasn't right, it felt icky. You were determined to be good and very, very normal. 

        But you have no choice. She's not shutting her fat lip and you wanted to flirt. 

        You lean forward past the register, whispering, "You're gonna get a black coffee. Gonna love it so much you'll tip me twenty bucks. Then you're never coming back."

        Her eyes glazed. "One black coffee, please."

        "Coming right up!"

        He's two customers behind. You get them out of the way. Lean on the register, like you're too cool for fast food- or is it fast coffee? 

        He sets the cup down, looking anywhere but at you, "Tell me if I'm being weird or crazy or whatever but uhm..." He lifts the lid. The heart had melted into the latte. Oh, he hadn't seen it, had you just forgotten the caramel syrup? He didn't actually want to talk to you. 

        Across the cafe, his father loudly cleared his throat. 

        Mark forced himself to make eye contact. "Uh. I just wanted to say this is like, the best latte I've ever had and I uhm- wanted to give you something." He fumbled with a scrap in his back pocket. Pushing it into the tip jar. You see numbers hastily written on the back of his dad's receipt. Then he's flipping open his thin wallet, "I'm also gonna actually tip too don't worry, I'm not that full of myself."

        Your fingers fish the number out the jar. "This is more than enough for me." The words hit him like a mallet. He almost jumps out his shoes. Horrified a girl actually flirted with him.

        And that's how it started. A nudge from Nolan turned into texting late at night about shitty minimum wage jobs. Turned into his mom driving you to the theaters, to a first kiss for you both, after seeing a terrible adaptation of a comic book. Turned into wanting to go to college together, you'd never even thought about college before. Turned into him saying he'd help you figure out the money situation. You lived alone as a teenager, circumstances, life and powers you didn't tell him about. Turned into a single job for Machine Head, offering enough money for tuition.

        The funny thing was, Mark gave you his number the same day you caught Machine Head's camera eye. Hell, in the same five minutes. He'd been right behind the lady you'd hypnotized. Came up to the counter when the rush died two hours later. Long after he'd left, come back just to give you a sleek business card. His number, the address of his high rise suite.

        "If you ever wanna actually do something with your life." He'd said. And with him and Mark, you actually started to consider it. 

        ***

        He's leaned over her body, bandaged and still. Pulse slow but strong. Leg in a sling hung off the ceiling. His new mask resting on the edge of her bed. Not looking up when Cecil walked in, followed by you. 

        "I already told you, I'm not leaving her." He says. Back moving as he speaks. So much wider than when you knew it. Voice deeper, matured, and so tired. 

        "Yeah, yeah, they could come busting down the door any minute to kill her to get at you." Cecil says, "But I just hit them with all I've got and they're fine, Mark. So please, turn around and talk to us."

        "No."

        Cecil turns to you, jutting his jaw toward Mark. Telling you to talk. You already know your powers won't work on him. You were still weak from Narcan. Exhausted from being passed around and almost dying. So God forgive you if you don't speak with good faith.

        "You're pathetic."

        At that, he whips around. Brows twisting. "Who-" He stares, taking seconds to process, too long. You're almost unrecognizable. No light in your eyes. No teenage awkwardness. No smile. "If you're bringing her out to convince me, the answer's still no." He turns back to Eve. You're not important enough to look at longer than twenty seconds. There was none of the barely contained want you saw in the alternate Marks, no immediate recognition. 

        Your fists ball. You were just a chess piece of Cecil's to him? 

        "He almost fucking vaporized me with nukes and they're fine." You would play the role of pawn just fine. Your anger at the situation was genuine, leading you right into Cecil's trap. "If that won't work, nothing will. The planet needs you."

        "Then Eve needs me more than ever." He says hollowly.

        You want to vomit. All over him and his puppy-dog eyes. All over her and her pretty face, and altruistic personality- always thrown in your face on the news. 

        It had nothing to do with the current happenstance but it comes ripping out of you.

        "Do you even care that you ruined my life?" He doesn't respond. You want to hit something. Break someone's bones. You remember Seventeen falling to the ground dead. The swirl of emotions you felt. You think if you did it again, there'd only be one emotion. 

        You go on, watching for a reaction. A shoulder slump, a sigh, anything. "I owed Machine Head after the job because I didn't deliver. You threw me in jail. He protected me. I owed him more, and if I didn't pay up, he'd kill me. Do you even know what I had to do? Did you ever think about it? I never even got to finish High School, Mark!"

        He doesn't flinch. Braced for a lashing. You realize then and there. He'd must've known you'd gone back. He worked for the GDA long enough for someone to fill him in. Flew over the city all the time. Knew people who knew people. He'd have heard it through the grapevine at some point. He'd only come looking the once. Maybe thinking to himself in his stupid puppy brain that you were better off without him. That you could make your way in the world. That you didn't want to see him and weren't totally drowning and in such desperate need of saving.

        "Look at me." You try to grasp for power that doesn't come, you could make him, but you can't. Your lips wobble. Cheeks burning with humiliation. Not only because he wouldn't look at you but Cecil was there, witnessing the whole thing. You turn your mind to something more pressing, another thing that makes you so angry you want to rip off heads. "If you're gonna fuck the planet over, have the decency to look at me and tell me you're not helping."

        His head dips. Leaning closer into Eve's orbit. "No. The answer's no. I can't leave her."

        He won't look at you. You're nothing but an unimportant memory. Something in you breaks. The onslaught of Marks you didn't even know cared about you more. But what had you been expecting from him? Hope for a romance re-lit? Hope to have the balls to kill him? You don't know.

        You hold back tears. Force your quavering lip into a hard line. "Fine. You won't do shit? I will." Cecil looks at you, brow raised as if he wasn't wanting for one of you to step up.

        "I'll figure it out." You tell him as you storm out the room. Unable to hold the tears any longer. 

        ***

        You're gone. Gone. Blasted to dust. Dead, again.

        He knew the trap was coming, but he couldn't stop it and save you at the same time. He thought he could be stronger, faster, but that damn noise got him. Made his ears pulse and bleed even with the noise cancellation device in his suit. Hell, part of him hoped since the others seemed to care so much, maybe they'd stop the bombs.

        Now he's in the pit that used to be an island. Ocean water roaring down the ledge. Looking for pieces of you. But there is nothing but water and rock.

        He checks his tracker, coming to his senses after minutes of reeling. Your dot doesn't appear. Your vitals no longer showing in the corner of his lenses. 

        He wants Angstrom to appear. Wants to rip that engorged brain off his scalp. He should've known it was a ruse, a sick joke because you were dead everywhere but here, and no way in hell would he- or any of them- be so lucky as to hold you again. 

        Angstrom doesn't come. Nor do anymore bombs. The planet is out of defenses. 

        One by one the Marks give up. Speeding off the to nearest city to level or person to kill. Blaming this world for false hope. Leveling it more than it already had been. Suppose that's what Angstrom was planning. For that, he'd kill the bastard whenever it was time to meet at the rendezvous.

        ***

        There is nothing to do but wait. Cecil withheld the remaining heroes in safe houses across the globe. The ones that didn't listen, the ones that thought letting the Invincible's scourge the planet was stupid, never came back. Cecil's plan was simple, wait for it to be over. He'd tried taking them down one by one, tried en masse, tried everything but only a handful fell. The remaining were too much for any defense the planet had and the real Invincible wasn't lifting a finger to help. 

        So Cecil made every other hero follow suit. Biding his time. Waiting to launch the rescue missions rather than offense. 

        He did things where he could. Trying to contain. Remotely launching tear gas specially compounded to fuck up a supe, but of course it did nothing to Viltruimtes. Playing that awful sound that made Mark weak. Except most speakers on the planet couldn't play it at the correct pitch, so the most it did was cause a minor annoyance before the speaker was smashed.

      Psycopomp watched as you avoided everybody. As you went unpunished for your crimes, many of the same things she'd done, but shit. Making people do as you said was just immoral. At least with the dead, they couldn't feel or even know what was happening. 

        Cecil wanted Psychopomp to help. To zap her into areas under attack for her to raise the re-dead re-animen. She refused because he let you walk free. 

        Then he'd laid it on her like this, "There's only a handful of people on the planet left with a chance of killing any of the alternate Mark Graysons. She took one out single-handedly, that's not for nothing. Listen, if you help us we can think about opening an investigation on (Y/n) but as long as this lasts, we need her." 

        Psychopomp agreed. Glazing over the word think. She was sent into the field, one disaster after another raising the dead undead. Watching them get killed again and again. Being zapped back to the GDA just to be sent somewhere else in the next five minutes, rinse, repeat. 

        Day one was bad, day two was worse, and on the dawn of three the destruction started to lull. Cecil lost more employees than he'd thought possible. The hospital wing keeping Eve alive was down to three staffers working round the clock. They'd drop of exhaustion any moment and they'd all be fucked because Mark, the real Mark, would be so angry he'd finish the destroying the planet before his alternates could.

        Then there was you. 

        Hovering around the remains of the GDA headquarters like a ghost. Useless because you didn't understand military strategy. Petty gangwar bullshit didn't apply anywhere here. Nowhere else to go because there's nowhere to go, as if Cecil would let you leave anyway. Keeping you around as a last resort, plans tumbling around in his balding head. Nothing solid enough. 

        So he let you wander, let you have time alone in the one working bathroom, washing your body with hand soap and mineral thick water. Didn't bat an eye when you pulled the armor off a guard's corpse. Even down to the white tank top undershirt and shorts he wore under. Least you had the decency the put the guy's hands over his dick.

        Cecil wasn't blind or stupid. You dressing yourself in the black and green armor of a GDA solider was no coincidence. There were plenty of dead lab techs to take normal clothes off. 

        You looked for nearly an entire day for a pulse rifle that was fully loaded and still shot. Most of the dead guards fought for their lives before being cut down. You could shoot, but had no idea how tech this advanced was reloaded. Hell, just holding the rifle felt awkward compared to your six-shooter. It wouldn't be enough and you knew it. But you didn't know what else you could do. 

        You practiced firing, using guns with less ammo. It was the only thing that felt useful to do. The only thing that felt right, because marching into the hospital wing and shooting Mark wasn't an option.

        The last of the engineering staff reverse-engineered the remnants of the cuff they'd broken off your ankle. Barely. The signal was spotty, and his location was never exact but they had an estimate of where one of them was at all times. 

        It rose alarms when his signal was stopped above the Grayson household. Cecil cut to the closest working cameras he had, which happened to be real close since he had dozens of eyes on the Grayson's since Nolan went rogue. 

        The tracked one wasn't alone. Hovering over his childhood home was Mark, Mark, Mark, and Mark, and a handful more Mark's. They were speaking so far from the nearest micro-mic the sensor could barely pick up the words.

        "--s taking him so lon-"

        "How is he late? He--  -teleport."

        "Stop whini--"

        You push off the wall. You'd been waiting. Watching. Hoping a handful of them would group up again and you could kill Mark over and over and over. All you could think about these last two days was Mark. His back toward you. How long it'd taken him to recognize you. The memory of meeting at your shitty job. The anger boiled you alive. Made you stupid enough to stay with the GDA and not move into a safe house. Though Cecil never suggested you did. Part of him hoped you could do something.

        Their conversation carried on. You moved to Cecil's side, pulling the dead guard's helmet over your head. "I'm going." Your tone leaves no room for argument.

        He should argue. You're barely a real adult. So much to live for. So easy to kill in a Viltrumite's hands. But he doesn't, because he knows you killed one of them, you could kill more. Rest and rage have fueled you with diesel and you're ready to light the match. 

        "Are you sure?" Donald turns from the screen, monitoring the Marks. "There's no guarantee we can get you out once we send you in." The teleporter was fixed for a few hours, but sending in all those re-animen for the bombing? Fucked it over again. The first few times they sent out Psychopomp, she was fine, but the last trip went bad. You vaguely heard she refused to go back out into the field. That the teleporter didn't work when it was supposed to, that she got hurt by one of them.

       But at least she found Caligula while running for her life. Fuzzball came bounding up to her, happy to run beside her. She was smug when she'd come back despite shaking and being paler than an eggshell. Caligula sometimes came to you for love, but it wasn't enough to heal the chasm that'd opened in your chest. You shooed him away, no love to give. Psychopomp took the role of mommy dearest.

        Fine by you. 

        You weren't actively suicidal, just angry. Spiteful. In your wildest dreams, you thought of people praising you for bravery. Cash prizes and a penthouse. Everyone knowing Mark didn't go to the final confrontation, but you had. He let you go alone so he could be sad at his girlfriend's bedside. 

        Then again, you didn't give two horse shits about saving the planet. You knew you wouldn't live to see glory and that was fine. You wouldn't know how to live with glory. To uphold a shiny new hero status. You were bad and couldn't conceive of any other way you could be. 

        "I'm sure." You tilt your head toward the teleporter, "Are you going to let me go or not?" 

        Cecil's scarred lip twitched. "It's a death sentence." His words weren't meant to convince you away. They were a warning label slapped down for legal reasons.

        "I know." You made your way to the teleporter. The men trailing behind you. 

        You look back at the screen. The Marks chatter on. You let the rifle rest on your knee while your hand goes to your pocket.

        "You should know drugs like that don't actually enhance powers." Cecil nods to your soldier pants where you'd stuff the last two bottles of codeine atop your phone, wallet, keys, other odds and ends. As if you'd need them where you were going. Old habits, they say.

        "They do for me." Your foot hovers over the teleporter edge.       

        "We've done extensive testing on drugs combined with powers. Enhancements are always from a placebo." Donald says, robo jaw clinking. 

         You don't want to believe him, but you do. Because the 'power-up' was never consistent. You drop the bottle back into your pocket. Just another thing you had hoped for that wasn't true. "Well, thanks for ruining the placebo."

        "Doesn't help anyone if you overdose," Cecil says gruffly.

        A wry smile ticks your lip under the gray-tinted visor. "You saying you believe in me?"

        "You're the last chance we've got, so I have to." He can't see but you roll your eyes.

        Your foot comes down on the teleporter platform. You turn to the tech running the thing, "Get me close enough to shoot but not close enough to immediately die." They nod. 

        "Hey!" Her voice cuts the room, the finality of the moment. Psychopomp weaves around Cecil and the techies. Right side of her supersuit torn away. Banadages wrapped tight around the stump that came a few inches off her shoulder. Entire arm gone. You hadn't noticed, so lost in your own head.

        "You said there'd be an investigation." She says before Cecil tells her to go lay down. The medical staff barely saved her life yesterday. 

        "I said I'd think about it." Cecil says, waving to a tech to get started on powering up the teleporter. 

        She snarls, rearing on you. "So what? You're just gonna leave on some suicide mission before telling me where my brother is? Like it'll make up for all the shit you've done? You a hero now?"

        You blink slowly at her. Unbothered because so much worse had happened these last days you couldn't bring yourself to care. Around you, the machine rattles and glows. 

        "Tell me!" She snaps. 

        "If he wasn't dead before, he's dead now." Not an admission, by any means, but enough for her to put the puzzle pieces together.

        Just before you're zapped away to your early grave, Cecil says, "Godspeed, kid."

        The light around you apexes. You can't see anymore. "Fuck you."

        You hear her voice, not letting you get the last word in, "No!"

        You're shoved backwards. A hand on your arm. Then you're both gone. Leaving Cecil to care for the cat, already winding around his legs.

        ***

        Back-first, you hit the pavement. Head cracking against the ground. Armor absorbing the blow. 

        Psychopomp peeled herself up wobbily on her one arm. Shoddy supersuit no match for the unpaved road.

        She's going to scream questions about her brother. Going to call their attention to you. You do what needs to be done-  crack the side of her head with the rifle's butt before she can even open her mouth. Her eyes roll back as she goes limp on top of you. You look to the sky and find nothing. Carefully, you slide out from under her and begin to walk that painfully memorable trip to the Grayson household.

        You'd recognized it immediately on the GDA screens. Remembered making out on Mark's bed. Dinner with his family. Texting him while you were in the same room, giggling about it.

        The world around you is ashes. Most of the fires already gone out, all the houses eaten up. You withhold a, "Jesus Christ." Keeping the gun's muzzle tight to your body. You wonder from where Cecil watches. 

        You peak around the corner of LeBolt Street and Green Drive. Sure enough, the last house on the left stands on its last white legs. Car gone from its driveway, making you remember Debbie. You liked her, hoped she wasn't dead even though her son was a prick. 

        Above the ruin, they wait. You can't hear their conversation. You count, one, two, three... eleven. Fucking eleven. You took down one because the others were distracted, but distracting ten to remove one? Seemed impossible. 

        You were afraid, not in the traditional 'oh shit I'm going to die' sense, because you had felt like that for the better part of five years and it was easy to tune out. The feeling that filled you was more final, a righteous 'I need to kill at least half these people before I go to hell'. You figured it was best to start small, experimental. You hide in charcoal rubble and fire a single blast into the curbside in front of your hiding spot. 

        "Oh great, somebody left a survivor." Mohawk bitched, "No wonder he won't come, he's too afraid someone else is gonna see his fucked up head."

        Some of them snicker, most don't.

        "I've got it." A voice says, "Gotta work out the kinks in my back still, think that kid actually knocked a disc loose."

        "Who cares, just do it." Someone snaps.

        He's at the curb in a flash. Falling on his haunches, flicking at the still smoking debris. His swim-capped head gleaming from the distant sun's glow. "Alright guy, come out. I've got worlds to take over and I really-"

       You dare not speak for fear of being heard even at a whisper. Your arm comes out, fingers beckoning. He'd been looking in your direction. Lazy smile playing on his lips before the control sunk it's claws in.

        He hobbles over and crouches in front of your hiding spot.

        Before, you'd have drunk codeine and given it the credit but now? Credit was given to the rage this place brought you. Walking around this very block, talking about nothing and everything. Hope for the future. Mark's back to you. 

        You point through the charcoal of the shuddered window you'd been hiding behind. His eyes follow, landing on Scars. Your finger goes to your throat, crossing it in a slow, deliberate line. Kill him.

        You wish there was a universal gesture for 'come back when you're done so I can tell you to murder these other freaks'  but there wasn't. Unless he knew ASL, which you highly doubted.        

        He blasts off the ground. The shudder falls and you barely duck out of the way before it could pin you to the ground. You find another hiding spot to watch from.

        Someone already murmuring, "Took you long enough," at his return.

        Knowing these freaks, they'd jump on Swimcap the second he attacked. He'd be the one who wound up dead. Sex offense poster boy would be a nice bonus. Then they'd come, searching for what drove Swimcap kill crazy. You'd use them to kill each other. Make the last one standing snap his own neck- if you got that far, if your power didn't drain.

        Scars opened his mouth, "I didn't hear a scr-" His teeth clacked shut on his tongue. Blood filling his mouth as he's shot a mile into the sky. You watch Swimcap shoot up after him. Your puppet got above Scars head before he could regain his bearings and balled his fists over his own head before bringing them down on Scars' chest. He came back down to Earth like a meteor, smashing the remnants of the house. Sending shockwaves through the busted neighborhood.

        Swimcap flew down, feet extended, aiming to sever Scars head from his neck. Scars catches him by the ankles, rolls, and slams Swimcap  facedown into the foundation of the house. "Fuck's wrong with you?" He doesn't wait for reply, climbing atop the other version of himself, letting fists rule. 

        The others lower in the sky, curious. 

        "You can't double cross me, I was going to double cross you." Scars snaps between blows.

        Swimcap finally regains his bearings, catching one fist then the other. Four teeth knocked out of his mouth, blood vessels burst in his eyes, the lenses of his cap broken. Scars catches the look in his eye, the glaze of control before a knee slams into his dick. Swimcap gets on top.

        You lean forward. Smiling like it was the best movie you'd ever seen.  

        A fist is raised. Then grabbed by a red glove.

        "We're supposed to be working together, not killing each other." Omni-Mark says. 

        Scars sneers, "Like we weren't going to turn on each other at some point."

        Swimcap brings his free fist down. Snapping Scars head to the side. 

        "Stop it." Omni-Mark says, "Or I'll be forced to act on the aggressor."

        "I can handle this myself!" Scars hands come up to either side of Swimcap's head. "He just surprised me!" The muscles in his arms bulge, veins on his hands pulsing as he presses and presses and presses. Swimcap's jaw ticks, goes unnaturally to the side, eyes go redder, bleeding tears before they pop out, dangling on his cheeks. Then the top of his head pops up, brains squirting up in a pressurized blast. Chunks landing on the front of Omni-Mark's suit, much to his distaste.

       Scars shoves the body off, not minding the blood. Omni-Mark lets his limp wrist fall, holds out his newly freed hand to help Scars up. He slaps it away. "Didn't need your fucking help."

        "Really?" Mohawk's scratchy voice calls down, "Cuz it sure looked like you needed it to me!"

        "Shut up." Scars says.

        Together, the landed pair rejoin the group in the air. 

        "Any idea why he did that?" One of them asks.

        Looks and shrugs are shared. "Guy blew his load too early, I guess." Mohawk says. A minute passes. He speaks again, "Seriously, what's taking that guy so long?"

        "This would pass a lot faster if you'd shut up," Emperor says.

        "He knows he can't deliver on his promises anymore." The bald one looks from version of himself to version of himself. "He's scared shitless."

        "No way he can't deliver me more universes." Scars spits. 

        "Don't act like you weren't losing your shit when she died." Mohawk jerks in the air. Tense all over. Waiting for someone to come at him so he could hit something hard as he could.

        "I think it was fitting." Scars tone is all confident sarcasm, but he won't look at anybody. "Bitch deserved it."

        Two of them look at each other. A Mark in his old blue-yellow uniform, no mask. The other in what looked like a tracksuit with a fluttering mask covering his face. Puzzlement crossed between them.

        Mohawk was on him, fists twisted in the bottom of Scars mask. "I was gonna kill you eventually, but I think now's a great fuckin' t-"

        "Dregs! Dregs, you bitch! Where the fuck are you!?" Screeches through the neighborhood's exposed bones. So many of them go rigor mortis stiff. Then the sound comes again, "(Y/n)! I know you're here!"

        You peek out of your hiding spot. See Psychopomp shambling down the street where you'd popped into existence. Blood streaked down her pallid forehead. A snarl on her thin lips. 

        She's stupid. You think. She's suicidal. You think. She wants to get me killed.

        She throws her head back, "Come out!"

        Phantom is the first on top of her. Grappling her hard by the shoulder and stub. "(Y/n)? You said (Y/n)? You said (Y/n) is here?" Desperation pierces through the modulator. That of someone teetering on the edge of an endless chasm. 

        "Who-" She tries to slap his hands off and finds she can't. She switches gears, fighting not an option. She'd already seen what happened back in New York with the other contingencies. Remembered just who had ripped her arms off before Mercy healed them. Her voice held a quiver, "Yes, did you see her?" 

        "Obviously not." Emperor lands beside her. "You said she's present?"

        "We came together." Psychopomp breathes out. A nervous sweat shone on her cheeks, like she finally realized what she was doing. "Knocked me out and left."

        Jesus Christ, she'd switch sides if it meant getting at you.

        Lensless is next to touch down. "Uh, I saw those bombs go off like, right in her face. She's dead. You just know you can't escape without us catching you. I mean, shit, I'd do the same thing but-"

        In goes a breath, out comes a hateful scream, "Dregs!"

        You don't budge. She ruined everything on purpose. Most of the Marks had come from above the house to swarm around her. Only three remain above the house, impassively watching. The maskless one, the tracksuit wearer, the white-clad warrior. Eyes in the sky. If you even put a finger out of your hiding spot, they'd see. It was best to stay put, make her look crazy, let her die, then resume the plan.

        Except Phantom had sensors in his lenses. A sensor he used to scan the area, quickly picking out the outline of your crouched form behind a wall. He was on you. Tearing off the GDA helmet before you could attempt to shove him off. 

        It was you. Oh God, it was really you.

        The helmet falls out of his hands. He hugs you quick, almost imperceptibly so, before the other versions of himself round the corner with Psychopomp in tow. 

        "Stay where you are." The command is for them, not her, as if it'd work anyway. You had no idea how long they'd hold. You're not coming off Narcan so probably more than a millisecond. No longer than forty-five seconds at best.

         You dip down, snatching the helmet, pulling it back on over your head. But they'd all seen. The helmet was a matter of protection and anonymity of emotion. Protection that'd do little against them but still, it was something.

        The collective paused. Marks stiff, most of them anyway. A few seem unaffected, just waiting to see what would happen. Blood is already starting to pool at the top of your nasal passage.

         Psychopomp prowls closer, stopping when she sees a gun the size of her thigh cradled in your arms.

        "Where is Digby?" She demands. Ah, the whereabouts of her heroine skinny brother. That old chestnut.

        You watch the Marks for signs of a cracking hold. Look at Psycopomp, pale with yesterday's bloodloss. And run. 

        You can't deal with all of them at once. This was a one-by-one operation. You needed, "Cecil!" To get you the fuck out of dodge. You needed to regroup. Come back later. Not have Psychopomp fucking ruin everything.

        But the teleporter light doesn't consume you. You are not saved.

        You are grabbed from behind almost soon as your legs started pumping. Arms tight around your midsection. Pulpy eyehole pressing to the side of your visor.

        "Jeez, you're slow." Lensless says.

        "Let go."

        He does. But your control on the others had gone. They could converge on you whenever they wanted and "Cecil, God damn it," won't, "help me!"

        Help doesn't come. Rescue doesn't come. 

        Scars laughs, wiping bloodstains off his suit to little avail, "You're on your own. He never comes if it means his own neck." Just like Cecil had warned.

        Psychopomp moves through their ranks. Not accepted in, but so insignificant there'd be no point in killing her. They all had to wait for Angstrom anyways. 

        "Where is he, Dregs?"

        You're on your own unless you convince her to work with you. "Last our guys saw, he fell into the lava pits when Invincible fought Doc Seismic." You lie through your teeth. The first thing you could think of while tying in Invincible. 

        "Bullshit!" She calls. The Marks frame her back. Watching. Curious about you, your life, your enemies, your petty human squabbles. "He couldn't be in Washington, he couldn't drive."

        Crossed arms tensed over a red-white chest. "Keep speaking to my wife like that and your other arm is gone." 

        Psychopomp looks. Visabily shaking at the Omni-Man impersonator's presence. 

        You ignore him. "Machine Head sent him to do mule work there to pay off his debts." You go on, rolling with the story. "Best not to tell you so you couldn't bail him out again." 

        Her eye twitched. "I was the last person who saw him alive in New York, Dregs. Don't lie after you said that cryptic shit at the GDA. Don't I deserve to know- don't you still care about me a little bit?"

        No, but you don't say that. Instead, you pivot, "If those motherfuckers behind you don't die right now there'll be no justice system to help you find out what happened."

        Mohawk cackles, "Hah! That's so code for she killed that guy!"

        "Is it?" Psycopomp asks. 

        "Don't listen to them." You insist, fingers tightening around the pulse rifle. "They destroyed the planet, Psych. Don't be stupid. Work with me here."

         "If the planet's already destroyed, how is she going to take you to court? 'S better if you just get revenge right now." Scars grins. Knowing exactly what buttons he's pushing. 

        You have to tell the truth. Make her so blind with hatred that waiting years for supe-prisons to be rebuilt just for you to rot didn't even seem like an option.

        "Alright, fine." Your breaths come short and humid under the visitor. You're not sure you should be saying this. Before it'd definitely get you killed for sharing confidential business information, but Machine Head was out of the picture so who was going to punish you- God? "Digby's somewhere in the Colorado River." At that, her face falls, a single tear slipping hot down her cheek. His death had always been a suspicion, no evidence, no confirmation. No CCTV. Nothing. All set up by Machine Head's men. But now it was confirmed, after two years of searching, wondering. 

        "So he's..."

        "Dead, yes."

        "And you..."

        The sorrow is morphing, unstable, but in a state so fresh and raw you could mold it to your advantage. The only card you had left to play. "I had to. You know how our line of work is. If you want to kill me, I get it but if you want the actual privilege of doing me in yourself- help me deal with these assholes first." You knew the undead civilians would do nothing to them, but a minor distraction was the best thing you could pull out of this situation she'd forced you both into.

        She blinked. Tears coming faster, faster. "You..."

        You see one of their fingers twitch, wondering when he should step in. 

        "You can't kill me if they do first, Michelle." Her name is a slap to the face. Only passed about in private, such as your apartment air mattress. Anger reddens her. She's shaking her head, mentally trying to ward off your manipulation. Hands are flexing now. 

        "Kill you? What? No, babe, I'm here to take you home." Mohawk says loud and clear for all to hear. Taking a mallet to your plans.

        "He's lying." You say. "You saw that one," you nod toward Emperor Shoulder Pads, "had me by the throat. He's trying to trick you." Except you didn't think he was. 

        "You made me do it." Shoulder Pads replies. "But I wasn't going to k-"

        "Shut your mouth." You turn back to Psychopomp, desperate, "These people are not our allies or enemies of an enemy. They are going to finish the job and kill us both if you don't do something." 

        And Psychopomp saw right through your flimsy manipulation. "You're scared of what I'm going to do to you."

        She wasn't listening. You had to go in, hard, unnecessarily brutally honest. Full-on nuclear blast.

        "I didn't have to tell him to kneel." You say, telling the truth to her for once, "He knew he was screwed. You knew how deep in debt he was to Machine Head, but you just kept letting him use. Telling yourself he'd quit before he overdosed. He knew he'd never be able pay and never be able to stop." Her hands come up and start to glow. You hoped those zombies would be pointed anywhere but at you. "He wanted to die. He knew he couldn't give his daughter a good life and knew Shelly was too religious to abort."

        "Shelly-" She says, dimly remembering his brother's girlfriend. Remembering she hadn't seen her in years. The last time she saw her was with Digby. For awhile she blamed Shelly, then there was you. Machine Head. A tip from a friend. "-Was pregnant?"

        "Oh shit." One of them says. You don't look to see who.

        "Five months." You supply. "She didn't want to die but she walked in, couldn't be helped."

        "You killed my niece?" It was more a question than a statement.

        "Machine Head would've killed me if I hadn't, Michelle."

        "You killed my brother!" Her fingers curl, as if sucked in by the light vortexes of power in her palm. "My family!" The only she had left.

        Mouths twist into smiles and horrified frowns at your cruelty. 

        You don't know where to aim the pulse rifle. At them or her. "You can kill me when this is over. Fuck, throw me in the slammer even."

        "I don't give a shit about justice!" The houses around you stir with dead residents coming to life, "I'm going to fucking kill you- now!"

        "Listen!" You were losing control of the situation. Once the action started, you weren't sure you'd be able to escape. 

        "No! Jail isn't enough! I've seen what you can do. I've been there to see the kinda shit you make people do. There is something wrong with you, and you just need to die." She can't stop crying.

        The first of the undead shamble out of their broken homes. They aren't slow. On you in what feels like moments. You're forced to turn to fire green blasts into their heads. Stepping out of the way of their still reaching hands when they fall. 

        "God- Jesus- Damn it." You elbow, pistol whip, kick, and shoot at the growing horde but it's too much. You'll be overwhelmed soon. "Stop being stupid. They'll kill you." 

        They look like they will. Phantom surges forward to save you but is grabbed by the ankle by Scars.

        "I want to see this." He says.

        Phantom forces himself still. He must not reveal how deeply you'd infected him. So he watches, waiting for things to be dire enough to actually justify jumping in. As do the others, who felt that tickle of desire to play hero. 

        Some, Mohawk, Scars, Lesnless, watch because it's so nice seeing you kill. There were other approving glances, but so quiet and unnoticeable you didn't catch them in your panic.

        "I don't care! I don't fucking care!" The buzzed hair atop her scalp seems to bristle at the sight of you still living. Her palm glows brighter, extending her reach much as she can with the bloodloss. "Die! Just die!"

        No amount of coaxing will do it. You made a bet and lost. You had to take whatever winnings you could still scrap.

        You let decrepit hands hit the body armor. Forcing yourself through the crowd of gored families. Whacking heads and shoulders to make a clear lane for you to aim- and fire. The first shot is taken by a women with no eyes. She goes down. More zombies surge to block your shots. 

        The Marks twitch with nervous energy. Thinking of jumping in, but uneasy to show their weakness for you in front of the others. Deciding if you're not out in ten more seconds, they'll do something.

        You take a breath, steadying as your line of sight crowded with the dead. Their teeth gnawing at your arms and ankles. Weak fists at your back. And shot, once, twice, thrice through the bodies until the fourth blast goes through Michelle's head. Spitting her face from the top of her lip to her buzzcut. 

        Michelle hits the ground. Brains splattering on the pavement. Her minion's grip and teeth loosen. 

        Arms scoop under your knees, support your back faster than you can breathe. Taking off before you can think to scream. Shooting toward the clouds. The rifle falling out of your hands.

        He couldn't take it anymore. Seeing you covered in blood. Seeing you holding that weapon. You weren't supposed to be like that. Supposed to look like that.

        "I thought I lost you." You feel the rumble of his chest. Black and blue carbon fiber suit rubbing against your body armor. You have to force your head up against the sudden G-force. Mask covering all but the horror and relief in his tone. You can see the shell of your mask reflected back in those blue lenses. 

        You don't think just speak, "Let me go."

        He does. Involuntarily. Mortified that he did. Unmoving, waiting for your next command but you drop so fast, scream so loud, it never comes. He watches as you plummet five-thousand feet.

        "Catch me! Catch me now!" No one could hear you over the whistling of the wind. 

        All that fighting. Days of angsting, building up their deaths in your head. Only to kill one, then yourself on accident. Way to go, idiot.

        You see a white flash. Feel yourself stop. Your body jerks against the suddenness. Head snapping back, whacking against a solid arm. You are gone, nothing but black swimming unconsciousness. 

        "She's fine." You hear him say, Mark for sure, but in a tone you hadn't come to know. "To my understanding, humans can not withstand sudden changes in atmosphere."

        "Let me see! I wanna see if she's still breathing." Mohawk, definitely. "Hey, dickhead! You almost fuckin' killed her! You happy up there!? Yeah, you better stay away from me, pussy."

        "She is." The new Mark says evenly. 

        Another comes to volley. "We should get back to the rendezvous." 

        Green light penetrates past your closed eyes. Making them twitch and flutter open just in time to see him step into existence. Red lights screwed into his supermassive brain. Metal welded to his body. Power pooling at his feet, sustaining himself in the air. "No need." Eyes, one brown, the other milky with blindness, slide to you, "The location doesn't so much matter, as long as we have the guest of honor."

[satorusugurugurl]

Perfect prey was just *chef's kiss*

Was thinking... what if the plan backfired? Like maybe Suguru's curses attracted another curse they weren't expecting and now their darling is in serious danger! Maybe a little bit injured

They feel awful of course, because they put their darling in harm's way! So they manipulate her again, but with a more gentle approach. "Oh sweetheart this was so dangerous... we were So worried... we can't let you do this alone again, our heart wouldn't be able to take it" and then they make it up to her by fucking her until she passes out

Perfect Prey (Part Two)

Characters: Yadere!Geto Suguru, Yadere!Gojo Satoru,AFAB!Reader

Warnings: yandere!Geto/Gojo, manipulation, dub! con read is unaware that the boys are manipulating her! (consent is vital for me!!) double penetration, smut, mentions of wounds, cursing, baby trapping, pregnancy talk, breeding

Word Count: 3,464

A/N: Ah! thank you Nonnie! This was different. I felt really dirty writing them so conniving wanting to baby trap the reader. Well I hope you enjoy!!

Part One

Anxiety and dread sat in the pit of your stomach like a metal ball as the phone rang. Satoru and Suguru were going to be pissed that you took on this mission, but they would have to get over it. You tried to decline when Yaga told you you were being sent to Sendai to deal with a grade-two curse. After your first and last solo mission went haywire, you never took missions without a partner, whether it was Satoru or Suguru.

But you couldn't just stand by the second he told you a child was missing the same area. You had to go on this mission alone while your boyfriends were in Kyoto for a meeting. The child was at risk, so you idly couldn’t stand by and do nothing. They could be upset if they wanted, but this was the right thing to do.

“Hey sweetheart, everything okay?” Satoru asked as you treaded over a bridge leading to an abandoned school in Sendai.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

Pure and absolute silence rings out, making you swallow hard. “What do you mean? Don’t get mad?” You heard Geto ask what happened in the background. “Sugurh is here too. Tell us what happened,” you grumble, stepping over a fallen log, not looking forward to this conversation.

“Yaga sent me on a mission.”

“Princess, do you remember what happened last time?” Suguru made a tsking sound, speaking down to you as if you were a child who had done something wrong.

“I know, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. But everyone else was on their own mission or out of town.”

“You still could’ve declined.” The cold chill in Gojo’s voice makes you shiver.

“I couldn't.”

“Yes, you could have.”

“No, Toru, I couldn't!” you snapped, stopping your pace to glare at the ground. “There’s a missing child in the area. It might be at the school building, or the curse could have them.” Both of your partners stay silent, and neither say a word. “I can’t sit back when a child is in danger.” Since they voiced no other sounds of protest, you side and relief. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll be taking the bullet train home since I’m in Sendai. I love you both.”

The line disconnected, causing Satoru to groan as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I swear I’m going to off the higher-ups one of these days.” Subaru, who was glaring out the window of the train back to Tokyo. “You're not opposed to the idea.” The dark-haired man glanced back at his blindfolded best friend.

“Sorry, Satoru, I was just thinking about how much our princess cares about children.”

“Yeah? She loves her students—and cares about the well-being of them.”

“I believe that is something we can use to our advantage.”

Satoru’s curiosity was peaked, and it caused the mischievous grin to deepen his dimple. “Oh, please do elaborate, Suguru.” With his friend's approval, Suguru shut his eyes and smiled.

“What if we gave her a child of her own to take care of? Money is not a problem with your wealth, and neither is mine. If we had a child with her, she could stay home, caring for them while we take on all the missions.”

“Are you suggesting that we baby-trap our perfect girl?”

“Precisely.” Geto shrugged the shoulder, dark strands of hair moving as he shifted in his seat. “If that’s something she wants, we will not force her to do anything she does not want.”

“But with a little persuasion and many videos, she’ll beg for one.”

The strongest sorcerer of the modern age grins before Suguru glances down at his watch. “But before everything is all sunshine and rainbows, our princess must learn another lesson.”

The two of them found themselves in Sendai ten minutes later, thanks to Gojo's teleportation. They stood in the woods as Suguru’s curses searched the area for the missing child you had been so concerned about finding. After combing through every inch and making a quick call to the police station, they confirmed that the boy had been seen earlier that day and was safe and sound at home with his family. Meaning they could use full force like they had done with you before.

Using Suguru's curses at full force to remind you of how much you needed them. As you ran through the second story of the abandoned school building, Geto’s curses swarmed in search of you, and they found you fast. You had to run up the stairs to the third floor when a swarm of fly-like curses slammed into you. Falling onto your back, you shielded your face with your hands, blocking their attacks.

Rage bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you snarled. Flipping over, you flung two talisman papers at the buzzing curses. Upon impact, the paper burned with your cursed energy before the creatures exploded into blue flames. There was a fire raging deep inside of you, one that was going to help you in finding the missing child, and you would be damned if you let a shitty curse your way. Pushing yourself up and off the ground, you bolted up the stairs to continue your frantic search.

Every one of the curses you came across, you exorcised with your papers. Each time that happened, Suguru stiffened, his eyes widening as Satoru dropped his arm over his best friend's shoulder. You had stopped to call either of them because you were handling this perfectly alone. That was both troubling and satisfying.

They knew you were strong. There was no doubt in their minds about that, but now, months after the initial incident they caused, you were even stronger. If you succeeded in dealing with these curses, you might begin to rebel against them, insisting that you could handle yourself, which left both men at a crossroads. They could keep throwing weak grade three and four curses in your way or step it up with a grade two or one.

Amid their conundrum, you kept moving, taking out every curse. Your thoughts revolved around finding the missing child and saving them. You didn't know the child was already at home safe and sound, meaning you were running through a building for nothing.

“Our darling girl is handling herself quite well.”

“She is one of the strongest,” Gojo added head, focused on the school.

Suguru was a second away from agreeing with him when he went silent; seven of his curses were exorcised once—none by you or a different sorcerer. No, the presence that took out those curses was dark and malicious. Suguru knew that Satoru sensed it, too, from the way his body straightened before he yanked his blindfold down, pooling it around his neck.

“Sugu—”

“I know I felt it.”

“A special grade curse.” You grit it out from the third-floor hallway, standing before the curse devouring one of the lower-grade ones chasing you. The six-legged creature towered over you, standing around 7 feet tall. Eight eyes darted with every move you made, following as you reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a talisman paper as you prepared for the fight of your life.

Geto and Gojo were running through the woods, watching as flashes of blue cursed energy glowed from the broken windows on the third floor. As they approached the building, the north wall crumbled as you battled with the special grade curse. The bastard was throwing you against walls, knocking the wind out of your chest before crawling up onto the ceiling like some humanoid spider.

You shake, pushing yourself up as the curse skittered towards you; just below, Gojo teleported with Geto bolted up the stairs. The special grade curse was just about to bite your head off, but before it had a chance to chomp down, a blue ball of cursed energy slammed through the wall, knocking both you and the curse over the ledge of the north side of the building

“Fuck!” Gojo yelled as you and the curse fell into an abandoned school pool's dirty, mucky water. The water's foul smell soured your stomach as you tried to wiggle yourself from the curse of grasp, only to have it pull you under the black water. Its legs into your sides, pulling you further under the water, dragging you to the bottom of the bottomless pool.

Your paper was useless in a situation like this, but you didn’t need your paper. Not when you had been training so hard, focusing all your energy on your combat skills. Pulling your fist back, you focus hard, concentrating your cursed energy into your fist before slamming it down on the curse's head. Flashes of red and black cursed energy split the water around you, and the curse released you. The black flash hit it head-on. You would need to thank Nanami later for teaching you how to do it.

That was if you made it out of the slimy pool alive.

You couldn’t see everything; it was a blurry black mass until a hand breached under the water, grabbing your jacket and pulling you to the surface. The instant head breached the water, Suguru pulled out, helping you towards the edge. The instant you were on dry land, you sat on your hands and knees as you coughed up the foul-smelling water that had invaded your mouth and nose while Geto rubbed your back soothingly, gently patting it until you were sure your lungs were clear.

“S-Suguru—” you gasp, resting your head on his lap, “W-What are you doing here?” His hand gently stroked your wet hair back

“Yaga called us and told us the child was found. We decided to assist you and let you know the good news. Thank god we got here when we did.”

Another body crutches down next to you; a soft hand gently caresses your cheek. “Yeah, no kidding. Are you okay? You aren’t too injured, are you?”

Shifting slightly, you winced at the scratches and sore spots that would soon become bruises. Despite the minor sting, nothing seemed to be broken. That meant your partners wouldn’t have much to complain about. Pushing yourself up and off of Suguru, you gave your boyfriends a gentle smile and a thumbs up.

“I’ll live.”

Of course, you’d live; you were strong, and the injured were mediocre. Even though you were okay, Satoru and Suguru felt some guilt when you

All got he as they watched you walk into the bathroom for a long shower when you got home. The scratches on your side were bleeding, and the gash on your forehead was starting to swell into a scar with bruises as you shut the door behind you.

Both men exchanged glances with each other the second you came back into the bedroom, carefully crawling into bed between them. They were so lucky that you were strong enough to handle yourself. If it were anyone else, they might not have been as fortunate as you were. Even if they hadn’t interfered with your mission, you could’ve easily faced that special grade and wouldn’t have been off as well as you were. They needed to tell you how much you meant to them and how they were.

That way, you never tried to do a stunt like this again.

Suguru was the first to shift his arm, wrapping around you and holding you gently against him as Satoru leaned into your neck, gently peppering it with kisses. You melted into their gentle caresses, listening to their beating hearts. This was precisely what you needed after a long mission.

“Princess, this was a close call.” Suguru began gently squeezing you. “That was such a dangerous mission you were sent on.”

“Mhm, we were so worried about you, so scared that you would get hurt.” Satoru trailed his lips along your exposed collarbone. “And look,” emotion, his head towards the scratches on your side and the bruise forming on your head. “You did end up getting hurt. That’s something neither of us ever wants to happen.”

Concern was thick in their voices, and you couldn’t help but fill your stomach with guilt. They had warned you that something like this might eventually happen, and they were right. It did happen. You had gotten hurt despite handling yourself as long as you did. You had been training hard to keep up with your partners, and tonight, you thought you could handle this alone. Maybe you could save that child's life without the assistance of your boyfriends. But that special grade made you realize how weaker you were compared to Satoru and Suguru.

“I know.” You whispered, voice breaking as Satoru continued his exploration of your body with his lips. His hands gently grabbed your hips as Suguru slowly lifted your shirt for his best friend. “I-I know if—ah—if it wasn’t for—nngh.” Your mind went blank as Satoru trailed his tongue over your skin. Planting open-mouthed kisses and little nips over your stomach. “I—fuck I don’t know what would have happened.”

Satoru hummed, pulling down the sweats you had on. “We can’t let you do that again; it was too dangerous.” Suguru hummed, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Satoru is right; you got hurt. We hate seeing you hurt.”

“But you did so good, doing your absolute best to save a child in need.” Satoru moaned out in between kisses against your skin. “You’d be such a good mommy. You take such good care of our children.”

“You would be.” Warm hands up to your breast, squeezing them softly. “I think that’s what you were meant to do in this world: be the most amazing mother.” You moan, arching your back as Satoru laps at your cunt, his tongue swirling around clit, causing you to jolt back. “Isn’t that something you’ve always wanted since we got together? To have our children and be a stay-at-home mother?”

“I-I—haaaah—yes, I want that.”

Bingo, both men smirk as you shut your eyes tight, losing yourself in the pleasure. This was perfect. If they knocked you up, you’d have no choice but to decline missions. They wouldn’t have to worry about you being in danger. It was a win-win scenario for all of you. You won’t be in danger and have something you always wanted.

“Then let us breed you.” Satoru breathed out against your cunt. “Let us knock you up.”

Suguru’s fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, tugging them before releasing them. “Please, princess, please, you know we’ll take good care of you. We always do.” There was something utterly manipulative and demented with the way they begged you to be the mother of their children; however, you were blind to the malicious intent behind their words. You knew your partners just wanted to take it to the next level.

That nativity was the sole reason you answered the way you did.

“Okay.” If you had known the truth that they were trying to baby-trap you, things wouldn’t have been so simple.

With your consent, both men were removed, and cock were pulled out. Both heads of their dicks at your entrance at the same time, itching to get inside of you. Shafts rub against each other as they begin pushing inside of you thick; their cock stretches you like you had never been stretched before. You gripped onto Satoru’s shoulders, wincing as both men pushed past your tight ring of muscles, sinking into your wet walls.

Your boyfriends grunted and groaned, forcing themselves deeper inside you until they were buried balls deep. You shivered and shook, crying at how full you were, stuffed with both men’s cocks. Seeing your tears and hearing your soft cries had Suguru pressing kisses down the nape of your neck while Satoru began thrusting in and out of you at a gentle pace.

“Look at you, taking both cocks so well.”

“Yeah, such a good girl for us~ going to be. Much a good mommy,”

“Yes, you will be.” Suguru moaned in agreement as he began bucking up into you in time with Satoru’s thrusts. “The perfect mommy~”

Satoru groaned, slamming his lips against yours, kissing you eagerly as you relaxed around them, making it easier for him to fuck into you. “God, I can’t wait to fill you up with my cum~ to watch your stomach swell with one of our kids.” Suguru’s hands squeezed your breasts as he slid his tongue up your neck.

“Yes, you’re beautiful, but I can only imagine how much you will glow when carrying our child. How your breasts will swell.”

“O-Oooh fuck~”

“Nngh fuck, that sweet cunt just twitched; you love this, don’t you~? Being bred by both of us. Imagining being so full of our cum that you’ll be pregnant by the end of the night?”

“Yes! Yes, I want that so bad!”

“Then be a good girl and take all we have to offer,” Satoru growled in your ear, slamming his hips into you, causing both you and Suguru to gasp. The dark-haired man was quick to recover, his hips meeting Satoru’s pace, bucking madly up into you with moans against your shoulder as Satoru grabbed the headboard. “That's right~ our perfect fucking girl is going to take all our cum. We're going to fill you up so good~ so fuckin’ good.”

“Nnngh~ yes,” Suguru whispered into your ear. “I want you to be ours in every way a person can be, Princess.”

Both their cocks inside of you felt so good; you were drooling over the way they slammed into you in sync, how they told you such dirty things. They desperately wanted to breed you, to make you the mother of their children. God, they made you so wet and horny; you tried to do that for them, wanted to take their cum, to be their partner, to be re e their children.

“Oooh fuck me~!” you begged, causing both men to grunt and groan as they slammed into you harder, trying to get deeper inside of you, to fill you full of their cum. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Faster! Faster fuck!”

“Nngh fuck~ fuck yes baby I'm going to cum~ take all of it~ yeah~ take every last fucking drop of our cum!” Satoru growled against your lips, your short breaths mingling with each other as the bed creaked and groaned under both means of frantic thrusts.

“Yea~ I want to be sure you're so full~ I have no intention of leaving this bed until you're bred properly.” a rough growl heated your skin as Suguru reached around, rubbing at your clit. “Now be a good girl and milk our cocks~ allow us to fill you~.”

You came squirming and shaking against Suguru, screaming against Satoru’s lips as he continued fucking into you, as chaste kisses were pressed into your mouth. Your tightening walls, the feeling of each other's cocks throbbing was enough to have your boyfriends stiffening before slamming deep inside the heads of their cocks, twitching as cum filled your womb, which left you gasping, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulder, leaving red crescent moon shapes in your wake as you shivered.

Both men were panting heavily, kissing you gently as they continued rocking into you. Filling you with more of their cum, only stopping when you made the slight sound of discomfort. “Y-You got me.” You whispered as Satoru pulled out first.

“Huh?” a white brow twitched up as Suguru gently helped lay you onto your side as he slowly fucked into you pushing their cum deeper inside.

“What do you mean, Princess?”

“Y-You haaah nnngh~!” you gripped the sheets as Sugurh grabbed your hips fucking you tenderly. “I-I know you got me p-pregnant.”

Satoru grinned, kissing you softly as Sugurh continued thrusting into you from behind. “Oh, sweetheart~ even if we didn't do that first round, you will be by the night's end.”

Each took two more turns making sweet, tender love to you. Filling you with their cum. You were so happy, drooling as they fucked you stupidly, until your eyes rolled back, and you passed out from the exhaustion and pleasure. The night had started sour but turned into something so romantic and loving. While you were blissful, your partners smirked, watching their cum leaking out of your cunt. Sure, they were excited to start a family with you. But they were more excited that now, you would be theirs and theirs alone.

No matter who the father was of the first child, the other wouldn't stop until you were full of the second. They fully intended to make sure you'd never leave their sight. For you belonged to them and then alone.

[meadowfics]

little sibling

park gyeong-seok x pregnant!reader

the both of you tell na-yeon that she will be an older sister

you’ve always been healthy, rarely catching a cold, never needing more than a day to shake off any sickness. lately, something has felt different.

all exhaustion has lingered in your bones, nausea creeps up at the worst times, and dizziness makes the world tilt when you stand too fast.

at first, you chalk it up to stress, maybe even something viral, but when the symptoms persist, you finally go to the doctor.

the moment they tell you, your mind blanks. pregnant.

the word feels too big, too surreal. you sit there, wide-eyed, hands pressing against your stomach as if waiting to feel something different.

the doctor hands you a list of prenatals, recommends rest, but all you can think about is how you’re going to tell gyeong-seok.

he’s been through so much already. raising na-yeon alone, watching her fight through cancer, standing by her side every second of the way.

you came into their lives when na-yeon was still healing, still learning how to be a child after spending so much of her early years in hospital rooms.

now, after two and a half years of loving both of them with all your heart, you’re carrying another piece of this family inside of you.

when you finally tell gyeong-seok, your heart pounds in your chest. you don’t know how he’ll react, if he’s even thought about having more children.

the moment the words leave your lips, his eyes widen before softening, hands reaching out to hold your face.

“we’re having a baby?” he asks, voice thick with emotion.

you nod, swallowing hard.

“we are.”

the man's smile is slow, warm, overwhelming. then he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“i never thought… i thought na-yeon would be my only child.” his hands drop to your stomach, hesitant but tender.

“but now we get to do this together.”

tears burn at your eyes as he presses his forehead against yours. this is real. this is happening.

the two of you decide to tell na-yeon in the sweetest way possible... a cake! ever since she got treated for her cancer, from the long months of treatment that took away so many normal childhood joys, she’s been obsessed with desserts.

every time she gets to have something sweet, her entire face lights up, as if making up for all the times she couldn’t.

the cake is simple but meaningful. on the top, in soft pink frosting, the words read: you’re going to be a big sister!

na-yeon, now four years old, claps her hands excitedly when she sees the cake, but her little brow furrows as she tries to read the words.

“what’s it say?” she asks, looking between you and gyeong-seok.

you kneel in front of her, taking her small hands in yours.

“it says you’re going to be a big sister, na-yeon.”

the little girl's eyes widen, round and filled with wonder.

“a big sister?”

you nod, biting back the lump in your throat.

“you’re going to have a baby brother or sister.”

for a second, she just stares at you, processing. suddenly, her entire face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. she throws herself at you, wrapping her little arms around your legs, holding on so tightly it nearly knocks you off balance.

your heart nearly bursts.

she’s happy. she’s really happy.

you bend down, lifting her up into your arms, pressing kisses to her cheeks as she giggles. her small hands cup your face before she pulls back just enough to look at you.

“what are you gonna name it, momma?”

the word stops you in your tracks.

momma.

she’s never called you that before. you’ve never expected her to, never wanted to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. here she is, looking at you with those trusting, loving eyes, calling you the one thing you never realized you were waiting to hear.

your arms tighten around her as tears slip down your cheeks.

“we’ll pick a name together, baby,” you whisper.

gyeong-seok steps forward, wrapping his arms around both of you, kissing the top of na-yeon’s head before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you three so much,” he murmurs.

masterlist

[hazel-tanthamore22]

Money Trees

Fluff

Req

Megan Skeindal x Broke!Boxer!freader

A/n: Stationed in LA. Reader is a puncher and a punching bag. Megan is the caring ginger labradoodle she is.

Sypnosis: You love being a fighter, the feeling, adrenaline and its the only thing that helps you get by. But Megan hates it, knowing she could give you want you need and more.

Another jab to the side has you wince in pain. The opponent goes for another headshot but you duck below it, landing an uppercut on them and sealing the win.

After the winning announcement is made you go back to your dressing room and look into the mirror. A bruise on your temple, a busted lip and a bruise on your side. Megan wasn't going to be happy.

Boxing made you feel content in a way. You get to let put your anger on other people and you get payed, it's an all win situation, especially since you need the money.

You get a good amount of money per win, a few hundreds and if you're lucky, a thousand or two. Megan has persisted on and on that she gets enough as an Idol and can take care of you, but you refuse each time.

She hates seeing you hurt, seeing the bruises and cuts every other day makes her sulky, not liking the sight of you hurt.

You change into your training clothes and step out of the room with your duffel bag slinged over you shoulder. Your coach hands you an ice pack for your lip as he congratulates you.

You walk out to your car, sitting in the driver's seat as you open your phone. A missed text from Megan. A smile comes to your face as you open the text, she's asking for you to come to the kats house.

You set the ice bag in the passenger seat as you start the car, soon pulling out of the venues parking lot and driving to the kats house.

You park the car and wear you face mask, and cap, not wanting to alert the kats, they knew you were a fighter, but it didn't mean you didn't get scolded by them for having bruises every other day.

You knock on the door, waiting till you're met with the familiar Red hair of Lara. "Megan, you're wife's here" she yells into the house as she let's you in. You hear a loud shut up before a body crashes into yours.

"Nice to see you too Yoonchip" you chuckle, your voice a bit muffled by the mask. "Another fight" Sophia asks as she walks around the living room, seemingly fixing some things. You hum as Yoonchae let's go of you and Megan finally get downstairs.

She wastes no time grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs to her room. Obviously you follow like a lovesick puppy. "Sit" she says, her voice stern as she nods her head to her bed and walks to her closet grabbing the medkit she kept with her ever since she started dating you.

You sit on her bed and she walks back to you, taking off your mask and cap. She frowns at the bruise on your temple and the red swollen corner of your lip. She gets a gauze pad from the med kit in next to her.

She presses it to the corner of your lip, almost with zero care, causing you to wince. "Meg, I know you're mad-" you start just to be cut off by her pressing the gauze pad harder to the wound.

"How many times have I told you, you don't have to keep fighting, I could take of you" she mumbles, removing the gauze pad from your lip and finally looking in your eyes after staring down your bruises.

"I know but-" you start, just fo be cut off again. "No, do you think this getting you small amounts of money is a justifiable reason?" She cups your face in her hands. "Please stop, I don't like seeing you beat up, what if one day you lose and it's bad, maybe even fatal? What am I gonna do then" her voice wavers as tears build in her eyes.

You sigh heavily, pulling her into your lap as you hug her. "Fine, I'll stop" you mumble into her shoulder. You hear her exhale shakily as you agree to stop fighting.

Megan finishes dressing your wounds, the one on your side being the most painful, you may or may not have a fractured rib bit that can be dealt with when Megan isn't clinging to you like a koala and definitely when it's not night.

Night had fallen in LA. You decided to stay in the kats house, playing video games with Dani and Manon and helping Sophia and Lara control them two. When everyone had retired to their own rooms you found yourself next to Megan in her bed.

Both of you dozing in and put of sleep as you make pointless conversation and laughter.

"Were you being for real" she mumbles as she looks in your eyes in the dark. "About the fighting? Yes, ill stop for you love." You respond, your eyes drooping as you answer. She smiles, her hands wrapping around your waist as she nozzles her face into your neck.

"Goodnight" she mumbles. "Goodnight love" You respond as you both fall asleep in the comfort of each other's arms and presence.

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter nine:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ warnings: none, just pure, domestic soph and jack

➴ word count: 2.8k

➴ author’s note: we’re so close to the end of IYLM,LMK that i’m feeling a little bit emotional :,) hope u guys like this one and as always, thank u so much for reading

“HAVE you guys thought about how you’re going to announce your relationship?” Grace asked, throwing herself in the chair by the fireplace.

You were all in your house, Jack, Grace, Nico and you, chatting after a dinner together. It was the 19th of December, and you were all extremely busy: Jack and Nico with the season, you and Grace with your concert next week, at the Jingle Ball in New York, on the 23rd

“I think the best thing you could do is soft launch it,” Grace answered her own question, nodding. “It would be the move.”

Jack rested his chin on top of your head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Soft launch means hinting that you’re dating someone without actually saying who it is,” you offered, sitting closer to him. You were all on the floor, and you were between Jack’s legs, drowning in his arms.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, and you can hear the annoyance in his voice. “If I am dating Soph, I want everyone to know about it.”

You smiled, amused with his answer.

“I know that, caveman, but it would be fun to let your fans speculate.” Grace answers back, rolling her eyes.

“Bullshit.”

You and Nico laugh, watching as Jack and Grace argue back and forth over the topic.

You haven’t thought about how you’d share your relationship status with your fans. Sure, you were head over heels for Jack and you— now— knew he felt the same, but you still had your fears and worries. If you announced that you are dating Jack and you both end up breaking up after that, you knew it would cause a commotion— lots and lots of people talking about you and your bad taste in guys and how unlucky you are.

But Jack was so… he was your forever, and you knew it.

It might be soon to say this, but it is just how you feel; Jack makes you feel special in a way only your family had done before and you could see your future with him, and you actually wanted it.

Nico and Grace left shortly after that, because you needed to start packing for your trip. You and Jack organized the kitchen, putting the dishes away and wiping the counters. Surprisingly, Jack did most of the chores himself and even liked doing them.

After you were done, you both went back to your bedroom, and you started organising your things.

“Are you going to perform in sweatpants?” He asked, looking genuinely curious.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, putting another pair of socks inside your bag. “Of course not, Hughes. The outfit I’m supposed to wear during the concert is in New York, because it’s just borrowed. I don’t actually keep the dresses or the skirts and tops I wear during events.”

“That sucks,” he laid on the bed. “I’d love to see you wearing one of those little skirts while you cook lunch.”

“Pervert,” you mumbled, trying to remember if you needed anything else.

“Do you really have to go tomorrow? The concert is on the 24th, baby,” Jack questioned, for the third time today. You smiled.

“You already know the answer, handsome.”

He got up and closed your bag, before putting it on the floor and picking you up, making you laugh. He threw you on the bed, gently, and stood on top of you, his hands on each side of your head.

“I’m gonna miss you, y’know,” he whispered, before placing a gentle kiss on your lips, making your heart beat faster. How’d you get so lucky?

“Me too,” you replied, placing your hands on his cheeks. “I’m still feeling shitty for telling your mom that I wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with you guys. I really wanted to,” you confessed, furrowing your eyebrows.

Ellen called you when she found out about you and Jack, and rambled for thirty minutes about how she knew you were the right person for him and how she adored you and that you now needed to spend Christmas with them.

You expected yourself to feel overwhelmed and anxious because they were great people and you wanted them to like you, but you found yourself feeling nothing but happy when Ellen called.

But you couldn’t miss the concert and it was damn near impossible getting a plane ticket on the 25th, especially with all the snowing happening in New York. So, Christmas with Grace in your hotel bedroom it is.

“I still can’t believe you’ll be all alone with Grace.” Jack added, looking distressed.

“It’s just how my job works, baby,” you shrugged, giving him a half smile. “I’m sure that if you had to play during the holidays you would.”

He blinked twice before getting under the covers and dragging you with him, so you could be the little spoon, but facing him still.

“Yeah, I would, but it doesn’t mean I’d be happy with it.”

You wanted to tell him that you really didn’t mind that much, you loved performing and you loved to make your fans happy. But you could see he was genuinely upset about the whole situation, so you just snuggled closer and kissed his neck.

“Let’s just sleep, okay?” Your voice sounded lazy and tired, just like how you were feeling. “I leave early tomorrow and you have to go to practice.”

He didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, sighed and kissed your head. “See you tomorrow, baby.”

“Mhm,” you smiled. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Even if you thought that was up for debate, you didn’t say anything, embracing the sleep with open arms.

— ⛄️

“FIVE minutes!” You heard the stage manager’s yell in your earpiece, while you read Jack’s texts on your phone.

Texting before concerts and games was just another way of trying to be closer to each other, even when you were away. One of your fears was Jack getting bored of your relationship because you couldn’t be with him whenever he needed— sometimes you had to work on his days off and couldn’t see him.

But whenever he texted you before his games, or when he FaceTimed you before you went to bed, no matter what time it was for him, you could feel your fears stepping back. Jack was a really nice boyfriend for a guy who had never had a girlfriend before, that you had to admit.

You replied back, giving your phone to Grace before you stood behind the curtains, waiting for them to open so you could enter the stage.

The Madison Square Garden Arena was filled with people and screams. You were the opening act, so it was a huge deal. Grace gave you a good luck kiss before you stepped on stage, smiling at how many people were there.

As you step on stage, the energy is electric, with the twinkling holiday lights reflecting off the excited crowd. The first few beats of the "Nonsense Christmas Remix" kick in, and the playful, festive vibe fills the air. You can feel the audience sway with anticipation, and you smile, your mic ready in hand.

‘Think I only want you under my mistletoe.

I might change your contact to “Has a huge North Pole,”

You lean into the light-hearted, flirty tone of the song, weaving your voice through the fun, upbeat rhythm. The holiday bells add a sparkle to the track, making your performance feel like a holiday party. Every line you sing is filled with a blend of mischief and charm, and the cheeky Christmas-themed lyrics keep everyone grinning and tapping along.

You said you like my stockings better on the floor.

Boy, l've been a bad girl, I guess I'm gettin' coal (no).

Lemme come warm you up, you been out in the snow.

Baby, my tongue goes numb, sounds like "ho-ho-ho"

As the chorus hits, you play with the playful nature of the song, giving it a bit of sass while staying in tune with the holiday spirit. You make eye contact with the crowd, as if you’re sharing an inside joke. Each note you hit feels effortless, and the remix’s fun twists on the original song’s lyrics bring a fresh energy to the room.

I don't even know, I'm talkin' Christmas

I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (ah)

I'm talkin' deckin' all the halls, I'm talkin' spikin' eggnog

I'm talkin' opposite of small, I'm talkin' big snowballs.

As you continue singing, the festive mood only grows. The crowd is now fully engaged, swaying and singing along with the infectious, cheeky lyrics. Your voice dances through the light-hearted verses, especially when you hit those playful lines that make the audience chuckle. The jingle bells and upbeat tempo add a sparkle to every word, and you let your personality shine, matching the quirky vibe of the song.

You can’t help but play with the crowd, flashing a grin as you hit the fun twists on holiday references, dropping flirty lines with a wink. As the chorus repeats, you raise your mic toward the audience, inviting them to belt out the words with you. It’s not just a performance—it’s a holiday celebration, and you’re at the center of it. Your confidence grows with each note, feeding off the energy of the room, and by the final line, everyone is wrapped up in the joy and fun of the moment, feeling that special holiday magic you've helped create.

By the end, before you started saying the outro, you could feel the audience wrapped up in the joy of the season and your vibrant performance. You kneeled on the floor besides the crowd:

Tell me is that giant package for me?

Santa's too excited, he came early

Jingle Ball you're so hot I'm not worthy

The screaming was loud, even with the earpiece in. You were smiling so hard, your chest going up and down, your legs feeling like jelly from all the dancing and jumping but you were so freaking happy.

“Thank you so much, New York,” you breathed, blowing kisses left and right. “I hope all of you have a wonderful Christmas and I love you all so, so much. Thank you.”

You bowed before leaving the stage, thanking the band on your way out. You removed your earpiece, still hearing the screams outside. The backstage was a huge mess, with other artists coming at you to say “hi”, and you greeting them back.

Some random man escorted you to your dressing room, and you thought it was weird because usually Grace was the one to do this, but she was probably just busy. Thanking the man, you entered the room, ready to change into some normal, warm clothes because you were freezing—

“Hi, baby.”

Jack was standing in front of you, with his winter jacket and white teeth.

You stopped midway, covering your mouth with your hand.

Jack Hughes was standing in front of you, in the middle of your dressing room.

What.

“Jack?” You asked, even though you were clearly seeing him in front of you. You smiled back, jumping into his arms, happy when he picked you up— you were sweaty from all the dancing but you still squeezed him strongly. “Baby, what are you doing here?”

He held you closer, kissing your temple.

“I don’t know much about this boyfriend thing, but I’m pretty sure a good boyfriend wouldn’t let his girlfriend and her annoying best friend spend Christmas all alone so I thought I’d ask for a few favors.”

“The annoying best friend in question is still in the room, you fuckhead,” you heard Grace’s voice behind you and you removed yourself from Jack’s hold, turning around and facing Grace, who was now smiling back at you. “Surprise, babygirl.”

“Oh, Grace, I love you so much!” You hugged her, kissing her cheeks. “Could kiss you right now!”

“Let’s not do that, right, baby?” Jack pouted behind you, and you giggled. “Save the kisses for your man only.”

“You’re crazy,” you whispered, looking at Jack and then Grace. “Absolutely batshit. What if someone saw you?”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Grace was quicker. “Jack was supposed to be here the entire concert, but somehow he convinced the bodyguard to let him watch the show from the pit, and if that wasn’t enough, he took a picture with a fan and the fan’s girlfriend posted it on Twitter. So, yeah,” she shrugged, throwing daggers at Jack with her eyes. “Pretty much everyone knows he’s here.”

You stared at your boyfriend, only to watch him smile naughty. It was clear he didn’t give a fuck about people knowing.

“I wish I could say I knew what to do with you, but I don’t,” you told him, kissing his cheek lightly so that the lipstick wouldn’t smudge. “What about your family?”

“They actually encouraged me to come,” he put his hands inside his pockets. “Ma wanted to send a gigantic apple pie.”

“Let’s call them later, mhm?”

“Sure thing, baby,” he tilts his head, kissing you gently and quickly. “You killed it tonight. My little popstar.”

You blushed and opened your mouth to answer, but Grace was faster— again. “Guys, I’m still here. Please.”

You laughed, hugging her.

“Let’s go home, I’m still jet lagged and so fucking hungry I could eat two entire large pizzas alone.”

“New York pizza sucks, by the way,” Grace added, grabbing your clothes and handing them to you. “Can we have sushi?”

You looked at Jack, silently asking what he thought of it. He just nodded, sitting on the couch and waiting for you to change.

It was going to be a great night.

— ⛄️

“JACK, we shouldn’t be doing this, oh my God, what if I fall, what if I die here—”

You heard Jack’s precious laugh beside you. “You’re not going to die, baby. And if you fall, I’m here to catch you,” he winked at you, and you rolled his eyes, not finding the situation funny at all.

You convinced him to walk around New York, to see the Christmas decorations and drink hot chocolate, but it somehow backfired at you because the minute that man put his eyes on an ice rink, you were done.

You and Jack spent the entire 24th of December sightseeing together. New York was full of people, so you didn’t really bother hiding yourselves.

Grace said she wasn’t going to be the third wheel so she stayed at the hotel. You and Jack walked around, taking pictures and eating food that definitely weren’t in your diet plan but neither of you cared.

At the end of the day, when you were both ready to head back and order takeout, but now, you were both wearing skates.

With Jack skating smoothly beside you while you were holding onto his arm for dear life. The last time you skated on ice you were like twelve years old so your fear was understandable.

He put his hands on your waist, guiding you from behind, not letting you fall. You were still surprised with how secure he was on ice, but then you reminded yourself that he skated more than walked sometimes.

“See? You’re doing great, baby,” he whispered in your ear, and you smiled, feeling proud of yourself; forgetting completely that he was the one doing all the work. “You’re one step away from stealing my job.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, feeling more certain of your steps now. “This is actually super fun.”

He hums behind you, skating a little bit faster and taking you with him.

You were having so much fun. Jack felt warm beside you and you wanted nothing but to kiss him all the time.

He laughed at your jokes, took dozens of pictures of you, held you the entire time. He listened to your rambling about the lights and how good the city looked.

He bought you doughnuts and hot chocolate, and watched with a funny face as you shoved them in your mouth, only to complain about the hotness of the drink.

“Be careful, baby.” he said, kissing the tip of your cold nose.

“Thank you,” you whispered, giving him a kiss.

He held the side of your face with his right hand, while his left pulled you closer by the waist. You stood on the tip of your toes, trying to match his height. The kiss tasted like chocolate, sugar and something else that you couldn’t remember the name of, but it didn’t matter.

You ended up spending Christmas Eve eating take out inside a hotel room with your best friend and your boyfriend, facetiming your mom and sisters— your nieces loved Jack— and Ellen and Jim— she cooked the gigantic apple pie either way— but you never felt so whole and happy.

If it could get any better than this, you weren’t so sure.

— ♡

liked by njdevils, lhughes_06, canucks and 245,982 others

jackhughes Merry Christmas from soph and I

View all 1,990 comments

sophiamontenegro i love u

nicohischier Finally 🫡

user86 I TOLD YALL WHAAT THEYRE DATING ?!!/!/?/??:

user1 I think imma start doing drugs

user78 How tf did he pull her

user21 The way jack’s feed is hockey hockey brothers hockey and then BOOM famous popstar girlfriend is insane

trevorzegras heartbreaking 💔

jackhughes trevorzegras keep crying

_quinnhughes Congrats, Soph and Jackie! Merry Xmas 🤶

morgan.grace is this the “soft launch” we were talking abt jack😭

jackhughes morgan.grace bullshit

njdevils our future miss HUGHES 💜

user93 who even runs this account lmfao 😭😭😭

user11 we got jack hughes dating before gta6

user12 THEY’RE TOGETHER AGAIN?? WHAT ABT THAT GIRL AVA WHO SAID SHE WAS DATING HIM

user13 user12 she deactivated her account after this post so i can only imagine she was lying 🤷🏽‍♀️

+

[hibischush]

Hii! Could you write March falling in love with the farmer and everyone around him noticing but the farmer? I think it would make him go completely crazy xD

sure thing! 🌺

March didn't even realize it until Elsie literally spelt it out for him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He bristled, crossing his arms against his chest.

Elsie let out one of her elegant laughs and patted him on the shoulder. 

"Sure you don't, dear."

March blinked.

Elsie's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh my stars! You truly don't know, do you?" she guffawed, and everyone in the carpenters' shop turned to look at them.

It was odd to see Elsie here whilst Olric and himself visited Landen and Ryis, but not entirely unbelievable. What March didn't expect was for him to be mercilessly attacked by the older woman about his love life.

He blushed. He shouldn't have mentioned that stupid farmer. 

"Everyone knows that you have harbored feelings for the farmer, honey. There isn't any shame in admitting that."

---

It developed all too quickly a few months back. It was March's birthday. And it was raining.

He really didn't mind that it was so dreary-- he was going to work for most of the day and then celebrate with his brother and Ryis at the Inn.

He sat behind the counter, rolling a pen up and down the table. Not many people come in to purchase weapons or armor. Except for that infuriating farmer.

March has had to make several suits of armor for them, every time upgrading in quality and materials. And every time he would remember their exact measurements to ensure that the armor would fit on them perfectly, and that it would be the best pieces of metalwork he would ever produce. Not that he would ever admit that to them, though.

The shop's door swings open, and March's heartbeat ramps up as he recognizes who it was.

"Hey! Sorry for dragging in all this water." The farmer, drenched from head to toe, beams at him as the door shuts behind them.

His breath hitches. Their clothes, sopping wet, cling perfectly to their frame.

He coughs. "What do you want? You just got an armor upgrade. Do you actually have a life? Or is all you do is mine?"

They rolled their eyes, a smirk still gracing their lips (not that he was looking at their lips), "Oh March. You never change. Even after all that copper and tesserae."

They saunter over to the counter, and March inhales sharply through his nose, hoping the extra oxygen would help his head function around them.

"I came to give you a present! Happy birthday, March." They smile softly, handing him a small box that was wrapped with care. He took it cautiously, and nearly jumped when their fingers grazed against his own. He tried to push the electric feeling down. 

Attached to the bow that held the lid down was a slip of paper with his name written by the farmer on it. Eyeing them suspiciously, they only smiled and nodded their head encouragingly. Pulling the bow and the lid apart, he was pleasantly surprised with what he saw. Amazed, even.

It must have shown through his expression, because the farmer began to explain themself.

"I was on one of the lower levels of the mines, and there was this untouched chest stuck in the dirt. I dug it up, and lo’ and behold..."

Sitting on a velvet pillow laid a shiny golden band, which was formed into an unfinished circle. Instead of joining in the middle, the two ends were molded into a pair of dragon heads, with what looked like tiny sapphire eyes.

March's throat dried. He struggled to understand why someone so sweet would give him something like this despite the poor way he treats them. His face got hot, and he silently struggled to fight tears pricking in his eyes.

"March?"

He panicked. "This better not be cursed."

The farmer laughed. "I promise,"

They stood there for a second more. It almost seemed as if they wanted to say something else, but instead they just gave a small wave goodbye and turned towards the door.

Just as they reached the doorknob, March yelled their name.

"Th-thank you. For the gift." He mumbled.

They smiled. "You're welcome, March."

When they left, he felt his heart drop as he sighed. They'll never realize what they do to him.

--

March turned to Ryis, begging via eye contact for his friend to save him from this overbearing granny matchmaker.

Ryis only shrugged. "Sorry, man, but it's true. I've seen the way that you act around them."

"What do I act like?!"

Ryis recalled the time that the farmer hugged him after he gave them the bracelet he made them. The carpenter said he didn’t know that he could even get that red, especially after the farmer told him that ‘it was the most thoughtful gift they’ve ever received,’ and that March was their ‘closest friend.’

Before he could retort, his brother stepped up. He explained that March almost poured molten iron on the floor instead of the ax-head mold while he was checking them out. "C’mon dude. Even I can pick that up." Orlic chuckled.

"March, I've lived a long life, and with the way you stutter around them...everyone knows that you're interested in them." Landen butted in.

Elsie sighed, “And what’s worse, the only person who hasn’t noticed is the farmer,” she turned to March, “I don’t know how much more obvious you could be, dearie.”

This farmer was going to be the end of him.

March's face feels so hot it's almost like he stuck his head directly into a crucible filled with molten copper. He covered his face with his hands.

"All of you suck." March mumbled.

Did I get too carried away with this? Yes. As always, hope you enjoyed 💗

[klausysworld]

u write angst so well ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I'm thinking about one with klaus, but like, something that hurts but it's comforting at the same time

Like him and reader are in a relationship and he travels for some days, reader has depression and during this time she practically can't do anything, cleaning, basic hygiene, cooking, the basic stuff most people do without difficulty. And when he comes back he sees her in this situation and comfort her, giving her a shower, babying her, this fluff stuff

Klaus is one of my comfort characters and, by the way, the speeches he has about life and enjoying like actually helps me a lot with my depression. And u are gold 🥇

Never Alone

Y/n was a sweet girl. She always was.

Growing up she was often full of emotions, crying almost always whether it was because she was too happy or too sad or too angry. However every time her eyes would water, each time her bottom lip would quiver, one of her parents or aunts or cousins would sigh and tell her how annoying she was, how pathetic it was. Her emotions and feelings became ignored, assumed to be overdramatic.

So when she really had something worth crying over, nobody cared to listen. Not a soul would give her even a second. It didn't matter how many times she tried to seriously talk to them, explain she wasn't an oversensitive little girl anymore, she knew what she was feeling and what had happened to her. They didn't care to hear it.

Instead she learned to push any thoughts down or at least aside. If nobody wanted to listen then she wouldn't bother making noise for them to hear.

For a long time, she barely spoke a word.

Most of the time she didn't even really feel anything anymore. She tried to sometimes but she just didn't, couldn't. Life began to feel utterly pointless.

That was when she would spend days in bed, not moving to do a thing. Often she would hope that if she stayed there long enough, maybe she would disappear or if she slept for long enough, maybe she wouldn't have to wake back up. Unfortunately for her, neither of those things happened.

It was fate really that on one of the only days she got dressed and went out that she met Klaus Mikaelson.

Somehow she managed to be in the grill at the wrong time and managed to both witness and experience a supernatural attack. Klaus had thrown Damon across the room which caused him to slam into the wall beside Y/n. Her eyes were wide and she went to walk back out the door but Klaus sped over and grabbed her wrist she she could exit.

"I don't think so sweetheart" he chuckled, pulling her further into the room and she simply couldn't be bothered to struggle. He sat her down in a booth and gave her a fake smile, looking into her eyes and compelling her "Stay still and stay quiet" he ordered before going back and finishing off the rest of the scooby-doo gang.

His eyes flicked back over to the girl he had compelled. Her head lay against the back of her seat and her fingers picked at her lips until the rich scent of her blood reached his nose.

Klaus sped infront of her and he leaned down to pull her hands away, her eyes glanced up at him with anxiety swirling inside of them. His thumb swiped the blood away from her lips and he sucked it off of his skin with a hum. A slither of amusement shone through him as she shifted uncomfortably.

"You can talk now sweetheart, and move as she should please" he told her, interested in her reaction but she barely gave one.

"Can I just go home now please?" She asked, her voice weak and tired. His eyes narrowed briefly before he shrugged and pulled her up.

"Course you can love, come on lets get you back. Point the way" he murmured as he took her outside and placed her infront of him so that she may lead him.

They walked in silence back to her house. She hesitated to go in when the sound of her parents yelling could be heard from where they stood. Klaus observed as she wondered back into the home, her parents oblivious as she slipped past them and up the stairs.

Klaus forgot about her easily, out of sight out of mind.

But then she came into view again, she was sat on the edge of Wickery Bridge with her legs hanging off while she leaned forward daringly.

His brows furrowed and he made his way over. He took a seat beside her, letting his own legs dangle off as well. Again she gave no reaction to his presence, not even when his hand reached out to gently hold her hand. Klaus may not know her or necessarily care for her but he didn't want her life to be seen as a tragedy. He didn't want her to throw what she had away when she could still have so much more.

They sat in silence for some time, sometimes she would swing her legs and lean further forward to see the water below. Each time she shifted closer to falling his grip on her tightened and his gaze hardened.

Later in the night her phone pinged, Klaus glanced to see her mothers name on the screen with a message beneath telling Y/n that neither of her parents would be home for the weekend so she would need to look after herself. His eyes softened as he watched her read the message. Both brows rose on his face when without a care, she tossed the device into the river.

Klaus couldn't help the little laugh that left him as the water splashed and the light from the phone quickly sunk away from sight. His smile died away again as her gaze didn't lift from the deep flowing water and he hesitantly slid his arm around her to secure his hold.

"I'm not gonna jump" she mumbled but he still frowned

"I don't believe you" he whispered honestly and she hummed.

"You don't know me" she muttered and he tilted his head

"Perhaps not yet" he countered but she didn't offer a response. Klaus sighed softly and carefully dropped down from the edge and back onto the rode, his arm stayed around Y/n's waist so that he could pull her back to safety. She huffed in annoyance as he pulled her along with him.

"I don't know who you are or what you are or what you want.." she dragged and he hummed.

"My name is Niklaus, well thats what my father named me however I choose to go by Klaus, I have for centuries. I'm a vampire-werewolf hybrid and what I want is for my family to be calm and collected for one in the thousand years that I have had the privilege to know them" He grinned at her and she stared blankly at him.

"Okay" she mumbled, accepting her fate.

And from that day on, each time he saw her, he would talk at her and pull her along walks with him. He began bringing her back to his house and going through his plans with her, sometimes she would give advice or little comments to put him on a better track and he found her rather helpful when she wanted to be.

Klaus began to notice more and more about her as time went by. Like how she didn't eat much or change her clothes often. He seemed to have to wait forever outside of her house as though no matter what time he came to see her, she had always just woken up.

So he did what he thought would be good.

Klaus set her up a bedroom in his home with a wardrobe of Klaus and a conjoining bathroom which consisted of both a shower and a bathtub.

He caught on quickly that if he wasn't in the house with her then she didn't bother waking up let alone getting up and doing anything. So he started opening her curtains in the morning, gently waking her up and placing some sort of little breakfast item on her lap and a drink on the nightstand while he ran a bath. He'd sprinkle the bath-salts and pour the bath-soak before folding up a towel and hanging it over the radiator.

Then he would wonder back into her room and lift her up. He had discovered that mornings were especially difficult for her to do anything. She wouldn't talk and she wouldn't move. He was lucky that she felt guilty enough to eat the breakfast he fed her, though sometimes she couldn't physically do it and he would encourage her to drink a smoothie so that she had something healthy in her. But every day, without fail, he would carry her to the bathroom and place her onto the heated tiled floor.

"Can you do it yourself sweetheart?" he would ask each morning, his gaze soft and gentle. Sometimes she would be able to and would get undressed and bathe all by herself. Other times she could get undressed and in the bath but would ask him to come back and help her scrub her skin clean. And of course there were days where she just wouldn't respond at all and he would give soft kisses to her head while carefully, respectfully undressing her and helping her into the tub before cleaning her off and lifting her back out to dry her.

There had been one or two occasions when he had been in a rush or a stressed out mood and would end up being a little rude to her. Her eyes would just grow tireder and little tears would gather to them. Guilt would consume Klaus whole and he would push aside whatever was bothering him and apologise to Y/n while helping her get ready before giving her a soft kiss and promising he would be back to check on her.

For a while the most he would do was just a gentle peck on her lips in an act of comfort however as he continued to look after her, he fell in love with her. He would see how long one of his little kisses would last before she would pull away and he would test how far his hands were allowed to wonder before she would let out a whine and curl away.

Time went by quickly, their routine continued. Klaus would ensure she was up and okay, he would go out to fix his problems, return at some point in the day to give Y/n something to eat, sometimes she would have gone for a walk in the garden or be sat with one of his hybrid who were under strict orders to never lay a hand on her, then he would go back out and return a last time. Then she would sit in his art room with a book or a word search or something to occupy her mind while he painted and spoke to her about all the things he had seen that day and which of them he thinks she would have enjoyed. Often they cooked dinner together and then he would take her back to bed and watch a film before departing to his own room.

A few times he would fall asleep beside her with her head on his chest or in his lap as he leaned against the headboard. Neither ever complained or mentioned the arrangement so Klaus began sleeping there more often and would wake his love with a sprinkle of kisses across her cheeks until her pretty eyes would flutter open for him to see.

Things were going quite well until Klaus had to go away for a couple days to speak with some werewolf packs. He had been skeptic and concerned to leave sweet Y/n all alone but he also knew he had his hybrids and asked them to take care of her. He hadn't known that they were unsired at that point and completely forgot the girl even existed.

Y/n hadn't moved from the spot in her bed since Klaus had left two days before. It only took one glance for Klaus to realise this when he returned. His expression changed in an instant and he was pulling the covers off of her, promising her he wouldn't leave her again.

"It's all okay sweetheart, lets get you to the bathroom okay?" He whispered as he carried her in and sat her down on the toilet while running a bath for her to lay in. "I'm gonna get you some water okay?" he murmured before speeding down to the kitchen and grabbing some water and tossing some pasta into a pan with water and turning the stove on before flashing back upstairs.

He placed the glass down on the side and lifted her back up, pulled her clothed off and lowered her into the bath. His fingers gently wiped the tears away that had slipped down her face before pouring some of the warm water over her hair.

"My sweet girl" he cooed softly, his hands lathering her hair in shampoo. "You're going to be just fine" he murmured, rinsing her hair out and combing conditioner through the ends. He reached for the loofa and began washing her body gently, pouring soap over her shoulders and scrubbing it across her soft skin. "Okay sweetheart, stay right there" he mumbled, zipping back to the kitchen and pouring the pasta into the colander and then back into the pan with a jar of tomato sauce before grating some cheese over the top and grabbing a fork. He brought it up and put it on her bedside table before going back to her bathroom and washing the conditioner out before lifting her out the tub and engulfing her in a warm towel and carrying her to her room. He sat her down on the chair by her vanity and stripped her bedding off and tossed i to the laundry basket. Using his vampiric speed her put clean bedding on and then placed her on top the duvet with a kiss to her head. The towel was taken from her and one of his clean shirts was pulled over her head and he carefully pulled her arms through.

"Alright angel, there you are. Nice and clean my lovely, now we're gonna eat some pasta, okay?" he mumbled, placing her cushioned lap tray onto her lap and then the bowl of pasta and her glass of water. "There we go sweetheart" he smiled softly while stabbing some of the pasta onto the fork and hand feeding her.

Once she ate half of it and drank all of her water he took it away and pulled her onto his lap. His arms circled her and she hid her face in his neck before hesitantly whispering, "Klaus?"

"Yes love?" He hummed, stroking her hair

"I need pants" she uttered and he glanced down, remembering he had only half dressed her.

"Of course sweetheart, forgive me" he replied, quickly grabbing some panties and sliding them up her legs to cover her up. "Perfect" he smiled.

"Thank you" she muttered, looking up at him "I'm sorry" she told him but he shook his head.

"No angel, I'm sorry. I should never have left you all alone." he argued, a frown on his face as he kissed her cheeks and stroked her arms. "You feel like going outside today?" he asked kindly and she shrugged.

He nodded silently and carried her out into the garden, sitting her down on the soft grass so that she was surrounded by the flowers. He wondered over to the strawberries growing a little way over and picked a couple before bringing them over to her with a smile. She returned it with warmth and giggled when he held them to her lips for her to take a bite.

He sat down beside her and pulled her into his side. She lay her head on his shoulder and held onto his hand. Klaus rest the side of his face against the top of her head and watched at the trees swayed in the distance.

"I love you Y/n" he whispered, his voice delicate and airy as the words met her ear. Her hand squeezed his and he smiled.

"I love you too" she told him quietly and he kissed her head, she then lifted it to face him and pressed her lips to his. Klaus felt his expression soften as he kissed her back and interlaced their fingers. Their lips parted and he rest his forehead against hers,

"I'll never leave you alone" he told her.

"You promise?" she whispered, her voice shaky.

"I promise."

[nikki0606]

my best | Bakugou X reader

reader; quirkless midway | part 1 (had this published back in 2021- which is why the storyline is just dramatic, some parts were just cringe to read (near-death-experience-cringe-level)-- and have edited it now, used to be a reader-favourite)

"Don't you dare, Bakugou Katsuki!" you barely manage to push him back and hurry to help Midoriya.

"Fucking bitch, who the hell do you think you're pushing, eh?" it's always the boys around in his gang who begin the retaliation, not even Bakugou himself.

"Oh, did I put a scratch on your pretty little boy? Run off if you don't intend to have broken bones before you reach home!" your eyes narrow dangerously and you step forward.

Many of them scoff. Bakugou's gaze stays deadset on your face, however.

"A quirkless bitch on you can barely lay a finger on me." one of the boys steps towards you pushing his sleeves back but you're quick to kick his shin hard and land another one in his abdomen.

If there's one thing living alone has taught you, it's being quick with your reflexes and actions because that in itself is the sole way you can overpower people in danger.

"Looks like a person with a pitiful quirk doesn't get a say." your words are a lot more vicious than intended– quirks has always been a sensitive topic for you to begin with.

Your parents put you up with quite the torture when you didn't inherit either of their quirks.

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes Bakugou's lips, he turns away.

"Dude– did you see that?" the others turn to him in frustration, "She pushed you and even hurt Makoto!" the boy speaking opens his mouth again but lets out only a hiss when you stomp his foot.

The reason they don't fight back is because Bakugou told them not to, you're aware of it.

Bakugou doesn't want anything on his record before he joins U.A. and so he wouldn't ever physically hurt you, a girl, although he does have quite sharp of a tongue himself.

"And?" his head turns back to you momentarily, you find an odd twitch behind the blood-red orbs.

"Does mister wannabe hero want one too?" you sugar-coat your words with venom.

"I could kill you in a second." he says coolly.

Internally, you're amazed by the sheer confidence and power in his voice as well as with the odd, rigid tenderness he can word his power in but like every single time, you don't show it.

Because no matter how admirable the rest of his personality is, Bakugo Katsuki is only a bully to you. You'd never let him be more.

"Mh?" you let out a challenging hum, "Go on then, try."

Bakugou stares at you for another moment before lightly shaking his head and turning to the other boys, starts shouting, "The fuck sort of extras are you to be beat up by a fucking stupid little quirkless shit like her, huh?!" his head turns back to you, "And you, cheeky little bitch," he grabs your arm, "come with me." and drags you along too fast for you to stop him.

"What the fuck?" you pull yourself away the moment he's slowed down and notice only now that the both of you are behind the school building.

"Try, huh? You think you'll fucking survive a blow of mine?" he closes in angrily making you step further and further back until you're against the wall, then lets his lips tug upwards in some sort of a smirk.

"A-And what makes you think I won't?" you try your best to keep composure despite the shock from unexpected behaviour from him.

Truth be told, Bakugou can kill you. Whether he will or not, you don't know.

You may find him really cool at times, but then again, he's only just a bully and your trust for him lies in the negative.

"You're quirkless, bitch. You go running your little shitty mouth around like this and someday someone's going to punch it shut." his eyes narrow, "You think you can defend yourself from people with quirks like mine? The only thing you can do is let someone protect you– "

His words pinch you in the wrong spots.

A sheath of clear fluid fills your eyes, "So says the big old bully– well here's the truth for you, Bakugou– " words fall out of your mouth before you can process them, "you will never become a hero! I'll tell you if I have to– a fucking bully like you is already a stupid, mean villain and you can't ever change that!"

The only thing I can do is– ah.

Living alone has taught you another thing; no one can do anything without a cost. This protection would be at cost of every ounce of life left in you.

Your parents left you because you didn't inherit their quirks– what phase in life they were in to need you to have it, you don't know. All you are sure of is that those responsible for your origin didn't "protect" you.

The only one who has ever protected you is you yourself.

"You think U.A. will ever like an asshole like you to ruin their reputation? Wake the fuck up, Bakugou Katsuki, you're already walking down a villain's path– you're already torturing and hurting your own childhood friends. Who in their fucking right mind would trust you as a hero?"

Bakugou's eyebrows have furrowed, his lips twitch but not a sound escapes them.

"I keep running my mouth around? Fucking blame me– there's shitty excuses for human beings like you walking around as if they actually mean anything to any fucking person and you expect me to shut up and sit quiet?! Let me get punched if that's what'll happen, I'm not having a stupid fucking villain's bullshit bullying at my watch!"

Pure silence echoes in the air for a moment, only the sounds of your long, irregular breaths fill this gap.

"Big words." Bakugou's voice has never been smaller, you barely can make out how he's processing your words, "Really big words.. "

"You're a dick." your lips tremble, eyes venting through rivers of tears, "I fucking hate everything about you– you're so pathetic, Bakugou. You're such a.. disgrace."

Something twirls in his eyes again. This time, it's an emotion you've never before seen him have.

"Only you and your little puppy Deku aren't disgraces, everyone else is, no?" his characteristic hostility is absent, you don't know what to make from this but barely care at the moment.

"Izukkun is already more of a hero than you can ever become." you try to push him away from you, "You fucking bastard, all you do is bully him like any cheap street thug– "

On instinct, Bakugou push you back.

What he doesn't realise is that you're much more frail than you look, and that he's much stronger than he does.

His push is strong, you're rammed into the wall hard and hiss out in pain clutching the back of your head and losing balance instantly to fall onto your knees.

From this position, you see his feet take him away.

That's the last time the both of you exchanged any contact at all that month.

Every time you'd look his way, Bakugou would avert his gaze. Everytime you'd pass by him in a corridor or require to approach him for classroom chores, he would pull up a perfect act as if you'd never existed in the first place.

An odd feeling of uneasiness keeps growing inside you by the passing moment and you barely know how to handle it let alone handle this odd situation with Bakugou.

Of course, all thought lead to only a single solution– confront him.

You've come to accept you spoke too much that day and that maybe his warning of not running your mouth too much was indeed something you should have thought upon.

Bakugou Katsuki may be a bully but you don't think of him as a villain at all. You know for a fact that nothing can take him down that line.

Words said that day were aimed to hurt him and the past month proves that they did.

All you did was under influence of your anger and naturally, you find yourself regretting everything.

You catch him leaving school the next day.

He doesn't turn on your call but his gang of boys do. They look more annoyed than ever– you know at this point they all hate you more than anything, especially considering how they keep on getting kicked by you and are unable to respond because of Bakugou.

"You're going to pay for being such a cheap little bitch." one of them hisses out, "You've got Bakugou mad now, he's going to blow your head to bits."

"A kick each isn't enough for you all?" you hate them all equally, "Looks like I'll have to do overtime handling a bunch of bratty kids with no shame."

"Shut that trap of yours, you little hoe." another one seems too far fed up with you, "Go suck your boy Midoriya's dick– he's the only one who wouldn't be able to handle your shitty self."

Bakugou stops at that and turns to the boy. There isn't an expression on his face.

An odd hope in your finds yourself wait for a minute to see if he replies to the guy by at least saying he's going too far but Bakugou does nothing.

A frown settles on your lips as the other boys start talking shit too.

"Looks like you're really enjoying this." your gaze and words are directed solely on Bakugou's face.

He doesn't bother turning to you at all but you can tell he knows who you're talking to and intentionally keeps his expressions turned away.

After your words however, a ghost of a frown mimics yours on his expression but he turns his head back too quick for you to see and starts walking off.

His minions walk off too though they keep on muttering cusses along the way.

"Yeah, go away, coward!" you hear yourself call out to him, "Fuck off!"

And this worsens your original purpose of the interaction– Bakugou doesn't talk to you for another week.

Midoriya has been noticing things being awry with you since some time now. It took him barely a moment to figure out this concerns Bakugou too.

He could tell you've noticed his observations and so have begun to avoid any sort of confrontation from his side about the chronic sour mood you've had.

At first, Midoriya was only just concerned. He'd assumed you'd eventually figure it out like you figure out most stuff but this didn't happen.

When this didn't seem to happen, he tried asking you but you wouldn't tell. Slowly and gradually, you began avoiding him to avoid the confrontations.

This made no sense to him, you'd never do anything of the sort in even the worst of situations.

Midoriya knows only one other way to understand what has happened and that is Bakugou Katsuki.

Bakugou Katsuki thinks not.

"You damned Deku–" the boy is slammed against a wall in an alleyway, "You think you're fucking something? You think you're gonna be a hero, eh?"

"K-Kacchan– I.. " Midoriya can't stop trembling under the sparks going off over his head, "I-I.. I just want to know– (Name)– " but the boy seems to only get madder at your mention.

This confirms Midoriya's observations.

"You think you're fucking better than me?" there is more than the usual twinge of emotions in Bakugou's words as he says this every time. Midoriya wonders through his panic about what all could have gone wrong.

"H-He is.. " a small broke voice makes the both of them snap their necks to the side only to instantly freeze in shock.

"(Name).. ?" it's Bakugou who manages to call you out and not Midoriya whose shock is prolonged, "What.. Wh-What the fuck did you do.. ?" he begins towards you.

You barely manage to stand straight and look at them with the bleeding leg and swollen eye. There is a haywire of messages of pain in your brain from all throughout your body and you can barely process anything.

"What.. " Midoriya's foot takes a first step, stopping once again at the sight of the shirt you're wearing almost torn off, " .. Hey.. "

Bakugou clearly doesn't know what to do– he's reached you already but is just examining every one of your wounds, his eyes and hands twitching in urge to do something.

"Asshole.. " the word just rolls out of your tongue as Midoriya approaches and you let yourself fall against him, "Why.. Why'd you let them do this?"

Bakugou doesn't understand. Midoriya doesn't either.

"I.. th-thought you told them not to hurt me.. " you cough out some blood but this isn't because of the violence you've gotten yourself into.

The boys both stand in shock for a moment now having realised what happened to you. Bakugou's eyes thunder with an odd mix of guilt and something you can't identify.

Midoriya's expressions change too– it seems your words are enough to give both the boys an idea of what happened.

Bakugou in particular looks shaken, you assume because he was aware of how much his group of lackeys hated you.

"I.. I'm sorry.. "

You're surprised hearing the words, you'd never thought he had it in him to let them out.

The look on his face alone proves all they said was bullshit– Bakugou Katsuki did not allow them to hurt you, they did it on will and only used his name.

All the things they said about him are probably untrue too.

A massive boulder lifts from your chest, the knowledge of Bakugou not actually thinking of you as the terms they said he did is a massive relief.

Flickering red orbs contrast against flickering green. Your hazy gaze knows not to focus on either.

"I.. should've.. " Bakugou looks peaky.

If you didn't know better than to hope from him, you'd assume he's guilty for not being able to protect you against the others.

"W-We," he swallows drly, "will be going to the doctor right away." he swiftly picks you in his arms, and struggle to hold you as you protest, "You're fucking bleeding all over– just calm down, (Name)– "

"Please.. " Midoriya has tears in his eyes, "Just do as he says.. we're going to a doctor right away!"

For this once, you decide to listen to him.

.

"You have visitors." the nurse comes in, an odd pity in her eyes.

You nod shortly not at all interested to know who would come to meet you. All you care about is meeting Midoriya and Bakugou once more before time runs out.

Maybe some words before you leave the world forever might stick by Bakugou and he stops bullying Midoriya?

You'd always been pretty tough against everything in life not at all bothered about what consequences will follow because of one sole fact.

Ever since you were little, you've been diagnosed with some terminal illness which your parents never cared to get treated because you were no use to them.

A bunch of boys beating you up didn't matter– what had hurt you back then was when they had said Bakugou allowed them to.

It was only later when you actually ran into Midoriya and Bakugou that the realisation surfaced that he, in fact, would never hurt a girl let alone hurt you of all people.

Bakugou Katsuki for some reason doesn't dislike you, not even the way he dislikes Midoriya.

This is odd considering you're the one annoying him more mostly.

You're not complaining, however. It's good living in this delusion of partially believing he probably is kinder to you than most people, that's the most care you're getting out of him.

Ah.. him of all people.

People often realise things they've been in denial with for ages once on the deathbed. You have too, only, this "realisation" for you is acceptance that maybe admiration for Bakugou Katsuki wasn't just admiration.

Maybe, the reason why it hurt you as much when he bullied was because you internally constantly are pleased by the few kinder moments from him.

"May we come in?" a man you don't know but find oddly familiar opens the door. Bakugou entering right after confirms your doubts.

"Hello (L/n) (Name). I'm Bakugou Masaru, Katsuki's father. We couldn't find any method to contact your parents." he lets Bakugou sit on the chair by your side, "Can we get any of their numbers or something else?"

A moment of silence precedes your words, "I don't live with them anymore.. they left me when my quirk didn't develop."

You've never before told anyone this part but it doesn't matter anymore if you're not going to live anymore. You wonder if the doctor has yet told Bakugou Masaru about your illness– there shouldn't be a reason for him to questioning anything from you then, no?

He nods at you, then tells Bakugou to take care before he walks out to talk to the doctors.

You turn to the boy once he's out of sight, " ..Bakugou.. "

He doesn't look up at you but lets out a small hum acknowledging your call.

" ..I'm sorry.. " you hear yourself say, mood shifting within the fraction of a second and eyes brimming with tears now, " ..for everything."

"Don't act like those stupid extras.. " the words are way too calm and low from his words to sound offensive in any way, " ..don't cry."

But you can't stop crying now.

It's the end of your life and a guy you unknowingly developed a bunch of feelings for is the one who would bid you off. The only desire you'd have is to meet your best friend Midoriya but that's not too tough to get managed but now as you sit on the bed covered in bandages and waiting for the end to draw near within a few weeks as predicted, you can't help but want to live.

The world looks so beautiful all of a sudden.

It's such a waste to die this way.

"Oi.. " Bakugou is shifting in his seat. He has lifted his head up finally and you can see his expressions– he looks distressed.

You've never before seen the ruby-red orbs flicker with such a broken gray behind them, it's almost painful to watch.

"I told you to not cry, didn't I?" his voice is butter-like, it complements the sweet fragrance swimming in the air around me, "Quiet down now."

"Bakugou.. " your breath hitches several times when you turn you him, "I.. " but it seems he already knows must of what you'll want to convey.

"You're going to be okay.. " there's an unusual heaviness in his voice, "You're.. Y-You're going to make through this."

Your eyes twitch, "What.. are you talking about?"

"Ah fuck.." his hands clutch his head, he shifts forward and leans closer to you, "Don't die on me, (Name).. I– " Bakugou Katsuki's lips quiver, "I don't know what I'd do."

The words take a moment to settle in his head. You stare at him with eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What d-d'you mean what would you do?"

The distressed expressions on his face seems to worsen.

"Don't die on me." you've never before heard someone sound as broken, "Please.. "

Years and years of knowing him, years of observing everything he'd do, years of developing feelings for him an yet this one moment tells you more about him than any time of your life has.

"You know.. " he does know about the illness. He doesn't need to confirm it for you to know.

You swallow, "It will bother you if I'm gone?" you doubt this is a question to him. It sounds more affirmative to your own self.

For a moment, he only just stares into your soul through bleeding red irises.

"You know it will."

But you want to know, "Why?"

"You know why."

"No I don't, Bakugou– " he cuts you off before you can complete your words.

"Call me by my first name, for God's sake, (Name). Th-There's no knowing if.. " his eyes tremble, " ..you'll.. make it though the surgery."

Something melts in your heart only to freeze the very next instant.

"Wait– what surgery?" despite all the wounds, you manage to push yourself straight, "What do you– no.. wait a fucking second you son of a– that's.. "

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes his lips. Bakugou leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes harshly.

You can tell by the irregular breaths that he's feeling much more than what he expresses.

"I-I.. " he clears his throat, "I called my old man. He's getting the surgery done, he only came in earlier for legal permission from your guardian but there probably is no guardian."

A "y-yeah" from a dry throat replies to him.

Bakugou snorts a few tears out, "That explains you being mannerless as shit."

"You're mannerless too." your eyes fill up to the brim, "You don't get the right to point me out, Bakugou."

"Katsuki." he breathes out airily, "And.. just.. "

You know what he wants to say, "Okay, Katsuki." a moment of silence passes before the words fall out of your mouth themselves, "I won't die on you.. I promise."

He blinks a couple of times then rolls his eyes back to you, "I don't like people who break promises, (Name). You.. better not join that list."

"You know me, don't you." so many years of fighting each other and yet still bonds formed underneath all that are stronger than one would imagine, "I don't ever give up.. I'll try my best."

For a moment, Bakugou just watches you.

You could be wrong about it but the look he has on his faze is of someone who wishes to print something into their mind– he's trying to save the moment into his memory forever.

Bakugou doesn't want to see you go.

Whatever this indicates to, you wish to hear out loud.

Whatever this indicates to, Bakugou wishes to say out loud too.

Because he knows, he might just never get a chance later.

He opens his mouth but shuts it immediately and funnily, it's not because he is at loss of words. Bakugou Katsuki always knows what to say deep inside, him not letting that out on tongue ever before is a different story.

He doesn't speak because there is more than just words to be spoken from his side.

Getting up from the chair and sitting on your bedside, he leans in, hand grabbing your chin ever so gently and pulling your face closer, "This is to all the times you wouldn't stop staring at me throughout the whole fucking day.. " and before you can deny his words in embarrassment of being caught, a gentle contact on your lips sends down a cloudburst of sparks through your body.

"This is to being just so.. " he seems to love the awed look you have on your face, " ..fucking hot." his lips meet yours once more and they press more that they did before.

"This is for all the time we've had.. though I'm still pretty mad you'd chosen that shitty Deku over me." and he finally stops with the teasing kisses.

For a brash guy like him, Bakugou Katsuki is a feather-like kisser. Even the rough, passionate movements feel cushioned and elating.

When he parts away, there's a loud ringing in your ears and all blood has settled in your face and ears.

After another moment of silence, Bakugou inhales deep, "I've.. always only.. bothered you because I don't fucking understand what that Deku has over me. I don't get why you'd choose him when you could just.. be with me."

His ears resemble his eyes in colour, you'd never thought you'd see his cheeks as ripe.

"I like you.. so damn much. Don't leave me hanging like this, (Name)."

The smile that slips onto your face wouldn't come under control despite all efforts, your hands cover your face in embarrassment.

Ages of arguing against this boy over everything and now you've lost all sense to him shamelessly.

"I really like you too, Katsuki."

"I really like the way you say my name.. " he adds, voice hurried as someone seems to be standing outside the room's door, "Oi.. say my name once more, and promise me.. "

"I promise you, Katsuki.. " adoration fills in your eyes, "I'll try my best to get through this.. plus I'll have to pay your dad back later too so I better live."

He snorts tearfully, "Cheeky little bitch, you've always been."

And before the doctors can step inside, "Be kind to Izuku, okay. I never chose him over you, I chose him over a bully. Don't be that bully, Katsuki. Tell him he's the best friend I can ever have."

"And then what the fuck am I?"

A smile adorns your face, "What are you, Katsuki?"

The doctors step inside, Bakugou Masaru follows them closely. You're told the operation begins within an hour and then you have to be taken away from preparations.

"How about we talk about that once you're back." Bakugou gathers all courage within him to let the words out without a hitch.

"Let's do that." you smile.

.

__________________________________________________________

Part 2 will be out a little later.

[justauthoring]

Shadow of Yourself [15/18]

Prompt: “You’ve changed, Eli. I barely even know who you are right now.”

A/N: final part of season five! i can't believe i finally finished season five yall because i procrastinated on it for sooooo long but it actually ended up being one of my favourite to write!

Based off of: Cobra Kai 05x08, 05x09, and 05x10 Warnings: some swear words (because tumblr apparently doesn’t like that), poorly written fight scenes (i swear, i struggle so much) ALSO! this chapter deals with some heavier topics - self-doubt and deprication, as well as the reader blames herself for the deaths of her family (but don't worry, eli makes it better <3) ! overall, there's some heavier things discussed so just be warned. Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x F!Reader

Tag List: @moonydrafts - @ashwhowrites - @traveleraroundsworld - @truly-abysmal - @likecherriesinthespring - @hollxe1 - @asonofpeter - @scarlett-verse - @musically-ambiguous - @kayda1 - @moon-zoons - @dwcode - @day-dreamsinthedark - @leilani788 - @silvermagnolias - @hawkinsavclub - @animewolflover278 - @gruffle1 - @b-tchymoon - @maggiecc - @beetea38 - @hawkinsavclub1983 - @crpytids - @embersparklz - @kimilight - @httpjiikook - @marauderssmut - @fyckcore - @multinci - @lqveabby - @oh-well-whatever-nevermind - @redskull199987 - @silvermagnolias - @shortneko - @okjaeminn - @thecyclonetragedy - @vamproq - @siriusfahey - @cobrakaigirlie - @kaylinfayezink - @oursuh - @aphroditelxver - @minl0u - @cherrywinepoison - @bath1lda - @fixalice - @fallsofserinity - @maisieibae - @ssrcsm​ - @notplutos - @kaitieskidmore1​ - @httpvomitello - @nichmeddar - @rafaelajonerr - @lazyneonrabbitt - @belleoftheball28 - @httpvomitello - @nichmeddar - @rafaeljonerr - @lazyneonrabbitt - @harrysnovia - @dopepersonacloudllama - @fluffybunnyu - @lovesanimals0000

THE GANG'S BACK TOGETHER AGAIN.

Training had ramped up for the Sekai Tekai, even more when you found out that there would need to be a male and female champion that would go against Cobra Kai to represent Miyagi-do as a whole and therefore, finalize whether Miyagi-do would even be participating in the Sekai Tekai or not.

Needless to say, you’d willingly allowed Sam to be the female champion. Of course, out of respect, Mr. Larusso and Sam had spoken to you and asked but you’d simply just assured them both you were more than happy to let Sam have the spot if she wanted it. You’d known that she was trying to focus on herself more, outside of karate, but the impression you’d gotten was despite her hesitance, it was still something she felt was important to her.

Even more when everyone clearly knew that Tory would be Cobra Kai’s chosen champion. The tension between the both of them was still abundantly clear and you didn’t want to get in the way of anything Sam felt she had to prove.

You didn’t want to take that away from her.

“You’re sure?” Sam asks, eyes pinched with concern.

“I don’t want you to think we don’t consider you an option, Y/N,” Daniel explains, standing next to his daughter in a similar fashion of worry. “You’re a formidable fighter yourself.”

You just wave them off, nodding at Daniel. “I promise you it’s okay,” then, you send Sam a bright smile and a thumbs up. “You’ll kick ass, I know it.”

Sam flushes faintly at that, leaning forward to give you a hug which you return with ease, squeezing her with a laugh.

And that had settled that. 

The boys champion, however, was still up for debate. You knew Johnny had pulled Miguel, Robby and Eli aside to speak to them about it and you couldn’t enjoy the pizza party until you knew. Obviously, you wouldn’t wish ill on Robby or Miguel and you knew they were also incredibly skilled at karate, but you knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that Eli really wanted to be chosen.

And obviously you hoped he would be too.

“Hey.”

Gasping, you spin, face brightening with anticipation and hope as you see Eli making his way over to you. You quickly make your way over to him, slipping your hand into his own as you wait for him to tell you.

“What’re you doing out here alone?”

Huffing, purposefully dramatic, you shake your head. “Waiting for you,” you explain with a rush. “So?” You press without a second more of hesitation, eyes twinkling. Eli doesn’t look upset, not that you think he’d be overly disappointed if Miguel was chosen and not even Robby anymore now that they’d gotten past their differences. Really, though, Eli was giving nothing away and it was frustrating. “Who’s the boys champion?”

Eli laughs at your insistence, shaking his head. “Well, after a long and oddly careful conversation from Johnny about how he and the other sensei’s wanted to do this fairly, we came to a decision.”

“And?”

Eli purposefully baits you with silence, hesitating as you slap him lightly on the shoulder with a laugh and a scoff until finally Eli is submitting and he grins at you.

“Me.”

You brighten; “you?”

“Apparently Miguel and Robby decided they’d let me before,” Eli grins, nodding. “So, yes, me.”

“Yes!” You cheer, voice pitching in excitement as you throw your arms around Eli’s shoulders. He stumbles back in response, laughing as you squeeze him tightly against yourself, face beaming in absolute delight and excitement for Eli. “I’m so happy for you!”

Hands falling on your hips, Eli chuckles; “you’re more excited than I was.”

“Well, duh,” you laugh, pulling back, “this is so amazing! You get to represent Miyagi-do!”

Eli falters slightly at that, looking suddenly thoughtful; “it is a lot of pressure.”

“You’ll do great,” you say with no hesitance or doubt. “You’re an All Valley champ after all.” To add to your point, you poke his cheek with a faint giggle, missing the absolute adoring look on Eli’s face as he watches you celebrate him with a beaming grin on your face and words full of sincerity and love.

-

Eli thinks back on that day you stood up for him, all the way in middle school and remembers the way that from then on, you had become his whole world. He hadn’t understood it at the time, not completely, but no one had ever stood up for him like that.

Certainly never a girl for that matter either. And Eli had known how important that was to him and how important it still was.

You’d been so kind and cheerful, a blindingly bright spot in his otherwise dull life. He’d had Demetri who of course meant the world to him, but he knows that if he were to ask Demetri himself that his friend would agree too – you’d been the best thing in their lives, standing up for them and joining their small, nerdy and outcasted friend group. And yet, despite all that, you’d never once complained.

You’d signed yourself off that day, joining them, and you’d done so with grace and a toothy grin.

And after all he’d done, how much of a douche he’d been, Eli can’t believe you’re still here with him.

He thinks he’s the luckiest guy in the world.

“Thanks,” Eli settles with, even though there’s so much he wants and could say. He doesn’t know how to put it in words though, he never has. Before he’d become “Hawk”, Eli had never been good with words – hence why Demetri dubbed him as “man of few words” – and now, even as “Hawk” or something past that, Eli finds he still can’t conjure up the right things to say. 

He’s stupid and irrational and makes a lot of mistakes, but he hopes you know how much your encouragement and support really does mean the world to him.

“It’s a big honour,” he continues, “but I'm prepared to face the challenge.”

Your eyes spark, sending him an ear-to-ear winning smile as you nod; “I know you are.”

Flushed, Eli lets his eyes wander, turning in the direction he’d found you staring and frowns when he sees Sam training with Daniel and Chozen.

“They just chose Sam?” Eli asks, baffled as he turns back to you, squeezing your hips. All excitement at having been chosen himself suddenly doesn’t matter when Eli thinks you’ve been unfairly casted aside. “Without even giving you a chance?”

You look confused, just briefly, following his gaze before your face parts in realization and your lips part. “Oh, no, Eli,” you laugh, setting your hand against his chest in reassurance. “I let Sam be the girl’s champion.”

Eli pauses, confused; “what, why?”

“Because,” you laugh, like the answer is obvious. It bothers Eli. “Sam is way more skilled than me.”

“That is not true,” Eli instantly argues, shocked that you’d talk so low of yourself. “You’re an amazing fighter, just like she is.”

“Eli, she made it to the final round in the All Valley… I got beat out by Tory,” you remind and Eli watches as you shake your head, ever so nonchalant as you pass yourself off like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. “And we both know Cobra Kai will choose her as their champion. Sam is logically the best option.”

Once again Eli thinks about you standing up for him. How fierce you’d been, how determined – you’d talked down a boy twice your size and older than you without hesitation or an ounce of fear. You’d done it with such bravery that Eli still thinks you’re the bravest girl he knows.

Then he thinks about Yasmine and how cruel she’d been to you. He thinks about the way she’d bullied you, made you feel lesser than yourself, made you feel ashamed.

He thinks of Kyler that day making crude and disgusting comments about you – being easy, being—

Eli thinks about how not once did he ever stand up for you like you had for him.

And he stares at you now, selling yourself short and not even questioning it and he’s filled with such guilt and hurt that Eli doesn’t know what to say.

“Eli?” You call, voice soft, pulling him from his thoughts as you glance up at him curiously. Eli blinks before focusing on you and you just smile. “It’s seriously no big deal. Now, come on, we’re missing the pizza party.”

You’re slipping your hand into his and pulling him along, reaching the kitchen where everyone’s stood and instantly bounding over to Miguel and Robby with a grin and a laugh. Eli can’t focus, not at first, not on the conversation or anyone else.

All he can think about is how he needs to make you see your worth like you’ve always made him see his.

-

You watch with a nervous expression, eyes never leaving Eli as he starts his fight.

You’re already apprehensive, especially with the fights taking place in Cobra Kai’s new big fancy dojo, but when you see how Kenny steals the first point, you���re reminded of why Cobra Kai is so dangerous. Kenny, despite being newer to karate and younger, is ruthless; he fights with the aggressiveness and anger you used to see Eli fight with and it makes your stomach tense with nerves.

Which only builds when the ref, unfairly, declares Eli’s following point against Kenny as out of bounds.

It definitely wasn’t out of bounds.

Eli is a good fighter. You know he’s a good fighter. 

But Cobra Kai is fighting unfairly and that makes you scared.

The next round starts and Kenny starts the same, quick, ruthless and all aggression. Eli is able to keep up, blocking Kenny’s never-ending hits and then shifts, lifting his leg to strike at Kenny but the kid grabs him, doing an illegal strike right onto the bend of Eli’s leg. A cry of pain leaves Eli’s lips as he’s forced to bend, falling to his knee and slumping forward.

You jump, a gasp leaving your lips as you turn to your sensei’s.

“Illegal strike,” the referee shouts, “that’s a warning.”

Your gaze falls to Daniel, panicked; “sensei!”

Daniel meets your eye, shaking his head; “warning?” He scoffs at the ref. “He should be disqualified.”

Grunting, Eli limps over to Johnny and Daniel. “No, it’s fine,” he breathes, lowering his leg. “He… He just caught me off guard.”

“Are you sure, Eli?” Daniel asks, apprehensive.

You’re standing right next to the both of them, looking worriedly at Eli who glances at you, briefly, before nodding over at them. “No more Eli,” he says, voice sharp. “It’s time to uncage the ‘Hawk’.” 

Reaching up, he brushes both of his palms against his mohawk, meeting your gaze one last time with a reassuring smirk before turning back to Kenny.

It gives you a little bit of confidence, and you want to believe in Eli but the way he limps back doesn’t reassure you at all and fizzles out any that you’d had left.

Your worry is justified. The second the referee calls the start to the next round, both Kenny and Eli in starting position, Kenny is instantly jutting his hand forward, lunging, and hitting Eli square in the chest. He lets out a loud groan and you flinch, worried, watching as he instantly falls to his knees, curling in on himself. 

“Eli!” You call, ignoring all the rules and rushing onto the mat just as Miguel calls out for him at the same time and Johnny comes running forward too.

Your eyes widen, heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you see Eli holding his stomach, flinching in the spot. You don’t know what to do, terrified, so you turn to Johnny and then to Daniel who is now crouching over Eli as well.

“Hawk,” Johnny calls gently, “what’s wrong?”

He gasps at first, heaving, before his voice comes out faint and wheezed; “I can’t… Can’t… Can’t breathe.”

Oh my god. Your heart sinks, seizing with panic and confusion as your hands hover helplessly in front of you — you want to help, you desperately do, but you have no idea how to.

“Eli,” you whisper, pressing your hand to his arm.

The referee just sighs; “can you continue?”

You want to tell Eli he shouldn’t, but you know how important this is so you hold your tongue. Instead, you lean back, giving him space as Eli slowly presses his palms to the ground and tries to push himself up, breathing shakily.

He crashes back to the ground in a second.

“Eli!”

“Where the medic?” Johnny bellows.

The next second the medic comes running forward, a hand out towards you to push you back gently.

“That’s a forfeit,” the ref calls, pulling your attention on him in stunned disbelief. “Winner, Payne.”

“But he attacked Eli!” You cry out, forgetting yourself as you gesture towards Kenny. Daniel and Johnny turn to you in surprise but you ignore them, catching sight of Silver’s smirk and your anger builds. You’re seeing red, blinded by your worry and anger and frustration which makes you act without thinking.

You’ve always acted without thinking when it comes to defending Eli.

“That’s not fair,” you huff. “If Eli can’t fight… th-then… someone else should be able to step in and take Eli’s place!”

“Sorry, miss,” the referee shakes his head. “That’s the rules.”

“Rules, my ass,” you argue, pushing yourself to your feet. In that moment every other person fades from your mind – all there is you and Eli, hurt, and that’s enough to make you continue.  “That’s not—”

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

You blink, turning to Daniel who’s calling for you, then register the hand on your shoulder keeping you back and turn to see Robby shaking his head at you, silently telling you to back down. You stand there, stunned, seeing the way both Johnny and Daniel are looking at you in the exact same way. You feel a sinking feeling, realizing how much of an embarrassment you’d just made of yourself – not to mention, your outburst hadn’t done anything to help Miyagi-do’s image.

Seeing the Sekai Tekai representatives at the far wall and the way they’re looking at you, you frown. A glance down at your hand tells you you’re shaking, and you move to turn back to Eli, but then you catch sight of Kenny and the wide and cruel grin on his face and that fire alights in you once more.

Just faintly, a last pathetic sizzle as you shake your head and your lips part. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Daniel calls, gently, shaking his head at you, “what’s important is if Eli’s okay.”

You know he’s right.

Slowly, your eyes fall down, Robby’s hand leaving your shoulder as you see Eli still hunched in on himself, but some of the colour has come back to his cheeks. 

“I think he’s okay,” the medic assures. “Just got the wind knocked out of him.”

Face falling, you crouch back down, staring at Eli with anxiety.

But the second you calm down, footsteps follow.

“Looks like you got a new name,” Kenny calls, stepping forward with a taunting grin as he laughs. His gaze is focused on Eli, taunting and gleaming with the adrenaline of his unfair win. “Faux-Hawk.”

You’re lunging forward before you even realize it, but you don’t make it far as Robby and Miguel grab you, as if having expected you to, and pull you back. You continue to glare at Kenny as he simply laughs your way, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Y/N,” Miguel calls, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you huff, “they cheated.”

“We still have Sam and Tory’s fight,” Robby reminds, nodding at you. There’s something understanding in his gaze and he makes sure to meet your eyes head-on. “Besides, I think you should go with Eli.”

Glancing down, you see the medic helping Eli up.

You know they’re both right. With a huff, you nod and they step back, you moving forward to help Eli up as Johnny wraps his arm around his shoulder. The two of you help him to the stairs by the further back wall, and the second he’s sat, Johnny glances at you briefly before nodding and stepping forward to let you sit next to Eli.

Sitting next to him, you wrap an arm around his back and use the other to grab his hand, squeezing.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, whispering it so only he hears.

Meeting your eye briefly, Eli nods; “yeah.”

“Here,” you look up as Johnny comes back, a bottle of water in hand. You take it from him with a soft smile, and then Johnny turns back around, still nearby but giving space, before you hand the water bottle to Eli.

He takes it gratefully, instantly tipping it back to take a sip. You just rub his back as he does, quiet and ignoring the commotion that builds around you—something about Tory not being there for her fight—and focus on Eli in front of you.

“Y/N,” Eli rasps after he finishes swallowing another mouthful of water. He turns to look at you, slowly, face still pale and something painful in his eyes. You frown at the sight, knowing he’s cursing himself for getting hurt and in his mind, failing Miyagi-do. 

But you also see the other meaning hidden in his gaze.

“I know,” you sigh, shoulders falling. “I’m sorry. I just got angry… they clearly cheated.”

Eli doesn’t say anything more. He’s quiet, watching you for a moment longer before turning his gaze back ahead of himself. You think he's mad, maybe upset, and your heart falls, but he’s leaning into your touch and that reassures you.

You let that be enough.

-

i’m on my way

You walk quickly, fingers rushing to let Eli know where you are given that you knew you were running late. Extremely late.

two minutes!

Biting your lip, you look up as you reach the crosswalk, making sure there are no cars coming before making your way across. You rush across the street, feeling a slight shiver when a breeze of wind hits you, before coming to the other side and glancing back down at your phone at the buzz in your hand.

okay :) 

Just then, another text pops up; 

everything okay?

Biting your lip, you fight the smile growing on your lips.

yup! just my mom

oh… what’d she want?

the usual, all good!

Then, looking up at the growingly increasing music, you grin.

just outside, be in a minute!

You put your phone in your purse, not waiting for a response, taking a deep breath as you take one last glance down at yourself. Truthfully, you weren’t just late because of your mom – she had called you, letting you know she’d been gone another week—as usual—but then you’d taken a bit longer to get ready then you had expected. The first outfit you’d chosen you didn’t like as much as you did when it was laid out in front of you, then the second outfit was worse, until you finally settled on a cute sundress. But then you’d felt like you needed to do something with your hair so that had taken more time, until finally you were slipping on shoes and rushing out the door an hour late.

Eli didn’t need to know that though.

Still, you wanted to dress up. It was a celebration, yes, and you were more than happy that despite everything, Miyagi-do was able to qualify for the Sekai Tekai as well. Unfortunately, so had Cobra Kai, but it was a win regardless.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, you liked that little blush that crawled on Eli’s cheeks when you dressed up and the way he’d look at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It made you feel seen, made you feel wanted and made you feel pretty – which was an added bonus when it was Eli that made you feel that way.

Speaking off, a door opening catches your attention, a smile beaming across your lips when you see it’s Eli.

“Hey,” you greet, rushing up the short distance over to him, setting your hands on his shoulders the second you’re close enough before pressing your lips against his own. He returns the kiss with ease, and a moment later he’s pulling away, hands settling on your waist as you smile up at him. “You’re feeling okay?”

Everyone had all left pretty quickly after you’d all found out you were going to the Sekai Tekai, and you hadn’t had the chance to make sure Eli was feeling okay after Kenny delivered that cheap shot against him. You were both asking because you were concerned for him physically but also because you knew the loss had hit him hard.

“Great,” he assures with ease, your body relaxing with relief. “I’m completely fine, promise.”

You nod, pleased that he’s okay, before your eyes drift upwards and pause. “You changed your hair. It’s not green anymore.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, reaching with his hand and touching the mohawk faintly. “Yeah. I was tired of the green. Didn’t feel like it was ‘me’ anymore.”

“I liked it,” you comment lightly, shrugging. “But I'm sure the next colour will be awesome too,” you laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Eli blushes faintly, rolling his eyes affectionately at your compliment, before he blinks, as if remembering. “You okay?”

You pause at his question, not having expected it. “Yeah, like I said it was just the usual stuff with my mom—”

“No,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “I meant… with what happened. You know… with the fight and everything.”

Oh, you think, not having expected him to bring that back up. He’d seemed troubled by your actions before but after everything and the way it ended, you figured he’d forgotten about. And it wasn’t that you were embarrassed by your actions, you did not regret standing up for Eli like that and you never would – but you didn’t like the way Eli looked at you when he talked about it. It wasn’t judgemental, but there was a certain concerned edge to it that made you feel a little uncertain and uncomfortable.

“Fine,” you say, somewhat defensively. “I just didn’t think it was fair how they were treating you.”

“Y/N,” Eli calls, voice soft and gentle with concern. He squeezes your hips and pulls your gaze on him with a blink. “I don’t mind that you stood up for me,” he grins, eyes twinkling. “Honestly, it was kind of hot.”

Eyes widening, your cheeks warm as you laugh nervously; “sh-shut up.”

“What?” He chuckles, “it’s true! It was hot.”

Shaking your head, you just smile back at him, flushed and embarrassed but you’d be lying if you said his words didn’t flatter you.

“Seriously, though. It’s not that that bothered me.”

Smile falling somewhat, you frown; “then what?”

Eli hesitates, as if debating his words, watching you carefully before he just sighs. “I wish that you would—”

“Fight!”

Whatever Eli had been about to say gets forgotten the second the two of you hear a crowd of people yelling. You turn to Eli, confused, and he mimics your expression as the both of you instantly rush in the direction of the noise. You both know that those words can mean nothing good, not in your circumstances, and make your way through the house to get to the back, where the crowd has formed. You’re a few seconds late to the commotion it seems by the huge crowd that has gathered as you both shove your way through.

But any confusion you’d had is instantly answered when you see Sam and Tory.

“My entire family has suffered because of you!”

It’s Sam who bellows it, face red with anger as she takes a lunging step towards Tory, fist flinching back to hit Tory.

She doesn’t get the chance to. Miguel and Robby are rushing forward, Robby stepping in front of Tory while Miguel grabs Sam to push her back; “no! Sam, that’s enough!”

“She’s been working with Kreese this whole time,” Sam explains, turning to Miguel in disbelief that he stopped her.

You turn to Tory. So does everyone else.

“What?” Robby asks, stunned.

“Why did you only come forward now?” Sam turns her aggression back to Tory, “huh? Because you’re a coward.”

No one says anything. You want to, but you don’t know what – you turn to look at Tory, taking in the distress on her face. She looks near tears, face pinched with hurt, but you’ve never spoken to Tory. Not really. And if she has been working with Kreese, well, you wouldn’t deny that that is problematic.

But still, you can’t find it in your heart to blame her when she looks so genuinely upset.

“Screw you, Larusso,” Tory breathes, embarrassed and clearly feeling isolated. “I knew this was a mistake.”

She glances at Robby one last time before walking off.

“Tory,” Robby calls after her.

A second later, Sam follows suit, the other way.

Miguel watches her, sighing; “Sam!”

Both girls leave without another glance back. You turn to Eli, worried.

“Did you know about any of this?” Miguel asks Robby.

“No,” Robby huffs, “I had no idea.”

“What the…”

-

“W-W-Wait. Okay, so Sensei Targaryen paid off the ref at the All Valley and framed Kreese for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Pausing briefly, you nod at Demetri.

He turns to you and Eli; “never let me miss a house party again.”

With a light smile, you pat Demetri on the shoulder, nodding.

“We need to tell the sensei’s,” Miguel says, shrugging.

Sam just scoffs; “what are they gonna do? We all saw what happened to my dad when he confronted Silver.” At that, Miguel sighs. “I don’t want him getting hurt again.”

“Yeah,” Demetri nods, “besides… if this ref and Stingray are on Silver’s payroll, they’ll never admit to anything.”

Face falling, you shake your head; “I don’t even blame them,” you sigh. “Silver is terrifying.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

Baffled, you turn to Bert.

“Not about Silver,” he explains, shaking his head at you. “He is terrifying. But… I know he’s in Cobra Kai and I’m in Eagle Fang, but Stingray’s still my friend. He wouldn’t lie to me. A-At least, I hope he won't.”

“Do you think you can get him to talk?” Eli asks.

Bert nods.

“Find out where he lives,” Sam says.

Bert nods again, then Eli is stepping forward grabbing your hand and nodding at Demetri to follow. 

-

After a somewhat failed attempt at getting Stingray to admit to Silver paying him off, everyone’s moods are a little soured and defeated. Sam had stormed out minutes prior, with Miguel quickly chasing after her; you and the rest tried to stick around but it was becoming abundantly clear that you weren’t going to get quite the information you all wanted.

At least not from Stingray.

So you decided to leave, tired of listening to Stingray dance around the truth and act like a coward. You’d gone to say bye to Eli, but then he offered to walk you home, so you’d just smiled at the offer and nodded. And then Demetri had asked to come along. It wasn’t that you minded Demetri tagging along, because you definitely didn’t, but there was something slightly odd about the way he had. He’d looked panicked, almost, when he saw you and Eli leaving, and though it was clear they were trying to be subtle, both Eli and Demetri were sending each other looks.

Constantly.

The entire walk so far had been eerily quiet. Neither of them were saying anything although it was very clear that they wanted to.

And you, stuck in between them, were feeling particularly uncomfortable. You’ve known them for a long time and because of that, it wasn’t hard for you to notice the signs and tells that something was on their mind and that it had to do with you but they weren’t sure how to approach it.

“You both didn’t have to walk me home,” you comment lightly, trying to dissipate this awkward silence lingering around the three of you. 

Eli and Demetri just glance at each other.

Biting your lip, you glance at your feet; “so… was there something you guys wanted to talk about or…?”

You’re starting to get nervous, you realize. All of this awkward silence and tension is making you feel uncomfortable and oddly very aware of yourself. Had you done something to upset them? Were they fighting again?

You chance another quick glance at the both of them. They didn’t seem to be arguing or upset with each other. Sure, they were being weird but you don’t think they’d be able to walk together like this if they were fighting like they had been before; they hadn’t been able to be near each other without a fight breaking out. So it’s probably not that. 

…And it definitely has to do with you…

So maybe you had done something.

When they still don’t answer you, you halt to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling your hand from Eli’s so you can turn to face the both of them. They freeze in response, wide eyes falling on you as you stare up at them nervously. “Have I done something to upset you guys?” You ask, unable to avoid the way your voice dips into worry, face scrunching up with distress. “You’re both being very weird right now.”

You figure you should just be out and open about it – rather than teetering around the subject. If you had done something, you’d rather just know… so you can fix it.

“No!” Eli rushes out, face falling at your words. “No, definitely not.”

You stare at him, somewhat eased, before turning to Demetri for extra reassurance.

He nods.

You let out a breath of relief.

“Okay,” you start, slowly, a little less tensed. “Then… what’s the matter?” 

“There’s something i’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Eli starts, finally answering your question. “For a while, actually. B-But…—” 

“But,” Demetri cuts in for him. “He wasn’t sure how to approach it so he came to me—”

“I also thought he should know,” Eli adds, rushed. “Since he’s your best friend too.”

Demetri smiles, albeit nervously. “E-Exactly,” he agrees, “so, you know…. He approached me and it was funny because I’ve actually kind of been noticing the same thing. And we thought we should talk to you about it.”

Demetri turns to Eli, looking for backup. Eli nods, quickly.

“But we didn’t know when…” Eli trails, frowning. “Though, I—or-or we guess now’s as good as any,”

They stop then, moving back to just staring at you. You stare back at them, eyes flickering from your boyfriend to your best friend, back and forth, absolutely stunned by what had just happened. Their complete ramble had done nothing to reassure you or even tell you what it exactly was they wanted to talk about – all it had done was make you more confused and nervous.

“So,” you press, shaking your head. “What is it?”

They look at each other, again, and then Demetri’s avoiding your gaze so you zero-in on Eli who is nervously wringing his hands together.

“Eli.”

He jumps slightly at your tone, before meeting your eyes and sighing. “It’s just something I’ve been noticing recently. Maybe it was always there but… but Y/N… why don’t you ever stand up for yourself?”

That definitely isn’t what you’d been expecting.

Blinking, you frown; “...what?”

“You’ve done it since middle school,” Demetri explains, always logical. “You used to stand up to bullies when they picked on me or Eli… but you never did it for yourself. I always kind of thought you were amazing, standing up to Kyler or Brucks or any of them…”

“Yet you’d get so quiet if they said anything about you,” Eli finishes, voice soft with concern and a certain tentativeness. He doesn’t want to upset you or make you feel like you’re being interrogated. “And now, even with karate, you have no confidence in yourself. You always expect the best out of us but the worst for yourself. I mean, you nearly attacked that Kenny kid when I got hurt but then you let Sam be Miyagi-do’s champion without a second thought.”

You shrink into yourself, feeling overwhelmed by everything. You know neither Eli or Demetri mean any harm by what they’re saying and it’s stemming purely for their concern and care for you but it’s a lot to take in all at once. 

You’d always sort of thought that no one really noticed that part of you – that intense, terrifying and self-deprecating part of you that had no faith or confidence in yourself. Moon had tried, and you figured you’d gotten a bit better at being a little more confident in yourself, at least when it came to your looks or body, but it was harder to tackle your mentality. It was natural for you to shrink away when it came to yourself just like the way it was natural for you to stand up for your friends if they were being hurt.

Mainly because you didn’t think you deserved it. Why would you? You were never strong enough when it actually mattered – you couldn’t do anything to help your dad when he got into drugs and alcohol and ruined his life, inevitably leading to his death. Part of you even thought you were the reason, because you were such a disappointment of a child. When your uncle got sick, you hadn’t been able to make him better and because of that, he died. And even your own mother couldn’t stand to be home with you for longer than a couple of days.

You had your friends. You liked to think they chose you, or at least you hoped… but you couldn’t stop the irrational fear that it was just because they felt bad.

Swallowing thickly, you hug yourself, feeling entirely too vulnerable in that moment. You step away, without even noticing, and Eli is quick to step towards you. 

“Y/N?”

“Sorry,” you rush out, panicking. “I just… I just don’t know what to say.”

Eli turns to Demetri, who sighs; “we’re just concerned for you.”

“I didn’t think anyone really noticed,” you shrug, still avoiding their gazes. “It’s just something I’ve always done. And it’s not really as big of a deal as you guys are making it… it’s what… makes sense.”

“You really think that?” Eli whispers.

You turn to him at that, surprised by his question and your heart breaks when you see the genuine hurt on his face. He looks so… upset at what you’ve said. And when you turn to Demetri, his expression is similar.

Was it really that wrong?

Squeezing yourself, you shrug; “I guess… yeah.”

Eli and Demetri look discouraged, a little at a loss on what to do, but it’s a passing expression. Eli glances back at Demetri and suddenly their expressions harden, turn sure and confident, and then they’re even smiling, a gentle, kind smile, which throws you for such a loop.

“Well then,” Demetri grins, “we’ll just have to make you see differently then, won’t we?”

Your lips part, surprised.

“Yeah,” Eli nods. “We’ll make you see how special you are. Because you are.”

You don’t respond. Not right away. You let yourself take a moment, staring at the determination in both of their eyes and then, before you even realize it, your vision is blurring as your eyes well with tears.

“Y/N?!”

Neither of them could truly understand what that meant to you at that moment. What hearing those words felt like. It was the first time anyone had ever said something so kind and it meant even more hearing it from them. It doesn’t solve everything but it heals something, you’re not sure – something small, but still, something.

In the next second you’re lunging forward, wrapping both of your arms around each of them and pulling them in for a hug. Demetri lets out a sputter while Eli stumbles towards you but you just squeeze them tighter, eyes falling shut as you grin.

“I love you guys.”

The words are whispered but they hear it all the same, and it brings a smile on both of their lips. Demetri glances at Eli from over your head, and with a knowing look, Eli leans into your embrace.

“Yeah,” Eli says honestly, “love you too.” He says it openly, and of course he loves Demetri, his longest friend, but the words are whispered while he looks at you, eyes full of love and care.

Demetri snorts; “I guess if you two are my only choice—”

You silence him with a light jab to the side with your elbow, Demetri just chuckles.

“Then,” he continues with a smirk, “I'd say I love you guys too.”

-

“So, uh, what’s the emergency? Why’d you have me bring all my gear?”

Turning to Robby and Miguel, you nod. You, Demetri and Eli had just been about to reach your house when you’d all gotten a text from Sam telling you guys to all head to Miguel’s apartment complex. The text itself had been very vague on the reasoning why, with only Demetri’s being slightly different as it had the request for him to grab his gear from work.

“You guys know as much as we do,” Miguel shrugs, “Sam told us to meet here.”

“Sam?” You raise a brow, frowning.

Miguel nods.

“At least she’s talking to you,” Robby sighs, arms crossed over his chest as he shakes his head. “I can’t even get a response from—”

“Tory?”

You turn in surprise at Eli’s voice, glancing to your left only to see, like he said, Tory making her way over to you all. Only, she’s with Sam.

“And Sam?” You question, baffled, as you meet Robby’s gaze briefly.

“What’s, uh…” Miguel trails, confused. “What’s up? Hi.”

They come to a stop before the five of you.

Robby shifts next to you, arms falling to his side as he frowns at Tory in concern; “what happened to your hand?”

Following his gaze, your lips part when you see what he has – her hand is wrapped up but you can see the tops of her knuckles and fingers are bruised and cut, her skin an angry red.

“Uh,” she stammers, glancing at her hand. “Training accident. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” You cut in, taking a step towards Tory as you glance at her in what you hope she thinks is genuine concern – it is, but you also know you’ve never really spoken to Tory and she thinks of you as a threat. “It looks painful.”

“O-Oh,” she stammers, somewhat confused but you’re thankful she doesn’t look insulted. She almost looks shocked at the fact that you care. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Then, after a moment, she adds; “thanks.”

You smile, relieved and Tory blinks at you.

“We think we have a way to prove Silver assaulted Stingray,” Sam cuts in, nodding at Miguel.

Tory nods; “if the attack happened at the old dojo, then it would’ve been after Silver installed security cameras.”

“So maybe it’s all on tape,” Miguel says.

Robby shakes his head; “but that place was cleaned out.”

“That might not matter,” Demetri speaks up, pulling your eyes on him. “I mean, the systems that we sell at TechTown all save the footage to a central server. Silver probably took the whole server with him.”

“I think he did,” Tory assures. “There is a server in his office at the flagship dojo.”

Eli grins from beside you; “if we can get access to it,” he gestures to him, Demetri and you. “We can find that footage. We could even post that sStingray clip to their YouTube channel.”

“Get a hold of everyone else,” Sam says, nodding. “Let them know that we’re taking down Cobra Kai… tonight.”

-

“Guys,” you call, rushing back into Silver’s office. “It’s not good out there. We need to hurry. How much longer?”

You say it with a tinge of panic – mainly because your friends were in an all out karate war with Cobra Kai right now and it was all because they were waiting for you three to find and upload the footage needed to take down Silver.

Eli, hushed over the desk next to Demetri, shakes his head at you, turning to Demetri.

“I-I’m almost done,” Demetri rushes, looking up from the iPad to glance at you. “Just a few more minutes.” panicked, he turns back to the screen, fingers working quick to type; “I need to log into their YouTube channel and upload the clip.”

Your lips part to say something, but then; “yo, check upstairs.”

“Oh, shit,” Eli calls, moving to make his way around the desk and fall next to you. “They’re coming,” he turns to Demetri, “be ready to go mobile.”

“Okay, screw it,” Demetri shakes his head; “we’re gonna have to upload it and publish via Wi-Fi.”

In the next second, Kyler and a few of his goonies come rushing around the corner. The second their eyes fall on you three, they’re all laughing, Kyler the loudest as he slows to a stop. “Yo, man,” Kyler snorts. “It’s just Lip, Yasmine’s bitch and…” His eyes squint at you for a moment, “aren’t you the girl who gives great blowjobs? You still hanging with these two losers?”

He says it with a mocking laugh, and freezing, you glance at your feet. You feel Eli’s eyes fall on you and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly.

“You heard Kenny when he dropped your ass,” Kyler continues, turning back to Eli. “Just a Faux-Hawk now.”

“You know what? That’s life,” Eli shrugs, “you win some, you lose some, but you gotta move on.” Blinking, you slowly glance up at Eli’s words, eyes widening when you see him standing up to Kyler and not shrinking into himself like he used to. There’s the confidence he’d gained with karate but the distinct lack of any cruelty in it; it… it’s a good look on him. “You never did. You’re still pulling the same old bully act. Even though everyone you bullied has kicked your ass.”

“I haven't,” Demetri sighs from behind the desk.

“You’ll get your turn,” Eli assures, “Kyler’s too stupid to ever learn his lesson.”

Kyler’s face burns red with anger and then he’s reeling back, moving to punch Eli, but he blocks the hit with ease, shifting Kyler to knee him right in the gut and sending him crashing to the ground. You flinch as Kyler comes crashing toward you, just as Eli smirks down at him; “and that’s for being an ass to my girlfriend.” 

Turning to Eli, you flush when he sends you a wink, feeling a burst of adrenaline at him standing up for you, before Eli turns to kick one of Kyler’s goonies. Once he’s done with that one he finishes off the last. Sending all three of them to the ground.

Kyler is pushing himself up to his feet but before he can, you lunge forward, almost on instinct, spinning as you send the heel of your foot right into his cheek. He falls back with a loud groan, face scrunching in pain.

Smirking down at Kyler, you snort; “who’s the one sucking it now.”

You hear Eli let out a laugh, grinning at you as he and Demetri swap, Eli moving behind the desk as Demetri rushing forward to kick down the other two Cobra Kai’s with practiced ease.

Demetri sends one of them flying towards you, and you quickly block a hit from him, not noticing the way Kyler gets up – again – and heads straight for Demetri. It isn’t until you’ve knocked out the dude attacking you and see Demetri send another kick right into Kyler’s face (making that the third one you realize with a smirk) and officially sending him down do you realize.

Instantly, you grin.

“Man, that felt good,” Demetri yells, full of adrenaline. “Bitch!”

“Nice, Demetri,” you cheer, grinning at him.

Just then, a beep echoes from the iPad;

“We got it,” Eli assures, closing the portable keyboard and pocketing it. “All right. It’s uploading to Cobra Kai’s channel.” Grabbing the iPad, he slides over the desk, falling in between you and Demetri. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Before you can make your way out, three more Cobra Kai’s rush in.

You, Eli and Demetri all glance at each other and then, nodding, you lunge forward.

You take the one to the right, ducking from the boy’s punch before sweeping your leg underneath you to send him backwards. When you turn, standing up, you are right behind Eli, pressing your back against his before you jut your leg in front of you, hitting the guy square in the chest.

Meeting Eli’s gaze, you nod, letting him grab you by the arm and swinging you around, to gain momentum, doing a twist and sending your fist right into the guy's cheek, effectively knocking him out.

Eli’s turning back to his guy just as Demetri’s opponent comes stumbling towards you; catching him by the shoulders, you send him back towards Demetri who grins at you, kicking the guy around the head.

When you turn, Eli’s opponent is on the ground too.

You grin at the two of them.

“That was badass,” Demetri breathes, mimicking your grin.

“Hell yeah,” Eli nods.

-

“Here.”

You glance up as something warm is wrapped around your shoulders, smiling when you realize it’s Eli wrapping a blanket around you. He moves to sit next to you at the back of the ambulance, having just finished being checked out by a doctor himself before he saw you sitting by yourself and rushed over to you.

“Thanks,” you whisper, pulling the blanket closer around yourself and snuggling into the warmth.

“You looked cold,” he grins, bumping into your shoulder gently.

You just laugh lightly, shaking your head before letting your gaze fall before you again. You take in all your friends scattered around, noticing Demetri out of the corner of your eye being pampered by Yasmine who looks concerned and angry at the same time for her boyfriend. You also see Sam and Miguel and Robby and Tory which makes you smile.

“That was crazy,” you comment after a moment. “Sensei Larusso was amazing too, beating Silver like that.”

“Yeah,” Eli shrugs, “but I thought you were pretty badass too.”

Turning to Eli, you flush at the grin he sends you. “Shut up,” you laugh, brushing off his compliment.

“I mean it,” he says, tone serious as he nods at you. “You kicked some serious ass.”

You shake your head, slipping your hand into his; “we all did,” you remind. “Demetri finally got to beat Kyler. That must’ve felt good.”

“So did you,” Eli reminds, quirking a brow.

You just smile up at him.

Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his lips; “yeah,” you whisper. “That definitely felt good.”

Eli chuckles.

Then, biting your lip, you squeeze his hand, pulling his eyes back on you. “Thanks for standing up for me, Eli,” you say, voice sincere and full of adoration. “It meant a lot.”

Eli uses his free hand to brush back your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “Well, it’s only fair. You’ve stood up for me more times than I can count.” There’s something sad on his face as he says it, as if full of regret. “It was about time I did it for you.”

Leaning back slightly, you shake your head; “Eli.” You call softly. “You know I never expected that out of you right?”

Eli just sighs. “I should’ve, though,” he huffs. “I mean… you did it for me so many times and I always just cowered away. Then, when I joined karate, I told you I’d finally be able to protect you like you always did me and then I just became a huge jerk.”

You frown, face falling. You had no idea that Eli had been so upset by all of that or that it had been impacting him that much either, carrying that guilt around with him constantly. You remember the day he speaks of, it was the last time Kyler had made a cruel and crude joke about you; that was before everything changed. Before he’d joined Cobra Kai and turned into the ‘Hawk’ and he’d promised you that he would get strong and brave enough to stand up for you.

Like he always wanted to.

Swallowing thickly, you shift towards Eli, pressing yourself against him as you squeeze his hand, holding it close and pressing your lips to his cheek. “I didn’t need you to stand up for me,” you reassure. “Because just having you near was enough. That’s all I want.”

Eli meets your eyes, surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling. “You’re all I need. Always.”

Glancing down at your entwined hands, Eli hesitates a moment; “I wish you could see how amazing you are.”

His voice is soft and the words are sincere. You feel your heart swell.

“I’ve spent a lot of my life blaming myself for things that… aren’t my fault.” It’s hard to say, hard to admit, when you’ve spent so much of your life punishing yourself and thinking otherwise. But what Eli and Demetri had said before and their genuine concern made you think, made you realize and see things in a way you never had before. “I don’t want to think that way anymore.”

Eli cups your cheek; “I don’t want you to either.”

“Okay,” you nod, voice a whisper as you smile, eyes watering. “Then help me see, Eli.”

“I will,” he says without hesitation, “I promise I will.”

He’s pressing his lips against your own in the next second and you lean into the affection, letting your eyes flutter shut as you curl into his grasp. You’re reassured by his words and it’s almost as if a weight is lifted off your shoulders at his promise.

It’s the lightest you’ve felt in years.

And it’s all thanks to Eli.

[deangirlsstuff67]

Her Biggest Fan- Part 2

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Who doesn't love a good fantasy or escape from our normal lives. When Y/N started this online adventre she never dreamed it would land her smack dab in the path of her favorite actor. Is there a chance this fantasy might become reality? And will the reality live up to the fantasy?

Warnings: talk of trauma, talk about divorce, language, fluffy Jensen

Authors Note: Here's part two that you were waiting for guys! I hope you enjoy. I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

Catch up with part one here. | Masterlist

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Jay: Do you ever regret your marriage?

You get asked this question a lot. Although it’s usually by friends and family not a complete stranger you met online.

Jay’s the only client you have that knows the truth about what went down. It’s strange but you feel like he never lies to you, in return you don’t lie to him. You leave out personal details and such but he has a general idea of what went down in your life.

Me: No. sounds weird considering what happened but I don’t. For a long time we were happy and in love. We had two beautiful babies together and at the time he was everything I wanted. People grow apart, it happens. Does that make what they did right? No, but it did make getting over him a lot easier.

It’s the truth. I don’t have many regrets in life. I’ve lived it basically the way I’ve always wanted. Sure we all make mistakes, we’re human, but I wouldn���t change what happened for the world. At that time in my life my ex husband was everything I could have wanted or needed.

Those needs and wants changed as the years went on. I grew up and he basically stayed 18 years old. That led to fights and bickering, which eventually led to him chasing my best friend and her becoming the other woman.

The day he left I lost not only my husband but my friend. It sucked. But again, I wouldn’t change how it happened. She was very much not a friend if she was willing to destroy my family instead of telling him to back off when he started flirting with her.

She’s just as much to blame as he is. I do hate her more though. I’ll be waiting to watch karma kick her ass in time.

Jay: That’s what I like about you, a horrible thing happens to you and here you are looking at the good side and taking the positive from it. So many people would be shallow and vindictive.

Me: Haha don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments within this divorce where I wasn’t close to happy go lucky or I was screaming at her in her drive way. I ain’t no angel. But in the long run I don’t get the point in living life in misery. I’m happy with myself and my life, my kids are happier, that’s all that matters to me.

Jay: You’re a good mom you know that.

Me: Jay, baby you don’t know me.

Jay: I know enough :) from what you say, I don’t need to know you in person. People who aren’t good parents don’t talk about their kids like you do. You put your own emotions away to make sure they have a good life… trust me that isn’t a common thing.

Me: fucking should be. Why have kids if you’re gonna be selfish.

Jay: There are people out there who have kids with their partners because either they thought it would save their relationship or they believed it was what the other wanted and wanted to make them happy. There are many reasons I'm sure, I think as you do however, shouldn't have them unless you want to be a parent and enjoy the good as much as the bad fo parenthood.

Me: Sorry if this is prying too much but you sound like you are talking from experience?

Jay: Guess I am sweetheart.

Me: Would you want to talk about it?

The two of you have been chatting for months now. You've grown close, you also don't intrude into his personal life unless he brings it up himself. This is why you don't if he's married, have kids, or in general who he is.

By no means is it that you don't want to get to know him on a deeper level, at the end of the day though that isn't why most of these men pay you and you know that.

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It's Friday and your best friend is out on the farm today with her kiddos. The two of you are working on fixing some of your fencing today as the kids run like lunatics in the field.

"He's married with kids?"

"Three of them apparently."

"How do you feel about that?" I love how concerned she is for my mental health and heart. I can guarantee properly over half of my clients are married, I'm also guessing a lot of kids. The way I see OnlyFans is no diifferent than porn. Men and women use it to escape or relax for a moment.

I love her concern for me but there is no reason for it. Jay is a great distraction and escape from my hectic life. He's amazing to chat with but I'm by no means shocked he has a wife and kids.

Lighting a smoke, we take a break from the job at hand, "I'm not shocked, most of the guys I talk with probably are honestly. It's not a dating website by any means."

"He seems perfect though, just so weird to imagine him married now."

"Thats where they fantasy comes in to play girl. That's the whole point."

Your phone dings on the back of your truck.

Jay: How's fencing going darling?

Me: Good, taking a break right now. Watching the kids be crazy in the field.

Jay: So jealous right now :)

Me: Haha jealous of me sweating, arms sore from hammering in staples and stretching fencing? God what are you doing that this sounds better to you haha?

Jay: We have family over for the weekend. There isn't a moment of peace today. I am hiding in my bathroom right now.

Me: Family is nice once in a while though. I do understand the peace thing.

Jay: Family isn't the problem sweetheart.

Me: Then what is?

Jay: Umm...

.....

Moments passed and the bubbles at the bottom of the screen and disappear repeatedly before they are gone for a couple minutes.

Going back to the task at hand you can't shake the feeling that he is struggling with something much worse than he has let on in the past.

Ding.

Grabbing you're phone you are shocked when a paragraph comes through.

Jay: My marriage hasn't been the best the last couple years. We are staying together for the kids. However, we haven't shared any of the problems with anyone in our family or friends, keeping up the happy couple facade is tiring. She tries too hard to show that we love each other still when in reality for years we've been sleeping in seperate rooms, barely interacting, I throw myself into work more and more. However, divorce is tricky considering how our life is.

Wow. You weren't expecting that at all. Would explain why he had no problem opening up and getting close with you as much as texting each other daily allows.

Me: Divorce sucks no matter why it happens. Trust me I know how that feels. I also understand the drama that can come from friends and family. All I can say is if you aren't happy Jay, suffering to keep your family together for your kids sake will be more damaging for them than you and your wife being miserable together.

Jay: It goes beyond that.

Me: What do you mean?

There is a pause again after you press send. Your friend looking at you with a confused look on her face, "What's up?"

"Oh just stuff Jay and I are talking about. He's confessing some shit to me is all and I'm trying to help him as best as I can."

She doesn't press because she knows I don't tell her personal information. I share vague details or stuff that I have said to him but nothing more. You're clients pay for you to keep your mouth shut about what they say or do. Unless it's something dangerous or concerning there is no reason to run my mouth with information people trust me to keep to myself.

We are working on the last strand of fencing when your phone goes off again about 10 minutes later.

Your phone tells me its an image that has been sent.

Oh my fucking god, he is going to reveal who he is to me. You are both excited and scared to open the message. You aren't sure why he would send a photo in response to what you sent to him, but you know he has a reason for it.

Half figuring it may be a dick pic to get you both off the heavy subject and create a fun atmosphere for you to play in again. Opening his message thread, you're jaw fucking drops as you stare at your screen.

What the fuck.

No god damn way is this real.

There sitting on your texting thread is a photo of a beautiful, green eyed man with a sad smile on his face. The selfie has been taking in a bathroom, assuming it's the one he's currently hiding in.

For the past 5 months you've been playing out this fantasy in your head everytime the two of you text to one another. Dear god you've seen his cock hard, soft, leaking pre cum, and full on cumming from the images you have placed in his mind. Turns out your fantasy has been reality.

You've been getting close with Jensen Ackles... Jensen fucking Ackles pays to talk with you every freaking day. You brain miss fires as you try to understand the reality that has hit you square in the face.

Me: Wow. I'm not going to lie that was the last thing I was expecting when I opened your message. With that being said I understand what you mean about it being more complicated, that still doesn't mean that you have to live a miserable life because of who you are. Yes, you are famous. You are still just a human and you deserve to live a life full of happiness and excitement and adventures. To love someone who loves you back just as much. Someone who would be honoured to lay next to you and talk about what you did at work that day.

Jay: Does this change things between us?

Me: Fuck no! I mean we've talked about how I'm a fan of your shows, so if it does for you than I would understand. As for me, I'm going to treat you as I do normally. Hate to break it to you Jensen, you're just a guy ;)

Jay: Fuck me woman. You are incredible you know that. Most woman would find out who I am and completely freak out. They would treat me different and try so hard to impress me. You on the other hand, you humble me with one sentence haha.

Me: You're a human. You have a good job, that you are great at. You are a dad. You have good days and bad days. You are funny, smart, make dumbass choices, and live a life you want. You are like everyone else. My guess is the last thing you want is someone who has spent numours nights making you cum and seeing your cock fan girl over you.

Jay: Yeah that would be awkward. Thank you sweetheart. So I have to ask, I'm guessing -your screen name- isn't your real name, any chance I can know your actual name?

Me: It's y/n.

Jay: Beautiful name for a beautiful woman :) I should get back out there. Talk later?

Me: Of course. I'm here when you need me Jay.

Your friend left a few hours later. You made supper for your kids and dropped them off with your ex husband for the weekend. By the time you got home Jensen has messaged you again. You can't fight the smile that crosses your face when his name pops up on your screen.

You never thought your fantasy would ever become a reality.

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Read Part Three Here

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