#it’s been said before but like things with wheels are scary!!!

[ephemeral-winter]

I can just about cope with living in a car-dominated urban environment because we have one of the better public transit systems in the country plus a mayor who cares a lot about bike lanes but I cannot cope with how many drivers seem to simply not know the law. Rolling stops are illegal!!!! They are especially illegal in dense urban environments!!!

[tasteracha]

kinktober - day sixteen

kink: sex toys with jilix

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. sex toys, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, afab!reader. mention of hentai (typical jlix things). 3k.

it’s something that felix and jisung bring up all the time. throughout your entire time as roommates slash best friends with benefits they’ve talked about it, but they’ve never followed through with it. 

they want to ruin you. stretch you so far that you’re left with your pussy gaping, fill you up so far that it feels like your breath is taken away. the thought of it sends you into a dizzy spell if you think about it too long, but it’s always just that. a thought. you’re not sure why, since every other kink that’s been brought up has been tried and added to the ranked bulletin board in your room.

handcuffs? yes, enthusiastically. 

petplay? no, much to jisung’s poorly concealed disappointment.

stuffed full of sex toys? TBD.

but no matter how many times any of you had brought it up, whether it be giggling into a glass of wine or holding hands in the dark under your covers, they never made any moves to make it become reality. 

so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

it’s almost too easy to sneak an excessively large order of sex toys onto jisung’s credit card, the one he had given to you with a wink and a whispered you know what to do with this. you hadn’t known what to do with it, but you pocketed the card anyways, saving it for a rainy day. maybe this is what he had meant when he said that to you - you’ll find out soon, probably. 

by the time it arrived you were almost sick with anticipation, the thought of it not leaving you as you obsessively checked the tracking of your package every possible second. when it finally arrived they weren’t home, and you opened it without abandon, ripped pieces of cardboard littering the floor. they looked…daunting. almost scary. incredibly exciting.

“tomorrow,” felix says, more to the contents of the box than to you. “tomorrow, we’re going to ruin you with these.”

“tomorrow?” both you and jisung whined together, and you exchanged a fist bump over the box as felix huffed at you. 

and yet, with all of the impatient waiting you did in the past week (and jisung in the past day), tomorrow came sooner than you could catch up with. you were naked on the mattress before you could even blink, cunt clenching around nothing as you watched them lay out the materials that you had so meticulously picked out.

it might be a little too soon for an endeavor like this, it would be smarter to try out every toy first and make sure you were comfortable with all of them, but they’ve kept you waiting too long for this for you to think about being smart right now. 

they lined the toys up at the foot of the bed, all washed and sanitized and ready for whatever filthy use they were going to be put through. there’s four of them, varying in size, girth and length, color, and vibrations and thrusting ability, and you’re already a bit overwhelmed just looking at them. 

or rather, a lot overwhelmed. 

they make eyes at each other over you, having some kind of silent conversation in the creepy way that they do. felix nods and moves to sit by your head, moving you around until your upper body was half in his lap. jisung, on the other hand, picks up the first toy and examines it, twisting it around in his hand. 

“relax, baby,” felix’s voice rumbles through you, and you melt into him a bit when he runs his hand through your hair. 

jisung’s eyes are fixated on your pussy now, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he imagines how wrecked you’re going to be once they’re done with you. 

“jisung, come on,” you whine, wriggling a bit in felix’ lap. 

“let me enjoy this,” he bites back, sending you a playful glare. 

“i think i’m the one who’s supposed to be enjoying this,” you pout, relaxing back into place when felix tugs at a strand of your hair. 

“oh trust me, you will,” felix’s voice grumbles from behind you, vibrations from it dousing your body just as jisung finally touches you. it’s not quite where you want, his hand is tracing up and down your thigh, but it’s something. 

he takes his time mapping out your skin, planes of smooth flesh that he’s seen and felt and loved before, but never this slowly. never this reverently. it’s almost frustrating, but felix begins massaging your neck and shoulders and you’re too relaxed to provide any protest beyond a frustrated huff of breath as your eyes flutter closed. 

“no, stay with us,” felix coaxes your eyes open, and you almost giggle at how funny he looks upside-down from where you’re laying. it feels like time is moving in slow-motion as jisung uncaps the lube and drizzles it on the toy, the smallest one you had chosen. it’s thin with a bulbous head, created specifically to hit right at your g-spot, a smooth metal with a lustrous purple finish. it’s beautiful, even more so when he runs the cool metal head up and down your folds, warming it up. when it gets to your hole you nearly swallow it up, the glide almost too easy from the lube and your wetness that’s been building since before you even took off your clothes. 

“eager, are we?” jisung teases, and you just snarl back at him, too impatient to deal with being in a sarcastic argument with him right now. you usually love his playful banter during sex, but that’s when you’re in a mutual push and pull dynamic. right now the only thing you want him to push is the toy into you. “fine, i’ll give you what you want, but remember that you asked for it.”

all at once, he’s thrusting it in and out of you, twisting his hand just right so that it hits your spot every single time. it’s already almost too much, and you push up against felix to try and get away from the sudden onslaught. he just laughs, pinning you in place as jisung keeps going and going and going. 

it only takes a few minutes for your orgasm to approach, expectantly fast with how keyed up you’ve been since you woke up. you’re just starting to come when — in one quick move — jisung removes the toy and replaces it with his fingers, crooking them up right where he knows you like it best, over and over. the change in pace makes everything so much more intense, and you can’t stop your body from arching off of the bed, your head pressed into felix’ thighs. it feels like minutes before you slump back onto the mattress, panting hard and twitching from aftershocks. he removes his fingers, holding them up so you and felix could see how slick they are from being inside of you. he sticks them in his mouth, sucking at them a bit like a lollipop, and lets out an appreciative noise at the taste. you hide your face into felix’ leg, embarrassed at his actions. 

jisung doesn’t let you recover before grabbing the second toy, a bright pink vibrator complete with a thrusting head. he forgoes the lube this time, choosing to scoop up your wetness onto his fingertips and spread it across the toy instead. you whine when his fingers brush your clit, overly sensitive even though it hadn’t been touched yet. he settles the tip of it against your hole, rubbing at it in tiny circles.

“what a greedy fucking pussy,” jisung says, almost clinical in the way he looks at felix with an arched brow. like he’s not talking about a person. “just came and she’s already leaking for more.”

felix just hums, dark eyes fixed on the way your bottom lip is stuck between your teeth as jisung slides the second toy into you. it settles in perfectly, leaving you so comfortably full that you think you could fall asleep like this, especially after coming as hard as you just had. 

“what did i tell you?” felix says, accentuating his words with another sharp tug to your hair. “stay with us, baby.” 

“i’m - ah,” your breath leaves you as jisung flicks the vibrator on. even at it’s lowest setting, it sends pulses of pleasure swimming through you, and you feel hot all over. the heat intensifies when he pushes the toy just a little further into you and presses the button for the thrusting to start. it feels strange at first, the rubber head so different to jisung or felix’s cocks, but then he angles it upwards just so and there it is. 

every time you clench down onto it you feel your toes and fingertips tingle with pleasure, little pricks of static taking over your limbs. jisung holds the base close to your entrance, keeping in place as it thrusts into you in a perfectly delicious rhythm. 

“this one might be my favorite,” jisung says, and he sounds like he’s kneeling down to worship something rather than kneeling to absolutely wreck you. you try and reply, but your words get swallowed by a series of sounds that escape your throat. “felix, find a way to shut her up, will you?” 

it’s almost comical the way jisung turns into a control freak when it came to sex; you weren’t complaining though, even when felix hooks his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. jisung turns the vibrations up and you come for the second time, your eyes rolling so far back that you’re almost scared they’ll get stuck there. he keeps the toy there, letting you ride out your orgasm, and he only turns it off when you start to twitch with oversensitivity. 

“is it my turn now?” felix takes his thumb out of your mouth and strokes his hand down your face, leaving a trail of your spit down your cheek. “i want a turn, you’re hogging her.”

“whiny baby,” jisung tuts, but he stands up from where he had been kneeling in front of you. he drops a kiss to your inner thigh before switching spots with felix, settling in behind you. 

while felix had let your hands wander, clenching in and out of fists as you got more and more into it, jisung had no such notion to give you freedom. he immediately traps your wrists into one of his hands once he was sure your head was comfortable in his lap, and his other hand comes to rest at your collarbone. it’s possessive, the way his fingers curl up just a bit like he’s waiting for a reason to run his nails down your skin. 

the third toy that felix picks up is a normal dildo, clear glass in a respectable size and length, and you’re almost glad for a little normalcy right now. 

“should i eat you out first? make you come on my tongue before using this?” he asks, mouth so close to your clit that you could feel his breath hitting it. it made you shiver. 

“if you do that i might not last,” you groan, trying to clamp your thighs shut but you were stopped by felix’s hands. “you’ll have to scrape my body off of the bed.”

“i’ll have to do that anyways when i’m through with you,” he teases, drawing back a bit. “but you’re right. i want to see your face when i ruin you, and it’s hard to do that from down there.”

the slide of the dildo entering you was almost undetectable after jisung had dealt with you, the only thing you could feel was the coolness of the glass and the fullness in your lower belly. 

you sigh, letting your head fall back into jisung. maybe felix would go easy on you for the first one? you let your body relax so felix could push it all the way in. 

you regretted that almost immediately though - felix, with all of his dancer’s grace and control, knows exactly what to do with his hands. knows how to twist his wrist just right, how to speed up and slow back down in perfect timing, and it doesn’t matter that it’s just a normal dildo because he isn’t a normal fucking person. 

he alternated between an insanely fast and agonizingly slow rhythm, never letting you get used to one before switching to the other. every time you got close, he’d angle it just away from your spot, leaving you teetering on the edge of an orgasm over and over. 

if jisung wasn’t holding you down you’d be thrashing against the sheets right now. 

when felix finally let’s you come it’s with his mouth sucking at your clit and your body taught as a rope. it feels like hours before you come down, wave after wave of boiling pleasure burning through your veins, taking over your whole body. 

“okay?” jisung asks as felix pulls the toy out of you, shushing you when you whine at the feeling. 

“guh,” you let out, the most intelligent response you can offer him right now. he lets go of your wrists to intertwine his hands in yours, keeping you close but knowing that you needed the grounding. 

the last toy was really for them. you know that they’re little freaks inside, and you couldn’t stop yourself from selecting it - a bright green and red silicone toy, shaped like a tentacle. it’s wide at the base, about the size of your fist, and that brings up another idea that you store in your head for later. the tip is tapered, and little faux suction cups line the entire surface of the toy. it isn’t too long, but god it’s thick. 

felix picks up the bottle of lube and coats the thing generously, and you’re grateful for it. for how big it is, you weren’t sure if your body was capable of slicking it up without some help. 

“can’t,” you stutter out when he places the tip at your entrance, teasing it inside of you. you wanted to move away but you couldn’t, jisung made sure of that. 

“you can,” jisung coos at you, the first time he’s spoken since switching places with felix. “you know what to say it you really can’t. but i think you can, baby girl.”

he’s right. through all of this, your safeword hadn’t even breached through to your consciousness. you still wanted this, as insane as it was. 

“fuck, you’re stretched out,” felix curses, pushing the toy into you. you can feel it all the way in your throat, even though it was only a little over halfway inside of you. god, was he going to try and get the whole thing in?

the answer was yes, he was. he twists his wrist, letting your body get used to the girth of the toy for a moment before pulling it out almost all the way. he slowly slides it back in, and the squelch of the suction cups dragging in and out makes you flush so hard you feel lightheaded. 

jisung is breathing hard behind you, and you revel in how affected he is right now. you chose well, you did good.

you’ve never had something inside of you that felt like this; it wasn’t moving but you could imagine if it was, in the ways that tentacles did in the hentai jisung made you watch - you never understood the appeal until now. you wanted it to completely engulf you. you had almost forgotten that it was attached to felix’s hand until he started pumping it in and out of you, absolutely obscene sounds filling the room from both it and your own mouth. 

when you come for the last time it’s a fragile thing, slow rolls of heat washing over you, less intense but no less pleasurable. you feel floaty even felix removes the toy carefully, dumping it on the floor and pressing a flutter of kisses to your thighs. your head is sailing through the clouds just as your body feels weightless, the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed being their hands on you. 

“let’s get her cleaned up,” jisung says, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“no, ‘m not done,” you mumble, half into jisung’s arm where your mouth is now squished. there’s a line of drool running from your lips down his skin, but you’re too exhausted to care about something that would normally send you into a fit of embarrassment. 

“oh, she’s out,” felix sounds almost in awe, like he can’t believe the state the two of them had pushed you towards. that he couldn’t believe that, even though you couldn’t move a single limb in your body, you were still asking for more. felix reaches to the nightstand where he had placed a cool water bottle with a straw peeking out, and he holds it up to your mouth so you can suck small sips. the water feels heavenly, soothing your parched throat perfectly. did he put magic in this water? it sure feels like he did. 

you didn’t realize that you were talking out loud until they laugh, the sound of it sending happiness throughout your entire body. you made them happy. 

“hi baby,” felix materializes at your side, cradling your face in his hands so you are looking at him instead of the ceiling. “bath or washcloth?”

“can’t move,” you replied, hoping he’d understand. when he comes back with a washcloth and starts cleaning you up, you know he did. he knows you so well. 

you let out a series of whines when he cleans around your pussy, the burn of overstimulation bordering on painful now. jisung soothes you with a kiss for each one, his hands still intertwined with yours. 

you fall asleep before felix finishes, and you miss the way they both look at you with nothing but adoration in their eyes. 

—

kinktober masterlist

[vivwritesfics]

lando with girlfriend who races for mercedes but got into a crash and was in coma, but she finally wakes up

This picture does stuff to me

(set 2024)

Second part HERE

"Holy shit," Lando said as he watched his girlfriend walk onto the grid. He watched as she walked over, racing overalls low on her hips, black fireproofs adorning her body.

Lando licked his lips as she stood beside him and Oscar, leaning against the barrier with her arms folded over her chest. "Wow, baby," he said, staring at her.

"Like what you see?" She grinned.

Lando said nothing. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Tell Toto I like the black fire proofs."

It was Y/N's first season in Formula One, her first race too. She was the F2 champion two years running before Mercedes finally gave her a chance. She'd been with Lando since her F2 days, after they'd met in Monaco after the Grand Prix.

"Excited?" Oscar asked as he watched them.

Yes, Y/N was excited. But she'd never been on the track with her boyfriend, had never had to fight him before. Neither of them knew what they were going to do. They both hoped they would treat each other like any other driver, but the rest of the grid was doubtful.

"Very," she said to Oscar as she leaned her head on Lando's shoulders. "I'll blow you both a kiss when I come speeding past, lapping you ."

She had done extremely well for her first qualifying in F1, qualifying on the second row. Lando was 6th through a mistake in Q3 and Oscar was pack in 9th after he got his times deleted.

It was amazing, driving behind a three time world champion and a second time world champion. Y/N did her absolute best, holding her position.

And then Checo Perez tried his luck. He went around the outside of Y/N on turn one. But he didn't leave enough space, hitting her wheel pretty bad and sending her spinning into the barriers at such a high speed. But the car didn't just hit the barrier and bounce off. It hit the barrier and kept going, ripping off chunks of the car and sending them flying.

It wasn't too terrifying at first. It was still scary, though, Y/N's first race and her first big crash in F1. To make things worse it wasn't even her fault. She was having such a good race, doing everything she should have, and then Checo Perez fucked it all up for her.

As chunks of the car got ripped away by the barrier, the Mercedes team was still pretty sure she'd make it out. But then a piece of debris bit the wheel and shot up into the ear, coming back down and hitting the top of Y/N's helmet.

Suddenly, things were scary. The car came to a stop, pieces of it all over the track. "Y/N, are you okay?" Asked her engineer.

She didn't respond.

"Y/N? If you can hear me, please say something?"

Again, nothing. The Mercedes team were beginning to get worried.

***

"Red flag, Lando. That's a red flag," said Lando's engineer.

"What happened?" He asked as everybody pulled into the pitlane.

His engineer took a minute to answer. The team didn't know what was best, to tell Lando and have him freaking out, or to let him find out on his own.

"Uh, there's a Mercedes with some damage," the engineer said.

Lando's face went pale inside of his helmet. He knew the car in front of him was Hamilton, meaning the only other Mercedes on the track was...

Lando parked the car in the pitlane, the same as everybody else. He immediately climbed out of the car and started running. His engineer and the McLaren team tried to stop him, but Lando was still running. It was hot inside of his helmet, but nothing was going to stop him.

When Lando got down there, she still hadn't been pulled from the car, the debris was being removed, but Y/N wasn't. "Baby!" He shouted and ran over.

The stewards tried to hold him back, but Lando pushed them away. He began trying to pull her out of his car. As soon as they saw what he was doing they began helping him, pulling Y/N's limp body out of the car.

Limp, but not lifeless. At least, that was what the paramedics said as they lifted her into the ambulance.

Lando didn't want to attend the rest of the race. He couldn't concentrate as he waited for the race to restart. "Let Pato drive," he mumbled as he waited for news from the hospital. Nothing, and that was making him so fucking worried.

[ohsunnyboy]

stopping me now | jung sungchan ˚₊‧⁺˖

early mornings, bitter coffee and jung sungchan, all staples of your office life until one morning goes wrong just right

TAGS: office!au, gn!reader, romcom type of vibe, forced proximity, strangers to lovers, sorta mutual pining, awkward!reader who is rly intense abt their spreadsheets

A/N: office au is my fav au so sungchan in one is my ultimate self-indulgence! sorry it's been a while :] (first riize fic let's goooo)

WORDS: ~1950

Jung Sungchan is missing.

Ding! 

You don't actually know each other. Counting the months, it's been almost a year of standing in silent acknowledgement within this tiny elevator. In fact, you shouldn't even know his name! You only managed to find it out when he dropped his lanyard when you two were clocking out, and you picked it up for him, but he only blushed, yelped his thanks and ran!

Was he hiding unapproved invoices? was his department over budget? you swear that the accounting department isn't that scary!

Ding!

Should standing in an elevator for nearly fifteen minutes count as your morning commute? It really shouldn't but here you are. The coffee in your hands went cold about 5 floors ago, the usual ache in your feet is starting to kick in, and you can feel the humidity wreaking havoc on your hair. You really do want to curse out the big shot who thought that having offices on the 40th floor was a good idea. Partly, you think that Sungchan would also curse them out as well.

By floor thirty something, you almost fall asleep before a familiar sight steps into the lift. And unfortunately enough, he looks to be in the same state as you are.

Ready to murder, or be the first one to die in said horror film. You wonder if Sungchan likes horror movies too. Every office worker should: it gets the stress out very well. In fact, he might’ve been staying up late watching them; the bags under his eyes really don’t compliment the lack of caffeine in his hands. You almost feel half tempted to give him your own cold cup to help tide his morning over.

Sungchan slots right into place at the back of the elevator next to you. His broad shoulders knocking into you slightly due to the cramp of the lift.

After a year of it, you’d like to think you’re used to the space he takes up in your life; physically and mentally.

The thing is, for a guy that works an office job, Jung Sungchan is not a bad looking man at all. Always looking like he's attending the first day of school with a pressed collar and ironed tie, it's hard to look... and not fall in love with him in the process. Never once in your commuting life have you ever seen a hair out of place on him. He's closest you've ever physically gotten to the picture of corporate happiness and 100% customer satisfaction, while you get into daily arguments with your Excel spreadsheet.

Ding!

A trolley of files comes wheeling into the cube of claustrophobia, forcing you to squeeze further into the corner until you find yourself between a cold corner and a warm place. The thought of whatever department’s budget goes flying out the window when — Ah.

The smell of citrus falls over you like a waterfall. Sungchan’s cologne must be dumped in his hair because it’s suddenly all you know. It makes you dizzy, so much so, that you barely notice him sheepishly grinning down at you. He’s leant on his forearm, next to your head, caging you in, and his other is desperately trying not to dig his messenger bag into your side.

"So sorry about this," he whispers. It feels conspiratorial in the tight space, but almost everyone else has earbuds in and probably have bigger things to worry about.

You tilt up to look at him, not forgetting to linger on the long column of his throat exposed by his grey suit. "S'fine,” you mumble up to him, sorely aware of the way his wide eyes stare into yours. "Nice to meet you?" you eke out. You try and go for casual and smooth, but your heart sounds like a clattering of the subway: raucous in your ears.

Maybe it has been a year of pining away. Staring after Sungchan and his unfairly good proportions and rolling mountain shoulders. You don’t know how the PR interns haven’t already kidnapped him to make some sexy corporate calendar. However, you do know that it would increase revenue for the entire first quarter and save you about 10 less board meetings on budget caps. The content of said photoshoots is all you can dazedly think about as he shifts again, shuffling further into the wall and further into your mental mess.

Ding!

Sungchan’s smile is wicked as it breaks you from your thoughts. "Lovely to meet you, elevator buddy." And he sends you an overconfident wink for your efforts – with a small blush to dash. “Would love to shake your hand but, we’re ah – a bit occupied.”

You quirk a brow. “Elevator buddy?”

Sungchan’s grin doesn’t relent, even at your scrunched expression. "I've spent the past year calling you that, you're not stopping me now.” He says the last bit under his breath, as the lady with the trolley backs up even further into him and pushes him impossibly closer to you. His lips end up skimming your forehead and sending an involuntary chill down your spine, while your right hand ends up flat on his chest, your left jammed awkwardly into your side with your coffee.

Pull it together, please God, pull it together.

“The last year?” Is all you can get out coherently. It’s impossible to take deep breaths when every thought in your head is being thrown out of a metaphorical window. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters. This elevator crush is going to haunt you for life if you go back to silence after all this. Stop asking questions damn it!

Sungchan hums, the sensation sinking into your bones. “It’s about then, no? It was my first time in the building because it was the BigHit and Pledis merger last year,” he says, awfully fond. “You had a massive dossier of balance sheets, and I crashed into you in the elevator lobby because you never saw me. Your papers went everywhere!” Sungchan trails off in a laugh, however your mind starts taking very careful steps back into the past…

You barely remember last year. Only the stress piling up on your table from one too many days working after hours in the quiet with Eunseok. The grid lines of spreadsheets permanently etched onto your screens and into your retinas. Neither company was willing to give an inch for each other in spite of the whole “merger” idea, forcing far too many revisions, far too close to the deadline those prissy higher ups set. And so, the entire fate of departments rested on your two heavily overworked shoulders.

Running into someone like Sungchan would have never crossed your mind then. Being all wrapped up in your stress, there was no way you’d pay that much attention to a pretty face. One incident in particular though… ding!

“Wait… you’re the one that spilt their pretentious oat milk chai latte on the finalised budget reports?!” You don’t even know if that was his actual drink order but all you remember was flying into a fit of red rage when green bled all over your precious, freshly printed work.

To hell with kissing him; a kiss with your fist was way more overdue. 

Sungchan practically squawks as he jumps to justify himself. “I didn’t spill anything! I just accidentally walked into you and the papers – and my latte ­– went flying! Not my fault.” His hand snakes down from the wall and onto yours resting on his chest. If you could physically look him in the eyes, you’d be sure there’d be some fire of determination in them.

Now, it’s his heartbeat, clattering under your ear like the ticking of keycaps; it’s his heat, sticking his shirt under your palm like tack; it’s his voice, shaking like an intern at the barest critique. His hand dwarfs yours: long fingers tracing the lines of yours. 

Your temper matches in step with your heart, beating against your mind in double time. “Do you know how long it takes to print double sided for a full dossier?! All of it to end up on the floor, covered in your hipster green tea latte! I have full authority to half whatever budg—"

Ding!

— “Hey, you two, this is your floor.” The tired voice of general manager Kim Doyoung chirps in. Red floods your face at the thought of someone watching you lose your head. Nevertheless, Doyoung watches on with a boredom only he could achieve. “You, save the death threats for feedback week, and Sungchan — don’t mess with someone from accounting.”

Sungchan takes the hint and peels himself off you, the smell of citrus still making you dizzy. The crowd barely parts, but he uses his size, pushing the way for the both of you. His enormous hand holding yours through the crowd and guiding you out of the cube of stress. When the doors whir shut behind you, he takes your empty coffee cup and dumps it into the bin.

Never would you think you’d be left hand in hand with Sungchan in an isolated elevator lobby. He’s still clasped onto you with a vice grip: his heat searing into your palms like hot iron. It burns being this close. The buzzing AC in the lobby being the only thing keeping you alive.

Nobody talks for a second, letting the silence say it’s piece before your mouth starts moving before you’ve processed what it’s doing. "If anyone reports us to HR, I am so so sorry.”

Sungchan takes a breath, blinking those wide doe eyes at you before his face splits into a grin. “No, don’t worry. I don’t think Doyoung-hyung will kick up much fuss,” he smiles.

Only now do you remember Doyoung is the head of HR and your heart kicks into double time again, but how is Sungchan so calm about this? As if reading your mind, he squeezes your hand to reassure you before dropping your it. “Stop looking so worried! Just look.” He pulls his lanyard out from where he usually stashes it in his breast pocket, and you nearly trip over your feet when you see it.

"I am HR." What the hells.

The look on your face must give it all away as Sungchan’s laugh echoes in the empty elevator lobby. And hells, the kid – is he even younger than you?? – knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger. "Maybe I will just file a complaint,” he says with a smile. “What was that again? Threatening to half our department budget?”

He tilts his head all coy like he’s not the one at fault here. The audacity, really. You shake your head in mild disbelief and shrug off your nerves. Oh, you know what? Might as well go for it. What’s stopping you now? Definitely not HR.

"Bold words from someone who singlehandedly setback the entire Bighit-Pledis merger back by a whole day,” you counter, head raised in even challenge. Sensible accountant alarm bells are ringing in your mind, but you clamp down on them. “Shouldn’t you, be making up to me?”

It’s your turn to fan your lashes and pout your lips. Savouring in the way he pretends to think and avoid staring at your pouted lips.

"There might just be something..." His long fingers pull you in by the lapels, just a hair away. A blush must flush all the way down you from the way his eyes light up. You watch his lips curl into that grin of his, already thinking about what’s next. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters.

"Not here, sweetness." And his smile is just as deadly as yours.

Fuck the spreadsheets. You’ve got a private meeting in board room #127 with corporate happiness.

hope i haven’t lost my touch :) thanks sm for reading and if you enjoyed, a reblog would be nice to help encourage more <3 ⭒ masterlist

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training II (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

When you opened your eyes, it was dark.

For a moment, you thought that maybe you’d gone blind, but you could just barely make out the shape of your hand in front of your face. There’d even been a split second where your heart stuttered, thinking you were buried in a box or something, but then you’d sat up. You were on a soft surface, and it didn’t take much longer to realize that it was a bed.

You couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard you stared or where you looked. It was all just dark, and with difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your body felt weighed down, almost like it was filled with sand, and you stood still for a moment, pressing your hand to your head. That gave you pause…and you sniffed.

The smell of blood hit your nose, and your lips parted, eyes widening.

You stumbled back, bumping into a wall, and a loud gasp escaped you. You stared ahead into nothing, eyes watering as you remembered watching your friends die one by one. Pietro was the first to go, dying for something as silly as trying to protect you. Wanda had died for even less, and Michelle… You struggled to breathe, recalling MJ’s last moments and how she used them to push you away.

You pressed your hands to your face, tears wetting your palms, and before you could stop yourself, a loud wailing noise climbed out of your throat. Your knees shook, and you were falling before you realized it. Your forehead touched the floor as you cried, and you wanted to convince yourself that it was all a nightmare.

It had to be.

You had to be still in the car, Pietro behind the wheel as he argued with Wanda, MJ listening to whatever songs she had on her phone. You had to still be asleep, your mind coming up with the most horrific nightmare possible. That had to be the truth, but everything felt too real.

Your skin felt too dirty, the stench of dried blood was too strong, your ankle ached too much. All the signs pointed to otherwise, that this was your reality, and you cried harder. You couldn’t see a thing, didn’t even know where you were, and you didn’t know what to do. Those cops had to have brought you here, and you wondered why.

They’d killed your friends like it was nothing, had talked about their bodies like they were nothing, and it made your chest clench painfully. You didn’t understand why they did that, what was going on, and more importantly…why you? Your friends had been taken from you so violently, and you were still alive, and you didn’t know why.

There was too much going on in your head, and you fought to remember everything that had happened. You remembered the blond one, the scary one, saying something to Peter. Peter was the one who’d looked nice…sweet. He’d been friendly, and at the time, you’d thought he was a little too friendly, but you’d written it off. Now…you wished that you hadn’t.

Are you taking her or not?

That was what he’d said, and the words had only served to confuse you then, but now you understood. He had taken you. Where? Only God knew, but you were fighting with the fact that you were now a statistic. You’d been taken, by cops no less, and that fact only made you cry more. Any chance of you getting out of here seemed laughable because these guys were professionals.

You felt cold, and you knew it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. You peeled your eyes open and kept them open, because every time you closed them, all you saw was your friends. Bloody and lifeless. It made your stomach turn, and you fought the urge to be sick. You didn’t have the strength to return to the bed, and so you remained on the floor, cold and afraid and crying so much it made your throat hurt.

You surmised that you drifted in and out of consciousness, not because you could even relax enough to find sleep, but more so out of exhaustion than anything. Your body had seen and dealt with too much in such a short amount of time that it took it upon itself to try and heal.

The next time you peeled your eyes open, you could see light.

It was only a crack of light, and it looked too far up to make sense. You didn’t even know what you were looking at at first, but then you sat up, and your lips parted. The light was coming from beneath a door…at the top of stairs, and you trembled.

You were in a basement.

You could feel yourself shaking at the realization, and you forced yourself to your feet. You tripped a few times going up the stairs, stumbling to the door, and the sound you made was loud. You banged on it, searching the wood for the handle before frantically pulling and twisting.

“Hello?”

Your voice croaked at first, but the more you yelled, the stronger it became.

“Hello?” you screamed, banging on the door. “Is anyone there?”

When only silence met you, you could feel your eyes watering again, and you squeezed them shut. Your chest twisted painfully, and you wanted to break down again, but you thought about MJ and how much she’d tease you for being so weak. Taking a deep breath, you sniffed and hit the door again, standing this time as you kicked it too.

“Let me out!”

Your arms felt so weak, and there was no telling how long you’d been down here. The door shook from the force of your assault, and you wouldn’t stop hitting it, your vision starting to blur.

“Let me out, let me out,” you shrieked.

Your hands were starting to hurt, and you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. When it became too much, you stopped, falling to the stairs and sitting down. Your chest heaved, and loud choking sounds left your throat as you dropped your head into your hands. You were trying so hard not to panic, but it was hard. You didn’t know where you were nor why this had happened, and you dropped your hands with a frown.

You blinked at the light coming from beneath the door…

…and the way it broke up, now.

It took a moment for you to realize that someone was standing there, shoes in the middle of the door, and you sharply inhaled. You leaned over, doing your best to look underneath, but all you could see was their shoes.

“Hello?” you choked out.

They didn’t reply, and you blinked back tears.

“I don’t… I didn’t do anything,” you told them. “I don’t know why I’m here, but I didn’t do anything.”

Again, silence was all that met you, and you started crying again.

“Please, let me out…”

They started moving away at that, and you cried harder. You didn’t know who they were nor why they pretended not to hear you, and you stared at their shoes. At the way they seemed to hesitate in leaving, and you blinked, your tears halting.

“Peter…?”

The person stopped completely, and you moved closer to the door, frantically trying to reach underneath.

“Peter?” you questioned louder. “Peter, please! Let me out!”

You pushed your fingers underneath the door, wiggling them.

“I won’t say anything, I swear I won’t,” you cried. “Please, just let me out.”

Your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, and to your detriment, someone stepped beside Peter. There was a hushed exchange of words before they both walked away, and you were alone again. You let your head drop to the step, harsh sobs leaving you, and that was where you remained.

“Oh dear.”

There was someone standing over you the next time you woke up. A woman. You hadn’t even heard the door open, and when you craned your head, you focused your shaky vision on her. You felt so weak, dirtier than you did the last time you woke up, and with a frown, you realized why. The smell of urine was strong, and again, you wondered how long you’d been down here.

Her brown hair brushed over her shoulders as she leaned down to grab your hands. Her eyes held something like sympathy as she helped you stand, and you winced, regretting the night you’d spent sleeping on the stairs. It took you longer than you cared to admit that a light was on, allowing you to see, and you blinked at it as it hung from the ceiling, a string beside it.

Of course, you wouldn’t have known it was there.

It was dark, and you’d never been here before.

The strange woman helped you down the stairs, slowly and with patience. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her, both relieved and fearful of her presence. She was a woman, yes, but that didn’t guarantee anything. Still, she was kind, and she didn’t say anything about the way you’d soiled yourself. You glanced away, and the action forced you to really take in the basement.

It was nice, but just nice enough to not be considered inhumane. The twin bed was a dark wood and looked like something you’d see at Badcock. There was a large rug on the floor beside it, and a door in front of it that you hadn’t even noticed. The rest of the room was bear with plain white walls. The unknown woman led you to that door, and you watched with wide eyes as she reached for the key around her neck.

When she unlocked it, it revealed a bathroom.

“You’ll need to wash up,” she told you, moving towards the tub and running some water. “Clean yourself very good.”

Her tone and her words had you looking at her again.

“Will I get to leave?”

Your tone was hopeful, and the look she gave you had you deflating. She pressed her lips together, seeming to think over her words carefully.

“This room, maybe. If everything goes well…”

You didn’t understand, and she was helping you peel your clothes off of you before you could voice your confusion. You couldn’t even find it in you to be embarrassed or shy. You’d witnessed your friends dying and had been locked up in some basement for God knows how long. Some woman helping you to undress so that you could clean yourself was the least of your concerns.

You hissed when you sank into the hot water, eyes watering at how quickly it took on a pink hue.

“My name’s Jane,” she eventually told you, helping you scrub.

You looked at her, drinking her in and repeating her name to yourself.

“Jane.”

She nodded, and you looked at the water again.

You had so many questions, but you didn’t know where to start. Why were you here? Why had they killed your friends? Who was she and could you trust her? You decided to focus on the more important one.

“What do you mean I might get to leave this room?”

Jane softly exhaled, running you some more bath water after draining the filthy batch.

“If you want to leave this room, you’ll need to get it together,” she whispered.

Her harsh words didn’t match her soft tone, and your frown deepened. She looked you over with a frown of her own, pulling her lip between her teeth.

“No more of that crying and screaming and banging like you’ve been doing…”

Your eyes widened, and you sat up.

“You heard that?” you asked in a small voice.

“The whole house could hear it,” she answered.

Your embarrassment was taken over by confusion.

The whole house.

You wondered if that was just exaggerated language on her part or if you really were in a house full of people. If the latter was true, you wondered about your chances of escaping, and when you looked up, Jane’s eyes met yours.

“No more of that either.”

She continued before you could open your mouth.

“You’ll be seeing Steve today…”

The mention of the blond cop had you shuddering, and you held back tears.

“…and if he thinks you’re not ready, he’s going to send you right back down here.”

Your hand wrapped around her wrist at that. It wasn’t on purpose, but the thought of spending another day down here had your chest clenching in pain. She softly shushed you, reaching for your hand and gently prying it off of her.

“Hey, hey,” she softly started, taking your hands. “It’s going to be okay. He just… If he thinks you might be a danger to anyone else or if you’ll try to escape the second you step outside, he’s going to leave you down here.”

You hadn’t meant to start crying again, but the whole thing was overwhelming.

You’d been on a nice road trip with your friends, and now you would be trying to appeal yourself to some insane man just so he’d treat you like something a little better than a dog. Jane shushed you again as you wailed, head falling, and you shook your head.

“You have to be good, okay? If you’re good, he’ll let you out, and that…that’s better than being down here…”

It wasn’t appealing to you, and you leaned your forehead against the side of the tub.

“Trust me,” she whispered, stroking your head. “Peter is sweet. He…he’s much nicer than the others.”

At the mention of him, you lifted your head with a frown. You had an inkling of why you were here as you processed her words, holding her gaze, but you fought it. No. You didn’t want to accept that, and you shook your head.

“What does that have to do with me…?”

She sadly tilted her head at you.

“He’ll be good to you.”

You blinked again, more tears kissing your eyes, and you pulled away from her. You could feel your stomach twisting, almost painfully, and you pressed your hands to your mouth. You wanted to ask her plainly why you were here, but you couldn’t find the strength. You were scared that if you opened your mouth, anything left in your stomach would come out.

Jane seemed to read it on your face though.

“Peter chose you,” she quietly continued, resuming in dragging the cloth over your skin. “You’re his, now.”

Your vision swam at that, and you reached for the edge of the tub. More tears fell, and your head spun. He chose you? You were his now? As self-explanatory as the words were, you were having the hardest time making sense of them. It was 2023, and Jane was speaking like it was centuries ago instead. Peter would be good to you? What exactly did that mean when you were a victim of kidnapping?

For the first time since that day, you felt anger flare up, but then you looked at Jane.

Really looked at her.

She was beautiful, no doubt about it, but there was something in her face and eyes that spoke to a life of trauma. There was a dimness in her eyes that told you she didn’t believe what she was saying, but more so she accepted what she was saying. That she accepted the reality that would be yours too, and your face fell.

“Were you chosen too?”

Your question seemed to have taken her by surprise, and even though it took her a long time to answer, her brief silence was answer enough. She nodded just as you both heard the door open, and your eyes widened, jumping at the sound. Jane quickly rose to her feet, and her change in demeanor was evident. She gestured for you to stay, and you watched her swiftly walk out of the bathroom.

“Is she ready?”

You recognized the voice, shrinking in on yourself as Jane replied. When she returned, she had a simple white dress in her hand. She urged you to get out as she drained the tub, quickly pulling the dress over you. As she straightened it, she quietly spoke to you.

“Remember what I said,” she whispered.

When she guided you out of the bathroom, your worst fears were confirmed.

Steve, that intimidating blond, stood just at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t alone, and you weren’t prepared for that. You choked up at the sight of them both, recognizing the brunette as the one who’d killed Wanda. Jane’s hand was on your arm, guiding you, and regretfully keeping you upright. Your vision had started swaying before you knew it, and you fought to look better than you felt.

You couldn’t hold either of their gazes, your own lowering as it focused on the floor.

You heard heavy footsteps near you, and you shook.

None of this felt real. None of it, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You were sure that your face looked like shit with how much you’d been crying, but you didn’t think you could’ve stopped even if you wanted to. The closer he came, the more you shook, and you flinched when his hand roughly gripped your chin. He forced you to look at him, and your lips trembled.

His eyes were so blue and cold, and they didn’t match the faux sweet smile on his pink lips. He studied your face for what felt like too long, drinking you in, and you didn’t know what to think of it when he hummed. His thumb brushed your skin, and disgust rolled in your stomach. These were the same hands that had killed Pietro, and the thought made you want to cry again.

“Peter has good taste,” he finally breathed, straightening and stepping back. “Bring her up.”

You didn’t know how to react to that, but the brunette did, looking at Steve with a deep frown.

“Already? She’s only been down here for three days…”

His words shocked you, and your eyes widened. Three days? It had been three days since…? You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the thought, eyes watering again. No wonder you felt so weak, no wonder you’d soiled yourself, no wonder you felt like you were going even more crazy than you already had when you watched them kill your friends.

Three days.

You swayed at the thought just as the unnamed male continued.

“You left Nat down here for three and a half months.”

He almost seemed to spit the words out, and the knowledge that there was another woman here, another poor unfortunate soul sharing your fate, made you queasy. It really seemed like there was quite literally a whole house of people here, and you tearfully wondered just how many women were here.

Steve turned to him with a wry smile.

“Well, she’s not Nat,” he told him. “She’s weak.”

The words had you wincing…because they were true. You glanced away, unable to stop a few tears from spilling over.

“Another day, and I’m convinced she’ll bite off her own tongue to choke on, and then all of this will have been for nothing.”

By ‘all of this’, he meant the murder of your friends, no doubt.

“Look at her Buck,” the blond chuckled, glancing at you. “She’s shaking.”

He reached out to tap your chin.

“Poor thing. Peter really knows how to pick ‘em,” he mused, dragging his eyes over you, and you hated it. “…because she’s perfect for him.”

He nodded at the brunette, Buck, and the other man came towards you with a dark scarf. You trembled as he tied it over your face, and Jane shushed you when you started crying again.

“Take her upstairs, Jane. Bucky will be right behind you.”

That sounded like more of a threat than a simple statement, and it took a long time for Jane to get you to move your feet.

You ripped the blindfold off, spinning around just as the door shut and locked behind you. You stared at it before reaching out to pull on the handle with no such luck. You could hear Jane’s footsteps fading, and if you listened hard enough, you could hear other feminine voices down the hall mingling with hers.

You took a step back from the door, staring at it with dread before finally turning around.

The room that met you was nice. Not necessarily small, but modest, and it was prettier than any room you’d ever been in. You didn’t grow up with money, and wherever Peter and his…friends lived, they lived well. You bitterly wondered if they earned their living by kidnapping and transporting unsuspecting women. However, if that were true, you wouldn’t have the memory of Wanda and MJ’s lifeless bodies in your mind.

You touched your white dress with trembling fingers, looking around the room with tearful eyes. You were so tired of crying, but you couldn’t stop. None of this made sense, and it seemed every hour you had to remind yourself that this wasn’t a nightmare.

You’d really been kidnapped and given to some man like a gift instead of a person.

Your chest hurt, and with unsteady feet, you moved further into the room. You took note of the way it was furnished, of how homey it felt, and you were reminded of Jane’s words, of how ‘nice’ Peter was compared to the rest. A lot of thought had gone into the room, but it only reminded you of a golden cage. You felt frozen…until your eyes landed on the window.

You ran to it, but disappointment stopped you in your tracks.

The bars on the outside of the window were visible through the opening in the curtains, and you backed up until the back of your legs hit the bed. You didn’t sit so much as collapsed, falling onto the bed with a loud sob. The pretty room became blurry, and you twisted your fingers into the white fabric of your gown.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

You had to get out of here, but then you thought about Steve’s words. You recalled the mocking tone of his voice as he called you weak, and the way defeat seemed to surround you at the truth in his words. You thought about Nat, about a woman you had never met, and how she had lasted three and a half months before finally…breaking? Is that what you were? Broken?

Had the vile murder of your friends broken you?

Was that why Steve had waved you off as nothing more than a broken and docile girl perfect for Peter?

You didn’t even know how you’d go about getting out of here, the thought overwhelming you so much, but you had to. You had to get help, and help the other women here, and get justice for your friends. You just… You didn’t know how, and tears ran down your face. Wanda always knew what to do in tough situations, and you desperately wished you could ask her what to do.

…but she was gone.

…and she wasn’t coming back.

That thought had you crawling further onto the bed, laying down and pressing your face into the pillows. Your head started throbbing almost immediately, a sign that you were crying way too much, but it also told you that you needed to eat something. As if someone was reading your mind, you heard a noise, it startled you into silence, and you hurriedly sat up.

You stared at the plate of food that had been slipped under your door, the opening underneath just big enough. You hadn’t noticed it at first, and you hurried towards it, ignoring the food and sticking your face against the opening. You could only see just enough to make out someone lower legs should they walk by. At the moment, the hallway was empty, and you sat back with a frown.

Your eyes landed on the food, unmoved by how good it looked, only picking at it and nibbling. Despite how little food you’d had in the past few days, your stomach just wouldn’t settle. You knew if you wanted to escape, you’d need all the strength you could get, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to eat much, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

You scooted back until your back met the bed, and you leaned your head against it, softly crying into your hands.

[littlenahsstuff]

When will my life begin-pt. 1

Chloe Charming x Red x f!reader

Synopsis- you are Rapunzel’s daughter but don’t know it because Mother Gothel survived and took you too. You possess similar powers to your real mother but they don’t work as well. Red and Chloe are visiting wonderland for the first time since the time travel and Red is nervous. She decides to take Chloe her new girlfriend to a mysterious tower from her childhood and they meet you.

Warnings: not proofread, angst, mentions of abusive parents, anxiety, fluff, slower burn, you just meet so no relationships until at least part two.

Almost 3.5k words

I really hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~

You awoke in your cramped tower, another lonely day. Mother says you can’t leave, you mustn’t. Evil people will hurt you just like your real parents. “You are weak and helpless and they’ll eat you,” is repeated daily.

You have a special gift; you can bring life and healing when singing. Mother loves your tricks but they are somewhat rare and you have a hard time making it actually work. She gets so mad at you, she says harsh punishment is the way to make it work. So far you still screw up.

She barely leaves you alone, the only time you can relax is when she takes her daily naps. Her “Beauty sleep”. Or when she goes on supply runs. You only ever let your thoughts drift then. To that one time you saw a flash of red outside. You were only 13 then and it’s been years but you always did wonder who it was.

***

Red was beyond nervous, Chloe a little too. She had to be strong for her new girlfriend, however. Red was dealing with healing from the trauma still and this visit was making her sick. She knows her mother is better but the whole time travel being dangerous thing has her waiting for the other ball to drop.

“It’ll be alright, promise Heart,” Chloe said it, trying to soothe her. She holds her hand whilst keeping the other on the steering wheel.

When they get there it’s a lot less gloomy than it was originally and the kingdom sits in the midst of a massive ring of roses. Red holds a smeck of comfort that the change brought her home some real peace, but the gnawing feeling never ceases.

“Yeah… I know” Red sighs. “I feel as if-“

“This is just a facade?” Chloe interrupts. “I realize how scary this is; I, myself, worry something went wrong but for now we have to play the part. It’s okay to be scared. You grew up with the most terrifying women I’ve ever seen.

They got to the entrance.

“Well… let’s face this then.” Red decides. She gets out and waits before entering.

Queen Bridget stands ready to greet her daughter, coming in for a bear hug. At least this time both her and Chloe are squished. She still flinched a little but was quickly soothed by a comforting tap on her wrist from Chloe.

“It’s good to see you… Mom,” for the first time.

“It’s so good to see you too my muffin cake!” Reds mom squeals. She starts to see more similarities to Pink haired Bridget by the second and she’s still weary, but relieved.

They pull away and Queen Bridget turns to Chloe.

“Oh where are my manners?! Chloe it is so wonderful to see you here again!” Bridget smiles. Not sickenly to Red’s mild shock.

Chloe glances at her girlfriend and they both smile too and shrug.

“Glad to be back too” Chloe replies with a chuckle. Time travel is weird.

“Now as much as I want to talk your ears off you girls must want to settle in first! I’ll have the Tweedle brothers carry your stuff to your room so you can unpack. Now… I wanna hear about any cute dates later but I understand. I’ll wait dears,” she actually GIGGLES and walks away. Not without giving a little squeeze to Reds shoulder.

They both stand there a little awkwardly and Red exhales, feeling like she can fully breathe again. She feels like she needs to get out when an idea pops into her head.

“Hey wanna go see something cool?” Red says excitedly. Chloe nods and red grabs her hand to drag her back out into the wonder woods they passed through on the way there.

“Where are we going?” Chloe whispers when they hit a particularly thick part of the forest.

“I would go into these woods a couple of times when I was younger… around the third time I came across a massively tall tower. I heard pretty singing. I sadly had to leave but when I came back for the seventh time I heard it again. I never really figured out what or who it was but maybe we’ll see if we go again.

And so they trekked further into the heavily wooded area for a few minutes until finally there was a small clearing with a large tower.

Just by luck did they happen to hear a soft melody coming from it. There was clearly someone home and Red couldn’t not pass up the chance to figure it out once and for all. She used to think about this for years after her last encounter.

“Oh no…” Chloe whispers and whips her head, “I know that look. We are not about to do what I think you’re thinking.” Chow huffs

With a role of her eyes, Red replies hushed, “Fine, just me then. I’m gonna figure it out.” She jumps up on the viney stone and finds it stable. She starts climbing and soon after Chloe groans and follows her.

“Does it have to be this high?” Chloe whimpers, daring not to look down. Red is already far enough up that she doesn’t hear her.

***

You finish sweeping when you hear climbing you don’t think much of it, it’s just your mother. You still tense but remain sweeping. You should’ve finished awhile ago, but you enjoyed the free will of being able to daydream while she was on a trip a little too much. You hear footsteps hit the floor and try and finish up faster.

“I’m sorry mother I’ll be better next time, let me finish first!” You hurry out. When there’s a second pair of feet hitting the ground you focus on the window. Two girls stand there.

You drop the broom and scramble back, falling on your back and hitting the wall.

“I- I- who are you?” You question breathlessly.

Red and Chloe both share another look.

“We aren’t here to hurt you!” Chloe hurried out. Red nods and slowly steps forward.

“No, we just heard the singing and wanted to check it out. Are you up here alone? How do you even get down every day?” She questions and you still cower but decide to answer them.

“I’m not supposed to speak to others. Mother will be furious, I- who are you?” You repeat.

“This is Red and I’m Chloe.” The blue haired one speaks. “I am from Auredon, Cinderellasburg specifically and Red is from here in Wonderland. Do you know why you are in this tower?” It’s almost too much but you answer honestly for fear of angering them.

“My parents were killed when I was a baby and my Mother took me here for my protection. This place is called wonderland?” You question. If you are gonna be killed maybe you can learn some stuff. Although, these ladies seem harmless enough and quite pretty. Nothing like the grotesque monsters your mother warned you of.

“Yes, you don’t know?” Red says, you shake your head. Your curiosity is quickly getting the better of you now.

“Please don’t lie what’s it really like out there?” You softly question.

“Well… there a kingdom just past these woods. my castle, oh by the way I’m the princess” Red casually throws in there making your jaw drop “but it’s very…. Beautiful.” She goes for. “There are roses everywhere now.” She adds.

“Oh… your majesty” you bow. You read a book once with a king in it and you knew you were supposed to bow.

“It’s only majesty for kings and queens, it’s- you know what that doesn’t matter you don’t have to be so formal, I am also a princess as well. Again though you don’t have to be so formal.” Chloe urges. You are completely awestruck by the fact that two very lovely princesses happen to be your first real life interaction besides your mother.

“Well… thank you Chloe and Red. I am still honored to be in your presences. Tell me, are these kingdoms violent at all?” You interrogate farther.

“Not too much honestly, like the occasional violent coup but day to day life can be lovely,” Chloe replies. Red looks to be deep in thought.

“So your mother locked you in here? That’s… that’s crazy” she realizes. Then her face lits up.

“Chloe, a quick word in the corner.” The two huddle leaving you to finally pick yourself up from the floor and dust off.

“Are you thinking what im thinking?” Red asks. Chloe bites her lip.

“Unfortunately. This poor girl needs our help. I can’t help but feel she looks familiar somehow.” Chloe frets. She thinks you are beautiful truly, but she can’t figure out for the life of her who you remind her of.

“Okay well I think we need to convince her to leave-

“I’ll do it.” You say, causing them to jump up from the huddle. “You two are loud by the way and this room is pretty small,” you giggle. It feels good, you don’t know the last time you’ve laughed. They both blush.

“That easy?” Red questions and Chloe slaps her lightly.

“What she means to say is, we understand how terrifying this could be and that we are glad you are allowing us to help you.

“I’ve wanted to leave everyday, my mother isn’t even my real mother and yeah, I’m terrified. You two are living proof it’s okay out there.

“So how does your mother get down?” Red asks.

“The vines”, you shudder at realization you will have to climb down. Chloe seems to have an equal reaction.

“Well let’s go get you somewhere less cagey.” Red smirks.

After a very fear filled climb down your bare feet touched the hard ground. The gravel admittedly hurts your sheltered feet and you wince.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe notices.

“Oh, I guess I’m not used to standing on such rocky ground.” You admit shyly and wince again when you take another step.

Red hums.

“Wait a sec.” She starts taking off her boots and hands them to you.

“thank you! I’m sorry if I’m a little slow with all this.” You relent, still very great full.

“Don’t be.” Red smirks.

Chloe turns to her, “is you giving people shoes a habit now?” She snorts.

Red rolls her eyes. You finish putting the boots on and get a little nervous.

“We better go, mother could be back any second.” You say.

“Alright then, let’s go” Red leads.

The walk is so terrifying every sound muffled from your time up high is so much louder. Each cherp, squeak, and buzz makes you jumpier.

It’s all worth it though when you see the red castle.

It’s the grandest thing you’ve ever seen, lit up (it’s now darker outside) and the roses are so stunning and fragrant you want to cry. And you do.

“Hey,” Red says. They both come closer.

“I’m fine it’s just so pretty.” You sob.

“If you think this is pretty wait till you see my room. It’s so cool” Red says excitedly and leads for you and Chloe to follow again.

Reds castle looks so much brighter than she remembers. It’s so well lit she can actually see the high ceilings now.

“Right this way, I need to check in with my Mom… she’ll know what to do.” Red decides. It feels so weird asking her mom for help.

The lounge room is very ornate and there is satin cushioning and mahogany wood everywhere. Reds mom is setting out some tea and snacks, enough that they are clearly for the girls too.

Red clears her throat, “mom I have someone I need you to meet.” She says. Bridget looks up and immediately drops the teapot.

“Oh my,” she tsks, “very sorry dear I just thought you were someone I knew. You look so much like her. Um who are you? It was now that both Red and Chloe shamefully realized they didn’t ask for your name. They were so focused on getting you out they didn’t even find out who you were.

“Y/n your majesty.” You curtsy. The queen inhales sharply.

“You don’t have to be so formal but uh… You wouldn’t happen to have hair that glows when you sing would you?” she questions. You are immediately scrambling to figure out how she possibly knew that.

“That’d be a coincidence, we found her in a tower. She’s like repunzel!” Chloe adds and then immediately gasps. Chloe feels so stupid for not putting two and two together. Meanwhile both you and Red are clueless of what’s happening.

You squeamishly give a “yes”.

“Oh you look just like her.” Chloe realizes.

You want to curl up in a ball. This is already so overwhelming.

“Like whom?” Red nods her head in confusion.

“Well, there was a princess named Rapunzel locked in a tower by an old hag, she would use the girls powers to rejuvenate herself. She originally pretended to be her mother. Her now husband Eugene found her and allowed her to see floating lanterns that appeared on her birthday. Turns out the whole kingdom was setting them off for her. They thought mother Gothel turned to dust but she reappeared and in turn stole her baby. They had no idea where she went and searched the lands. She wasn’t ever found…. Until maybe now?” The queen finished the tale, hope growing on her face by the second. Both you and Red were utterly gobsmacked.

They all turned to you only for you to get extremely lightheaded from the attention and the fact that other than the lanterns, the story completely paralleled yours. You didn’t even know when your birthday was. Your thoughts wage a war and you feel as if your legs are giving out.

Before you hit the floor Chloe catches you.

“Oh rabbits,” The queen exclaims. “You girls be a dear and make sure are guest is alright. I believe I really do have to make a phone call now.” She turns to you, who is still conscious but out of it. “Sweets, I promise you are safe now. This castle is heavily guarded. No one gets in that wasn’t supposed to and while you are technically free to leave at any moment I believe you understand you have to stay for a little bit longer.” She hums and turns shaking her head in disbelief as she heads to the phone in her room.

“I-I” you stutter. The two others give a concerned look.

“Hey it’s gonna be fine, even if you aren’t the lost princess we can keep you save. We promise,” Chloe soothes, Red is now hunched down to your levels.

“Promise” she agrees with a curt nod. You take a deep breath, it comes in more broken but it helps ever so slightly.

“Thank you, thank you both!” You exclaim, wrapping them in some sort of embrace, you don’t know what it’s called though.

“Ha no problem maybe-princess,” Red jokes. She earns a glare from Chloe.

“So if I my parents are alive, am I gonna meet them?” You question in disbelief. This feels like a scary dream.

Red bites her lip before replying, “Well I’m assuming that’s what the call was for, she is most likely calling them now.” You are more confused.

“How will they hear her voice from all the way from the castle?”

“There are these machines that let you call from any land so long as the other has one too” Chloe responds, sharing yet ANOTHER look with Red.

“Sheesh, you need to get out more” Red tries to lighten the situation and to be fair it makes you laugh a little.

“RED” Chloe scolds.

“She laughed!”

“It’s okay, I’d rather joke about it than have it still happen” you add but now they both look sad for you again.

“Do you think they still want me? Like what if they have other children and don’t need me as a child anymore. And I’m not really a child at all, I don’t know how old I am yet but I seem far too big to be one.” You start picking at your nails in worry.

Red sighs, “I know what it’s like to have to worry whether someone likes you or not. Trust everything will work out.” She says.

“From what I heard they never stopped looking for you. They did have another child but they actually did kinda do the lantern thing every year. It’s just that they didn’t understand you were sent to wonderland. The whole time they’ve been looking elsewhere but I know for a fact they never fully stopped and that shows they will want you.” Ella offers. You just nod softly, the fear was still there, but if it’s true then it makes you feel a little better. They were good at that. You think you’d want to be their friends. Best friends even someday if you still manage to hang out.

Before the awkward tension breaks naturally the Red queen burst through the door with two others. They also look like royalty to you but that’s not what makes your chest pound. They woman looks so painstakingly like you it makes Chloe curse herself for not getting it immediately. You all stand up, Red and Chloe help you first. And you all how your head.

The woman nearly runs to you and pulls you into another embrace of sorts. This time it’s a little tighter.

“Oh my, you’re really her aren’t you, you’re my baby girl!” She gasps. You blush and stand there terribly awkward. Red can feel your uneasiness from next to you so she coughs in attempt to break Queen Rapunzel from her stupor. It works.

“I- you’re my real mom?” You question.

She pulls apart just enough to put one hand on your cheek and another on your shoulder.

“I know for sure, yes. You are everything I dreamed you to be, my beautiful baby girl. Oh you must have so many questions.” She says. She smiles like the sun and has tears pooling in her eyes. She’s dress so elegantly in purple, but she’s shaking quite a bit.

“I’m here, you’re here” you say. Rapunzel turns to the man.

“Eugene Flynn Fitzgerald Ryder, come over here this instance,” she beckons and slowly a man steps forward. You notice you have his eyes and hair color. You’ve never had a dad before, it’s almost too much. He certainly doesn’t seem like he’s an evil man.

“That’s really her my little buttercup?” He says and when he gets a good look at your face he breaks into the loudest sobs you have ever heard in your life. You honestly don’t know what to do but stand there. You are also overcome with emotion but this is quickly becoming too much for you. He steps forward again.

“Bathroom!” You exclaim and haste fully walk past them and into the halls where you start running.

“Y/n-“

“Flynn give her some time,” Rapunzel sighs.

“We‘ll make sure she’s safe,” Chloe interrupted, grabbing Red to follow you.

After a couple turns they hear sobbing down an otherwise empty hallway. You sit there with your head tucked into your knees gasping for breath. They slowly walk up to you.

“It’s a lot, I know” Red sighs. “Meeting your mo- family for the first time. You start thinking of what can go wrong when you don’t know them and they don’t really know the real you. It’s hard.” She pauses, “but take it slow. I promise that they are also overwhelmed too. But after not getting any affection your whole life it seems like even the tiniest bit is too much.”

“If you want, we will stay with you as much as allowed. I know we just met but it seems like maybe you trust us the most and that’s precious, the trust,” Chloe states. Her eyes are truthful and earnest. Red shares that earnesty.

“I- supposed if it’s alright. I would never want to impose and you’ve done so much for me. This is all just- well you said it” you gesture to Red.

“We’ll be here.” They both say in unison and it makes all three of you giggle. Maybe your new life won’t be so bad. At least not if they’re in it. Your worry is replaced with a similar fluttery feeling but you don’t know exactly what it is.

This is your happy beginning. Your life has finally begun.

[galactic-gilly]

I was thinking... who taught the ninja how to drive? With the exception of Jay who probably grew up messing with things in the junk yard, I doubt any of them had experience with vehicles. They were all (fairly) young teens when Wu brought them in and had probably never been behind a wheel before.

Which brings me to my question. Did Wu teach them how to drive? Was that part of ninja training? Was he like, "Ninja, at some point you're all going to have to operate some badass rides so let's go over the basics before you cause mayhem at the wheel of weaponized motor vehicles."

But we see in the pilots that Wu's idea of a sick ride is a horse carriage pulled by his students. So does he even know how to drive?

So maybe it wasn't Wu. Did they all learn from Jay since he was the only one with experience? That's kind of a scary thought, though would probably explain why they're all so reckless. I can only imagine him trying to tell them, "Okay, guys. This is the gas pedal but make sure you don't just press it all the way to the floor when you start because then you'll go really fast and you might - KAI I SAID DON'T PRESS IT ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR!" while Kai takes off laughing and swerving and leaves them all in the dust while Jay shouts behind him that he has DEFINITELY failed his driving test.

Wow sorry this got long but I've been thinking about it all day.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That's until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: Tomorrow is beach day for me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The city streets seem to slant around you, looming outside the car windows, blurring at the edges. Your displacement adds to the effect, making your dizzy, leaving your hands raw as you wring them compulsively. You shrink back into your seat, shying away from the world that seems so scary to you. 

Aunt Bev is completely unbothered. She sings along to her favourite 80s bop as she keeps speed with the rest of traffic. She's always in a sunny mood but that day, she beams even brighter. When you asked why, she was almost stunned by the question; 'well, sweetheart, it's your birthday!' 

You forgot. Or didn't care. You never really celebrate. Your last birthday you can barely discern from all the other grim days. You try not to think of that life you had before Aunt Bev showed up to drag you into the light. You suppose it's probably been just under a year since. 

As if sensing your grey thought, she reaches to turn the volume down. She resumes her firm grip on the wheel and peeks over quickly. She smiles as she stops at the changing light. 

"You get a free scoop. You got your ID?" She says. 

You nod. That's one of the things that's new to you. Before you never even had a library card. Before, it was like you never even existed. As far as the world was concerned, you didn't.  

You look down at the purse in your lap. Your cousin Lena gave it to you. She said she never used it and it suited you better. There was a lot she handed over, though without any real concern. Her and your other cousin, Mason, have so much, they hardly know the difference. 

You stare at the embroidered petals on the black velvet. Lena's wrong. It's too nice for you. 

You tear your hands apart and lift the flap. You slide out the small wallet within. Another inherited piece. You slip out the ID card and stare at the photo. It doesn't really look like you but you've never really been able to recognise yourself. Your features always struck you as unfamiliar. 

You remember when you went to fill out the paperwork. Standing in front of that lens, staring into its black eye, and the sudden flash. You tuck the card away and shove the wallet back in the depths of the purse. 

"Lena's making you a cake," Bev says, "she always loves an excuse to make a mess of my kitchen." 

You try to laugh, it's more a crackle. That's the thing about Aunt Bev, everything is so careless to her, so easy. It all feels so strange to you. You don't fit but no one else seems to notice. 

"Mason should be there but heavens knows he's always late. That's not my doing, by the way, your uncle's always been horrible about time," she scoffs. 

You hum to acknowledge you're listening. The mention of your cousin and uncle make you uneasy. It isn't that they're bad. No, they're so nice, like Lena and Bev, but they're men. You try not to hold that against them but you've never been very comfortable around them. Not that you spent much time around male counterparts. 

"Twenty-five," she preens, "exciting." 

You clear your dry throat, "yep." 

You tuck your chin down and fidget with the strap of the purse. Twenty-five. Halfway through your first decade of adulthood and you still feel like a child. It's nothing to celebrate but Aunt Bev sees everyday as a reason. 

She puts on her signal and waits in the line of cars. You squint through her side and see the bustling of vehicles and people in a large lot. All this for ice cream. You told her you aren't particularly hungry even but she insisted. 

She turns and rolls into the lot, finding a spot amid the tight lines. She sighs and pulls the visor down to check her dyed waves in the mirror. She's always so put together. She tried to help you but you don't like the feel of mascara and you had an allergic reaction to the lip gloss. She didn't try again. 

"Alright, ice cream!" She snaps the visor up, "do you know which flavour you want?" 

You unbuckle your seat belt and shrug, "I don't know what they have." 

"Fair," she tilts her head as she opens her door, "I'm feeling a good old vanilla cone." 

You get out and shut the door. You hook the purse on your shoulder and meet her by the hood. You walk in step with her, peering around at the other people streaming towards the other side of the lot. There’s a large archway leading to a large plot of booths and stands. It’s a market of some sort, the kind you’ve only seen on television. 

“I thought we were getting ice cream,” you say as you grip your purse. 

“They have ice cream. I have another surprise. For your birthday,” she insists, “I wanted to buy you a gift.” 

“Oh? I don’t need one.” 

“I want to,” she says, “me and Lena used to come here all the time. You’ll like it.” 

You don’t argue. You have no right to. She’s doing you a favour. Another one.  

It’s crowded but everyone seems happy. You’re not used to all the noise or clamour. A woman pushes a stroller ahead of you as her husband chases a lively toddler past her. You press your chapped lips together and hold in your unease. 

You’re not the best in these sort of situations. Too many people, too much going on. Just going down to City Hall to get your ID was a lot. The hospital too. Those stiff, cramped plastic chairs and people filling even the space between them. 

You keep your shoulders curled in as you walk with Bev. You end up behind her, following her lead, stopping where she stops, looking at whatever she looks at. She points out a crystal sunflower necklace and you smile and nod. When you see the price, you frown. 

“Maybe something else. I don’t wear jewelry,” you say. You don’t wear it because you never had it. 

“It would be so pretty,” she remarks. 

“No, really, it’s... nice, but not for me.” 

You sidle on. There’s a table of soaps so pungent they make your head cloudy, and candles that look like whipped desserts. You cross to another booth and Bev buys some local honey and apple butter. She likes the honey in her tea in the evening. She always makes you a cup too. 

She shows you the wildflower honey giddily and points you onward. You stick close, following her direction as it keeps your head from spinning. You go to crocheter’s stand with stuffed animals meant for the children shouting and running around more than you. That whale might be cute but you’re not a child anymore, are you? 

You carry on. Bev shows you several other things. A little compact mirror with mother of pearl on the case and a hand-painted wooden chest you could put on your dresser. The dresser she bought in the room she gave you in the house she pays for. 

“You really don’t need to buy my anything. The ice creams good enough,” you say as your doubt bubbles over but it’s too loud for her to hear you. And she’s too distracted. 

Aunt Bev stands on her toes, though she’s already a tall figure, and waves at someone. She grabs your wrist and you wince as she pulls you through the swaths of people. You want to tear away as her grip makes you itch. You don’t like being touched. You’re not used to it. 

She pulls you to another row of stalls and stops before a medley of plants. There's a little chalkboard sign in the corner that reads ‘Cole’s Corner’. Pots line the top of the table, cacti and spider plants and succulents. Their green and lovely and lush. 

Bev lets go and you stare down at them. They’re familiar. They’re pretty. You could smile if your ears weren’t burning from the bustling people around. 

You’ve always known soil, always known the smell of pollen and the tough roots of unwanted weeds. When you weren’t trapped in your room, you were stranded in the garden, searching for bright petals or nursing wilting stems. Out in the dirt, you didn’t have to worry about anything. 

Often Aunt Bev found you in the plot she allotted you among her rose bushes and tulips. The space you made your own with the gnome you painted yourself. That was one of her little crafts she liked to do. She always had an idea for something or the other; waxed-linen to use as reusable bowl covers or tie-dye tee shirts. 

You stare down at a pot of aloe vera. The pot is clay; the base is brown and the top is painted white. You admire the jutting rigid leaves as the chaos around you settles into the background. You lean in closer at the burst of colour behind it, a bunch of pleasant pink begonias. 

“Cole,” your aunt chirps, “busy today.” 

“Sure is,” the man behind the table answers and your eyes flick up as you nearly jump.  

You hadn’t seen him. You were too distracted by the fauna. You don’t know how you didn’t. He’s tall and his blue eyes twinkle as they meet yours. You quickly shy away as the sight of his soft hay brown hair lingers in your mind. 

“This your sister?” He asks. 

“Oh, Cole, don’t be silly. You can flatter me all you like. You’re still a horrible salesman.” 

“Usually works,” he chuckles, “daughter?” 

“You’ve met Lena,” she chides then introduces you by name, “this is my niece. Hon, this is Cole. He grows these all himself.” 

“Ah, the niece,” he snaps his fingers. “I remember.” 

As he turns away you continue to peruse. Your cheeks are burning. You’re suddenly not as content to browse the plants. Not as you feel the sting of that man’s gaze nipping at you. It’s just the way he’d looked at you. Maybe just that he’d even saw you. 

Suddenly, a pot wrapped in burlap is set down in front of you. You examine the yellow petals and peek over at Aunt Bev. She grins and her gaze trails between you and the man. You gulp and turn back to once more consider the flowers. 

“Daylily,” you murmur. 

He leans in and lets out a scratchy noise, “that’s right.” 

You suck in your lower lip. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Your lashes flick up then down as you can’t figure what to do with yourself. 

“You like flowers? Your aunt says you spend all your time in the garden.” 

You shrug, then nod, and once more dart a look over at Aunt Bev. She said all that? To him? Why? 

“How about that one?” She comes closer as she reaches for her purse, “it’s her birthday. I’d like her to get something nice for her.” 

“Can’t go wrong with day lily. They keep bloom for a while but each blossom only lasts about a day,” he turns the pot slightly as he speaks, “symbolic of devotion and forgetting worries. They brighten the place right up.” 

“So?” Aunt Bev nudges you with her elbow. 

You dip your chin, “um, sure, okay. Thank you, Aunt Bev.” 

“Flowers are always a good gift. These ones won’t need much in the winter either. They’ll come right back,” he explains, “is that all?” 

“Yep, I think you’ve bled me dry,” Bev kids as she hands over her money, “I only have so much room left in the backyard.” 

“Ah, don’t got that problem on the farm. Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with all the land,” he counts out her change from a metal box. 

“Must be nice. I swear, living in the city can be so... suffocating,” Bev mopes as she tucks away the coins. “Go on, hon, you wanna carry your flowers?” 

You mutter your acquiescence and step forward to reach for the pot. Before you can, that man, Cole, slides it out of your grasp. “Wait, one minute.” He turns and digs around in a crate hidden beneath the perpendicular table, “it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” He pulls out a ribbon, the same colour as the daylily, “just put a proper bow on.” 

He ties it up in a drooping uneven bow. You peek up at his face as he gives it a helpless smile and shrugs, “not perfect but... happy birthday.” 

He pushes the pot towards you and you cautiously take it. His large hand brushes yours and you quickly bring the flowers against your stomach, recoiling a step back from the table. His fingers fall onto the table and he taps them. 

“Oh, wait,” he turns once more and digs around, this time in a bag on the top of the table, “Marvita brough these over from her booth.” He takes out a small box and lifts the lid to reveal an array of macarons in a variety of hues, “I can’t eat them all.” he shoves the box at you, “please.” 

You don’t move but Bev eagerly accepts one; a pink one. “Go on,” she urges, “live a little, birthday girl.” 

You scrunch your mouth up and slant it this way, then that. You take a cookie; a green one. As you hug the plant with one arm and retract the other, you remember your manners. A tingle runs through the back of your hand, a memory of those lessons, as the ‘thank you’ tumbles off your tongue. 

You look up and once more your eyes meet. You blanch and swiftly turn away. 

“No problem,” he says brightly, “hey, Bev,” he calls as she goes to shuffle away, “next week?” 

“Eh, I don’t know, my husband’s been on me about the spending,” she laughs, “we’ll see.” 

“Oh yeah, see you then,” he snorts, “you too, I hope.” 

“Uh, bye,” you wave with the cookie and hurry past your aunt. You know he’s talking to you but you can’t face him. He’s just being nice and you won’t be back. 

“I love those, they’re so pretty,” Aunt Bev reaches over to touch the petals, “such a nice man, isn’t he?” 

[pedrospatch]

surprise

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You're four months pregnant when you have an accidental fall; while you and Sarah wait for Joel at the hospital, an ultrasound technician accidentally reveals the sex of your baby.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY, reader has an accidental fall, minor anxiety, Sarah calls reader her mom, talk of gender and gender reveal. fluff.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: i am a snail when it comes to requests, but i got around to this request here. it is the same reader featured in family, but it can technically be read as a stand alone. i know there isn't a ton of Joel, but I just adore Sarah and had a blast writing her!

“Where is he?” Sarah paced anxiously in front of your hospital bed. 

A thin, light blue curtain shielded the two of you from the rest of the busy, bustling emergency department that you’d been brought to in Austin. 

“I called him half an hour ago, what’s taking him so long?” she said, a frown turning down the corners of her mouth. “Should I just call him again?” she suggested, the anxiousness evident in her tone. “There’s a payphone down the hallway, I should call him and see where he is.”

“I’m sure your dad on his way,” You assured her, delicately rubbing at your swollen midsection with your hand. You were about four months into your pregnancy, and although your growing baby bump was still on the smaller side, it was very much there, prominent underneath a scratchy, itchy white hospital gown a nurse had helped you into. You watched the teenager as she continued to pace and pace; you didn’t blame her for being worried, but it was causing your own anxieties to begin creeping in, and the last thing you wanted was for Sarah to see that you were scared too. “Sarah, honey, can you please just sit down and relax? I’m sure the baby is perfectly fine.”

She stopped, turning to you. “You fell down the stairs,” she reminded you, as if you could have somehow forgotten that. “What if the baby is hurt? Dad’s not here, the doctors are taking fucking forever—”

“Language,” You glared at her lightly. 

“Sorry,” Sarah mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is all just so scary. I don’t even know how you’re staying so calm right now. How are you not afraid?”

You beckoned her over and patted the space on your bed beside you.

Sarah hesitated, but then carefully sat down beside you.

You slid an arm around her shoulders, being careful not to yank at the intravenous line taped to the back of your hand. “Well if you want the truth, I am afraid,” You admitted, softly. “But I also know that freaking out isn’t going to help. It could actually make things worse and put a lot more stress on the baby.” Feeling her lean into you, you squeezed her shoulders gently. “Besides, if I show you that I’m scared, you’ll be even more scared than you already are and I don’t want that.”

“I just wish my dad was here,” she murmured, resting her head lightly on your shoulder; she placed a hand on your stomach, right over your own.

Although you didn’t say it, you silently wished the same.

Joel had been away, working at a construction site a couple of towns over when it happened, and when Sarah called him in a panic, he had promised that he would get to the hospital as quickly as possible. He sounded distraught over the phone, and as much as you needed him to be there with you, you didn’t want him rushing and risking getting into a car wreck. Still, every single minute that ticked by without Joel there felt like a fucking eternity.

“Miss Miller?” A woman’s voice called politely from the other side of the curtain.

Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Miller?”

Sarah lifted her head from your shoulder, looking guilty. “I might have put that down as your last name when I was filling out the admission forms for you earlier. Is that okay?”

Before you could respond, the curtain around your bed was pulled off to the side, and a blonde haired woman appeared, wheeling what you guessed was a portable ultrasound machine behind her. “Miss Miller, I’m here to do your ultrasound.” She glanced at Sarah. “This must be your daughter?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied quickly, nodding her head as she stood up from your bed.

You glanced up at her, your heart fluttering inside of your chest—did she really see you as her mother figure?

“Are we going to be able to see if the baby is okay?” Sarah wrung her hands together nervously as she questioned the technician. “And my mom? What about her? She told one of the nurses that her ankle was hurting her a little after the fall, are you going to check that too?”

My mom.

It sounded so natural, so right to hear her call you that.

“I’m just here for her sonogram, sweetheart. The first thing we want to do is to make sure the fall didn’t have an impact on the fetus. The baby, I mean.” The woman slipped on a pair of white latex gloves and peeled your blankets back, away from your lower body. “After, we will have one of the attending physicians run some tests and get an x-ray of your mom’s ankle to make sure it’s okay.”

Sarah reached for your hand, holding it in her own as the technician lifted your hospital gown and squirted a clear, cool gel onto your skin before running the doppler over the lower part of your abdomen; she squeezed your hand, her light green eyes fixed intently on the screen attached to the portable machine. “I can’t tell what any of that is.”

The woman smiled, pointing to the lower part of the screen with her free hand. “Well, the entire image is her uterus. And do you see that right there, that little thing? That’s the baby. There is her heartbeat, looking healthy and strong.”

You froze and Sarah’s mouth fell wide open.

“Her?” she gasped. “Did you just say her? It’s a girl?”

The technician’s smile faded. “You weren’t aware of the baby’s sex?”

“Does it look like we were?” Sarah nearly squeaked, her eyes wide.

The woman flushed a deep shade of red. “Oh no, I am so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” You managed to tell her. “Please, don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

After cleaning the gel off of your stomach and tugging your hospital gown back down into place, the technician excused herself, uttering another quick apology about the mishap before leaving.

“It’s a girl,” You breathed out, a smile breaking out onto your face.

“I’m going to have a little sister!” Sarah squealed, beaming as she threw her arms around you. She pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew it, I totally knew it would be a girl! Uncle Tommy owes me twenty bucks.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “You and Tommy made a bet?”

“We sure did! A bet that I won.”

Before you could say anything, the blue curtain around your bed was pulled aside once again and a frantic, panicked Joel appeared.

“Dad!” Sarah ran up to him, throwing her arms around him. “Finally!”

He gave her a quick squeeze and then rushed to your side. “Baby, I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I tried to get here as fast as I could but traffic was so damn bad, it was a nightmare just tryin’ to get back into the city,” he explained breathlessly, taking your hand. He began to sputter out his questions, going a hundred miles an hour. “Are you alright? What did the doctor say? Has anyone even been in to see you yet?”

“Joel, breathe. I’m fine,” You promised him. “I might have twisted my ankle a bit, but they’re going to take a radiograph in a bit. Other than that, I’m okay.”

“And what about the baby?”

“I just had an ultrasound done and the baby is okay. We’re both fine,” You assured him, prompting him to exhale a sigh of utter relief.

Joel pulled your hand up towards his lips, kissing the back of it gently before he asked, “Baby, what the hell happened?”

“I was doing laundry. I was carrying the basket of clothes downstairs from our bedroom and my foot slipped,” You admitted sheepishly.

“I’d just gotten home from school and I saw it happen.” Sarah walked over to his side. “I called for an ambulance and then I called you right after.”

Joel placed his other arm around her, pulling her close. “You did the right thing, babygirl. Thank you for that.” He kissed her temple and turned back to you. “And you’re absolutely sure the baby is okay?”

You nodded. “She’s fine, Joel.”

“Good. Because I was so—wait, what?” he hissed, his his dark brown eyes going wide with shock. “Did you just say, she?”

“Surprise!” Sarah grinned, her arm tightening around his waist.

Joel glanced at her, then back at you once again, thoroughly confused. “Wait just a damn minute, I thought we all agreed that we didn’t want to know the gender until it was born! You two asked for the gender without me?”

You almost felt bad for laughing at the look of complete and utter betrayal that crossed his face. “Of course we didn’t. The technician accidentally told us,” You explained. You tossed him a small, joking smile. “I’m sorry, Joel. I know you were rooting for a boy.”

“Sorry dad, you’re outnumbered,” Sarah teased him. “Three to one.”

Joel kept his arm around her as he leaned down, kissing the top of your head. “I might be outnumbered, but that’s perfectly fine with me,” he said. “Me and my three girls—my perfect little family. It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him…

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

[skipper1331]

First // Lotte Wubben-Moy

Meeting each other

Lotte was walking down the streets of London when someone, you, approached her. "Um hi? Could you help me please?" you asked politely, your accent thick. To be honest, you stood there already for 8 minutes and thought about who to talk to, but everyone looked kinda scary or like they were in a hurry so you didn‘t. Until now.

"Yeah sure!" the brunette answered, smiling bright. "I‘m looking for the book store? My phone‘s telling me it‘s here but um, well?" you fidgeted with your phone, showing her the screen. The stranger chuckled, knowing which store you meant "It used to be here" she pointed at a shop, the same spot where your phone told you it would be "but they moved in to a bigger building. Actually, I was on my way there. You can join me if you want?" you looked at her skeptically, not to be rude, it was just your general look when talking to strangers. "Oh gosh! You‘re probably thinking i‘m some murderer" her eyes went big, "you have to walk down the street, then turn left, walk down to the café where you turn right and then again left-" she rambled, explaining the way to the store. "I‘d really appreciate it" you cut her off, outstretching your hand, "I‘m Y/n"

She smiled, "I‘m Lotte"

First date, first kiss

"Wow, you look beautiful" the defender told you as you were close enough, herself standing at her car. "Thank you" you blushed, cheeks turning red. She opened the door for you before she ran around the car, taking a seat behind the steering wheel. "Where are you gonna take me?"

"Wouldn‘t be a suprise If I told you, would it?" she grinned, driving away from your home.

Arriving at your destination, "could you close your eyes for me?" she asked. "Should I be afraid?" you chuckled, nonetheless closing your eyes. "With me? Never" she pecked your cheek as she slung her arm around your waist, guiding you along the street. "Take a big step" you did as she told. The feeling that you entered a building was confirmed when you heard the elevator 'ding'. Lotte had her arm secured around your body while you went to the top floor, "last few steps" she whispered, "you can open your eyes." Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking a few timest adjust, "Lotte- this is… wow" you stuttered as you stepped outside on the roof terrace. There was one table, two chairs and basket in the middle, the view was breathtaking. She walked past you, pulling the chair back, "M‘Lady"

The next hours were spent with talking and eating, everything flowed with an ease as if you knew each other for years. Every now and then the brunette would compliment you, your cheeks turning bright red as your mouth formed an upside-down smile as result.

It was already dark when you left the roof, Lotte claiming she would take care of the cleaning.

She drove you back home, escorting you to your front door. Just, you know, to be sure you‘re safe. "Thank you for tonight. Nobody has ever done something this special for me" you admitted, taking a step closer. Gently, you pressed your lips to her cheek. As you pulled away, she tilted her head down, her hands placing themselves on your waist "I‘ll make every date special for you if you let me" she whispered, resting her forehead against yours.

"Are you asking me on a second date?"

Grinning, she replied, "And a third"

"Let’s say; second date and ice cream, for the third you have to ask again"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah"

"Second date and ice cream it is then" with each spoken word you inched closer to one another, not much air to breath left in-between. Meeting in the middle, you closed the gap, Lotte sighed against your lips, her warm breath fanning against them as you melted in the embrace of each other, lips moving in sync.

Girlfriend question

Lotte had always been a sweetheart, she remembered all the things you told her, complimented you all the time and appreciated everything you‘ve done and said.

One afternoon, the two of you went for a walk in the park, you were holdings hands, talking about books. Both of you loved a good book, a book you can‘t put down because it‘s so good. You didn‘t know why or how the conversation took a turn but one moment you were talking about books and then you were talking about letters. They‘re similiar yet so different. "As a kid I always wanted to be asked with a note, you know? The 'will you be my girlfriend note, yes-no'. It‘s just so romantic" you admitted, giggling. You didn't even think about what you had said, you weren't a couple yet, but somehow you were still together. You just told her out of the conversation about your dream/wish as a child. You had no idea that her whole body would tense; since weeks she was trying to figure out who to ask you that question.

She had her answer.

Will you be my girlfriend?

□ yes

□ no

Doodles were across the note, making it more personal. Her own style added to the so important question.

She waited a few days, the note hiding in her pocket.

She was at your apartment, sitting on the couch as you made tea, your book resting on the coffee table. She took the opportunity, swapping the bookmark with her note. Now, the only thing she had to do was to wait.

And hope you would tick the right box.

"Ready for pitch perfect?" you asked as you entered the living room with to cups in your hand. Lotte laughed at your excitement, opening her arms so you could make yourself comfortable in her embrace.

When you found the letter your heart swelled with love, a wide smile growing on your face.

-

Taking a walk with Lotte was your favorite thing to do, there was something so peacefully about it. After walking for about an hour, you took a seat on a bench near a small lake, thighs touching. Lottes arm was around your shoulders as your body leaned against hers. Silently, you slipped your hand in the pocket of your (Lottes) hoodie taking out the answered note. The defender looked down at you - your hand - the note.

You opened the letter, herself smiling as she saw the answer.

yes

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she pulled you closer, "Glad you‘re officially my girl now" she mumbled, peppering happily more kisses across your face.

First time she realizes she loves you

Arsenal vs Chelsea

Red vs Blue

The match was intense, Chelsea had their chances as did Arsenal but in the end Lessi shot the game winning goal for the gunners. Lotte was exhausted though, she had to do tackle after tackle, defending Sam Kerr, Guro Reiten, anyone from the Blues was hard, they were amazing players. Yet knowing that you were in the stands gave her the motivation to play better than her best, show off her skills, impress you. You didn't need to be impressed, you knew the defender's talent and skill, you had seen her train and play often. The brunette was a great defender, every time you saw her in her club or national jersey she took your breath away. When the final whistle blew the girls shook their opponents hand and took a few minutes to talk to their friends. Meanwhile in the stands you talked to Lessi‘s brother, a super nice guy.

As Alessia and Lotte chatted with Millie, Lottes gaze wandered every so often to you, heart eyes and lovestruck smile displayed on her face. She couldn’t keep her eyes of you. There you were, in her jersey, watching her doing the thing she loved. The defender didn‘t even realize that her Chelsea friend said bye, only Less left. The blonde swung her arm over your girlfriends shoulder, poking her cheek "Earth to Lotte" she waved in front of her face, "hello"

"Huh?"

"You‘re so in love" the italian laughed, pulling her towards her brother and you.

Yeah, i love her.

First time you realize you love her

She sat on the couch, yourself sitting in between her legs, back resting against her front as her arms were around you, her hands holding your favorite book.

The day you told her that it was your favorite book, she made it her mission to buy and read it as fast as possible. "Unfortunately, hardly anyone knows it." you said. She would be the first person you could talk to about the book, who appreciated your passion about it and understood why you liked the scenes you liked.

As she read the lines out loud, occasionally after finishing a page, pressing a kiss to your head, you realized how lucky you were to have her, how happy she made you and the little things she did or said to you which made your heart melt, swell and swoon.

You loved her.

First I love you

You stayed over at the brunettes apartment, the girl claiming that she didn‘t want you to go home alone in the dark. It was only half of the truth because actually she wanted to fall asleep in your hold, having a good night sleep in your arms. However, you couldn‘t sleep so after two hours of trying, you woke the brunette up, "baby?" Lotte grumbled, pushing her head further in to your chest, "Lotte? Lotte, wake up" in her mind your voice sounded desperate, scared. It did but not in the dangerous kind of way she thought.

"I‘m up! I‘m up! What‘s wrong? You alright?"

"Can we make cookies?" you whispered, puppy dog eyes looking at your lover. She rubbed her eyes, her brain still in a sleepy state, not registering what you just said. As she groggily nodded, you jumped out of bed, happily patting towards her kitchen. What did she agree to, she asked herself.

Slightly more awake, the defender helped you to bake cookies at 3am in the morning - anything to make you happy. Music was softly playing the background, the two of you swaying along as the cookies were in the oven. Your arms were around her neck as her hands rested on your waist, foreheads resting against one anothers. In a peaceful night, both of you felt at peace being in each others grasp, dancing along.

"I love you" you whispered, it was the perfect moment to confess your love. The love you held for the lioness was something you couldn‘t describe even If you wanted to, the only thing you could admit was that it was powerful and honest.

"I love you, too"

First anniversary

"Date night, my love" Lotte told you before she blindfolded you. "You look beautiful by the way" she added, her eyes roaming over your body, a big smile on her face which you couldn’t see.

"Thank you, baby" you puckered your lips, wanting to recieve a kiss - you did. "Where are you taking me?" you asked while she wrapped her arm around your midsection, "it‘s a suprise" guiding you to her car. "Carefully, sit down" she turned your body so you could take a seat without hurting yourself, herself running around the car before she started driving to the place where she had planned your date night. Something about the car journey felt familiar even though you couldn‘t see anything.

After a few minutes the car came to a stop, Lotte ran around the car to your side and opened your door. As she helped you out of the car she slung her arm back around your waist, guiding you.

When you heard the elevator 'ding' you had a feeling where you were. Nonetheless happy to be with her. "I‘m gonna take the blindfold off" she stated as she began to take it off, "happy anniversary!" the brunette squealed, hugging you from behind. The roof terrace was decorated the same way as it was for your first date, maybe even prettier "Baby, this amazing" you admired, leaning in to her touch, "happy anniversary indeed" you giggled, turning your head to face her, a love struck smile covered both of your faces. As the defender inched closer you met her halfway, lips meeting in sweet but promising kiss. Many more to come.

Throughout your date night Lotte was the sweetheart itself, like always. You had a nice meal together, joked around, the two of you acted like always: madly in love.

"I‘ve got you something" your girlfriend stated, looking shy around, "It‘s nothing big but i thought- maybe, you would like it?" A grin plastered over your features, you had a present for her as well. "Here" she handed you her gift, packed in wrapping paper. As you held it you could feel what it was, a book. As you slowly unwrapped it, you could see what it was, your favorite book. You looked at her confused, you had it at home? Why would she give it to you?

"Open it"

Then you saw it.

To Y/n

With every best wish,

their signature. In your favorite book, there was a note with the signature of your favorite author in it. What?! How? How was that possible? Your eyes grew wide, your mouth fell open, "Lotte" you wanted to say so much more but nothing came. The only thing you could do was- well nothing. Fondly, the defender smiled at you, she could tell from your body language that you‘re happy - overcome with joy yet shocked, confused.

As you came back to your senses you lunged towards her. Arms wrapping around her neck, placing yourself on her lap, hugging her like your life was at risk. You still couldn‘t say anything, you just fell more and more in love with the person you already loved most. To her, your enjoyment and happiness was everything. The way your eyes lit up, the way your mouth fell agape, the way your smile reached across your whole face - it made her more than happy.

Your happiness was her everything.

Move in

In Lottes eyes you seemed to be nervous. She had been keeping an eye on you all day, something was off. She just couldn‘t figure out what. Under her touch your stressed state would wash away - which she noticed so she tried be close to you, having an arm around you, holding your hand, pressing kisses to your skin. However, the longer the day went on, the more nervous you became. It wasn't the kind of nervousness you had when you were about to give a presentation but rather the kind that made you fear what the answer was.

"You‘re nervous what‘s wrong?" the brunette asked as she started to massage your shoulders. "Nothing, my love, i‘m fine" you replied, your body betraying your wording. Your shoulders were tense, body melting in to the taller woman, eyes closing as you leaned against her.

"Take to me, baby" she mumbled, pressing a loving kiss to your temple. You hummed, "i‘ve been thinking…" she gave you a gentle squeeze, she was listening. "About us" Other people would have gotten nervous by now but not Lotte. She had no reason to be, things were going well between you two, you were as in love as you were on the first day, if not more so. She knew that. She knew how much in love you were with her - you showed her every minute, every hour of the day. "You can talk to me, love" she reassured you, soft kisses pressed against your head. "I want to move in with you."

The defender froze, that‘s what made you nervous? You felt the change in her body language immediately, the way her touch seemed to be distant. "We don‘t have to. I just thought," you turned around in her distant grasp "we‘re always here" you looked around her apartment, "i‘m rarely at mine anymore"

A big smile broke out on her face, "Of course! You already have your own toothbrush and drawers, you can move in straight away" she chuckled, pulling you closer, her once distant touch feeling closer than ever.

First decade

Laying in your wifes arms on the patio, stargazing had always been magical - this time no difference. With every kiss pressed on your skin your heart would skip a beat, your cheeks turned red and an upside-down smile would cover your features. "Is Mrs. Wubben-Moy getting all shy?" the og-lioness laughed, loving the fact that you shared her last name. It was nothing new but made both of your hearts still burst with love and joy. "Stop laughing at me" playfully, you slapped her chest, "as if you don‘t get shy"

"What? Me? Neverrr" the defender denied, knowing well enough how shy and flustered she could get in your proximity. A comfortable silence came over as you watched the stars.

As the first shooting star passed through the night sky, you broke the silence, "It‘s hard to believe that we‘ve been together for ten years" you admitted. Loving Lotte was the best thing and the greatest honor in your live but If you had told your younger-self that you met the love of your life because google maps was wrong, younger-you would‘ve laughed at you. And who was to blame? It was the perfect plot for a romance book or a crap wattpad story. The question was: who was writting your story?

"I hope my love story doodle never ends"

————————

[leclerc-s]

suffering since forever

series masterlist

natalia ruiz praying for all of you because at least i like my third wheel

arthur leclerc that's because joris has been stuck with you two since before you were couple

fernando alonso you can say it, since before they were sleeping together.

carlos sainz it's not like joris has a choice.

lewis hamilton and the rest of you do?

max jones-verstappen we don't. we do it subconsciously.

daphne jones-ricciardo like that makes it any better max.

rhys jones i bet it hurt when jorris got that wag of the year trophy and you didn't.

natalia ruiz who let the child speak?

isabella perez she says that because she's hurt.

natalia ruiz i'm not hurt by the 12 year old.

rhys jones I'M 15!!

lance stroll yet you act like you're 12

rhys jones i know your ass isn't talking esteban ocon anyone ever tell you that you're scary? rhys jones never to my face.

zoya torres joris doesn't deserve this heat. let's talk about freya's 3rd wheeling habit.

freya vettel shut your trap torres.

alex albon days like this make me glad that george and carmen love to go on double dates so we don't get stuck with any of you.

george russell and that's because i don't want to get stuck with them.

dulce perez fuck you guys we're delights.

pato o'ward i can't believe i ever thought you people were cool.

daniel jones-ricciardo WE'RE COOL!!

pato o'ward the only cool thing about you is your wife.

penelope trevino REAL!!

gael perez i think pato almost shit his pants when he learned daphne was in this group chat.

pato o'ward IT'S DAPHNE FUCKING JONES, WEY! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT FREAK OUT?

daniel jones-ricciardo *jones-ricciardo!!

pato o'ward i couldn't care less bitchiardo! i will forever pray for your downfall so i can marry your wife instead.

isabella perez he's so real for that. HURRY UP RICCIARDO THE REST OF US ARE WAITING!!

daniel jones-ricciardo if i ever die let if be known that one of you bitches was behind my death.

daphne jones-ricciardo you people are unbelievable.

natalia ruiz i'll be first in line. i've been waiting for his downfall for the longest time.

daniel jones-ricciardo

this is all your fault.

whatever it is you think i did i swear it was arthur.

charles what did you do?

nothing! what’s wrong amour?

i have a baby screaming for 'unca jo' bring him back now.

ma cherie, i wish i could but i have a race.

okay? send joris and you stay in china.

we only need unca jo, notre petite étoile doesn't need her papa. (our little star)

i know that was a joke but it still hurt. don't tell me that!

you still have a few years left until she's a teenager.

ne pouvons-nous pas avoir cette conversation? je ne suis pas prêt pour ça (can we not have this conversation? i'm not ready for that)

seriously charles ask joris to call me, even zoya's music isn't helping.

i'll tell him to call. just come to china.

i will hop on the first flight to china, do not joke about that.

max said he's sending the jet to pick you up.

god bless sophie for her son.

not jos?

never that man.

natalia_ruiz posted new stories

unseen photo of baby jewel and her 'unca jo' 📸 - zoya because my fiancé and daughter have been stolen by his best friend. and another unseen photo but this time it's pre-baby jewel, joris has been a third wheel since day 1!

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! this one is a more wholesome one but it's still got it's sense of humor. can you tell i'm still watching greys?

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[noramoons]

what lies beneath | k.hj

pairing: kim hongjoong x g/n reader

genre: siren au, artist!reader

includes: angst, some fluff

rating: T/13+

warnings: language, slight horror themes, mentions/descriptions of food, Family Issues as a plot point (💀)

word count: 13.5k

summary: there’s a pair of eyes blinking up at you from below the pier. you think you know who (or what, really) they belong to—but you might be too afraid to admit it.

You had been sure of several things before you spent the summer at the beach with your cousins.

One, that you were not an "outside" person. You couldn't stand fishing, you hated lying underneath the sun to tan—you could swim well enough, you supposed, to keep yourself afloat—but that was it.

Two, that there was nothing more embarrassing than being a tourist in a town you'd practically grown up in.

And three, that sea monsters of any kind were absolutely, completely, 100% fictional.

It was fun to pretend as a child, sure—you remember plenty of summers playing in the ocean with your friends, or listening to your uncle tell scary stories to you and your siblings about the creatures he'd seen in his time in the navy or deep-sea fishing—but that was it. Pretending. You knew that just as well as the rest of them did.

Which is why it's now somewhat embarrassing to be back here—spending yet another summer with your extended family, and now seeing your younger cousins now running up and down the side of your uncle's small pontoon boat. "Fish-man!" one of them cries out, pointing towards the water. "I saw it! I swear!"

The other one nods. "He was huge!"

Your uncle laughs from the wheel behind you. "I bet he was! I always heard they like to catch the sides of the waves the boats make for speed—can't get too close, though, or they'll get chomped by the propellers!" He makes a chomping gesture by opening and closing his fist, and your cousins giggle.

"You heard?" you ask, turning around from the seat near the bow. "I thought you always said you'd seen those fish-men with your own two eyes back in the day, Uncle."

He smirks at you. "Those were the deep-sea days. I've never seen any creatures this close to shore, but who knows?" he shrugs, winning at you. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

Right. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you turn back around, the spray of the saltwater coming up on either side refreshing enough to distract you from the stories your cousins are now hurriedly making up behind you.

The rest of the day is decidedly less painful; your uncle is considerate enough to let you stay on the boat when he anchors it on a nearby island, so you're able to at least attempt relaxing while your cousins run amuck on the shore. By the time you're finally pulling back in to the dock behind your uncle's house on the bay, you can already see the hues of pink and orange growing in the sky as the sun begins its descent beneath the horizon.

Your cousins make a mad dash for the house once they're within leaping distance of the dock, and you let out an exasperated sigh when you realize it's just you and your uncle left on the boat. You know exactly what that means—all the work's been left to you.

He grins at you. "You remember how to tie her to the dock, don't you?" As if this hasn't been your job on-and-off for the last ten years.

You offer a faint smile in response, but you keep yourself from saying anything negative while you pull out the ropes from beneath the seats, tying them into the knots you know from memory around the poles on the dock. You don't want to complain in front of your uncle—he's never been anything less than kind to you, especially letting you stay at his house this summer out of nowhere when you told him you needed a place to stay for a while, even when it's been over five years since your last summer here. No questions asked, although you're sure he's curious.

You might tell him the truth. Eventually.

His voice suddenly interrupts the stream of thoughts in your mind. "If you've got it covered, I'm gonna head inside and start on dinner."

You nod absentmindedly, tucking the last rope into the beginning of its knot. "What are we eating?"

He smiles at you. "Guess you'd better hurry up and find out."

You roll your eyes at him, but in your sudden rush to finish the knot, you don't complete it nearly as tightly as you should—and you can already feel the boat drifting to one side from the loose knot.

You sigh at your own impatience, but you start the knot over again anyway, pulling on the other ropes to line the boat up with the side of the dock again before you start, checking the angle into the water to make sure it'll be as close to perfect as possible so you can hurry up and go inside, and it's then that you see it.

There's a face in the water—and it isn't yours.

No. You're seeing things. After a long day in the sun, you know it's not unheard of for your eyes to play tricks on you looking into the water. You draw your focus back to completing the knot, shaking the unusual thoughts out of your head of what you know you couldn't have possibly seen.

When the knot's finally complete, you cast your gaze into the water beside the boat one final time—and you realize, in stunned horror, that you'd been right before. There is a face, a face you can just barely see in the water as you peer over the edge of the dock—and it isn't your reflection. No, the angles of the jawline, the cheekbones, the chin are all far too sharp and precise to be yours. To be human.

He blinks up at you, far too innocently for someone—something that has been holding its breath underwater for at least the past five minutes.

You don't know how long the two of you stare at each other. It could be minutes, hours—you really aren't sure. You're finding yourself practically lost in the eyes of the being before you, dark and abysmal and inviting all at the same time—this, you imagine, must be what drowning feels like. Completely helpless.

It's then that you realize your ankles are touching the water. That's strange—you'd been sitting atop the dock just a moment ago. When did you get in the water?

You feel as if you've just awoken from a dream. You don't know how you've gotten here so suddenly, but you've definitely moved—you've turned around to face the dock, and your arms are the only thing keeping you above the water, your legs submerged up to your knees.

You quickly scramble back out of the water and heave your body back onto the dock, making sure all your limbs are still attached before staring back into the bay beneath you, looking for that face beneath the water again—but it's gone. Whatever it was has completely vanished, leaving nothing but the soft lapping of the waves against the shore in its wake.

Your mind races to find an explanation. You've been in the sun for hours. You must not have had much sleep last night. Your cousins are driving you insane and they've finally pushed you past the brink. One of those, surely, has to be the answer for whatever the hell you've just seen.

It's all you can think about during dinner—you hardly touch the clam chowder your uncle had prepared. He notices the small helping you've poured for yourself when you sit down at the table, and you see him frown out of the corner of your eye. "Feeling alright, Y/N?"

You nod quickly. Too quickly. "I'm fine. Think I might've been out in the sun for too long today—I'll probably just get some water after dinner and head to bed."

He nods, visibly relaxing at your words. "Ah. That certainly can happen—I saw far too many colleagues faint back in the day after a long shift. It's brutal, that sun. That reminds me of one particular instance, actually—couldn't have been less than twenty years ago, I'll bet, when..."

He launches into another fishing anecdote, much to the delight of your cousins, while you continue to mentally spiral for the duration of dinner, locked in your own thoughts and what you know you couldn't have possibly seen. Your behavior, however, means your uncle doesn't mind at all when you go up to your room early—and when night finally falls and everyone else has gone to bed, no one notices you creeping back downstairs, either.

You have to know. You'll never be able to go to sleep tonight if you can't confirm whatever the hell you saw in the water earlier.

Your stomach interrupts your thoughts, piercing the quiet living room with an unfortunate grumble.

"Shit," you swear softly to yourself. You're hungry—it's no wonder. You barely ate dinner, and you only picked at a few snacks on the boat earlier. It certainly won't assuage your fears if you scare away whatever that thing was if your stomach growls the minute you step outside.

You quickly grab the first thing your eyes land on out of the first shelf in the refrigator—an apple, before finally striding over to the door and making your way back outside as quietly and nimbly as you can.

You practically run back to the edge of the dock, peering into the inky blackness of the water illuminated simply by the moonlight, only to find your own reflection staring back at you. There's nothing.

And you want to be reassured by that fact. You had to have been seeing things earlier, then—a result of the afternoon spent under the blistering sun, doing things to your eyes and your mind, and yet—

You have to check. You'll just dip a toe in, maybe—you're already barefoot, anyway. Nothing bites at your toe when you do, sitting down at the edge of the dock and letting the waves lap at your skin.

Well. You suppose to be really sure, you'll have to get in the water. It feels much better now than it did earlier today, you think as you lower yourself in up to your waist, still holding onto the dock with one hand, apple in the other. You don't remember the water ever feeling this good—this inviting. You wonder what it would feel like to go all the way up to your neck. Maybe even to go all the way underwater, to feel it enveloping every inch.

That last thought particularly entices you, so you let go of the dock, holding your hand (and the apple) above the water while you submerge the rest of your body beneath the waves. You wonder how long you can hold your breath underwater. Does it even matter, though? It wouldn't be so bad to stay here like this forever—

"...What is this?"

You're broken out of your thoughts by a muffled voice above you, piercing the silence and suddenly reminding you how long you've been underwater. Panic sets in almost immediately as you kick toward the surface, gasping for breath when your head breaches the waves again, breathing in sweet, fresh air as your arms attempt to tread water.

Well—arm. Singular. Someone else is holding on to your other arm, you realize far too late—the arm that's currently clutching that poor, stupid apple. A hand is wrapped around your wrist, and you feel dread sinking through your chest when your eyes follow the hand back to its owner. Perhaps that dread is why you aren't at all surprised when you once again lock eyes with the creature from earlier, this time his head and chest above water.

He looks at your sputtering form, unsurprised, before turning back to stare at the apple in your hand, head tilting to the side. "What is this?" you hear him repeat. His voice is incredibly raspy—as if he hasn't used it in years.

His lack of recognition towards you is almost irritating—as if he's disappointed that you exist. "...What?" you finally ask.

He brings another hand out of the water to tap at the apple. "This," he says. "I don't know what this is. Tell me."

You're still struggling for breath. "I...I'll tell you what it is if you let me back onto the dock."

He turns back to face you—quickly, head shifting far too quickly for something human. "No," he says, grip on your wrist unrelenting. "Tell me what it is."

Shit. "It's an apple," you say, frustration suddenly blooming in your chest. You're going to die because of an apple. Because you couldn't be bothered to eat your uncle's clam chowder for dinner. What the hell is wrong with you? If you ever get out of this, you swear on every god listening that you'll eat second helpings of every meal that man makes for the rest of your life. "You eat it."

Apparently you eat it to this creature means you can eat it—because he's lunging forward suddenly, bringing his teeth that look much more like that of a shark's than like the teeth in your own mouth onto the apple in your palm, tearing away a bite and swallowing it whole. God, you hope you aren't about to meet the same fate.

He makes a face, turning to look at you. "It's weird."

You heave a sigh. This is insane, you think. Maybe you really did lose your mind earlier on the boat—it's all your cousins' fault. Has to be. Hearing that constant, nonstop chatter about the overseas vacation they just went on (their third this year alone), and the toys the twins got for their birthdays, and the teacher at school they really don't like, has finally made you snap. "I don't know what to tell you," you say. "You said you'd never had it before. And you're stealing—I was going to eat that."

He lets go of your wrist from his damp grasp. "Hmm. You can have the rest of it, I guess."

He has let go of you. Every logical nerve in your body is screaming at you to start swimming, to pedal back up to the dock as fast as you can and scream for your uncle—but you don't. He let go of you. He had just wanted the apple.

You stare at him. You'd been right before—every feature of his is far too sharp to be human. The edge of his nose, the line of his jaw, the angles of his cheekbones—everything except his eyes. They're dark, as dark as the night sky behind you, but they're soft. They hold none of the sharpness of what you can see of the rest of his body.

You think back to the beginning of the day—to the stories of the fish-men your uncle had tried to spook your cousins with as you drove around the inlet. Damn him to hell—he was right.

You aren't sure who you're angrier at—him, for being correct about something so utterly insane, or you, for not being smart enough to realize he was telling the truth.

The creature in the water notices you staring at him. He blinks at you, tilting his head to the side. His gaze hasn't left you for a single instant, but there's something else spreading across his face now, tugging up the side of his lips in a faint smile.

"You aren't afraid," he says now, the rasp in his voice gradually beginning to ebb away.

You notice him watching your arms treading water now, apple bobbing beside you, but you don't say anything about it. You also don't say anything about how he isn't treading water but is still staying perfectly afloat—something else is propelling him to stay upright. And you think you may have an idea of what it is. "I...I don't know. I don't think so," is the only thing you can offer in response. "I don't know what you are."

He thinks for a moment. "A...a siren was what your people called us the last time we went to the surface."

A siren. You'll admit you didn't always pay constant attention in school, especially reading the Odyssey nearly three years ago, but you have a clear enough recollection of what these creatures were. Their entire purpose was to lure sailors to their deaths with their charms, wrecking their ships with a few words of a song.

"We couldn't come up to the surface very often then," he adds thoughtfully, remembering. "Too much of that black smoke in the air. That's what my father said, anyway."

Black smoke? You're confused for a moment before it dawns on you—you distinctly remember your uncle telling you that the railroad used to lie almost perfectly adjacent to the bay his house now resides on, back in the day before they'd decided to reroute the tracks to make room for the neighborhoods they were building. And if the trains the siren in front of you remembers were still billowing out black smoke...

Christ, how old is he, anyway?

"I'm supposed to drown you," he says plainly.

You furrow your brow at him. "You can try, I guess. I used to be pretty good at swimming."

He laughs at that too. The sound of his laugh is unbearably musical—light and gentle and not at all comparable to the rasp his voice had been at first, nor is it fitting for a creature who had just said he was here to kill you. "I almost did. That's how you ended up in the water—don't you see?"

Oh. Fuck. He must have been in your head, practically—convincing you to get in the water. It's what'd he done earlier in the day too, you realize—when you'd gotten in all the way up to your ankles without realizing. "How...how'd you do that?"

He shrugs. "I just hum. Some of my brothers are good at singing, but I think humming does the same thing at a much quieter rate. Harder to get caught that way." 

"Does that happen to you often?" you ask. "Getting caught?"

He seems to ponder that for a moment. "No. I...I didn't have any plans on telling you this, but I've never actually drowned anyone before. You've been my first attempt."

You scoff at that. "I guess you're not a very good siren, then."

He stares at you, and you wonder for a split second if you've just made a fatal mistake by running your mouth, like you always do—but the edges of his lips quirk up in a strange smile. "That's not all we do, you know. We were the record-keepers of the ocean, back in the days before that fool Homer decided to only focus on our...occasional people-drowning habits. Once you become known for something, no one really cares what you used to do."

You blink at him. "Sorry, I...are you trying to make me feel bad for you? After you tried to drown me?"

His smile widens. "But I didn't drown you! I decided not to. Because I wanted to know what that was in your hand." He looks down at the apple bobbing in the water between the two of you. "Do you have anything else like this?"

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Why? Do you want to go through all the fruit in our fridge and take a single bite out of each one?"

He cocks his head slightly at you. "Why would I do that?"

Because it's what you just did, you want to yell at him—but you don't. Some semblance of common sense must be returning to you, now that you know you aren't in mortal danger.

He continues anyway. "I want to go back to our record-keeping ways. I like learning things. I've never spoken to a human before now—I've already learned so much. I know what an apple is. I know how easy it is to tell you to drown yourself."

You try to ignore the way your blood freezes cold for an instant at that last comment—and the way he gives you a knowing look after it leaves his lips. You think you may have a better understanding of what your situation is, now. "So you decided not to drown me because you wanted to know about the apple. You...you're only going to keep me alive if I keep bringing you things that you find interesting?"

But he shakes his head no. "You can go back up to the land now. I won't stop you. I was just suggesting that you'd think about doing me a favor, since I did one for you."

Deciding not to drown me isn't much of a favor—but you keep that to yourself. "You really wouldn't stop me if I went back up the dock? If I never set foot in the water again? Won't you...I don't know, get in trouble with the siren police or whoever you answer to?"

A bemused expression flashes across his face. "No, I don't answer to anyone. We used to travel in packs—and I think some still do, especially in the southern sects of the Pacific, but most of us are solitary, now. I do whatever I want."

“Must be nice," you reply before you can think to stop yourself.

He frowns a little at that. "What do you mean? You're the masters of the world as we know it, aren't you?" There may be a little edge of mocking at the end of that sentence, but neither of you comment on it.

Instead, you take one arm out of the water briefly to try to wave your words away, accidentally flicking a few drops of water on his face—but he doesn't even flinch. "Look—I shouldn't have said that,” you say.

"Who could possibly be telling you what to do?" he asks again. "I'm serious."

Now you do let a small laugh pass your lips. "You'd be surprised."

He just blinks. "Surprise me, then."

He did say he liked to learn. "Listen, I can't—" You cut off your own sentence when you see a light on the second story window flick on out of your peripheral vision. Shit. "I've got to go."

He casts his gaze upwards to the soft light emanating from the house. "I see," you hear him say as you plant your elbows on the edge of the dock, hauling your body back up to the wooden surface. Once you're out of the water, a sudden thought occurs to you—you never even asked the siren for his name.

Who cares? a voice in your head cries out. Your conscience, most likely—whatever scraps of common sense you have left. That thing was going to drown you. You don't need his name; you're never going to see him again.

Well—that you aren't entirely sure of, even if you may not be completely prepared to admit it. As much as you had apparently intrigued him, he had certainly kept your interest too. For crying out loud—he's a goddamn siren. How often did you get to have a sit-down conversation with a sea creature you had been perfectly convinced wasn't real an hour ago?

Even more intriguing, you think, was that air of freedom about him. I do whatever I want, he'd said. You can't imagine the last time anything like that left your mouth—or if anything like it ever had. You're drawn to that feeling of freedom—either out of jealousy or a desire to live vicariously through it, you aren't sure. But you do want to experience it again.

So you turn back around, the question of his name on the tip of your tongue—but it never gets any further. By the time you're looking back into the water below you, he's gone. Had you imagined the entire thing all along, you wonder for a brief instant?

But that thought shatters when you hear a splash to your right, at the very edge of the canal before it opens back up into the ocean, and you see the edge of a long, blue tail flicker in the moonlight before it disappears below the surface.

You let out a short laugh of disbelief at the sight. And the small smile that lingers on your lips—even as you hurry back towards the house, open the back door as quietly as possible, hurry back upstairs, throw your wet clothes in the bathroom, and jump back in your bed in a fresh pair of pajamas—doesn't fade away for quite some time.

Three days pass before you see him again.

You'd run out to the dock three nights in a row after everyone in the house had fallen asleep, peering into the water only to be met with the ripples of your own reflection staring back up at you. Disappointed, you had trudged back to the back porch and snuck back up to your room, lingering confusions about that damn siren swirling around in your head. You won't go check again tomorrow night. That entire meeting with him was apparently a one-time thing. It was a miracle that he'd let you live, anyway—a miracle that you aren't ever supposed to see again.

You still find yourself padding down to the dock on the fourth night—and this time, you aren't alone.

There's an apple sitting on the very last wooden plank on the end of the dock, water dripping off the edge and forming a small puddle around it. You almost let out a laugh at the sight, but it's swallowed by the yelp you accidentally let out when the siren's head emerges suddenly from beneath the surface. He stares at you, unblinking as he hauls his forearms onto the edge of the dock, propelling himself forward to look up at you.

"You're surprised," he says.

You take a breath to calm yourself before speaking. "You're observant."

He blinks once. Twice. "That's for you," he says, gesturing towards the singular fruit on the last plank of wood. "Since I ate the other one."

You look down at the apple, deciding you're safer not asking where he got this one—and then you look lower, peering down off the edge. The siren has pulled himself up to rest against the dock, which means he's only about halfway submerged into the water now. You see his arms, crossed on top of each other to support him resting on top of the dock. You see his chest, his abdomen, droplets of water still rolling down the toned muscles. And you swallow the gasp that threatens to escape you when you finally lock eyes on the dark blue tail that begins past his waist, swishing back and forth as it glistens with every beam of moonlight it reflects.

If he knows the cause of your sudden amazement, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he speaks again. "I wasn't sure if you'd be back."

You manage to pull your eyes back up towards his. "I, um...I realized I never got your name the other night. I figured you didn't just go by 'siren.'"

He smirks. "No, I don't. But I've never had to say it out loud before, like this." He thinks about it for a moment. "Hongjoong."

Hongjoong. "Hongjoong," you repeat. 

You aren't sure if it's the moonlight playing tricks on you, or if his cheeks really do twinge a shade pink at the repetition from your lips. "What's yours?"

Now it's your turn to smirk a little. "You won't, like...gain some kind of terrible power over me once you know my name, right?" You think you remember reading about the fae having that kind of ability in school, but that was ages ago. And at the time, you didn't think you'd ever need to remember information about creatures you were certain didn't exist.

The siren—Hongjoong—shakes his head. "Not that I know of. I can look into it in our historical records though, if you'd like."

You shake your head quickly. Probably better off not knowing.

But you do tell him your name, and he smiles too. "Pretty," he says, and you think you understand how someone like him could talk someone like you into walking off a boat—but the thought doesn't scare you the way it might have the other night. He's so beautiful, you're realizing—almost impossibly so. To hear him say he thinks you're pretty, or at least your name is, almost makes you want to laugh.

Hongjoong pulls you out of your thoughts when he taps the space on the dock next to the apple with one hand. "Well? Are you going to take it?"

Oh. "Oh!" you say, bending over to pick up the fruit. "Sure. Thank you for bringing this to me—" and then, before you can stop yourself from the most sudden and peculiar act of boldness in your entire life so far— "do you...I don't know, want anything in return for it?"

He seems taken aback by your proposition at first, but only a moment passes before that soft, self-assured grin appears across his features again. "What would you want to give me?"

Christ. Why did you say that? "Well—um..." You glance down at your shoes with wet sand still caked to the sides, the green charm on the end of one shoelace, the fraying ends of the jacket you'd hastily pulled over your shoulders before walking outside tonight, before you see—

You quickly work it off of your wrist and hand it over to him. "Here," you say, sitting down at the dock's edge and handing Hongjoong the bracelet you've been wearing since you came to your uncle's house this summer. "You can keep it."

Hongjoong takes the bracelet delicately from your outstretched hand. He peers at it in the moonlight. "What is it?"

"It's a bracelet," you explain. "You can just wear it on your wrist for decoration—it doesn't have to mean anything. This one, um...it was actually from my parents, but believe me—it doesn't mean anything," you finish, trying (and failing) not to let that all-too-familiar drip of malicious venom back into your voice at the mention of the people who raised you. Who bought you this bracelet—a week-late birthday gift from your mother who had missed it while she was on a 'girls trip' in Italy. And yet, you still turned out like this—

Hongjoong continues studying the bracelet, poring over each individual charm. If he notices your attitude about your parents, he doesn't say anything—but after that first conversation you'd had with him, you think he may understand what you mean anyway.

The silence is starting to make you drowsy, so you move to stand back up. "Look, Hongjoong, I'd better head back. It's late. Will I, um—" Why does he make you so nervous now? "Will I see—"

"What are you bringing next time?" Hongjoong interrupts.

You blink. "What?"

He taps the bracelet with one finger. "I'll bring something else the next time I see you, if you bring something too."

He had said he liked to learn. "Okay," you say. There's a sudden warmth in your chest at the thought of seeing him again, even despite the cool breeze suddenly drifting off from the sea. "When will you be back?"

Hongjoong tilts his head to one side, thinking. "The next half moon. It should be in a few nights. I'll need time to find something good for you," he says, grinning.

You can't fight the grin that tugs at your own lips. "I'll be here, then."

You think about how the first two weeks of your summer had dragged by. Every day had felt like an unending loop of babysitting your cousins while your uncle went to work, of making an effort to laugh at said uncle's intentionally not-funny jokes, of picking up groceries and running errands and getting lost in the monotony of the mundane—but the second half of your summer is the complete opposite.

Going out and meeting Hongjoong by the end of the dock goes from a once a week occurrence to a nightly routine. And it doesn't stop at just bringing each other different little trinkets and knick-knacks and snacks that you find—you and Hongjoong both discover that you're better conversationalists than you'd previously thought. The two of you find yourself talking for hours about anything you can think of; you learn that Hongjoong's family is several times larger than yours, and that sirens swim further south when the water gets cold in the winter ("the same as everything else in the sea with any sense," he points out). And you tell Hongjoong about you, about all the summers you spent here with your older siblings when you were all still children, about the nights you snuck out with them and went to the gas station for ice cream—both of you hanging on each other's every word.

You find yourself looking forward to seeing him all day. You're in far better spirits than you were at the beginning of the summer, your uncle teases on several occasions, but you can't find it in yourself to be bothered.

You probably could try to make it slightly less obvious, though. After nearly a month of spending almost all your nights with Hongjoong, you find yourself one midsummer day back on the pontoon boat with your cousins and uncle, looking for an island to go for a picnic on—just like you had been that day you'd first seen him. You still keep to yourself on the bow of the boat the same way you did at the beginning of the summer, but your thoughts are full of nothing but the siren, now. You'd found an unfinished scrapbook of you and your siblings from years ago in your uncle's garage last night, and you're practically beaming at the thought of showing it to Hongjoong tonight. You wonder if he'll be able to pick out which one is you in the photos if you don't tell him. Maybe you'll—

"There's something in the water!" one of your cousins cries out, pointing towards the right side of the boat.

You practically shoot out of your seat. "Where?" you ask, rushing over to her side of the boat.

She blinks up at you, caught off-guard by your sudden enthusiasm. "Um...right next to the boat." She points again with a shrug. "There was a face, but it's gone now. I swear I'm telling the truth."

You nod, giving her a knowing grin. "I believe you."

Her eyes widen, a smile growing across her own features. "You do?"

Your uncle laughs from the wheel of the boat behind you. "You mean your reflection, bub?"

Your cousin shakes her head quickly. "No, it wasn't. It was something else, I know it."

Your uncle looks back and forth between the two of you, landing his gaze firmly on you. "Well—if you see anything else, you just let me know. It's almost the end of the summer, you know," he points out. "I've kept you all under my watch this long—I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

The little girl next to you nods before going back to her seat with the rest of your cousins, but you stay planted at the side of the boat for a while with them.

It's almost the end of the summer, you know.

What's been wrong with you for the last several weeks? Befriending a siren, of all things—where did you think that was going to go? Did you think you'd get to pack him up in your suitcase with everything else and take him home? Stupid, you think—you've been completely, utterly stupid. It's the only explanation for it.

No—that isn't entirely true, either. You may have been foolish, thinking you could keep a friendship with a siren, but that wasn't the only place those feelings were coming from. You've been distracting yourself, you realize now. You're trying to run, still—from the very same thing that led you to stay with your uncle this summer for the first time in years.

Maybe you've had your fill of running. It may be time to try facing the thing you've been avoiding all summer before it's too late—which is how you find yourself alone in the kitchen later that night, holding on to your uncle's home phone with one hand while you read her number to yourself off of your own phone (you're fairly certain she won't answer if she recognizes your number on her caller ID).

You almost hesitate before punching in the last number to dial and sealing your fate, but your uncle's words float back to you again. It's almost the end of the summer. What do you have to lose now, anyway?

You finish dialing the number.

She picks up on the fourth ring. "Hello?" She sounds slightly out of breath, as if she'd ran to catch the phone before it stopped ringing. The thought gives you a momentary sense of hope—maybe she won't hang up on you immediately once she realizes who's calling.

You take a deep breath before answering. "Hi, Mom," you say, slowly. "It's me."

She's silent for a long, long time—but she doesn't hang up. "...Oh," is the first thing your mother says. "I thought this was your uncle calling." You hear her take a breath, hesitating on saying what you know she's about to say. "I guess that's why you called from his phone, huh?"

You know there's no point answering that. "Mom, I...I wanted to talk to you, since the summer's almost over. I thought we could possibly talk about, um...about me staying at home for a little bit before school starts—or maybe coming home during winter break."

There's another long period of silence—and like the fool you are, you allow yourself to hope, for a brief moment, that she won't say exactly what you've known she was going to say the minute you dialed her number. "Hmm...no, Y/N, I don't really think that's a good idea." Your heart sinks, but she continues to push the dagger (that you practically handed her by making this call) further into your chest. "You know what—it's not really a good time right now, anyway. I'll talk to you some other time, alright?"

"Listen, Mom, I'm—"

Click.

She's hung up.

You told yourself earlier you wouldn't cry if she did this (you knew she was going to). And yet—you still can't fight those tears brimming at the edge of your eyelids, threatening to spill over. As you try to blink them away, your gaze is drawn towards the back window—towards the head of blue hair you can just barely see at the end of the dock, waiting expectantly for you already.

God. You cannot talk to Hongjoong right now—but you can't just blow him off entirely, either. You'll make something up, tell him you've gotten sick and can't see him for a few days, and hope he'll just forget about you and find some other human to trade apples for bracelets with.

You pad as quickly as you can down the end of the beach to the dock, peering over the edge to see Hongjoong's dark eyes looking up at you. "I can't talk tonight," you say sharply. "I'm sorry."

Hongjoong frowns. "What's wrong? Did you forget to bring something? It's okay, you know. I don't mind just talking to you. If you want."

Of course that's what he's concerned about. "No," you say, somewhat shakily. "I just can't, alright?"

You move to turn around, but the siren is a step ahead of you like always. He lunges forward onto the dock, grabbing ahold of your ankle with a strength you hadn't known he'd had. You think, for a moment, that if he had really wanted to drown you that day—he could have. "That's not good enough," he replies firmly, but his gaze softens the minute he sees your face closer. "I want to know what's wrong. Please."

It doesn't take much pleading from him for you to succumb to his wishes, so you relent, turning back around and sitting down on the edge of the dock. Hongjoong props himself up with his forearms before pushing the rest of his body up onto the dock, sitting upright and facing the sea beside you, just like you—something he's never done before. Only the last few scales on the edge of his tail just barely brush the water. "Tell me," he asks again, gentler this time.

So you do.

"It's my mother," you tell him, slowly. "Both my parents, really—they planned out me and my brothers' lives from the moment we were born. We were all supposed to be doctors, or lawyers, or scientists—something to make a ridiculous amount of money for them, just like they did for their parents. It was the only way to make them proud. They sent us to private schools and paid for expensive tutoring for years to ensure it, and they only spoke to us when we did well. They didn't want children—they wanted trophies. Things they could show off to their friends who were just as selfish and conceited as them. And they got them with my brothers—they did exactly what they were supposed to. Graduated law school or got their doctorates or PhDs, and now do nothing except work and get filthy rich. I'm the last one to fulfill what my parents had planned out for us. But I guess things don't always work out the way you planned," you add, somewhat bitterly.

Hongjoong keeps his gaze fixed on you. "No," he says, as gently as the water lapping at your ankles. "They don't. And...you don't want to do what they want you to."

You nod. "That's right. I don't. I think I should get a choice in what I make of my life, not slaving away forever at something someone else picked out for me. To do something of my own volition. And I told them so—and they told me I'd be on my own, forever, because of it."

"What do you want, then?" he asks.

You feel tears brushing against the edges of your eyelashes again. "It doesn't matter," you say, trying to keep your voice as steady as you can. "I'm screwed as it is. I have enough money saved for this semester of college, but they've cut me off entirely. I tried to call and make an attempt to patch things up tonight, but she wouldn't even listen to me. I'll be coming here every other semester to work, save up for the next semester, and stay with my uncle. I'm extremely grateful to at least have him on my side, to have someone who will allow me to stay with them—but I don't know if I'll ever get to see my parents or my brothers again. And I knew that would happen," you admit, voice definitely shaking now.

"I knew that was the choice I was making when I told them I didn't want to just be a stupid trophy for them to display, that I wanted to make something worthwhile, that I deemed worthwhile with my life. I knew it wouldn't be easy and that I was taking the harder route, but I thought I'd be able to just cut ties with them. Go no contact, and all that, but it...it's hard, Hongjoong," you tell him, tears rolling down your cheeks. "So fucking hard. And it's so stupid. Even after all this, after she's told me she doesn't want anything to do with me, now that I've chosen to 'waste my life away' and she 'doesn't know who I am anymore—' I still care what she thinks of me, for some stupid reason. She's still my mother—God, what am I supposed to do?"

Hongjoong turns to you almost instantly, cupping your face in both hands, and the sudden touch alone almost makes your tears stop falling. "Nothing stops the flow of the sea," he says, quietly. You want to move your gaze, to move your head away so your eyes aren't locked onto Hongjoong's so intensely, but he keeps you there anyway. "You just have to keep moving through it. With it. I think it's the same with your mother. It won't immediately be better tomorrow, just like how the sea isn't immediately perfectly calm after a typhoon—but it will be better, eventually. A little bit every day, as the waves return back to their normal rolling patterns."

"You don't think it's stupid?" you ask, quietly. "That I'm still so desperate to hold on to my mother, even if she's practically already thrown me away?"

Hongjoong shrugs. "Nonsensical, maybe. But not stupid. I don't think there's anything stupid about reaching out for someone who's taken care of you. My family has always been spread across the oceans—no matter where I go, it seems, I can find someone. I think it would be a much harder life if I was told none of them wanted to see me ever again. I'd feel stranded. And I haven't lived the same life as you, so I don't know what the exact circumstances are like, but I don't think it's a stupid aspiration. Just slightly nonsensical—but I think I'm realizing that a lot of things you do—that humans do," he corrects, "are that way."

That makes you laugh, even as his words settle into your ears and you begin to feel a kind of lightness in your chest. His world is so different from yours, you think. You're almost jealous of it, in a way.

And still, when he says things will be easier, eventually—you believe him.

"What is it that you want with your life?" he asks.

You laugh a little again. "It's cliché."

Hongjoong doesn't hesitate. "How would I know what your clichés are?" His hands are still firmly cupped against your cheeks.

Now the smile that ghosts across your face is real. Genuine. "Art," you say, quietly—as if you're afraid of admitting the truth even to him. "I love drawing—always have. It's all I've ever wanted to do. It used to be my escape when I came here in the summers with my family; I'd sneak away from everyone and paint on the beach for hours until my uncle would call for dinner. I begged for paint sets as a kid for birthday presents—even stole a set of charcoal pencils from the art room in middle school once. The teacher let me keep them even after finding out," you add, laughing a little. You bare your soul to Hongjoong, the parts of you that you've tried to squash for years but have failed to completely erase—like charcoal marks on a piece of paper that just won't quite go away.

He seems to ponder this for a moment. "Could you draw me?"

You laugh, feeling like a dam of relief is beginning to break within within you. He knows what has practically been your deepest, darkest secret for your entire life, and he doesn't want to shun you forever for it. "You know, I've always heard that's the one thing you aren't supposed to ask an artist."

Hongjoong blinks. "I didn't know that." There's only a single beat of silence before he asks, "Can you draw me anyway?"

"It won't be very good," you say with a shrug, smirk still tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I've never been very good at portraits. Landscapes and still life are easier for me."

He moves one hand to wrap around your wrist. "Try anyway."

The tenderness of the action coupled with his words—blunt as always, but reassuring in a way you've never known from him, never known from anyone—is enough to cause tears to prickle at the corners of your eyes again.

This time, Hongjoong notices, moving his free hand up your cheek to gently brush them away before they ever have a chance to cascade past your lashes. You see him sniff once, then look back up at you—realization dawning on his face.

"Salt," Hongjoong whispers in awe. "There's a piece of the sea in you, too."

That dam inside you breaks.

You meet his eyes, dark as the bottom of the ocean—feel the cool grip of his hand wrapped around your wrist and his fingers resting gently on your cheek, and you feel the pull towards him like the magnetism of the Earth's core.

When your lips land on his, it doesn't surprise either of you. It's a chaste, careful kiss at first. Hongjoong takes only a moment to breathe, forehead touching yours so lightly you almost wouldn't know he was there, before pulling you back to him and pressing his lips against yours again.

You've never experienced anything like it before—the tenderness of his hands on your skin, the softness of his lips on yours, his warm breath skating across your jaw. It's like he's everywhere, taking over every sensation—but not at all like that first time he had met you and influenced your thoughts. You feel fully in control right now. You're the one who's let him in.

If this is what drowning feels like, you think, you'd never complain.

You taste salt on your lips when you wake in the morning, and the sensation immediately sends a flurry of butterflies through your chest. A smile tugs at your mouth before you can even think to hide it from yourself.

Had last night even been real? Hongjoong reassuring you, kissing you so gently that you thought you might melt right into the water below the two of you—God, how could it not have been real? You could never have dreamed something like it.

If your uncle and cousins notice your uncharacteristically chipper mood at breakfast, a stark contrast to your melancholy behavior at dinner the night before, they don't say anything—but your uncle does look surprised when you offer to help load the cooler and towels onto the boat for the day.

"I've enjoyed having you here for the summer," your uncle tells you later that afternoon, when you've dropped anchor on a nearby island and your cousins are eating their lunches peacefully—the only time of the day you find that they're quiet. "Reminded me of the old days, with your brothers. It's been good to have you here."

You smile at him. "I've enjoyed being here," you admit, even if he doesn't know all the reasons why. "Thank you for letting me stay the summer. I really, um...really appreciate knowing there's someone who has my back."

His eyes crinkle in a soft smile. "Listen, Y/N. I know it's hasn't been easy after what happened with your mother—I don't know the whole story, but I'm not old and senile enough yet to not know something's up. But you'll always have a place to stay here. I want you to know that."

Your heart jumps. "Thank you, Uncle," you say. "You've always gone out of your way to make this feel like home for me, and you did the same when my brothers were here too. I can never thank you enough for that. And I—"

He just waves your words away. "That's what family does, you know? I've always felt like a bit of a black sheep living out here—compared to my sister, anyway. She always had big plans for all of you. But I've wanted this to feel like a good place for you, and your brothers, and now your cousins too—no matter what. Even when you all would sneak out for late-night gas station runs back in the day...or whatever it is you're doing now," your uncle adds, pointedly.

Your stomach twists. "I've...been taking moonlit strolls. It's helped me relax, with everything going on."

He doesn't seem convinced, however. "Honey...you know, you can always—"

But he's interrupted by one of your cousins shouting. "Jay won't give me the binoculars back!"

Your uncle frowns. "Jay, let your sister have a turn. Only fair, you know."

Jay crosses his arms, tucking the binoculars under one elbow. "No way! Every time Bianca uses these, she keeps telling me she sees somebody staring at her in the water."

Bianca scowls, lunging for him. "And I did! Just because you didn't see him doesn't mean I didn't."

Him.

After what your uncle had just said about your moonlit strolls, you restrain yourself from running over to the edge of the boat immediately like the other day—but your eyes still scan over the water ahead of you hurriedly.

You can see your uncle's gaze flicker back to you out of the corner of your eye, hesitating for a moment too long, before turning his attention back to the twins. "You guys have seen more stuff on the horizon in the past month than I saw in twenty years on the sea," he quips, forcing a tight laugh. "Might need to get you kids back to living in the city soon if you're seeing this many things in the water—not everyone's made for the sea life," he adds.

The knot of worry tightens itself a little tighter in your gut, and not for the last time this summer.

You still smuggle your sketchbook down to the pier once night falls, slipping out the back door with it tucked securely under your arm.

Hongjoong, of course, is waiting expectantly for you, peering up at you from the edge of the dock. "Is that for drawing?" he asks, and you can hear the twinge of excitement in his voice.

Your heart does a little backflip in your chest. "Yes," you admit, a little more sheepishly than you'd meant to. "Do you know how you want to pose for it?"

He thinks for a moment. "Can I sit up here with you? I want to be close to you for it."

Oh—now there are serious acrobatics going on within your chest. "Sure," you say, grinning as you sit on the far edge and watch him scoot up to sit beside you, leaning on the support beam at the very edge of the dock.

You gaze at him for a moment after flipping open your sketchbook and finding an empty page. His tail practically shines in the darkness around the two of you, moonlight reflecting off of each dark blue scale. His torso looks practically sculpted by the gods—arms and chest full of just as much unearthly beauty as his face, jawline sharper than the tip of the pencil you're sketching him with.

Not for the first time, you think to yourself how beautiful he is.

Hongjoong's cheeks turn the fairest shade of pink as you continue to stare at him, but he doesn't say a word as you begin your initial sketch. You find it slightly difficult to get the right shape of the tail flicking against the edge of the water beneath you. "Can I ask you a question?" you say instead, putting down your pencil for a moment.

Hongjoong blinks. "You've asked me questions for weeks, now."

You laugh. "This is a different one. I...I think one of my cousins saw something in the water today. When we were on my uncle's pontoon boat. Any chance you might know something about that?"

His cheeks turn pinker than before, but he doesn't flinch. "I suppose I might."

You can't bite back a grin. "Are you...following me, Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong frowns a little. "I wouldn't call it that. I've...just been in the area. Keeping an eye on things. Not just you."

"Just at the same time as me."

"Right," he says, clearly relieved. "Exactly."

Your grin widens.

Hongjoong points at your sketchpad. "Are you finished with the drawing?"

You laugh a little, picking your pencil back up from beside you on the dock. "No, not even close. I've never drawn anything like you before—but I love a good challenge."

He seems somewhat pleased with this admission. "Will you show it to me once it's done?"

“Of course," you tell him, and he beams. That smile—God. You only hope you can put even a fraction of the way it makes you feel back onto the paper in your palms.

Your uncle corners you in the kitchen after breakfast the next morning. You feel yourself panicking inwardly at first, thinking he's going to continue pressing you on your "moonlit strolls" conversation from yesterday—but he just informs you that he's planning on a big seafood broil for dinner tomorrow night, as a send-off for the summer. And more importantly, he wants you to pick up a few pounds of shrimp from the seafood store in town today.

It's been a while since you ventured that far back into town—God, probably since the very first week of summer. And now your uncle is preparing a feast for the end of the season. You've never known time could pass you by this quickly.

That thought lingers as you ride your uncle's bike down the boardwalk and across the bridge, gradually making your way onto the mainland. You've put off thinking about what will happen once the summer comes to a close since that night you called your mother—but it's an inevitable fact that you'll have to leave, obviously sooner than you think. How can you even begin to bring that up to Hongjoong? Does he know, already, somehow? Will he be disappointed that he can't obtain any more knowledge from you and dip back into the sea, never to be seen again?

Your racing mind quiets somewhat when you realize you've made it to the seafood store—or shack, as it's always been affectionately known. You gaze for a moment at the neon sign outside, realizing that "THE CRAB SHACK" only has a few lights that actually work. "T E CR B S H  C K" is what the sign displays now. 

You remember that the lights didn't work when you were here years ago, either. The whole bottom row of neon was always out, meaning that the sign only read "T E CRB." You wonder if there's a meaning in that—that the sign was broken then and broken now, just showing it in different ways.

Or maybe it's just a neon sign for a seafood shack, and your suddenly gloomy mind is searching for meaning where there is none.

You roll your eyes at your own thoughts, park your bike, and make your way inside. The smell of seafood is nearly overpowering the minute you step through the door and doesn't fade for an instant, even after you've collected your pounds of shrimp in bags and make your way to the register in the very back. You wonder if the employee behind the counter even smells the seafood anymore, or if he's completely accustomed to it now.

He clears his throat awkwardly. Oh, God—how long have you been standing here? "Are you ready to check out?"

"Yes! Yes," you say hurriedly, laughing at yourself. "Sorry. In my own head this morning."

The cashier laughs good-naturedly in reply. "It happens." He looks down at the bags of shrimp after weighing and typing them in. "You visiting a friend here or something? That's quite a few pounds of shrimp—and I don't think I've seen you in here before."

You nod. "I'm staying with some family on the other side of the bridge. We're doing an end-of-summer broil tomorrow night."

He grins at you. "Can I come by if I only charge you for one of these?"

"If there's any leftovers," you reply coolly. "My cousins are pretty ravenous."

The cashier just laughs again, handing you the bags. "Fair enough. You have a good day, now."

"Same to you," you tell him absentmindedly—because you've noticed something in the open door behind the cashier. It's probably not meant to always be open, as it leads to a boardwalk out to the sea. Another Crab Shack employee is lining up a few crates of stock not yet loaded into the store. A couple canisters of fruit, three or four crates of sodas—and at the very end of the boardwalk, you think you might just see a head of blue hair peeking out of the water.

Shit.

You wonder as you quickly make your way out of the store, as you duck under the Sea You Later! sign at the exit, as you pedal the whole ride back over the bridge and back onto your uncle's property—a trick of the light, maybe? (When has that ever been the case this summer?) Will Hongjoong even say anything about it tonight, if it was him?

He does, of course. When evening falls and you make your way down to the dock, you haven't even taken your pencils out of your drawing bag before Hongjoong is pulling himself up beside you, gazing at you intently.

"What was so funny?" he asks, in a tone so innocent you almost think he's being genuine. "I want to know."

You make an exasperated face. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hongjoong."

"The man in the store today," he answers plainly. "In the apron. You laughed at something he said."

"Nothing," you say. "I was being polite—I promise. He was the one trying to make jokes about inviting himself over. Not nearly as funny as he thought he was."

He isn't quite satisfied with that. "Did you know him before?"

"No," you tell him. "I was just in there getting shrimp for my uncle to cook tomorrow."

Hongjoong frowns. "I could've gotten you shrimp. There's plenty around that cove near the bridge."

You laugh. "I appreciate the offer—but where would I have told my uncle several pounds of live shrimp came from?"

He frowns, thinking for a moment. "The apron man wasn't too bright, I think," Hongjoong says. "I saw him come out onto the boardwalk not too long after you left—almost fell over trying to help the other apron man pick up those boxes."

His words hang in the air for a beat. Then two. "What would you have done if he had?" you ask, partially teasing and partially serious. "Drown him?"

Hongjoong ponders that. "I'm not sure. Maybe."

"For what? Talking to me?" you ask, somewhat incredulously. "What were you doing watching me in the middle of the day, anyway? Just 'in the area' again?"

He crosses his arms indignantly. "I didn't plan to. I heard your laugh when I came up for air, so I wanted to know what was funny." He seems to pause on that for a moment. "You're almost a siren yourself, in that way."

Now that makes your heart stop—maybe more than he had intended it to. You have to hide the smile that threatens to creep up the edges of your mouth. "So you really aren't going to drown that poor cashier? Or me, for talking to him?" you ask,  still only partially teasingly.

Hongjoong's face softens slightly at that. "I don't think I ever really intended to. Not from the moment I saw you."

You wonder, for a split second, if he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—if he has any idea what kind of effect he has on you, siren abilities or not.

He seems to have an idea of your thoughts, either way—because he reaches for your hand, intertwining it with his. "I want to show you something."

You stare at him for an instant too long. "Where?" you ask, nervous laughter accidentally escaping you. "In the water?"

He nods, as if that should have been obvious. "Of course."

You give him a look. "Hongjoong—I don't know how far this is, but you know I'm not nearly as good at holding my breath as you are."

Hongjoong laughs a little at that—that bright, airy, musical laugh that almost instantly sets you at ease, reminding whatever sane parts of you are left that he's still a siren. "Don't worry," he says plainly. "I'll make sure you can breathe."

Just as always, there's no malice in his tone, no hint of a hidden plot behind his eyes, although you wonder if you would even know if there was, skillful siren that he is. Regardless, you squeeze his hand in yours and let him lead you off the dock and beneath the waves, taking one last gasping breath before your head slips underneath.

Hongjoong keeps your hand in his, tail swishing as he leads the two of you further beneath the surface—the scales across it continue to reflect moonlight as brightly as if you were still above the water, giving you just as much visibility in the dark water as if you had a flashlight with you.

What's a flashlight?

You nearly let out a yelp before you remember the two of you are underwater. That was Hongjoong's voice, no doubt about it—and it was in your head.

You can talk to me this way too, you know.

It's like he's invaded your head—his thoughts are suddenly yours. Can you always hear my thoughts? you wonder. If that's been the case all along—

But you can just barely see Hongjoong shake his head in front of you through the darkness. No, you hear him say. Only when we're here, like this. Do you need air?

God, you definitely, definitely do—the shock of Hongjoong's voice in your mind had completely distracted you for a brief moment from the lack of air in your lungs. It's nothing at all, though, compared to the shock you feel when Hongjoong cups your cheeks between his hands and presses his mouth to yours.

He's kissing you.

No—he's not, you realize suddenly. He's breathing into you, pushing air down your lungs and filling them up until you feel like you can breathe again, despite being completely submerged beneath the water.

Hongjoong pulls away after a moment. Good? he asks.

You nod—you're slightly embarrassed now, especially now that you know he could hear your confusion in your head.

And especially considering the smirk you can see on his lips right before he turns back around to push the two of you further through the water. He's well aware of the confusion he's caused.

Hongjoong only has to give you air two more times before you finally arrive at what he had wanted to show you—and it nearly takes your breath away once more.

It's a shipwreck. A massive one, sitting completely undisturbed at the bottom of the bay. The ship has three broken masts, some of the sails slightly submerged in the sand with several of the cannon openings peeking out at you, which you know can mean only one thing.

This ship is hundreds of years old. One that had clearly gone down in a fight.

Hongjoong beams at you taking in the scene. My cousins did this, you hear him say, and you nearly laugh at the clear pride in that declaration.

You think about your own cousins, playing pirates on the beach while they throw buckets of water at each other, stomping over sandcastles and leaving childlike destruction in their wake. Yeah? you finally ask. Sounds like something my cousins would do.

Hongjoong stares at you thoughtfully for a long time after that—you wonder, for a brief moment, if you shouldn't have compared your family to his in this way. You're just about to formulate a thought to apologize when you feel his lips on yours again, one hand on the back of your head while the other cups your cheek gently.

You stare at him, confused once more when he pulls back. I didn't need air, you tell him, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

He stares right back. I know.

Hongjoong waits to see the realization on your face before he touches you again, clasping your chin between two fingers gingerly. He's giving you a chance to push him away, if that's what you want.

It isn't.

You hold his face in your hands when you press your lips to his this time, and you can practically feel the relief emanating from him in your own mind. He wraps one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as he can. Everything else—all your fearful thoughts about the end of the summer from today, your suspicions about your uncle, your constant stress about your mother—all fades away past the point of existence, and in that moment, there is nothing but you and Hongjoong at the bottom of the ocean.

"Sure you don't want to go out on the boat today?" your uncle asks the next morning. "It's your last chance for this summer."

But you shake your head again. "I got pretty sunburned across my back yesterday," you fib. "I'll watch the house here until you all get back. Do you need me to run any errands for you while you're gone?"

He doesn't quite stop himself from narrowing his eyes at you. You've been out in the sun enough times this summer that the half hour you spent in the backyard watching your cousins' impromptu performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream yesterday shouldn't have burned you at all. And you know he's fully aware of this. "...Don't know how many times I've told you kids to wear sunscreen," he says after a moment. "And reapply."

"I know," you wince. "I'm sorry. I'll put some lotion on it after breakfast."

"There's some in the closet upstairs with aloe," he informs you. "That usually speeds up the healing process for me."

"Good to know," you tell him. In truth, the only thing you plan to do while everyone is out of the house is work on your drawing of Hongjoong. You've solidified the outline, gone over it with an ink pen, but you're still trying to decide how to place the shading. You want to show the finished product to Hongjoong tonight—your last night of summer. You've put off that dreaded conversation with him until the very last minute—but you know you two will have to talk about what happens two nights from now when you're across the country, moving into your dorm room for your first night at college.

At least—you think you will be. There's a mad fantasy, of course, of staying here, of sneaking out to see Hongjoong every night for as long as you can, of running away with him somehow to some island where no one will ever bother the two of you—but it's just that, a fantasy, and you know it. Even if the entire summer has felt like a fantasy in its own way.

You don't know how that conversation will go tonight. But you want to at least be able to give this piece to him, regardless of what happens.

You're hunched over your sketchpad for hours, messing with the combination of paints for your watercolors until they're just right (or at least as satisfactory as you can get them). The scales on his tail are the hardest—you want so badly to show how ethereal they look with the moonlight reflecting off them, making him look like he's glowing from the waist down. You lay down a base color first and paint over it with different shades of blue and green, creating several different layers until you're pleased with the color's result.

Your work on the contours of his face and torso comes much easier, and the full painting is almost completely dry by the time you're heading back outside, moon high in the sky to greet you as you step onto the dock.

Hongjoong is waiting for you too, forearms resting at the edge of the pier. You roll the painting into a cylinder shape as you walk down to meet him, but you know he knows exactly what it is.

He grins. "I've been thinking about this all day," he admits, immediately, and you feel an entire enclosure of butterflies fluttering through your chest at the statement.

But you steel yourself. Take a breath. "Before I show it to you," you say, "I want to talk."

Hongjoong nods. "The end of the summer. Right?"

You raise one eyebrow at him. "How'd you know?"

"I heard you talking about it. With your uncle, that first time that your cousin spotted me from the boat." He grins a little at the recollection. "I heard him say there wasn't long until the end of summer, when you'd be leaving, so—I imagined this conversation would happen soon."

You exhale, slightly relieved. At least you wouldn't have to break the news of your sudden departure to him. "And how did you imagine this conversation?"

He takes a breath now. "I know I can't ask you to stay here. That's not fair to what you want—to the choices you've made with your own family for being able to make your own life. But I was thinking—"

"Y/N!" You hear a voice cry out from behind you.

You'd recognize the sound of your uncle anywhere—and you feel your blood practically freeze over in your veins. "Get back here. Now!"

You turn around quickly, trying to block the view of Hongjoong from your uncle—but it's too late. And as you turn to face him, you see that he's come prepared for this exact situation—a shotgun raised to his shoulder now, eyes peering down the barrel pointed at you, and a long fishing spear beside him on the dock.

"Uncle," you say, as calmly as you can. "Put that down. Please."

"Get back here, Y/N," he says, voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Get away from that thing right this minute and get out of my way."

You take a shaky breath. "Uncle, please let me explain. He's—"

"I know exactly what that is!" your uncle spits, pulling back the safety on the shotgun with a loud click. "A goddamn monster. You have no idea what those things do," he says, voice cracking. "I've seen men—good men, my friends taken from me, by its kind. Yanked right off our ship's railing and into their waiting mouths. It's nothing but a bloodthirsty animal that—"

"Stop!" you interrupt him with a shout, surprising yourself with the tenacity in your voice. You feel Hongjoong's hand wrap around your ankle, probably trying to tell you to stop—but you can't. You won't. "He's not a single thing like that. His name is Hongjoong. He's never even drowned anyone, let anyone killed and eaten anyone, Uncle. You have—"

"It's got you under it's spell," your uncle says, horrified. "Oh, my poor Y/N. I'll kill this nasty beast and free you from this trap."

You practically scream the next time you open your mouth. "No! You can't!" There's tears streaming down your face now, and the intensity of your emotions must be a surprise to your uncle, if the look of shock on his face is anything to go by. "Uncle—I'm begging you," you plead, sobbing. "I'll do anything. Please, please don't hurt him. He's my friend."

Something strange flickers over your uncle's features. He drops the barrel ever so slightly from being pointed at you. "Your friend, huh?"

You nod as you choke back another sob. "I love him." It's the first time you've admitted it—to yourself, let alone out loud—but you know it's the truth. Has been for longer than you've been aware, most likely.

That admission causes your uncle to drop the barrel entirely, holding the shotgun down in one hand and letting his other arm rest at his side. "My Y/N," he says, after a moment with a sigh.

"I've always wanted the best for you. I lived with your mother for eighteen years growing up, up until she met your father and had you and your brothers. I know how...how demanding she can be," he says with a laugh, one you don't reciprocate. "I know her tendencies all too well. She's my sister, and she'll always be my sister—but that doesn't mean I think she's a good person. I've tried to show you that there's a different path in life. That you don't have to do things her way. This...isn't what I thought you'd do," he says, laughing emptily again. "But I would never want to do anything that would hurt you on any level close to what I know she's caused you."

Your uncle swallows. Takes a breath. "I swore an oath," he says, steadier now. "In the navy. When I see anything like this, when any of us do—I'm honor-bound to report it. The local unit will be over here in under half an hour. Maybe even sooner."

You feel yourself holding your breath.

"So," he says, sighing as he meets your gaze down the dock. "You two...had just better not be here by the time they show up."

Before you can say anything in response—or perhaps before he can change his mind, your uncle turns on his heel and walks back towards the house.

You turn back around to face Hongjoong, sinking to your knees—and the minute you do, you feel tears streaming back down your face again.

He immediately pushes himself up onto the dock, grabbing hold of your face and brushing away the tears the instant they fall. "Y/N," he whispers. "You didn't have to do that. I...I love you. I would've gladly taken a bullet from your uncle if it meant you'd be safe."

Your eyes well with tears again, a shaky laugh leaving you. "Shit," you whisper back. "I don't—I don't know what to do, I just...just wanted to show you this stupid drawing," you say, laughing shakily. "And now I've ruined both of our lives. I'll never see you again."

"No. You haven't," Hongjoong says firmly, squeezing your cheeks in his hands.

You grab hold of his wrists. "Hongjoong—you have to get out of here. You...you said you have family everywhere, right? Go anywhere else. Please."

"No," Hongjoong says suddenly, straightening up the instant your hands wrap around his wrists.  "Where did you say that school you were going to for your art was?"

You tell him. "It's on the coast, but it's not nearly as close to the sea as we are here, I—"

He interrupts you again. "I'll find you."

You let out an unbelieving laugh. "Hongjoong, there's no way—"

"I'll find you," he repeats, hands still cupping your face firmly. "On the name of the full moon that night you found me—on that stupid apple that led me to you. I'll find you. And then, you can let me see that drawing."

He leans forward, his lips pressing against yours in a messy kiss—all teeth and salty tears and hands squeezing too tight, or maybe not tight enough—before he lets go of you, pushing himself off the dock and into the water. You see one flick of his tail before he descends deep beneath the surface, and it's not long at all as you sit there, chest heaving and cheeks stained, before the waves are gone and the sea stills, and it's like Hongjoong was never there at all.

Fall semester has left you busier than you could have ever dreamed. You've never done this many sketches in a week, never tried this many different techniques at once, never spent this many all-nighters on a single project—but you'd be lying if you said you weren't still enjoying every second of it.

Your job keeps you plenty busy, too—your roommate had been kind enough to put in a good word at the campus library and gotten you a job in the coffee shop on the first floor. You're taking as many shifts as you can, but the pay isn't bad, all things considered. You may not have to take a semester off after all.

But the diving club keeps you almost busier than both your work and assignments combined. You've already logged more hours than any of the other freshman, and some of the upperclassmen, too. If the club captain has noticed how you're always late packing up after a dive, she hasn't reprimanded you. Maybe she's noticed the unique shells you seem to always come back with, or the skip in your step as you pack up your scuba gear, rolling a shiny bracelet over your wrist—or maybe she's noticed something else, entirely.

After all—last summer, you had been so sure that there was nothing like Hongjoong living below the water's surface. Of course, that didn't mean other people didn't already believe otherwise.

a/n: happy holidays !! i hope everyone is staying warm and healthy and having a lovely week so far <3

and finally…this title escapes my wip list 😭 y’all. i have been working on this on and off since late 2021—sometimes you can have an idea, have absolutely no inspo to write past halfway through, and then write 5k in one night. 💀 no such thing as a perfect project ofc but i do hope you enjoyed this oneshot! feedback is always welcome through reblogs, comments, and messages 🫶🫶 thank you sm for reading!

taglist: @petrichor-han @kangroo-chan @ot7lonelylover @lilacdreams-00 @mainexiii @awkwardnesshabitat @lotus-dly @elizabeth11moreno @nerdysl-t @seung-scrittore @fireheaurt

©️ noramoons 2021-2023. do not translate or reupload my writing.

[b4tasquad]

Hii i asked earlier if you were writing for sharky! Could I request headcannons or anything really on what it's like to date him? Like how he would be in the relationship etc. :D

DATING SHARKY:HEADCANNONS

When you initially started dating sharky it was safe to say you were scared for your life. Not only did the YouTuber have a crazy following that would dissect your relationship into pieces, trying to find way to pull the two of you apart, but the amount of girls that fancied him. Scary. You had been reluctant to tell him anything though. Being someone who influences in media was obviously something he loved doing, and you didn’t want to be annoying with your insecurities which you felt weren’t really valid. Somewhere along the first few weeks of being official, sharky had noticed. He kissed you softly, holding your cheeks in his hand. “I don’t care about what they think or the girls in my dms, I just want you.” Was what he had said, honesty behind his every word. “I swear.”

He is your chauffeur. It didn’t matter if it was an hour's drive or even 2 minutes, Sharky drove you. It started with him casually offering to drive you places, and you accepted, happy to be given such princess treatment. One day, you enlightened him on your distaste for driving, just by casually mentioning it while in conversation. “ I don’t like driving, to be honest.” You had told him. “Prefer to be in the passenger seat.” From then on he had refused to let you sit behind the wheel. He gave you a ride to work, to your dates, and even for a little snack at the corner shop. While you always rolled your eyes, telling him he didn’t need to, you secretly loved it, and he knew that.

Not going to sleep without working things out. One important thing to Sharky was working things out. He hated arguing, but since it was something that happened in every couple, he focused more on how to resolve the issue than grumbling over the issue in itself. He was the calmest person you knew, and it didn’t matter how rude you were being. Sharky would reply with the softest tone, being caring and gentle with you. After a while you had picked up his traits, refusing to stay mad at him through the night. It made it even more complicated, and that was something the two of you didn’t want.

He’d make sure you’re comfortable around his friends. It was no secret that Sharky’s friends could be a little overbearing and come across as intimidating, which meant him being slightly concerned about how you’d handle it around them. He wanted you and the guys to get along, secretly needing his friend’s validation. It was the occasional “Are they being good?” when he had stepped away for a minute, or “What did you think about it?” after dinner. Luckily for him, you got along with his friends perfectly, even finding a funny friendship with one of his best friends, Aj.

When away for work, he was in them texts constantly. Checking up on you, chatting and ranting all day long. You wondered how he got the time in between events, filming and just socializing with others, but your boyfriend was Sharky. Of course, he found a way to do all that. “Babe, the guy sat next to me smells funny” he had texted you one night you knew he was supposed to be at dinner. “Just.. move?” You had laughed out loud, your laughter doubling when his response came. “I moved before even clicking send on the message.”

He was be READY for work gossip. It didn’t matter how little or big the tea was, best believe Sharky was all in to hear about your hectic work atmosphere. You found it sweet how he’d genuinely be so into it, commenting “Noo! Are you serious?” Or even “they didn’t.” It was an everyday thing. You get home from work to find Sharky doubled over the couch, waiting for you and his daily catch-up.

The first person you show your new items to. Sharky had made his love for you trying on things for him immensely clear dozens of times. He loved being laid against the bed, watching as you talked about the clothing/ item, explaining why you liked or disliked it. Often he’d come with his personal opinion which was always. “It looks amazing on you.” You rolled your eyes every time, but a smile still grazed your lips. Safe to say he was the best hypeman ever.

[masivechaos]

there's nothing cats can't fix!

── ☆ patrick verona x gn! reader

── ☆ Request: yes / no

── ☆ Synopsis: Patrick finds you upset after a bad grade in math and he knows exactly how to make you feel better

── ☆ Warning/content: my English

── ☆ a.n.: 0.9k words-

masterlist/ ttihay masterlist / navigation / taglist 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

“Hey there,” Patrick grinned as he approached you. “How you doin’?”

You glanced up, eyes tired “I’m… fine, I guess,” you said as you got into your car “What do you what?”

“Can’t I just check up on you?” he dared with a smile playing on his lips, he rested his arm on the top of your car, he kept talking to you, bent over so he could speak through your open window.

You sighed, not answering to your usual banter. Patrick frowned “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you answered a second too fast.

Patrick shook his head “You can’t make me believe that lie. What’s happening in this head of yours?” he asked, a little softer. He didn’t want to press you but he also wanted to know. 

With your eyes closed and the back of your head against your seat, you spoke, “Just a bad grade in maths, nothing important”

Patrick’s face softened “Ah, maths,” he whispered “It’s just one grade. It’s fine”

You opened your eyes “No it’s not, it’s not my first C- and I feel like I can’t get better at maths. I try, I really do. But maybe I’m just not made for this.”

“Don’t say that,” Patrick immediately said “C’mon now, stop being so upset, it won’t help you get better.”

“I know,” you answered a little more harshly than intended.

Patrick rolled his eyes, “Get out of the car,” he commanded.

You glanced up, eyebrows frowned in confusion “What?”

“Get out of the car,” he said again, softer. Still not understanding, you opened your door. “Now, get into the passenger seat.”

Once settled, you sighed “I can drive myself just fine.”

“Choose another moment to act tough,” he said as he put his seatbelt on.

“And where are we going?” you asked, too tired to handle if it ever was a sort of joke.

He stared at the road as he drove “Don’t you trust me?”

You sighed “I do, I do”

Of course you trusted him. He was your best friend at the moment, he always knew what to say, how to cheer you up. When you first met him, you couldn’t have imagined how important he would become to you. He didn’t have the best reputation, hell, he even had lots of scary rumours about him (which you had found out were false).

And maybe, just maybe, you had a tiny bit of a crush on him.

It wasn’t your fault though. Who could resist the Patrick Verona grin?

You and Patrick drove to the sound of the radio blasting the Cardigans. He knew that during these moments, you didn’t like to speak. So despite his urge to make sure you felt a little better and the hint of worry in his chest, he kept his mouth shut, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

After twenty minutes, he pulled over. You looked out the window “Where are we?””

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick smiled as he got out of the car and hastily moved to the passenger side and opened the door. “Come here”

You walked for a minute before Patrick stopped “Here we are,” he said.

Your gaze explored the frontage, eyebrows knitted together “Marceline’s cat café?” you whispered and then your eyes widened “wait-”

You turned around and beamed at Patrick, “You took me to a cat café? Why? How?”

As Patrick saw your smile, he knew exactly why he had done this. To make you happy “Well… you had been talking about wanting to go to one and you seemed pretty upset today so I thought… why not.”

You kept beaming at him “No way,” you whispered under your breath.

Patrick led you inside, the café was cosy and sunny, cats displayed everywhere, on the floor, on a chair, on shelves, on their cat tree “Oh my…” you mumbled in awe

You both took a seat “This is so cute,” you said when you saw a cat on the chair next to yours.

Patrick chuckled. Once you both had your drinks, you started to talk about mindless things, school, parents, homework, things like that…

“I swear it’s so-”

Patrick glanced up from his limonade when he heard you stop talking. And then he saw the cat crawling in your lap. He chuckled as he saw you froze with a huge grin on your face, not wanting the cat to leave.

The cat, with its long black hairs, turned around on your thighs before finally deciding to lay there, curled up.

“Patrick Patrick Patrick!!” you whispered, excited “Are you seeing this?

“I am,” he said with an amused grin, “He likes you.” Who wouldn’t? He thought.

You kept staring down at the little fur ball in your lap with a grin. Patrick’s heart felt warm in his chest, this was definitely a better sight than seeing you all upset because of maths earlier. You looked so adorable like this, a cat was enough to make you happy and he loved this idea. You carefully leaned forward a bit and wrapped your lips around the straw of your drink, the cold strawberry lemonade felt good for this hot weather.

“You’re feeling better?” he asked softly.

You glanced up from your lap, still in awe of the small cat “Yeah definitely, thank you” you said with a genuine smile that changed something in Patrick. He just loved you so much.

“Next time, don’t worry so much for a simple maths grade,” he smiled

“Yeah I know…” You were definitely someone who constantly worried too much for nothing and Patrick knew that. But now that he was here, he was going to help you as much as he could.

“And remember,” he grinned, “There’s nothing cats can’t fix.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Can’t spell panic without pain- Matt, Kelly, Jay

Authors note: This has been a fic that I’ve been working on the past couple of weeks. I was gonna post last week, but I wasn’t happy with it. Hopefully you guys enjoy!

Summary: The boys make sure to take care of their girl when she is panicked and in pain.

Warnings: possible inaccurate medical jargon, anxiety attack, crying, mentions ovary cysts.

—————————

You’ve been having a rough couple of days. More like rough couple of weeks, but it seemed to be getting worse the longer the weekend progressed into the week. Now, on a Wednesday afternoon, you are sitting in your car outside of the house you share with Matt, Kelly, and Jay. Matt and Kelly have today and tomorrow off. Jay got home a bit before you, having left before you when he assumed you had already left or were close behind. Since it’s been long enough for Jay to worry, your phone starts to ring over the speakers in your car. You almost miss it with the ringing in your ears, but you connect the call just before it’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey baby. I figured you’d be home by now.” Jay says casually as Matt and Kelly are heard cooking and talking softly in the background.

“I-I am.” You force out, voice strained with more unleashed tears, you gasp in a breath as you hear Jay curse and tell the others something is wrong.

“Hang on baby.” Jay says, disconnecting the call as he practically jumps down the stairs and sprints to your car with Kelly behind him.

They see the tears as soon as you’re in view. Kelly slides into your passenger seat as Jay opens your door and crouches to your level. They quickly look at each other as they slowly peel your fingers away from the steering wheel.

“Shhhhh. We gotcha now. We gotcha baby.” Kelly whispers, wiping at your tears and testing your skin for a temperature, which he thinks you have. It’s hard to tell if your warm because you are actually running a fever or if it’s because you are upset.

Jay is checking your pulse as Kelly attempts to soothe you. He knows that Matt is getting the first aid kit out of their master bathroom, which is upstairs and in the very back of the house, so he’s not worried about being completely accurate, but he wants to gauge it before he moves you. Currently, your heart rate is pretty high, but steady.

“Come on sweet girl. Let’s get you inside.” Jay says, helping Kelly unbuckle you before he hoists you into his arms. “What’s goin on? Hmm?” Jay whispers to you, but as he suspected, he doesn’t get a verbal response as you whimper like you are in pain.

Kelly pushed the push start button to turn off your car before he grabs your phone and keys, deciding that he will grab your bags later on so that he has time to jog to the door and open it for Jay. Matt is already getting the med bag open, placing a few things on the coffee table. He’s just tossing the necessary equipment onto the coffee table to check your vitals, not knowing what the issue is, but he already has his suspicions.

You have a cyst on your right ovary that has been bothering you for a week and a half now. The boys tried to talk you into staying home, especially after a scary er visit earlier in the week, but you were stubborn and refused to rest when a big case was brought to the intelligence unit.

Jay sat down, cradling you in his arms. He made sure that one arm was accessible for Matt, but he also wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. Kelly was stood not too far off, waiting for something to do and giving Matt space to check you over.

Matt checked your blood pressure and stuck a pulse ox on your finger as Jay whispered softly to you, encouraging you to breath. Jay’s sweet nothings were barely audible to your other two lovers, but they also were barely making it past the still constant ringing in your ears.

“Tachy. BP is a bit high and oxygen is low.” Matt said out loud, quickly running the thermometer over your forehead. “100.3.” Matt read off, tossing everything back in the medical bag.

Jay did his best to calm you down as Kelly retrieved a wash cloth and some fever reducers. Matt sat in your line of sight, lightly rubbing the tears from your face with the pad of his thumbs. Both men were lightly shushing you and whispering sweet nothings in an attempt to calm you down. Eventually, it seemed like you started to respond to what was happening and reached one shaking hand to lay on Jay’s chest. Jay immediately started breathing at a deeper, more even, pace that was easy for you to follow.

“Baby. You gotta tell us what hurts.” Matt whispered, locking eyes with you. “We can’t help if we don’t know whats wrong sweetheart.”

You sucked in a deep breath, curing further into yourself and Jay’s lap. “I-I’m hurting and I c-can’t stop crying.” You whimpered. “It f-feels like a p-panic attack.”

Kelly came back in and immediately knew the problem. “The cyst must be rupturing.” Kelly stated, laying the wash cloth over your neck and offering you a Gatorade with your medicine. “This should help the pain baby girl.”

Matt sighed, laying a gentle hand on your knee. “Okay. Well, we know the drill. Your gonna feel really crappy and emotional for a couple days. However, we will do everything we can to help you feel better, okay baby?” Matt said, taking the hand you offered.

You nodded, leaning back into Jay. “It’s okay to cry sweet girl, but you gotta breath. Okay? Just follow me.” Jay encouraged, kissing the crown of your head as you tried to focus. “You are definitely having a panic attack, but we gotcha now. Your not alone baby.” Jay encourages, kissing your temple.

You started humming, not liking the feeling of your stomach shaking and your lips buzzing. You had gotten yourself worked up so much that the anxiety made you feel like a live wire. You knew that your boys were attempting to ground you, but it was like it was impossible to turn it all off.

“What can we do?” Kelly asked, sitting on the coffee table to get in your line of sight without standing over you. He knows that you get anxious when people stand over you on a good day, so it probably wasn’t advisable today.

“Think you wanna try a popsicle?” Jay asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. “I can feel you shaking, but you aren’t cold, are you baby?”

You shook your head no, not offering a verbal response.

“I need a verbal response sweet girl.” Kelly said, leaning forward expectantly. He knew the more he got you talking, the more likely you were starting to come back down to earth.

“Not cold. Popsicle please.” You whispered, not wanting to use full sentences, but knowing that would get your point across.

Kelly nodded before getting up and jogging into the kitchen for your popsicle. He was back in no time, having cut the plastic open and wrapped the popsicle in a paper towel. “Here princess. It’s a pedialyte popsicle. It should help hydrate you to flush all those toxins out.” Kelly explained, watching as you quickly calmed down as the cold from the popsicle helped focus your brain on the taste and sensation.

“Good girl. We gotcha. It’ll be over before you know it.” Matt praised, laying your favorite blanket in your lap to help calm you further. He knew it would be a long couple of days, but once you calmed down, they could start working on taking the proper steps to ensure a quick recovery.

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