#its been 5 years and i finally felt like i belonged

[its-brigsby]

More than anything I just feel so stupid. Stupid that I thought I was finally worthy of someone's time and affection. Stupid enough to think I'd found someone who wanted to stay. Stupid enough to think I had healed from everything and could be normal.

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

[spookypete-94]

Difficult Gratitude

GhoapxFem!Reader

Story I've had in my head for awhile now, and just needed to press it out finally.

Reader is female medic. Takes place during the mission of Soap getting shot. Implied established relationship between Soap and Ghost already. Reader very good friends with Soap, and Ghost still learning how to accept it. More then likely medical inaccuracies. Its fan-fiction after all. Will be a longer read, I didn't want to split it into a series (since in the process of writing one already) so strap yourself in. Trigger warning for smut towards the end. Language used as well. I started this about 345 this afternoon and just finished right around 10 pm, so I hope you like it lol..

MNDI!

Blood. Working with it every day made it seem not as grotesque to you as it used to be. The mass amount of it surrounding Johnny however, made your heart stop and breath hitch. He was lying in a large pool of it. You could smell the iron and wasn't even on top of it yet. Even with your nervous system short circuiting, your legs carried you as fast as you could to him. Sent with a different group of soldiers and TAC agents, you were kicking yourself in the ass for not urging Price for you to go with him and Johnny.

Kneeling over you saw a gunshot wound to his temple.

"Fuck," you hissed out pulling on the straps of his vest trying to get it off.

"He's gone." Ghost grumbled next to, as he had already been kneeling over Johnny. Ignoring him, you continued, laying your head on his chest trying to hear a familiar thump-thump.

Nothing.

You began to cut his t-shirt pulling an AED out of your bag.

"He's gone." Ghost said louder, next to trying to swat your hands away.

"I have to know I fuckin' tried." You snarled up at him matching his tone. Your eyes narrowed and teeth still bared at him. Fully looking feral.

The reaction from you makes Ghost scoot back, allowing you to do as you wished. Sure, you had worked with them for years now, but you've always been cheery and sweet. Sickeningly sweet, Ghost had thought. You wouldn't say you were close with Ghost, but Soap had always tried to make sure you knew you mattered to him. Out of all the unfortunate work you had to do, he was the beacon of light out of it all.

Ghost sat back, looking at Price who had approached finally. As the AED went to work, shocking Soap every so often after your set of chest compressions. Taking the time to start wrapping his head wound while it would scan him again before sending another shocking volt. Ghost finally looked up to Price, a silent plea to make it all stop. He couldn't handle watching his lover's body jolt one more time on the ground. After about 5 minutes total, you felt arms pick you up around the shoulders dragging you away.

"Thatsa' enough," Price grumbled into your ear.

"No!" you yelled, arms and legs flailing. "'M not done yet!"

"You've done all you can." He said arms on your shoulders as you put you back on the ground still holding you back. Looking at you like a father would after they had lost their beloved pet. Your eyes searched Price's as they welled with hot tears. The silence was broken however, as the AED machine made a beeping noise still connected to Soap... A faint noise and a line matched a heartbeat being read.

Pushing Price out of the way, you grumbled to him, a voice now full of gravel as you fought back the tears. "Call for a fuckin' bird." Kneeling back next to Soap, you could feel eyes burning into you. Refusing to look up you knew they belonged to Ghost. But you would be damned to meet him as you prepped Soap to be able to fly. Pulling an IV and a blood bag, you started hooking them in, all while watching the faint green line praying the cadence continued.

**********************************************

The flight back was rocky at best. You stayed with Soap, other paramedics now with you helping in all the ways they could. Task Force 141 not too far off as they watched their struggling brother.

A curtain was drawn splitting them off as a vent was used. Your worry came true as you watched the green line grow fainter.

"Losing him," someone said as they began to bag his airway until the vent was ready. You stood next to him at the side ready to start compressions again if needed, until another strong arm pulled you away again.

"Let them, you've done plenty." Gaz said soothingly trying to hold you to his side.

"I'm so fuckin' tired of you guys," you snapped fighting back once more.

"As your Captain you need to step back. Your nerves are shot. Compressions have taken it out of you." Price said pulling you back further away while on the bird. "Sit your ass down." Forcefully he pushed you down as he ran the belts to contain you in your seat. "I know this is hard for you, but you need ta' remember this is hard on all o' us righ' now. The entire medical team is back there, sit your fuckin' ass down." Accent getting thicker as he commanded you to sit still, all while trying to control his anger at your behavior.

And you couldn't help it. You slouched forward on your knees as the tears finally spilled over. "He's my best friend. The best one out of all of you." You said, your tone wanting to inflict pain back at them for pulling you off the resuscitation team. And the part that made you feel guilty was that none of them argued because they couldn't.

"He is," Price said agreeing with you, kneeling at your level, brushing your hair to the side of your face before doing the same motion again. "What will be will be now... You've done more then enough." You held your face in your hands, keeping the sobs at bay, refusing to fall all the way apart at the seams.

Ghost standing back and watching it all, heart in his throat feeling as if it was going to leap out his mouth and to his feet the entire time. Unable to say or do anything.

**********************************************

Everything else was a blur once landed. Peeking through your fingers, you watched as Soap was rolled out on the gurney. Ghost not too far away in tow, following the man he loved be rolled away towards the surgery room. Price unbuckled you once they were fully out and in the building. Was he worried you were going to chase after? If he hadn’t forced you to sit and calm down, you'd of been the one rolling the bed itself.

Seeing Gaz's hand reach out you to take it, standing up and letting him pull you into a hug.

"Proud of you." He said squeezing you, thankful you had fought back against Ghost and Price to save his friend.

Finally, you broke off the hug, heading towards the building and the surgical bay. Your footsteps felt heavy, but honestly you walked so quietly. Like if you made a singular noise, God would find you strike you down with lighting for fighting off the Reaper who was supposed to take your friend.

Having to take this walk many times with other patients you knew where to go. And to no shock to you, Ghost sat in the same hallway outside of the surgical bay already. Picking a seat across from him, you sat down and interlocked your fingers together and placed your head within it again. It pounded and hurt, fatigue finally settling in after your adrenaline rush.

Feeling the same sensation of the eyes burning holes into you again, but you refused to look up.

Ghost sat there in turmoil. He wanted to say something, to say anything. His tongue too heavy, as if it was made with the same lead that had struck Soap. Instead, he sat across from you, and searched you for any sort of emotion. Is that sleeping feral beast still in you? Would you snap at him again for trying to stop you? Or was that sickeningly sweet girl back...

Gaz and Price, both joined you both not too long after that. Both quiet.

Your knee now bounced with anxiety.

**********************************************

Somehow you had fallen asleep, head rolled back and leaned onto the edge of the chair. Blaming it on the adrenaline dump, you would never have been able to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position and piece of furniture if you could call it that.

A light squeeze of your knee from Price as the OR DR. came walking through the doors to speak with you all.

"Bullets out and breathing with a vent for the time being." Ears perking up as he told you all. You shifted up higher in your seat, ready to pay full attention and ask questions where needed.

"Is he awake?"

"No, he will be in a medical induced coma for a bit until swelling goes down in his brain. Sleep will be the best method right now, and better pain management."

"Do we have a recovery window?"

A silent shake of his head, "No I'm sorry miss, this was an extremely evasive surgery and time will only tell with this."

"Can we see him?" Ghost asked, standing up ready to follow.

"Yes, you can see him. He won't be able to acknowledge you are there, but part of him will know."

The Dr. turned back to you, arm now on your shoulder.

"You should be proud of yourself. Your efforts are what saved him. No doubt a medal should be given in your honor."

The last statement inflicting rage. "You think I did this for a fucking medal??"

Oh, the feral beast in you was definitely sleeping and not dead. Ghost thought, as Price stepped in-between and you and the Dr. blocking your path from mauling the medical professional.

"Thank you, Dr., We will find him back there." Words rushed as he tried to send the Dr. on his way.

Gaz and Ghost slipped past the doors, waiting on the other side as Price tried to have a calming conversation with you.

"You gotta' keep it together. He just saved Soap." He said trying to comfort that angry monster lashing at its enclosure.

"Did you hear him?? I would give anything for Soap to be bullet free. Didn't do this for honor, I did it because he’s, my friend." you hissed back to Price in an angry whisper.

"I know, I know. Was something a muppet would say, but try to keep it intact yeah? I know what you mean and why you're angry, but none of us thought we would even get this far."

And how you wanted to correct him, none of them thought you would get this far, but you bit your tongue. No need to be spiteful. Soap was still on this side of the earth.

Walking in and seeing Soap in this condition was almost as hard as seeing him in his own blood. His head was fully shaved down, proud mohawk gone. Face was so pale from the loss of blood, but his chest raising and lowering even if it wasn't directly on his own will, made you feel at ease.

All picking a corner of the bed, and pulling up a chair, you sat up at Soap's upper left. You scanned his face for anything but knew that wouldn't come for a while. It stayed like this for a while before Gaz spoke up.

"Remember that time he broke the course record for clearing a building?"

"Was thinking about the time he did it and accidentally stepped in a small trash can and continued with it stuck to his foot." Answered Price laughing lightly, pulling his hat down over his eyes. You all knew he was hiding the descending tears.

"How he always calls us "Goat Heads", across the radio." You said lightly laughing, wiping your face. It was a stupid joke used in the place for "Go Ahead" meaning go with you radio traffic.

"The time he told me he could fix my problems if I took my mask off. How I knew I liked him." Ghost said, his hand running back and forth across Johnny's tenderly. You blinked looking away from the action, feeling as though you should never see something so delicate come from both men.

It continued like this for a while, telling small things that you remembered about Soap that had struck you. Until it was finally late in the night. You rubbed your eyes that were sore and raw from emotions that had racked up throughout the day, almost into the next.

"We should get some sleep. Ghost, I'll have them bring in a cot for you." Price said getting up extending his hand for you to take. Not wanting to be rude you took it, letting him pull you up. You gave Johnny a slight rub to his shoulder. Ghost might have been up and staring at you intimidatingly at you had it not been for the new fresh salty tears that pin pricked your eyes again.

"Night," you finally muttered to them all before stepping out and heading to your room. Your heart panged and beat against its cage. Once in your room, you stripped of your blood covered clothes and lay on the bed, turning and wailing into a pillow. You needed Soap to pull through.

**********************************************

Every day you took the time to visit Soap. Spending hours upon hours there with him. Taking in a radio so he could listen to his favorite music, sometimes rotating that to his favorite movies on a tablet. Ghost had come to figure out you knew a lot about Soap. It made him wonder how close you really are, if anything causing a spark of jealousy.

Ghost was angry, wanted to tell you that Soap's quality of life was your fault. Wanted to tell you that because of you, who knew if he would wake up from this coma. The Dr. had advised that they had stopped giving the medication to make him sleep 2 days ago... and he still hadn't woken up. Oh, how he wanted to say it was your fault that he was lying in this bed, unable to speak and move... but the alternative of his Johnny laying in the ground 6 feet deep, still unable to speak or move factures his heart more, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he holds on the small piece of hope that eventually Soap will open his eyes again.

It was hard for Ghost. Day in and day out he had watched as you did Soap's physical therapy. Instead of being out in the field as a working medic, you stayed back as his primary nurse. No one argued with you. Not even when Price left to continue his hunt for Markarov. Price had benched Ghost and you worried your emotions would get the best of both of you. In fact, if Ghost would of said all of those mean, hurtful things about it being your fault Johnny was bed bound, Ghost wondered if the dragon in you would wake again. He hadn't seen it since that day but knew better to question its status of it still being there. It would burn him alive if given the opportunity, and devour him whole. Ghost could feel the anger seep off you sometimes and wondered if you were thinking back to that unfortunate, bloody day. Did you hate him?

He sat in the chair next to the bed watching and listening to you talk to his Johnny. Raising his arm up and down to stretch the muscles so when he did wake, they weren't as stiff.

"I miss you stealing my pudding off my food tray. Wouldn't complain if you swiped it ever again, would just give it to you."

What else would you give him? Ghost thought darkly. There was no doubt that Ghost thought you were in love with Soap. Listening to all the stories you had, sometimes your favorite ones over and over. Now you were over at his right arm, picking it up, setting it back down.

"Thought about the time you were trying to help me pick a dress for the military ball, and said I would never take fashion advice from someone with a mohawk..." You said a whispering laugh afterwards. Honestly that made Ghost smile as well, but he would never tell. Thank God for this mask. The thought washing over and over in his mind.

"Soap?" The way you had said it made Ghost perk up. Looking up finally seeing your face change. It was full of curiosity. Your eyes flashed to Ghost's locking with his telling him something was for sure up.

"Soap, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand again." Ghost watched as the shells to his blue eyes fluttered, trying to open.

"Oh my god, Ghost," you said quietly, extending Soap's hand to him to take.

He took it from you, quickly.

"Johnny?" And he felt it too. A slight squeeze. "Johnny," Ghost cooed to Soap, causing the hand to squeeze over and over. A rhythm. Squeezing Ghost's arm, you slipped past him, running out the door asking for Dr.

Finally, blue eyes faced the world and locked with brown ones.

"Mornin' Si." Johnny croaked out squeezing his hand even harder.

**********************************************

Soap's recovery was lengthy to describe at best. The Dr. finally learned the extent of the damage to Johnny's brain from the bullet. Thankfully, most of it was only physical. Soap had to relearn how to walk and only struggled with words periodically. Ghost would work with him on his speech therapy, and you helped him with his physical therapy still.

Soap was persistent spending 2 hours with you every day. Ghost sitting back and playing overwatch, he had to watch the 2 of you interact. Your sweetness fully back. He watched as Soap would place his hands on your hips goofily smiling as you would pull them off and place them on the bars instead of the railing so he could support himself- you know like he should be instead. Something had happened to his Soap. He would lean in and smell your hair affectionally. He never did that before. Ghost knew Johnny still had eyes for him, still loved him. It was one of the things Johnny made Ghost practice saying first. Somehow Ghost couldn't help but wonder if this injury had rewired his brain, or maybe because he had almost died, he wanted all the things he could have out of life. It still hurt him to watch.

Your anger with everyone had mostly died off once Johnny had woken up. Johnny was all the good things out of this job, he was what made it worth it. If he had died, a large piece of you would have been buried with him. Maybe that was your fault for not being as close as you should be with some of the others... putting Ghost into a different light for you now.

Giving it a shot, you asked Johnny about things about him and Ghost. A way to bond and a way to test his memory. Where was their first date, his favorite thing to do with Ghost. And every time, Johnny answered with calling him Simon. He never once called him Ghost because that's how Johnny knew him. In away Ghost got to learn about you, interacting with Johnny, and you got to learn about Ghost. Johnny told you were his best friend because you were fierce and protective. So was Ghost. You stood up for what you believed in... and guess what so did Ghost.

**********************************************

"Didya' hear tha news, bonnie?" Johnny asked looking down on you as you helped him to the rails. He could do it on his own, but it was your part in PT to make sure he got there and didn't fall down. Policy.

"No, what news?" Your voice is light, airy, still a stark contrast to Ghost who sat in a chair not too far off.

"Makaraov is bagged and tagged." He said proudly, grinning. "Price and his team got him yesterday afternoon.

"No kiddin'?" Your world spinning off its axis for a moment.

Johnny gave a slight nod, hands bracing your hips again and pulling you into him giving a hug. His head placed on top of yours.

"What a fucking relief," you punctuated out, sighing heavily. The urge to cry hit you again but you fought it off. Instead, finally locking with the brown coals of Ghost's across the room. The first time you felt like he wasn't trying to set you on fire with a glance.

"Cannae hurt us again." He said into your hair.

"Thank God." you said the hot droplets finally falling down your face.

It stayed like this for a moment before you took a step back, hands bracing Johnny while you looked up at him and over at Ghost.

"Got news for you both too." Ghost stood up and approached to better join the conversation.

"I bought a piece of land, bought a tiny house, and I'm stepping out."

"You're leavin'?" Ghost asked crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I can't do this anymore..." you explained feeling like you were being torn apart underneath a microscope. "What happened to you Johnny, changed me. I don't think I can do the job anymore... I have nightmares still." you admitted. Ghost's body language softening, shoulders rolling down, hands resting next to Johnny's who still gripped the rail. He didn't even think of the mental affect that it had on you too. Another thing you unknowingly had in common.

"Ya' cannae leave..." Johnny said hurt in his voice.

"You still got me, can't get rid of me that easily. I'll stay in contact. And you're doing great, I'd say you'll be fully recovered in no time."

"I'm comin' with ya'. Visit for a bit until I'm fully released."

"Johnny..." your voice light.

"No, yer ma' nurse. Cannae leave me. Si?" He said looking over at Ghost. Johnny knew Ghost would give him the world and never say no.

"Would be nice ta' get outta here, until he's ready to go." Head turning back down to you.

You sighed. "Fine, way to invite yourself, Johnny." You teased, smiling and shaking your head.

The happy blue eyes and toothy grin was worth it... even if you felt like space was being forcefully invaded.

You are glancing over, entranced with Ghost's smoldering brown eyes next.

**********************************************

The piece of land you had bought was in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by tall pine trees, a clear vessel of water cut through it. Mountains towered in the back, ironically 4 of them. You had named them Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. Feeling like it fits all of them somehow. Even though you were stepping away from it all, it was comforting to know you had something like them with you still. The air was crisp and clean, something you have not had in so long. No smell of a medical room, no smell of tar and tang from firearms. No smell of blood.

It was a good change... peaceful. Something you needed. You arrived at your new home first, readying it for your 2 guests. You decided it was best to put them in the master bedroom. A king size bed for 2 large men. How ironic that you bought it for you, and it won't even be used for you on the first night you have access to it. Once that bed was dressed for them, you made the guest bed. Finding the joke funny you were a guest in your home. Honestly, you were excited to have this transition with someone sure... but you knew things were off with you and Ghost. But if Johnny was here it had to be ok. You would make it work.

They arrived before noon. You went out to assist, but Ghost stopped you at the front of the truck. He opened Johnny's door, standing there to help him if he needed it, but Johnny climbed down on his own and teetered out with a cane.

He grinned his notorious smile at you. Large white pearls, blue eyes squinting with glee.

"Look at you," you said proud of him.

"All on my own." he crooned.

Stepping inside, you showed them around your tiny house. Not a whole lot to show them but wanted them to see where they would be sleeping and where the bathroom was less. The bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house. Theirs to the right when they walked in and through the kitchen. Yours just to left.

"Pretty close to the door... and far from us." Ghost said in the direction to your room.

"Don't think anyone will be looking or finding us out here."

A light rumble leaving his chest as he looked back down at you. It made your stomach burn. What kind of noise is that?

"If she gets lonely, she can just come join us, Si." Johnny said over his shoulder peeking into your room.

It left you baffled. Sure, there was some touching from Johnny, but you had always brushed it off to how he was altered from his injury.

Your face looking from Johnny, back to Ghost. Staring back at you and not saying anything. Strange behavior.

"Your guy's room will be over here." You said, leading them through the kitchen and into the master.

"Nice size room for a tiny house," Ghost concluded looking around.

"Nice size bed for us too," Johnny said. Not wanting another weird comment, you stepped away for a bit. Grabbing 3 glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

"Why did you get a tiny house?" Ghost asked, "All this land, coulda had a big ol’ house."

"Always just pictured it as me. Don't need a lot of space."

Again, Ghost stood leaning against the door frame realizing you were more alike than you thought. You plan on being alone... just like he had until he met Johnny.

You watched an arm of Johnny's sneak around Ghost's waist, and you once more diverted your eyes. Did physical touch really bother you all that much? He wondered.

**********************************************

The night eased its way in. You spent most of the day still trying to get settled into your new home. You all were outside now underneath the stary sky.

For dinner you grilled steaks with an assortment of vegetables and mashed potatoes.

"Bett'r cook then yer' a medic." Johnny said in-between bites. "An' 'ats sayin' sumthin."

"Don't talk with yer mouth full." Ghost scolded. He had taken off his mask earlier in the day. You had seen him without it before, but it was hard not to look at him. His angled jaw, a broken nose from who knows when or what, a scar that runs over his mouth... but he was beautiful to you. It was your turn to burn holes in him.

He knew you were looking at him but took a page out of your book refusing to meet your eyes, trying to let you feel comfortable with him... for Johnny's sake.

Johnny started talking to Ghost about what they could do during their visit, leaving you to get up and take the dishes inside. Stealing a moment for yourself, you ran hot water and washed the dishes. You heard the door open, but knowing it was one of them you continued.

It wasn't until a large hand brushed your hair to the side exposing your neck. That was what made you turn around to look but was stopped feeling 2 arms pin you against the sink before pushing you back into it, leaving you stationary. Lowering their head down to the side of yours watching your shirt get tugged to the side exposing a shoulder. A warm kiss graced your shoulder before their mouth came back up to the side of your ear.

"I've never thanked you for it all," Ghost's voice rumbled in your ear, making you look up and out the window seeing Johnny at the table looking up at the stars. Your heart jumped and fluttered. Any much longer you were going to need the same AFib you had saved Johnny with.

"I'm grateful for you and all that ya've done. He loves you... And think I'm startin' to."

Thump-thump was what you were looking for Johnny's chest about 3 months ago. If someone were to stop and listen to yours it would sound like a double drum. He kissed your neck, before pulling your shirt back up on your shoulder and giving your shoulder a slight squeeze.

You didn't look back up at him as he slipped back outside sitting next to Johnny wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Standing there dumbfounded for a minute, you grabbed 3 new fresh glasses and a tumbler of good whiskey for the occasion, not sure if you were going to be brave enough to step outside. So, you took a couple shots from it yourself to make sure you would have the courage to join them again

**********************************************

It was here you found yourself laid bare in front of them in the warmth of the fire.

Johnny made the first move, pulling you into his lap after his 2nd glass of whiskey not being able to drink from his injury making him more brazen from the amber liquid. His hands had worked their way into your pants leaving you a squirming mess, Ghost sitting now turned facing you.

It made you uncomfortable, his eyes the same color of the whiskey you noticed. His hand leaning against his fist, face unreadable as he watched.

"Relax Bonnnnn," Johnny purred into your ear. "We've already spoke abou' this." 3 fingers of his rubbing against you through your panties. "Both wan' this. Both wan' you. Least we can do ta thank ya'." Making your body at ease.

"Both want this?" You asked, head turning against his.

"Mmmmm." Ghost rumbled. There's that fucking noise again you thought still not sure how to take it.

"We do." Johnny said still whispering into you, his other hand pulling your pants down.

Ghost leaned down, tugging them down further helping them off your legs and over your feet. Instead of taking your panties down, he kneeled in further, tonging you over your cunt. A large gasp leaving you, the sensation still overwhelming. Johnny removed his hands from there moving up your shirt where he slipped under your bra, lightly pinching your nipples. Friction makes you roll yourself against them. Ghost had picked up either of your legs, placing them on either side of his head and neck. Not even bothering to take your panties off, he impulsively pushed them to the side holding them with a finger. His tongue slipped past your folds and rubbed up through you making your gasp shriller this time.

“Ghost,” you hissed out.

“Call ‘im Simon, Love,” Johnny said rubbing your nipples again, making a whimper leave you.

Simon did the same thing, hoping for a different outcome from your mouth, and you called out to him. “Simon…” Fingers slipping into his strands of dark blonde hair.

“There ya’ go.”

Simon made you ride his face while you were sitting down essentially. Making your hips grind up into his mouth where he greedily licked through you over and over. Once he decided you were wet enough, he slipped one of his large fingers in you, leaning back up to watch you. Your head was rolled up onto Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny having slipped your shirt up along with your bra, leaving your chest exposed.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he grumbled slipping in another finger, your head now rolling up further to look at him. The fire only made his eyes burn more. “Savin’ the love of my life pretty girl. Realizing how stupid I was…” he said pumping his fingers a few times before slipping in a 3rd.

“Siiiimon,” you whined squirming harder. Simon leaned forward, kissing you, before breaking it off quickly. Looking up he said to Johnny, “She’s ready, you ready?”

Johnny nodded vigorously. Simon gently helped you off his lap and onto the picnic table, pushing you back softly so your back was against it, turning you so your legs dangled off the side without a bench.

He leant down over you again, kissing you once more. It was just as much tongue as he had used on your cunt, still hungry. His fingers lifted your shirt up over your head and behind you on the table. He took his off as well and placed it under yours. You realized he was saving you from getting splinters off the table.

While he pulled back, you stopped him, hand behind his neck. Your movement confused him until he realized you stopped him so you could kiss him this time.

“Oh bonnie,” Johnny said finally unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock stroking it a few times.

“Makin’ this hard love, want him to go first so he properly thanks ya’… then you go and have to do something like that,” Simon says dry humping into you. The friction is almost too much at first making you groan.

“Get in there Johnny,” Simon said stepping aside, allowing him through and have access to between your legs. He was slow at first a little wobbly, this something he hasn’t done for awhile clearly. You used your legs and wrapped around his waist, helping him to align with you before pushing in. It made your head roll back, your hair bunching up behind your head, a loud filthy moan leaving your lips.

“Yeah,” Johnny said moving out and back in. Looking down, you saw Simon’s hands holding his waist giving him assistance in fucking you.

The sight was definitely alluring and attractive to you. Simon helping Johnny. Maybe this is what it was like for Simon watching you help Johnny, and you had it wrong the whole time. Maybe he wasn’t jealous… he was envious. It didn’t take long for you to come. Your legs gripping on Johnny trying to slow him, but he just pushed into you harder and faster. Simon holding his core. Your warm walls finally squeezing him and slowing him down. Your cunt fluttering so hard, all you could do was constrict on to him.

“Jesus,” Johnny hissed out finally leaning forward laying on your abdomen for a bit. Your hands rested on his shoulders smoothing out his hair, letting him lax on to you while he caught his breath.

Simon stood behind him before finally helping Johnny sit next to you on one of the benches at the table.

“My turn,” he said standing back up and taking position over you. His fuck wasn’t like Johnny’s, it was rough. Instantly ramming into you over and over, lifting your legs up to his shoulders again using his raw power. Something Johnny would have to work up to. Johnny leaned forward kissing you, talking you through it.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it so well, lass,” again tweaking a nipple and holding a breast as they bounced from Simon's pounding.

This went on for a while, and even then, Simon wasn’t done. He turned you over and propped you up on your knees, thrusting into you from behind, watching you come undone on him this time. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him in a way that didn’t feel human… but it sure curbed that feral dragon in you. And that’s all he wanted.

**********************************************

Simon carried you inside and into the master bedroom before going out to help Johnny in. He had pulled the blankets back and set you inside them. You pulled the blankets back on the other side, making room for Johnny. Simon had an arm under him helping him walk into your bed. Simon then slipped in behind you, arm over your waist as he pulled you back into him.

Johnny rolled over to his side sandwiching you between him and Simon, hand in your hair stroking it.

“Did well, bonnie, good physical therapy,” he joked, thumb stroking your cheek.

You gave a small laugh, laughing harder once you realized you were in your bed tonight and not a guest in your home in the other room.

“Gonna need something bigger than a tiny house,” Simon matched back “gonna have little ones before too long.” His hand already over your womb, mouth on your neck again already.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

[ellaa-writes]

Good Dog

author note: Part 3 yay!! Series list found here. I actually edited this one, I know! Probably still mistakes lol, I love writing this type of Simon but mean Simon is still my favourite. Reader and Simon parts are going on at different times, weeks apart, just in case of any confusion of time line. Enjoy!

summary: His favourite words include; down boy, good dog, heel, fetch and his most favourite, get 'em. Well trained, and listens good. Loyal through and through. Always striving to be the absolute best. Ready to attack at all times, always on guard. Loves discipline, either giving or receiving. Working for a criminal mastermind, lurking in the shadows. You both trying not to be seen or noticed but after one unlucky night, all you both can see are the ghosts. He invades your life, if you both like it or not.

tags: Alternative Universe. Female reader. A/B/O dynamics. Alpha Simon, Beta Reader, Bad Scottish lingo (I tried). Very tame and a chapter filler.

You hadn't seen Simon in a few weeks, must have gotten bored you thought, eventually everyone leaves so why wouldn't he. Things felt different with him, like timed slowed down and life finally had a meaning.

You stopped in front of a news stand, big bold letters. OMEGA POPLUATION HITS AN ALL TIME LOW; leading scientists may have found a solution. You snatched the paper and handed the worker $5 telling him to keep the rest as you rushed back home paper in hand. The title wasn't what caught your attention, it was a few paragraphs down the words doctor and experimental procedure. Tossing your belongings on the dining table soon as you entered your grungy apartment.

Reading the article fully, then once more. Doctors have developed a experimental drug that could alter a Beta women's chemistry. Tricking the body into thinking its an Omega, a few experiments have been conducted and results have so far been proven successful. But they are searching for more Beta women to submit themselves into the program.

Those words playing over and over in your head, becoming an Omega, and having a loyal and supportive Alpha. Not having to worry about all the small things, not having to work and struggle to make ends meet. You could leave your pathetic life behind.

All Simon did was follow orders, being the good dog, he is. A successful mission out of the way, the Boss left before he did. Having to hurry back cause of his Omega. Simon used to have dreams about settling down, but that was before he became ghost. Stupid child aspirations, but mostly because he felt like he didn't deserve one. And who would want him as an Alpha, all teeth, and hard edges. It would be a punishment to be stuck with him until death, and death would be the reward.

You jotted the number down on a piece of paper and stuck it to your fridge. You didn't have to decide now, but you were tempted to.

Dealing with Makarov was easier than expected most of these men act tough on the outside but soon as you start pulling out their insides, they change their tune. He wasn't in too much of a hurry to get home, it's been two weeks since he last saw her, he's been keeping his distance, not wanting to poison her cause that's what he was poison.

It was very late into the night when he finally arrived in the city, driving down the desolate neighborhoods till he found himself parked in front of his apartment. Not the one across from hers but the one he bought himself soon as he had enough money too. The only thing that remained from his previous life. Cutting the engine and walking inside.

He still had a landline, hard wired into the wall next to the thermostat. He's never used it and has never had anyone call it. Not like many people have the number anyways, emergency he told himself when he bought and installed it all those years ago. Having the number updated in his file, but now it hangs there mockingly. Much to his surprise when he walked into his quiet home, a little red dot glowing from the device.

He ignored it at first, taking his clothes off to take a quick shower. To wash away the memories that still plague him, the water never being hot enough. He stood there in nothing but a towel around his waist. Staring at that glowing red light, missed call.

He should just delete it, but he decided to play the message. A voice came through the small speaker, one that he thought he'd never hear again. John Price.

"Oi Simon, it's John. Ain't sure if this dog and bone's still on the go. Tried your mobile, but it's saying it's disconnected. Anyways, thought I'd drop you a bell 'cause we're gonna be in the city for a bit. Fancy a chinwag, like the old days, yeah? So, give me a call, same digits as ever. It'd be proper nice to catch up, Simon."

It was silent for a while afterwards, only Simon's heaving breathing filling up the space. Not once did they call him while he was locked up doing time, not once did they reach out and say they cared. They were family once, at least he thought they were. Stupid.

All the rage simmering up inside of him finally boiled over the edge. Simon grabbed the stupid phone and slammed it into the wall as hard as he could, again and again until there was nothing left but broken pieces of plastic, wiring and now a hole in his wall.

It only took you three hours of pacing back and forth in your tiny apartment, the small piece of paper stuck to your fridge door taunting you. As the line rang you debated on hang up, forgetting any of this happened but it was to late. The reception answered your call, redirecting you to the head of the project. Giving a little info over the phone they scheduled you in for the same day if you could make it. It was on the other side of town, the side you hardly went to cause there was no need. Unless you wanted to make yourself feel even more shitty about your life.

He debated if he should call, be the bigger person the little voice in his head called out. They had their reasoning for abandoning him, for treating him like the plague, they had to, right?

You were on the bus, watching as the fading sun descended and the moon turned brighter. The glow of city coming to life, some many people out and about. You barely had enough money to and back, getting off at the stop further away. Walking the rest to save a bit of cash and take in the scenery. The air was crisp, it never got too cold during the winter season. Also, long as the wind stayed away it was a mild year so far.

To say this was awkward was an understatement. Simon sat across from the beta Scottsman, not much has changed he thought. The group of men still joking around like nothing happened like good ol' times, they kept trying to get him in on it. Simon soon realised that this was a mistake, all of it. Calling Price and picking out this bar. They weren't his pack anymore, they ditched him soon as things went south.

Simon's grip on his glass of bourbon tightened when Johnny yelled "Right Lt." the group getting quiet afterwards, Johnny knew he fucked up. Simon got up abruptly, taking a big gulp of the burning liquid amber, polishing off his drink before slamming it back down.

"Goin’ for a smoke." as he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. Marching towards the front door. He could hear Kyle's faint call of his name, the beta man always playing mediator, Price holding Johnny back like an Alpha would a misbehaving puppy as Simon made his way outside.

"Bunch of fuckin' pricks." it was a whisper to himself, digging out his pack of smokes and shoving one into his mouth. Lighting it with ease as he sucked in a big lung full. The door to the bar opened and closed, fully expecting to smell the cigar-soaked Alpha but instead it was Johnny tail between his legs.

"I ken ye dinnae wanna gab about it." he tried but Simon cut him right off. "I don't." blowing a huge cloud in the betas face. "Weel, someone's gotta." he just wanted some fucking peace and quiet. "The start talkin’ or shut the fuck up." dropping his finished cigarette to the ground, giving it a good stomp before putting another to his lips.

"Things have changed, ye've changed. Ah ken everything's aw fucked up right now. We tried-" Simon huffed out a stiff laugh, not believing a thing the Scott was saying. He could see his lips still moving but he couldn’t hear what he was saying as a familiar scent caught his nose.

Before Simon could think a small body collided with Soaps as he stepped out towards the curb with a hand to the back of his neck. "Ah, fuck, sorry ‘bout that, lass." Simon watched in slow motion as you got knocked off balance. Johnny reaching out to help the poor thing but before, he could feel the growl coming from his chest and throat. Pushing the Beta to the side as he took a hold of you, bring you to his chest.

He could hear your lower whimper, there was something different about you. Your scent was sweeter, it was pulling him in like a bee to a flower. "Simon?" letting out in a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?" you looked up into his eyes. Your hands resting against his chest, the hard muscle underneath flexing, a low rumble coming from within. You’ve never seen him like this, so casual but also feral, eyes blown and panting.

"Am I interrupting ye in the midst of somethin'?" Johnny didn't know what the hell was going on. Looking at the Omega flushed against the old Alpha, he was just happy that after everything that happened it was nice to see his old lieutenant finally settling down with such a sweet thing. Simon finally broke his gaze from you, settling it on the Beta. “It was a nice chat, gotta go.”

"Come, I'll drive you home." he stated, gripping your upper arm as he moved you towards his car. The more you stood outside surround by people the more Simon got irritated. He couldn't put his finger on it, the changes within you. He'd been away from a couple of weeks; it was hard staying away but he had a responsibility and a job to do. "I can take the bus." you tried moving around Simon, spotting the other man who was now gawking. "Like hell." Simon held onto you firm, walking you to his car.

"See you around." the Scott yelled from somewhere behind. He couldn't wait to tell the other two men of what he witnessed. The grumpy old Alpha had found himself a sweet Omega.

The drive home was in silence, not even the radio to help ease the awkward tension building up in the car. When Simon pulled onto your street you gathered your belongings. "Wait." you snapped your head to the driver's side.

"What were you doing out so late?" he was trying to interrogate you "I had an appointment." you held your hands in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "Hmm" Simon grunted out, the whole way back to your apartment he had to stop himself from pulling the car over and pouncing on you.

Something wasn't right and he didn't like it or maybe he did. It confused him nonetheless and he wanted answers.

"You want to come up?" you don't know why you asked, why those words spilled out of your mouth. Simon was surprised too, cocking his head to side. "Sure." he cut the engine.

Once inside your apartment you didn't bother asking him if he wanted anything to drink. Unless he's into expired milk or tap water. The hulking man walked around your small place, picking things up and putting them down. Take in his surroundings, he already didn’t like you living in this area. He’s scoped out your apartment, the front door was a piece of shit, with a little bit of a jiggle and it popped open.

Walking towards your dingy couch he noticed the paper on the table, picking it up he scanned the words. You didn't.... His eyes found your form, busying yourself around your small kitchen. Shoving dirty dished into the sink to be forgotten about till later. Simon sniffed the air again, there was that familiar scent again. The smell of an Omega, the similar one that clung to his Boss, that filled every space of his home.

Omega.

He felt is heart quicken, his blood run thin. He's only had this feeling a few times, he was going to throw up and pass out at the same time. You noticed his completion pale, worrying you, grabbing a glass and filling it with your last bottle of water. Rushing to his side and calling his name.

Simon was so far away; he was in the middle of the raging ocean. The waves crashing over him, pulling him deeper under every unforgiving wave. Lungs full of burning salt water, gasping with arms stretched to the sky.

You could do the only thing you could think of you climbed into his lap. Curling yourself around him, rubbing your scent glad over his nose and mouth.

[liveontelevision]

The Truth | Slow-burn Lucifer x Reader

Ok, i'm high, and it's late, so im posting this here without an ending just to let some people see this. Im wondering if anyone would be interested in a multi part series with this premise? It'll have its romance and fluff and smut, but i feel like theres alot to disect from this.

Unedited.

Heaven has been, and will continue to be, difficult with this redemption project. It took years for them to set up any sort of communication system with Charlie to even tell her when Sinners were redeemed. And even then, the best they could offer was a large counter hanging across the marquee outside the hotel. It simply said Redeemed Souls scribbled across the top and essientally would *ding!* every time a soul would ascend. There was no warning. Residents would simply disappear; all their belongings were left behind, and it happened while asleep or when demons died. Instead of resurrecting like all wayward sinners do, they would simply.. not. It would get gruesome at times, seeing a demon die and simply not get back up.

Still, the numbers grew. After the hotel was proven to work, sinners were essientally packing the rooms. And when more demons were redeemed, Charlie would take notes on their progess and apply it to future excersises. It was finally a thriving business! Charlie did it.

You had heard of the hotel's success a few months after the counter was installed and would occasionally walk by to see the number go up. It felt like you were trying to convince yourself to just go in, but something, maybe doubt, would always stop you. Your life was similar to an average sinner (drugs, sex, alcohol), but even those who have done worse were going to Heaven.

What was stopping you?

For once, the streets actually looked barren. Of course, it still had enough flow for regular business. Not everyone was buying into the redemption thing, but it definitely couldn't compare to the bustling streets you were used to. This made you uneasy. Friends and local business owners, you became aquintances with disappeared suddenly. It was deathly quiet. Discomfort aside, how could you possibly be upset about sinners becoming sparce?

You gave in. Almost all your hellbound friends were gone. If they could do it, so could you. Maybe that was another reason sinners attended the hotel; sheer loneliness.

You packed up the little belongings you had and approached the hotel after avoiding it for the past few months. The number was in the thousands at this point. Why did that make you so uneasy? Pushing those feelings aside, you entered the hotel and were met with dozens of friendly faces. The lobby had become a giant bustling hub with a bar, and there were some classroom type areas down a hall, you assumed for activities. Lively jazz music was playing softly throughout the area, echoeing against the ivory walls adorning red banners. It seemed like some kind of conference was being held here, but this was just how the hotel looked at its peak.

You were quickly ushered to a front desk, an imp checking you in and handing you a folder filled with paperwork and pamphlets.

After being shown to your room on one of the higher floors, assuming the rooms below were all filled, you were met with the sweet aroma of freshly baked apples. It seemed to come directly from your room, but peeking inside, you noticed there was no sign of even a personal kitchen. Before you could even ask, the imp who led you to your room ran through their scripted introduction.

"Your room number is 5 and is located on the 67th floor if you missed it. If you get lost, just make sure you head as far as you can go down the corridor to the left. It's closer to Lucifer's office than Alastor's studio, so keep that in mind as well. The room was personalized to your liking the moment you checked in, so all you need to do is unpack your belongings."

The imp droaned on, clearly exhuasted from saying these directions to every sinner that comes through.

"Any questions -"

"Well, I-"

"Can be answered in the lobby."

Your quizzative appearance drooped to an irrated one. You barely processed anything they said as you stepped into the room, feeling such a nostalgic warmth. The apple scent from before had dulled to a more comfortable level, and the room was filled to the brim with an aesethic that you would dream of having when you were alive. Suns and moons decorated the walls through hanging pieces, tapestries, and beaded artwork. The lights were always dimmed, and your bed was plush with an absurd amount of decorative pillows. Your desk doubled as a vanity with adjustable lights just in case, and your bathroom was large. Already stocked with your favorite soaps, oils, and washes, you suddenly had the urge to take a bath. You decided against it, just taking in the heavenly room. Maybe that was a part of the whole process, pure comfort.

You had so many questions about the redemption process. After plopping down at your smooth wood desk, you began to look through the thick pile of paperwork that you'd been holding this whole time. Inside, it held your room key, 67th Floor, Room #5. You pocketed that in the meantime, flipping through a pamphlet provided. "Wayward sinners, welcome! Explore the history of Hell and the redemption process! Keep in touch with demonic friends as you ascend! Be Better!" The bright text made your eyes squint, quickly scanning it before setting that aside. It's something you've seen on the streets before, nothing new. You finally look at some of the paperwork. There were rules, like no weapons or drugs, avoiding flings, etc. Then there were policies.. your room was searched on occasion with consent. If you were found to be a frequent drug user, you had a daily limit for drinks at the bar. Those made you cringe. It's a bit controlling, but for a greater cause, I guess.

Then, you reached the bolded text Redemption.

It had almost no details about what Heaven was actually like, but there were rules. Lots of rules. These papers were almost glowing, and it looked like they were written in golden ink. These must have been provided by Heaven. They warned that "the divine light will choose you when it finds you worthy" and "you won't need any belongings in Heaven" and a specific section that made you shiver.

"Heaven is a place for winners. Once you've joined the angels, all memories from Hell will become void. Memories from Hell could bring distraught and discomfort to previously residing angels."

Who would want this? What have you gotten yourself into?

•••••

There were mandatory meetings you would begrudgingly go to. There were other demons in a similar state and others who were running to attend every activity possible. They must not have read the paperwork, too frantic to be saved. Or were they okay with it? You shake your head, honestly trying to forget those readings any chance you get. A lot of the New Resident meetings were basically warnings that this is a place of rehabilitation. You'll be put through scenarios similar to A.A. or interventions. You'll have control over your privacy, but "we at the hotel are determined to get you to heaven!" So, they'll occasionally do random check ins and such.

After one of your beginner trust exercises, you roamed the halls, peaking in occasionally to see what others were doing. There were activities like yoga, crafts, therapy sessions, it was.. great..

You'd see the founders around. They were speakers at larger conferences, Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were far too busy to attend every exercise with this number of residents. There were optional lecture areas, one of them being The History of Hazbin Hotel. After attending from pure curiousity and boredom, you got a good understanding of who all the founders were and their role in the system. There was a nice section on the first 2 souls accepted to heaven. Sir Pentious, previously a murderous death machine inventor and operator, and Angel Dust, previously a drug addicted, porn star.

They wrote it to make them seem worse than they were when they first arrived, probably to make redemption seem more achievable. It made you cringe. You listened on, hearing about Charlie's uprising and her childhood. And her father.

You read the same storybook that Charlie would use to ease her nerves in the past. Lucifer, who was banished to hell, forced to see the wicked and evil outcome of free will. Lucifer, who lost the will the dream. Why would this man want to send his people to such a horrid place? Thinking back on it, you did notice that he wasn't really involved in any activities or was even seen around the hotel. Even Charlie, you'd cross on rare occasions in the halls. She had truly become a beautiful and powerful demon, you'd think, reminiscing on the choatic news broadcast she was on that you watched years ago.

You developed a sort of dissonance for Lucifer. Sure, he was the most powerful being in Hell and physically rebuilt this hotel and its success, but he didn't make sense. It seemed like he hated heaven. How could he not? He was banished from his home by his own brothers, just for loving and dreaming. And he wants to send people right to their door? It just baffled you. Very slowly, it became an obsession. What was his deal? You learned about his life through meetings and lectures, pamphlets, and even material from the infinite library they provided. Your desk was quick to become a mess of books and notepads you'd use. You rarely left your room, making sure to avoid any activities that involved "making friends." That sounded so stupid to you. You'll make friends with demons, then assend just to forget them? You couldn't have been the only demon questioning this whole situation, so why were sinners even here? You spiraled. This whole operation was beginning to make your head spin.

•••

Time went on, and while your mental state was improving, it still didn't break your hyperfixation on where this hotel could've gone wrong. It used to be small and friendly, some sinners would stay, some would give up, and some ascended without them even knowing. But now, it was a bonified operation. Something had to happen in the meantime to change its course so drastically. And you wanted to find out.

On average, sinners were in the hotel anywhere from 6 months to 2 years. A year has passed since you arrived, and while you kicked any addictioms you had, you weren't one to participate in many activities. This obsession drove you mad, clouding any thoughts of redemption you might've had. You had even been appointed a therapist for one on one sessions, which you would go to begrudgingly. You'd spin tails about your life and make it seem like a nostalgic bliss that you wanted to return to, buttering it up for this stranger in front of you. That gave them enough of a distraction to keep them from questioning your research. After this painfully long year, seeing hundreds come and go, you realized you had to go to the top. It seemed like the King of Hell may be the only one who might understand you. In a desperate attempt to get any comfort in your overthinking, you'd talk to other sinners about your thoughts, but they rarely gave you the time of day, like you were a babbling maniac. Because you were a babbling maniac.

But Lucifer? He has to understand. There has to be a reason he's not openly participating in the hotel. But he's here, right down your hall even. It was never as easy as walking up to his office and just questioning him, no matter how often you tried. It was either locked, or you could hear voices from inside. When the door was open, the office was spotless, and no one was inside. This was around meal times, breakfast most often and late into the night. Sometimes, you go inside to snoop and hope that maybe he'd walk in on you and you'd be forced into a conversation before he'd eventually kicked you out. That never happened.

It was a late night for you. There was a gala going on in the lobby, celebrating the 10th reunion of the hotel's renovation or something like that. Of course you didn't go, you were too busy hunched over the paperwork sprawled across your bed. It was a compilation of policies from the papers you got on your first day, random notebook pages and scribbles, and some photos collected from a variety of magazines. You'd essentially given up trying to look presentable. Your hair always tied sloppily out of your face and mainly wearing oversized sweatshirts and shorts that would disappear under the flow of your sweaters. You paced across your room. Every time you stopped to look at your work, you'd become riled up and continued to walk in circles.

"None of it makes sense! What the actual Fuck is wrong with Hell??" You spoke out loud, stopping in your tracks to look at your weakened state in the mirror on your vanity. Suddenly, tears began to run down your cheeks before you could even feel yourself choke up.

"What's wrong with me..?"

You looked back down to your bed and let out a growl, swiping all the papers off your bed in a frenzy. Random papers floated around you, frustration collecting in your body as a headache. You rubbed your temples with a sigh before taking a walk outside the room. You went to a vending machine that was provided on each floor, that had essientally anything you could want as a midnight snack. Along with some other necessities, you used some cash to get painkillers and a bag of gummy candy. Sauntering back to your room, you noticed a trail of your research peaking out your open door. You must've left it open in a hurry. You followed those papers that definitely weren't there before, to see a figure standing in front of your bed, some of the papers in hand. Your stomach dropped, just the sight of someone seeing your vulnerability made you flush.

"H-Hey! I left my door open, but that doesn't mean you can.. just -" your voice trailed off, catching red glowing eyes in your dimly lit room. It was fucking Lucifer. He blinked, his demon red eyes returning to a soft yellow. You had no idea how to react to this sudden encounter, scanning anything in the room to change the subject.

"Your Highness! Right, uh.. Good evening.. sir..? Erm.. How can I help you..?" You attempted to talk to him like you hadnt been secretly wanting this for months. After you managed to finally make eye contact with him, you noticed it; he was crying. Both of you squint at the sudden brightness hitting you, as you turn on your overhead light.

Thick, wet tears fell from his incredibly tired eyes. He looked like a mess. He wore what would've been an incredibly formal and modern tuxedo get up, but was soiled by his stature. His blazer had fallen off his shoulders, revealing a half tucked, wrinkled, black dress shirt that clashed with his porcelain skin. His shirt was unbottoned a good deal, and the tie loosely dangled undone. His face was worse. His eyes were incredibly heavy, those tears still trailing from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. The golden locks that looked so quaffed on magazine covers were a mess as well, strands falling loosely across his eye line. You noticed a soft pink across his entire face and a slight sway to his stance. Once you approached him a little closer, the smell of alcohol immediately hit you. This angel was plastered.

You look at the papers in his hand. One held a very aggressively scribbled picture of his face from a magazine, and the other held an antonized page from the handbook you received on day one. Just from those papers alone, you could understand your motivations. The redemption policy was scrutinized and scribbled over with phrases, "What does this have to do with redemption?" "What happens to your memories?" "Who's really running things?"

On the picture of Lucifer, a large red phrase across the front;

"How could he let this happen?"

You wince, immediately recognizing what information he's taken in.

"You're right.. Fuck, you're right. How did i let things get this far? What would Charlie think if she- Damn it!" He was muttering under his breath, not understanding his intentions.

"I'm sorry, it's such a mess in here, i wasnt expecting guests." You stop yourself, using defensive sarcasm probably wasnt the best move here. "Uh.. you can- um.. here.. " you fumble around your things and finally clear off your desk chair, beckoning the king to sit. He stumbles, his bottom hitting the seat with a thud as it begins to roll back from the force. You let out a nervous chuckle, beginning to neatly pile up the papers on your bed until you had a place to sit, facing him from the edge of your bed." I'm.. sorry, that you saw all this.. it's just crazy.. shit.. I'll get rid of it." You apologized like a kid who got caught stealing. Lucifer slowly blinked his eyes before wiping his tears with the cuff of his shirt, sniffling quietly.

You quickly reached past him to take a nearby tissue box and plop it in his lap. You sat silently, his ragging breath and sniffles filling the quietness of the room. He collected himself enough to process what you had said. "Oh! No, nono need to. Not any of my business what you do in.. your own.. room.." he looked around and cleared his throat before realizing the irony in his words. "I apologize, i shouldnt be in a random sinners room at this hour. I'll be on my way." He spoke as clearly as he could, being drunk and sobbing only moments ago. He stumbled to stand as he attempts to dust off his already askewed suit. He turns his back to you, beginning to leave.

"No! Shit- I - excuse me.. Mr.. Lucifer.. Sir..." You quickly stand and reach your arm out in his direction. He turns on his heels, acting as regal as he could, considering the situation. "This.. mess... this is.. all I've been thinking about since i came here... this hotel..? Is a fucking prison! How can heaven be so stubborn that they have to bring their rules and policies down to Hell? I dont understand how you could -" Your voice became increasingly aggressive as you realize you were about to scold him for your theories. You begin to shrink into yourself, believing this powerful being would kill you on the spot for such disobedience.

Lucifer was looking at you, dumbfound, at the intense passion you were imitting from your words. He realized how much you were cowering in his presence, and the feeling was extra reminiscent of his time in heaven. People above him, glaring upon his dreams with disgust and him not having anything to say. He shook his head and placed a hand on your shoulder. He did his best to send a smile your way, but he wasn't sure how that worked out in his state. "You're right. This hotel has become a god damn nightmare. I wish i could say more, but it's been a looong night." He drawls out his words before using the hand on your shoulder to keep his balance. You took his arm and hesitantly wrapped it around your shoulder, attempting to brace him up as you walk towards his office. It wasnt that far, just right down the hall, it shouldnt be an issue as long as no one sees you." Mmy name is Lucifer- oh, oh! This here, this is my room." He eargly pokes his finger at his obviously labeled door. "Okay Lucifer, think you'll be okay from here?" You try to talk with confidence, while you process that the king of hell is using you to stay on his feet. He nods and opens the door, stepping in with a sigh of relief. He spins around on his feet to face you from the doorframe.

"Be here tomorrow. At lunch. I'll tell you everything." His voice was stern and clear, and you couldn't tell if that was from the alcohol or not. He sways away and grins his toothy grin, saying, "Good night!" He shuts the door before you have a chance to respond. Could that have been drunken babbling? If it wasn't.. what does he know?

[bbobpul]

break my heart again 2 — njm

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader SUMMARY.how's jaemin gonna give back for all of y/n's efforts now that he finally can? it's been years—just how much has everything changed? GENRE. angst, fluff, she fell first 🤭 W/C. 3.5k NOTE. hello, part two is here! so sorry i couldn't make a taglist. i didn't have time to make one. nevertheless, i hope this fic make its way back to you. love u all and thankies sm !!!! also, my requests are open !!!

(⁠☉⁠｡⁠☉⁠)⁠!⁠→ my other works !!!!!! part one here!!

i find it hard to picture myself ever being as dedicated to something or someone again, just like how i dedicated my entire college life to na jaemin.

lately, i've been feeling like i forgot what it's like to actually have a dream. back then, na jaemin was my dream, he was my driving force. i would force myself to wake up so early in the morning just so i could see him (or his car) enter the gates of the university. i would go to school even though i am sick and feel a lot better when i get home because i saw na jaemin. but now two years after graduating, i still haven't found a decent job that i actually enjoy.

it's a common experience that many people go through, and i suppose i shouldn't complain about it. maybe i need to put in more effort and push myself harder. part of me wonders if having na jaemin back in my life would rekindle that same sense of dedication that i once had. but as i say these thoughts out loud, they sound absurd, even to myself. why would i wish for my first love to return just so i could find a decent job? why would i long for na jaemin to come back merely to feel that spark in my life again? it's puzzling why i'm even dwelling on thoughts of him and wondering if he holds the key to my happiness and success.

oh, to dream.

oh, for that old dedication to still burn within you.

if only you hadn't acted so dumb that day. could life have taken a different path? are you even happy now? if you hadn't let fear hold you back back then, if you'd actually been brave enough to listen and follow through, would you be happier today?

but no matter how much you keep bothering yourself with that memory, if people come up to you and ask if you feel bad about everything that happened that day, you'd say no. you don't feel bad at all.

deciding to let him go was one of the best things you did. he seemed happy when you left, and after that, you never heard anything about him. he's like a touchy subject in your group of friends, which can be tough sometimes since you share friends. but does it really matter now? him not being in your life probably means he's happier and more peaceful, right?

are you feeling peaceful? is being stuck in a 9-5 job that hardly brought you joy a happy situation? scratch that. did being in that job make you happy? clearly not, as you've just mustered the bravery to quit. and in doing so, you've never felt more joyful.

did you really make the right decision?

just as you were pondering your own question, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. you grabbed it and saw that the caller was renjun, your incredibly patient best friend.

"y/n," he said, his tone becoming unusually serious. "what's up?" you asked. "do you need money?" "yeah?" "here's the deal: our college is putting together a documentary film, and they've chosen your department. but guess what? your old classmates are bombarding me with messages because it looks like you're ignoring them all. frankly, i can't believe you even answered my call," he griped. "wait, hold on. what film? and why would they pick me? are they searching for someone with a post-college life so sad that it belongs in a documentary?" "well, you were practically a legend back in college, so… and apparently, the director specifically wants you, which leads to… well, another issue…" "what's the problem now?" "it's going to be directed by jaemin."

and just like that, you ended the call. but a few seconds later, renjun's call came in again.

"i'm not going to do it." "you stubborn brat." "why him?" "i have no idea!" "why is he even directing? wasn't he studying architecture or something?" "i don't know, y/n. i haven't heard a single thing about him since your graduation." "what do you mean?" "that's not important now, y/n. you're in need of money, right? seize the opportunity. do it for the cash." “so will you do it or will you do it?” “for the cash.”

...

"y/n, you've moved on, haven't you? what's done is done. i'm pretty sure jaemin has forgotten all about it. this chance is coming your way, so just accept it." "i guess i will."

you're drawn in by the idea of making some extra money and the possibility of catching the eye of potential agents or employers. right now, you're at a crossroads, thinking about how this documentary could be a stepping stone to more job opportunities down the line. this situation is different from what usually drives you – this time, it's not about others, it's about focusing on your own goals and aspirations.

you're deliberately avoiding dwelling on your past. just as renjun mentioned, you've moved beyond it. what's done is done. right now, your focus is firmly on the present and the potential that lies ahead in the future.

what's in the past is behind us, including whatever existed between jaemin and you.

from renjun

tomorrow at lunchtime, they'll be going over the schedules and discussing what to film. if you want, you can chat with the director now. his number is 0825 813 2000.

in response, you simply replied with a "okay."

the night before the lunch meeting, a jumble of emotions has you in its grip. the idea of reconnecting with jaemin, who used to be your best friend and is now someone distant, fills you with a sense of awkwardness. you tell yourself that this is about working together and the chance to grow professionally.

after taking a deep breath, you decide to shoot jaemin a text. your fingers hesitate as you type, and the uncertainty you're feeling seems to seep into your message. you finally press send, and your text reads, "hey, it's y/n. heard we're meeting tomorrow for the documentary. just wanted to check in before that."

in almost no time, your phone buzzes with a response: "hey y/n, good to hear from you. yeah, looking forward to our meeting. let's catch up and chat about the project."

the conversation is polite, but beneath the surface, there's an unspoken layer of complexity. you can feel the hesitation in your exchange, a silent recognition of the shared history that's now a distant memory. as you talk about the meeting and the documentary, the easy flow you once had is noticeably absent.

as the texts go back and forth, a sense of tension seems to hang in the air. it's as though the years of friendship you once had are casting a shadow over your conversation. the effortless connection you once shared now requires effort, and both of you can sense the change.

as the conversation wraps up with a simple "see you tomorrow," you're left with a mix of excitement and anxiety. the idea of seeing jaemin again, especially in a professional context, stirs up a range of emotions. this situation is a stark reminder of just how much things have changed – and maybe how some things can't go back to the way they were.

you believed the conversation had concluded, only for your phone to ring once more, bearing yet another message from him. as you read the words on the screen, "i missed you, y/n," a rush of emotions floods over you.

"what's going on with him?" you mutter to yourself, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. your gaze remains fixed on the message for a moment, your attention drawn to the three blinking dots in the corner – a sign that he's in the process of typing a response. several more seconds tick by, the dots eventually vanishing, and in response, you shut your phone off. you make an attempt to settle into bed and get some rest, but truth be told, it's hard to claim you managed to sleep soundly that night. an undercurrent of thoughts and emotions keeps your mind restless.

the day of lunch lunch finally arrived. you sat across from jaemin, his words forming a distant hum as your thoughts remained clouded and preoccupied. the lingering impact of his recent message kept you in a state of unease, making it difficult to fully engage in the conversation he was leading.

then, something inside you snapped, and you found yourself abruptly interrupting him with a question that had been gnawing at you, "why me?"

he looked at you, his gaze steady, and his response was quick, "why not you?"

your frustration simmered as his words hit you. he was choosing to be cryptic, and it was only adding to your confusion. pushing past your exasperation, you pressed on, "listen, i know we didn't part on the best terms, but why come back now and act like everything's fine? i mean, sure, it's better than hostility, but why choose me? i'm the one who's no longer part of your life."

his expression remained neutral, void of any emotions as he replied, "that's not true."

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to elaborate. "what's not true?"

"that you have nothing to do with my life, y/n," he stated firmly.

the weight of his words settled heavily between you two, the gravity of the situation growing more apparent. the lunch table had transformed into an arena for confronting unresolved issues.

you scoffed, unable to hold back your disbelief. "jaemin, i made one mistake, and now you're trying to imply that my actions shaped your entire life?"

his eyes held yours, unwavering. "y/n, it's not just about that one mistake. everything that followed, everything that shaped who i am today… it's all connected to you."

your mind reeled, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was suggesting. the complexities of your shared history seemed to crash over you, leaving you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions and a tangled web of unspoken feelings.

the weight of his words left you momentarily speechless, and in an attempt to shift away from the intensity, you sought to change the subject. "where are the other producers? why is it just you here?"

"y/n…" he began, his tone suggesting he wanted to continue the previous conversation.

however, you opted to sidestep the discussion entirely. you pretended as if the profound exchange hadn't just occurred. "i notice you're taking on the role of a director now. quite the career shift, huh?" you inquired, masking your internal turmoil with a casual demeanor. you acted as if there hadn't been a two-year gap in your connection, as though things between you were perfectly ordinary.

he met your gaze, a faint hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "i pursued another dream when i felt i'd lost the chance for my first one."

"your first dream… not architecture, then?" you prodded, curious about the direction he had taken.

he shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him, leaving you puzzled yet again. "no, not architecture. well, i suppose that just wasn't meant for me back then, but maybe it is now."

the cryptic nature of his response only added to the layers of confusion and intrigue that surrounded him. there was something about the way he spoke that hinted at deeper currents beneath the surface, emotions and experiences that he hadn't fully revealed. you found yourself torn between the desire to push for answers and the instinct to allow him his privacy. the lunch meeting had transformed into a stage for untangling not just the complexities of the documentary but also the intricate web of emotions and history between you and jaemin.

leaving the restaurant, a whirlwind of unanswered questions dances in your mind. yet, for now, you choose to tuck those thoughts away, focusing instead on the looming filming date just a few days away – next saturday.

in the span of time between that lunch and the upcoming shoot, jaemin proves consistent in his attempts to bridge the gap between you two. he regularly reaches out, updating you about his day and proposing get-togethers, which you consistently decline.

the days pass, marked by a series of messages and missed opportunities. despite the undeniable tension, there's an undeniable persistence on jaemin's part, a determined effort to reconnect and reestablish a sense of familiarity. however, your apprehensions and the memories of your past dynamics hold you back, keeping you from embracing his overtures.

as the countdown to the filming day continues, you find yourself in a delicate dance – balancing the unresolved history between you and the prospects of the future. the lines between your personal and professional lives are blurred, and the documentary project becomes a backdrop against which the intricacies of your relationship with jaemin play out.

you find yourself constantly pondering what his intentions could be. his actions leave you wondering, and you can't help but question what he's aiming for. in your perspective, you're merely a negative aspect of his life – a streak of misfortune. you would have expected him to have learned from the past, but his determination remains unshakeable.

as you contemplate these thoughts, your phone lights up once more, bearing yet another message from him. his name on the screen triggers a whirlwind of emotions – a mixture of uncertainty, annoyance, and a hint of curiosity. opening the message, you brace yourself for whatever he might convey this time. the consistency in his attempts at communication only serves to deepen the intricate web of emotions you hold for him, leaving you caught between your shared history and the unpredictability of the present.

"the offer's still there, y/n. :)" "jaemin, let's be real. just because i'm on board with your documentary idea doesn't mean we're suddenly best buds again. a lot has changed." "i want to reconnect, though." "actually, scratch that. i want to get to know you all over again." "jaemin, i appreciate the effort, but let's keep things professional, okay?" “i’m sorry, y/n. goodnight.”

after your straightforward message, his responses ceased. a silence settled in, stretching on until saturday – the day you were set to see him again. the anticipation and uncertainty had been building, and now the moment was finally at hand.

you stepped into the studio and immediately noticed that you and jaemin were the only ones present. your confusion must have been evident on your face, prompting him to address the situation promptly.

"um, the team thought having fewer people in the room would create a more personal atmosphere," he began, his voice carrying a hint of unease. "and, well, they decided to keep me here, you know, being the director and all, and also because we have a history…"

his words trailed off, and there was a subtle vulnerability in his tone. it was as if he was acknowledging the intricacies of your past connection, while simultaneously recognizing the complexities it introduced into your current dynamic. the studio, usually a place of creativity and collaboration, had transformed into a space laden with the weight of your shared history.

"it's okay," you responded, your words carrying a touch of reassurance. as your reply registered, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips – a detail you couldn't help but notice. after all, it was that very smile that had ignited four years of your life, a smile that held memories and emotions you had both shared.

"um, i'll just ask you a few questions, and then you're free to go," he stated, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness that didn't escape your notice. this new facet of his demeanor felt unfamiliar to you, a departure from the confident jaemin you had known.

you found yourself disliking this uneasiness, and a thought occurred to you – maybe it was time to rekindle something within him. as he began asking you questions, you decided to respond in a way that would evoke a certain familiarity between you two. it was a subtle attempt to bridge the gap, to draw out the person you once knew.

you had believed that his silence was what you wanted. you had convinced yourself that distancing yourself from him would protect you from the past mistakes. but now, facing the reality of the situation, you realized that perhaps a certain selfishness was ingrained within you. maybe, just maybe, you yearned to erase the distance, to defy your own rationalizations.

in this moment, you found yourself yearning to rekindle what had been lost, to bring back a connection that once meant so much. the conflicting emotions within you painted a complex picture of your desires – a battle between self-preservation and the longing for something more.

however, as you locked eyes with him and saw the lack of any discernible emotion in his gaze, a haunting wave of fear resurfaced within you. in that moment, it was as if time rewound, taking you back to the day of your graduation when your heart and spirit had felt shattered. the memory of that painful experience rushed back, accompanied by the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued you.

if you were to truly confront your own feelings, you'd admit that what you witnessed that night had left you questioning your own worth. the events had stirred up doubts about whether you had ever been deserving of taking risks for, whether you had ever been someone worth fighting for.

"hey, good morning, y/n."

"morning, director."

"how's today treating you?"

"pretty good, thanks."

"hmm, and what's life been like after college?"

"…"

"take your time."

"at first, i felt okay. my friends were all getting closer to their dreams, and i was genuinely happy for them. especially…"

"especially who?"

"especially the person i left behind."

"…"

"i was content being happy for someone else. then another year went by, and i wasn't feeling so great anymore."

"do you really think they're happy?"

"hmm?"

"the person you left behind."

"yeah. and my other friends seem happy too. they've got jobs they love, they're with people they care about, and i only had… renjun *laughs* … but sometimes, i can't help but feel like i'm the one who got left behind, you know? even though i was the one who walked away."

"let's talk about your person."

"oh *laughs* he's not my person."

pausing for a moment, you glanced at jaemin behind the camera. the question lingered in your mind: what was he trying to do? his actions and intentions remained a puzzle.

his expression grew serious, his gaze fixed intently on you. it was as if he had something to convey, something he was holding back.

"the last time i actually saw him was in an instagram post. he was with some girl. it happened on my graduation day. i waited the whole day, hoping he'd appear in the midst of the crowd. when he didn't, i held onto the possibility of seeing him by the gates. but that didn't happen either. my last hope was maybe he'd send me a single message, but by the end of the day, nothing came. then i went on instagram and saw a photo – a warning, i guess. a warning that i should just stop hoping. that… happened a few weeks later, i think. or maybe it was just a few days after our argument, the one where he told me he couldn't love… yeah."

you met his gaze and once again, his face was serious. his eyes were furrowed and his mouth was slightly open. a few moments passed, and he let out a shaky breath. screw it, you thought, it's out there now and i don't care anymore.

your silent exchange was interrupted as he shifted the camera away. confusion clouded your thoughts as you watched him move. he turned back to you, his expression still serious, and then he grabbed a chair from the nearby table. he sat down with his back facing you.

the room felt charged with unspoken emotions, leaving you to question his intentions and actions. it was as if he was peeling away layers, searching for something beneath the surface.

"did you know that…" he began, his voice breaking the silence. "she was his sister?"

"i never told you about her, that's on me," he admitted with a chuckle. "that was her last day, y/n. so i decided to spend the entire day with her. i'm sorry."

you were taken aback. "i'm sorry–"

"it's okay, y/n."

"i know i left you with so many questions that night, but let me tell you… every effort you made, every cookie you baked, i cherished all of it. i loved you. i'm sorry if my actions made you doubt yourself."

another pause filled the air.

"i left when you left."

"you were my dream. architecture wasn't really my passion, you know? i was struggling a lot, but luckily, you were there with me. i decided to chase after what i truly loved when you left, because i realized if i wanted you back in my life, it should be when i'm at my best, right? i wasn't lying when i said i couldn't love. i didn't want to love you when i was broken. i wanted to be the best version of myself for you. i thought that if i wanted you to be with the best person, then that should be me. so i became that person, a director, and then i planned all of this." his eyes finally met yours.

"i was always looking at you."

tears welled up in your eyes, and he seemed to notice. he took a step towards you and enveloped you in his arms.

"i'm sorry for not holding onto you back then, baby. but i promise, i won't let go of you now," he whispered.

"i'm sorry for leaving, jaemin," you sobbed.

"shh, you did what you thought was right."

"do you want to have lunch with me now?" he asked.

a mixture of emotions flooded your heart, and with a nod, you replied, "yes, jaemin."

[blackdollette]

i cannot stop thinking about this because rory always has something around his wrist but reader giving either jack or charlie their scrunchie/hairtie and him wearing it allll the time bc he loves u but specifically uses it to tie his hair up whenever he eats u out

p.s. i love your writing so much thank u for feeding my horny delulu brain <33333

thank you so much, anon 🫶🏽 and as someone who always has at least 5 hairties on my wrists at all times, i love this idea sm!!

"it's not fashionable to love me." | jack thurlow

honeymoon. - lana del rey

female!reader x jack

contents: oral (f receiving), a little ffuff

you and jack had been colleagues for a few years, and he had fallen head over heels for you by the time you had spoken to him for the first time

he loved everything about you. from the way you dressed to the way you held yourself together. you were perfect.

when you two started dating, jack gave you a ring that used to belong to his mother

you didn't really have anything to give him in return, so you gave him a fuzzy little scrunchie that you hadn't taken off your wrist in 7 years

at first, he thought it was a little tacky

it didn't go with anything that he wore, and it stood out in an unappealing way

but overtime, jack felt that it was a little piece of you that he could take everywhere with him

he often had it tied in his hair when it was slicked back into his signature tight bun (your favourite hairstyle of his.)

he loved it so much that sometimes, he found himself fidgeting with it

like whenever he was anxious or stressed, he subconsciously started twirling it around his fingers or something

you noticed this and thought it was the cutest thing ever.

whenever he went down on you, he would leave his hair in its usual free state

he’d keep going until you were a shaky, moaning mess.

until the very second that you were going to reach your orgasm

he would pull away from your aching cunt before taking the hairtie off of his wrist and tying his hair into a ponytail, watching as you sob from having your orgasm denied

he'd only chuckle before getting back to work, his lips once again making contact with your swollen little pussy

you'd occasionally move stray strands of his hair out of his face as your legs trembled in his grip

after hours of teasing you, he'd finally let you release your cum all over his tongue as he hungrily lapped up all the liquids you let out

as you let out a loud moan at the shivering sensation traveling through your body, jack comes up and kisses you on the forehead

he tucked you into bed and got beside you, caressing your beautiful face softly as you both slowly drifted off to sleep

not a day went by where he wasn't wearing your special little hairtie. (omg i rhymed)

author's note: im so glad i got this out before the end of the day. thank you so much for the request and i hope you enjoyed reading!

[monstersandmaw]

Changing Tides - human prince 'cursed' into merfolk body (sfw)

Hello! This has been up on my Patreon for my $3 and $5 tiers to read for a week now. If you want to get early access to stuff, and to access my entire back catalogue, here's a link.

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Anon sent me this message and I responded with almost 8000 words:

"human prince who got cursed and turned into a merman, and while his family and the royal court struggle to find a way to break the curse he finds he's actually happier as a merman"

It's 3rd person, sfw, and features an orca clan who adopts our frightened prince, and there's a hint of mlm romance for one of the orcas with a human in the future... Anyway, I hope you like something a little different. 

Content: some mild elements of body horror during the curse/turning scene, brief but not gory/too explicit mention of marine animal death, some implied trauma resulting from a transformation against his will/separation from family and previous existence at a young age, brief description of blood/injury from a harpoon to another character

Wordcount: 7965

Dusk gathered over the gentle swells of the open ocean, gilding the new yardarms and painting the perfectly crisp, white sails of the Royal Navy’s flagship with a pink and orange watercolour glow. The ship’s guests drank and laughed, and celebrated The Sea Rose’s maiden voyage, utterly unaware that they were enjoying their final few moments of life as they knew it.

Unremarkable in almost every way, a small porpoise had been playing in the bow wave, its small, dark body darting mere inches from the stem each time it plunged in and out of the spray and waves.

It didn’t hear the warning from the sea witch racing to catch up with it, and when the young porpoise’s concentration slipped and the black-painted stem of ‘The Sea Rose’ collided with its solid little body, no one on board noticed the tragedy of its passing. Even if the guests hadn’t been half drunk on the heady mix of wine and their own self-importance, there was no one on lookout in the crow’s nest that day; the new ship was flanked for her safety by two frigates a little way off, both crewed with the Navy’s finest and bristling to the gunwales with cannon and ammunition. There was no need to keep a watch this time.

There was, after all, no danger.

And yet, the animal’s accidental death would not go unmarked, unmourned, or unpunished.

Heedless of the vengeful danger rising swiftly from beneath the ship, the king himself strode along the main deck in his white and gold finery, leaving his guests for a moment as he spotted his thirteen year old son standing at the taffrail on the afterdeck and staring out at the ship’s trailing wake.

He slapped the skinny boy on his shoulders by way of a greeting, and nearly sent him toppling over into the sea from the force of his jovial blow. Hauling him upright again with a meaty fist at the scruff of his velvet doublet, the king laughed, cheeks red with drink and the bracing sea air, and he grinned down at his second eldest son.

“What’s got into you, lad?” he asked, his words a little thick and his green eyes a little glassy. “You’ve begged me for years to be allowed to go to sea, and now you’re here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else! You’re not seasick, are you, lad? You’re going to be Admiral of the Fleet when your brother ascends the throne — can’t have you turning green at the slightest bit of swell!”

“It’s not that, father,” he said, mustering a smile for the king. “I’m sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Down below on the deck, the little prince’s older brother was talking with a few of the captains and admirals, and the boy felt suddenly every bit as young as he was. ‘King’ Eolan was a title that would suit his brother one day, with his regal bearing and his noble features, while the younger boy was gangly and too skinny to fill out the doublet he wore or the fine leather boots on his small feet.

He didn’t get the chance to observe the Crown Prince in action for much longer though, because a shudder ran the length of the new ship, and conversation sputtered and died.

The sails quivered and the rigging shook like spiderwebs before a coming storm. All the hands looked to their stations while the royal guests shifted uneasily and someone dropped a wine flute into the silence of the swelling sea. The Crown Prince scuttled up the stairs to the afterdeck and joined his father, tense and alert, though not before laying a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile.

While the ship sailed past the stricken porpoise in a foaming, heedless rush, the creature bobbed past with its back broken, dead on impact, and the sea darkened around it and then began to boil and churn along the sides of the ship.

Finally, a shout went up and someone standing by the rail on the port side pointed and then reeled back in alarm. They were joined by more guests and sailors until half the ship’s company was hanging off the side and staring into the water that had turned an inky black around the corpse of the sea creature.

The thirteen year old prince followed his father to the railing of the high afterdeck and peered over in time to see a humanoid figure rise from the water. Her long, wet hair hung around her shoulders like a veil of moonlight, and her eyes flashed the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. Her skin was freckled and oddly iridescent and the air around her seemed to shimmer like the road on a summer’s day. In her right hand she held a staff that was the silvery brown of old driftwood, wrapped around with seaweed like the leather on the grip of a quarterstaff, and her lower body appeared to be that of a leopard seal.

The prince’s breath caught and he stared, slack jawed down at her, forgetting to be afraid.

At the sight of her though, the guests recoiled and grabbed at the charms and holy pendants they wore around their necks, but it would do them no good. The witch raised her staff and let out a wordless scream of grief. As if whisked by a winter squall, the sea rose up around her at her call and a huge wave sloshed against the side of the ship, rocking it and sending a wall of spray and foam across the main deck.

Wherever the droplets of water touched, a flurry of white feathers appeared, and from the afterdeck, the king and the two princes watched a flock of startled seabirds flounder upwards into the sky. In their wake, the main deck lay completely deserted.

The king swore and unsheathed the steel sword at his hip but the young prince simply clung to the wooden railing and continued to stare down at the sea witch.

All his life, he’d heard tales of merfolk and of the magic they wielded, but he’d never dared dream they might be real. He’d spent hours begging the merchants who came to the castle for stories from the fish markets, since every sailor claimed to have fallen in love with a selkie or kissed a mermaid on one of their voyages, but he’d never truly believed that merfolk really did exist.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king bellowed down at her over the sound of the settling sea. “Return this ship’s crew and my guests to me at once, witch!”

“Never!” she snarled. “They’ve flown far away now, oh great king,” she added sarcastically, still sneering, “Your pretty birds won’t return to you now!”

“Why? What prompted such an act?” he barked. To his younger son, he suddenly gestured and added, “Come away from there!” With a desperate look over his shoulder, he hissed at the Crown Prince, “Eolan, protect your brother!”

The witch smiled and the younger prince saw tears tracking down around the corners of her smile as it turned from malice to grief. “Father…” he breathed, wanting to warn the king, but not knowing quite why or of what.

“Quiet!” the king hissed with a sharp motion of his hand. “Eolan, fetch a harpoon. I will have her hide on my wall!”

The Crown Prince snuck away down the stairs, out of sight of the sea witch, and then disappeared below decks. As he left, the younger boy finally let go of the railings and came to stand behind his father.

“Your ship,” the witch called above the wash of water against the sides of the vessel, “Is an abomination! You toss your refuse into the sea to choke the life from those who live there, tangle us in your nets, capture us… skin us!”

She paused and choked something raw and visceral and far beyond articulation. Drawing energy into the staff in a swirl of mist, she came to the real crux of her grievance.

“Your ship took my familiar from me and you didn’t even care to notice!”

“Your what?”

“Shadow!” she wailed, and that sorrow finally crystallised into rage. She pointed as the body of the dead porpoise floated over towards her and then with another heartbroken shriek, she raised the staff not at the king, but at his son. “I curse you!” she spat at him. “I curse you! May your son’s frail human legs fail him and may he know the plight of our people first hand! May the air choke him and the water you disdain be his only solace!”

A bolt of lightning seared down out of a clear sky and struck the deck of The Sea Rose behind the king in a spray of splinters. Ozone and singed wood filled the air as he turned around at the wheezing gulp that left his son’s throat. At the sight that greeted him, the gilt steel sword dropped from his fingers to clatter across the deck at his feet.

The boy’s legs had gone completely limp and he hit the deck hard, eyes wide with terror.

“Father,” he tried to choke in panic, but the sound lodged in his throat.

He brought one hand up instinctively to claw at his neck as he failed to breathe, suffocating in the ordinary sea air, and a moment later his fingers found the three slits of gills in his skin that had not been there before the lightning of the witch’s curse had struck him.

Before the true terror of his discovery could sink in, however, a blinding pain erupted in his chest and his hips, and his legs began to spasm.

The boy tore at the trousers which were suddenly constricting and strangling him, cutting into his legs, and he rolled on the deck as he ripped them off to reveal the distinctive opal-green and black pattern of a mackerel’s skin beginning at his hips. He clawed wildly at his skin in horror trying to halt the change, and his father dragged the fabric away just as the transformation ran its course, and his son arched his back and writhed on the deck like a landed catch, unable to breathe and blind with terror.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Eolan’s return and when he saw his brother lying on the deck with the barbed tail of a mackerel, he crashed to his knees beside them, the harpoon forgotten.

Not knowing what to do, the king knelt at his son’s side and stroked his curly, black hair out of his eyes which were bulging as he failed to breathe.

“Father,” he mouthed, chest spasming.

The skin of his remaining human body turned a grayish silver, like tarnished pewter, and between his fingers as they scrabbled at the deck the king could see a thin webbing stretching and flexing. Black, wickedly sharp claws raked the wood of the deck to splintered furrows as the boy twisted and panicked.

“What do we do?” Eolan whispered, tears filling his eyes. “Father? He’s dying… He can’t breathe!”

Acting on the most fragile of hopes, the king picked his son up in his arms and held him briefly, kissing his forehead. “I love you,” he said. “I will find a way to reverse this.”

Before the cursed prince could work out what was happening, he had been flung over the side of the ship and hit the water with a heavy smack.

The rush of cold seawater across his new gills was a relief beyond anything he’d ever felt. Instinctively, he drew in water through them and let his body start to sink.

Above, the shadow of a second ship, the frigate ‘Persistence’, announced itself with a volley of musket fire, and the sea witch dived out of sight, dragging the body of her slain familiar with her into the depths, the young prince forgotten entirely.

In all the commotion, the prince disappeared into the depths of the coastal waters, alone and afraid for the first time in his life.

__

The clan of orca-folk cautiously breached the surface and paused to watch the selkie on the shore light the driftwood pyre with the tip of her staff, and dipped their heads as one in respect. The creature at the heart of the kindling blaze was most likely her familiar, and they decided not to trouble the witch in her grief.

Leaving her, they swam in silence out of the cove and moved along the rocky shore, casting uneasy glances at each other. Magic was rare among the merfolk, but those who changed their shape at will, like the selkie folk and their distant, inland relatives, the kelpies, had it more strongly. There had been turmoil on the sea that day, and even now that the stars had blinked to life in the sky above, the waters still churned with unease.

A younger member of the clan swam on ahead, not quite understanding the wary reverence her relatives had for the sea witch, and, distracted by the passing of a very ordinary but still very quick seal, she raced off in a stream of bubbles to play with it. Yes, her kind hunted seals, but when they were being that obvious about their pursuit, the seal was in no danger.

She blasted around the rocky promontory but splayed her wide flippers to bring herself to an abrupt halt when she spotted a boy about her own age lying curled on the sandy bed of the next cove’s floor. He was hunched in on himself and seemed to be in some kind of distress, so she swam slowly over to him. He had the dizzying markings of a mackerel — black lines and opal shimmers like summer sunlight on the sea’s surface — and she wondered if perhaps he’d been left behind on the annual migration.

As she approached, he raised his head and his mouth opened in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, gills flaring.

“Hi,” she grinned. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You alright?”

He shook his head.

“Pearl?” Her older brother’s voice sounded from close behind her, wary and warning, and she glanced back over her bare shoulder at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just found him.”

Hook swam past her, pushing her roughly to one side, and he loomed over the terrified stranger and bared all his sharp teeth at him. Hook was only a year older than Pearl, but he liked to play the grown up with her, and it irritated her no end. She grabbed the wide flat of his tail as it wafted past and yanked him sharply backwards. It wasn’t enough to move him much, but it brought his long, black and white hair drifting into his face and undermined his attempt at a tough persona a little.

The strange boy cringed away, hands above his head, and Hook relented when he saw he was no threat, and clearly terrified.

“You hurt?” he asked, though he could taste no blood in the water. “Where’s your shoal?”

In no time, they were joined by the whole orca-folk clan, and it was decided that the stranded boy would swim with them for the winter until his people returned to these waters to claim him. The boy didn’t speak, but he seemed able to understand them, and something told Pearl he’d been through something more awful even than being abandoned by his shoal.

Over the next few weeks, she first coaxed some tentative smiles from him, and then, when they had stopped to rest one night in another rocky cove further to the south, he laughed.

It happened when Hook got his finger clamped by a massive lobster and he swore and flung the thing away before washing it further from him with a great sweep of his tail, scowling. He was growing into his body and would one day outgrow even their father, and the motion sent the offending crustacean spiralling away on the temporary current.

When the wash of water in their ears had settled, they heard a quiet giggling and looked around to see him sitting near a bed of kelp, one hand over his mouth, and laughing softly. His eyes were the most beautiful brown, like a seal’s, and when Hook saw who was laughing, his indignation at the incident melted away like the ice in the spring, and his whole body softened.

Pearl watched as Hook swam over to the strange boy, the one they’d taken to calling Mackerel for the beautiful patterns on his tail, but the boy stopped laughing almost immediately. Hook’s shoulders dropped and he looked mortified when he saw unease and uncertainty in the boy’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Hook said with a half-smile. “I deserved to get pinched the way I picked her up,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. You want to see if we can find another one and I’ll show you the right way to do it?”

Tentatively, the boy nodded, and Pearl watched as the boy swam off at Hook’s side. He didn’t swim like normal merfolk, but more like a newborn still getting used to his tail. Sometimes he started to sink and panicked, and the first few times it had happened, Hook had actually had to lift him up to keep him from sinking completely. Unlike them, he was a piscine merfolk, meaning he could breathe water and not air, while they were mammalian and needed to surface. When Hook went up to gulp fresh air those first few times, Pearl would watch the boy and make sure he didn’t sink until Hook returned.

He seemed to grow in confidence though over the winter, and by the time of that first laugh, he was just a bit awkward in the water. He couldn’t hope to keep up with Hook, but her brother had a kind streak to him for all his brash bravado, and he kept pace with Mackerel. Slowly, the boy began to talk with them, but he never spoke of what had happened to him, and any time they asked him where his shoal was or where he’d grown up, he shut up tighter than a clam and refused to talk. Eventually, they stopped asking.

He did till them his name though, and they were surprised to learn it was a human name. Pearl had been named for the lightness of her irises — such a pale blue it was almost silver — and Hook had been named because the patch of white under his tall dorsal fin looked like one of the barbed devices that humans used to catch fish. Mackerel, however, turned out to be named Theo, and when asked why he had that name, he just shrugged and said his parents must have liked it. They stuck to calling him Mackerel, or Macks, and he didn’t object in the slightest, only smiling shyly the first time Hook used his new name.  

When spring came to the waters where Pearl’s clan hunted, no piscine merfolk came looking for Mackerel, so he simply stayed with the orca folk.

One year became two, became three, became five.

Hook grew into a monster of a merman, with muscles rippling over his body and a reputation for taking on anything he deemed a threat to his clan, from great white sharks to fishing boats. Mackerel grew as well. Gone was that awkward, faltering motion as he swam — he could out pace any of them in a race and he was lithe and graceful and elegant when he moved. He laughed a lot too.

Pearl noticed how he would watch her swim past and then look away, and when Hook caught him staring at her like that, he washed him playfully away with a wave of his massive tail and sent him spiralling off into the murky depths with a laugh and told him to come back when he could win against Pearl in arm-wrestling.

Then, one summer evening, Mackerel disappeared.

They’d been swimming nearer to the shore than was wise in the warmer months, when humans often gathered on the shore with their fires to dance and sing and make a strange music of their own. Hook and Pearl’s mother called the clan back from the shallows and led them away when they heard the strange notes of human song and saw the orange lights dancing on the shore like strange, swirling blooms of plankton that spat sparks into the sky, but when Hook turned to Pearl to ask her something, he tensed and looked around.

“What?”

“Where’s Macks?” he asked, his hold tightening on the driftwood spear he usually carried in his right hand. Its ghostly-white blade was made of honed whalebone, and it had gutted a great white from nose to tail only the week before. The colour had drained from Hook’s usually tanned face, and he looked around frantically in the gloom that night had cast on the sea.

“Maybe he didn’t hear mother calling?” Pearl whispered.

“Stay here. I’ll go back for him.”

“Careful!” Pearl hissed, but he was already sliding away like a shadow, consumed by the growing darkness.

Hook searched the cove where they’d been intending to rest until they’d discovered the humans too close for comfort, but found nothing. Panic began to rise as he looked further along the dark, jagged rocks of the shoreline.

Eventually he started to run out of air, and surfaced carefully, mindful of the massive dorsal fin that stuck up like a sail behind him now that he was full-grown. If the humans spotted it glinting in the dark, they’d hurl harpoons at him or try to snatch him for a trophy. Merfolk — both saltwater and freshwater — didn’t last long in captivity, and he had no intention of being taken.

Then, at the far end of the sweeping cove, he spotted the opalescent glimmer of Mackerel’s scales and saw his greyish body draped over a rock. He was leaning on it, staring at the humans. His black hair, which, in the water, was flat, had started to curl, and Hook couldn’t believe he was out of the water at all. He was going to asphyxiate if he stayed up there too long, but the orca kept watching him a little longer. He liked Mackerel’s body; how it was different from the powerful orca folk. He was built for speed and agility where Hook was built for a combination of wild bursts of power and slower endurance. He might have begun courting him, bringing him gifts of carved whalebone and rare trinkets from the seabed, if Mackerel hadn’t clearly been attracted only to his sister or her female friends. So, he’d kept his affection for him chaste, and now as he watched, he realised with a jolt that Mackerel was crying.

Slowly, he swam over to him, keeping in Mackerel’s line of sight, and when his best friend turned to look at him, Hook’s heart cracked and sheared apart at the look on his face.

“What?” Hook asked, pausing and bringing his hands up to speak in the Hunter’s Tongue they used with each other when they needed to be silent in the water. He’d taught Mackerel himself, and he’d soon picked it up like he’d been speaking it all his life.

Mackerel only shook his head though and then dipped his neck below the waterline to breathe before rising up and staring again at the humans.

Hook turned to watch, but didn’t he understand. Humans were fascinating, sure, but they weren’t beautiful enough to make grown merfolk cry, surely?

Strange structures had been erected on the soft, pale sand, which looked like they were made of the same material that humans used to catch the wind and drive their boats and ships. These though were coloured the same shade as the urchins and starfish that hunkered down in rock pools at high tide, and whatever they were made of glittered occasionally like the sun on the water. The humans were laughing and moving around in odd patterns around their fires.

“What is it?” Hook whispered when he was close enough to Mackerel that their bodies touched all along one side.

“I miss them,” Mackerel rasped back. His voice didn’t work very well above the water, needing the cool caress of the waves to make it audible.

“Miss who?”

“My family.”

Hook went still. Macks had never talked about his family in all the years he’d lived with Hook’s clan. He looked from Mackerel to the humans and back again. “What do you mean?”

Mackerel bit his lip. “These people…” he said. “I know them. Hook, I was —”

A shout went up and something lanced down out of the dark, piercing the water and glancing off Hook’s large, rounded flipper. He cried out in shock at the sting of it as blood blossomed in the dark water, and he yanked Mackerel down into the waves just as another spear flew into the waves like a diving bird.

This one landed in Hook’s flat tail, and it wasn’t a spear. It was a harpoon.

Thick and barbed, the weapon lodged itself in his tail and he found himself hauled up the beach by a small party of humans before he could even flounder or lash out. His own spear had been dropped when he’d reached for Mackerel and he only prayed that his friend had the sense to swim for the depths. Not that he was about to go down without a fight, he thought as he readied himself to lash out with his fists, and even his teeth if he had to.

Of course, Mackerel had the self-preservation instincts of a piece of seaweed in a Spring Tide, however, and he breached the water a second later with a screech of distress that made even Hook’s eardrums hurt. For an instant, the tearing pressure on his tail was relaxed and he heaved his body with all his might, knocking the shadowed figures aside and sending them tumbling into the sand.

Then he saw Mackerel hauling himself up the beach, and the men started to run for him too.

Panic set in to Hook until he heard Mackerel yelling at them. He was yelling a name. A human name.

The figure at the front of the group skidded to a halt in the wet sand and stood there in shock while a wave washed up the shore to him and sloshed over his boots. “Theo?”

“Eolan…” Mackerel wheezed. “Please… Let him go…”

The figure crashed to his knees in front of Mackerel and tilted his face up to look him in the eye.

Hook seized the opportunity and swung his tail again, scattering the last of the humans tugging fruitlessly on his line now that there were too few of them. The barb of the harpoon was right through the meat of his tail and it was bleeding everywhere, turning the sand a nasty dark hue.

“Let… him go… Eolan. For me.”

“Brother? Little brother?” the human choked, bowing over him.

“Yes. It’s me. Let. Him. Go.”

The human turned his face to look at Hook then, and Hook recoiled. He looked like Mackerel, just… older. And harder too.

“Get back into the water,” Hook growled at Mackerel. “You’ll choke up here.”

That made the human — his brother? — look sharply back at him, and when Mackerel nodded and his lungs started to seize, the human dragged him unceremoniously into the water himself by the tail.

Hook meanwhile clawed his own way back down the beach, dragging the harpoon with him. If it ripped out of his tail, he’d bleed to death, but if he didn’t get away from these humans, they’d hang him up like the sharks and the tuna they took great pride in catching, and they’d wait til he bled out or died from the stress of it.

He yanked at Mackerel’s tail and dragged him the last way into the water too, then half-swam and half-sank down into the safety of deeper water. Pearl was waiting for them with Hook’s spear in her hand and swam at him, crying out when she saw the harpoon in his tail.

“It’s bad, Hook. We have to take you to the sea witch,” she said. “Mackerel, what in the name of the Deep were you thinking?”

“I…” he croaked. Like a piece of flotsam caught in the grip of the tide, he didn’t know whether to return to the beach or follow them into the sea. Hook didn’t have time to wait though, and he let his clan bear him away, looking back over his shoulder at Mackerel in disbelief and confusion.

Pearl drew Mackerel after them, and he followed in mute shock.

The sea witch’s lair was somewhere most merfolk avoided, mostly because magic was as unnerving to them as human fire, and the sea witch was powerful. She had never been known to turn away anyone in distress however, and when she scented blood in the water and saw Hook being borne into the protective ring of rocks around her home by two of his kind, weak from blood-loss and pain, she darted over immediately and hissed a curse.

“Humans,” she said through gritted teeth as she instructed the orca folk where to leave Hook. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness on a soft bed of woven kelp, and when he looked up she smiled at him. “Easy, sweetheart. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll need you to be brave, and you might need to hold onto someone while I take it out. There’s no easy way to do it, but my magic will patch you up afterwards. It’ll scar, but at least you’ll have your tail, eh?”

He nodded. “M… Mack…” he moaned, but Mackerel didn’t appear. When he cracked his eyes open again, he saw Mackerel staring at the witch with abject terror in his big brown eyes.

“It’s alright, lad,” she laughed, waving him over. “Come. Your friend needs you now.”

But Mackerel didn’t move.

When he remained, drifting on the currents like a mindless jellyfish, the witch tutted and gestured more impatiently, until she went still and really looked at him. “You’re… You can’t be… By the Deep, you’re him, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he nodded.

When Hook let out a groan as the water drifted over his injury and moved the harpoon, the witch focused again and said, “No time for that now. Someone hold him while I heal him up.”

Mackerel did move then, and he swam right around her and came to hold Hook’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault. Humans are awful. I hate them,” Hook spat. “I hate them all, I —” He cut off as the witch yanked the harpoon out and immediately began to heal it. Hook’s eyes rolled and he lost consciousness at last.

When he came to, he found Pearl at his side, curled up asleep the way she had done when they were really young. He stroked his hand over her hair and she stirred, blinking and rolling over.

“You’re alright?” she asked and he nodded.

Moving his tail experimentally up and down, he found that the pain had gone, and the wound had been mended to leave a silvery scar in the top and a pink one in the white of the flesh underneath. “Where’s Macks?” he asked and she swallowed and looked away. “Pearl?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Hook jerked upright and glared at her. “Gone where?”

“He talked with the sea witch for ages and she gave him something, and then… he just left.”

“Without saying where he was going?”

“He swam to the surface like he was one of us running out of air. I don’t know what happened.”

“Where is she? Where’s the witch? I want to ask —”

“I’m here,” came the witch’s harsh voice from nearby. “Don’t get your flippers in a flap,” she added, rolling her eyes. “And something tells me your boy will be back…”

“He’s not my boy,” Hook growled.

The witch just rolled her eyes. “Maybe not in the way you wish, but he’s not for you anyway. Your blood told me an interesting story when I drank half of it in by accident earlier. How are you feeling?”

She moved her seal’s lower body from side to side in a sinuous sweep and lifted up his enormous fluke, nodding with a satisfied grunt when she inspected the scar.

“I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not really my story to tell, if he’s not told you already,” she said carefully, “But I lashed out a long time ago when humans took my familiar from me, and I took it out on the wrong person. I wanted the humans to know what it was like to suffer at the hands of someone you feared, so I gave one of them a tail and gills in a fit of pique to make his father pay. I was so wrapped up in my grief at Shadow’s death that I clean forgot about the lad when the humans opened fire on me, and I’ve not thought about him from that day to this.”

“Mackerel…” Hook exhaled, his blue eyes wide. “He… He was human, once, wasn’t he?”

The witch nodded. “Pampered little princeling out on his father’s brand new ship. Shadow got too close and the ship hit my familiar. The shock of it broke something inside me that day, but I never should have taken it out on an innocent child.”

“Where is he now?”

“I gave him the means to return to his people. If he stays on land for longer than a single cycle of the sun and moon, he’ll stay there and never return. If he returns to the sea within that time, he’ll never be able to return to his human form again.”

“Why would you make him choose like that?” Hook demanded, face like a thunderhead.

“My magic isn’t infinite, boy,” she scoffed. “I can’t give him a shifters gift. He must choose, his family in the water or his family on land. By all accounts, the humans have scoured the land looking for a way to get their cursed prince back, but no witch has been willing or able to help them.”

Pearl shook her head. “Probably no one wanted to go against the Sea Witch…”

The witch blew a stream of bubbles from her mouth and shrugged. “If they had, I might have heard about the situation and remembered the poor boy I tossed into the ocean like a piece of discarded bait. Your clan shamed me with your honour in taking in the boy as your own.”

Hook swam out of the witch’s lair not long after that and made straight for the cove where the humans had been frolicking on the shore like spinner dolphins in the surf before they’d spotted him and Mackerel.

There, sitting close together on the beach by the dying embers of the fire, he saw his best friend and the human who’d called him ‘little brother’.

For a long time, he watched, transfixed.

Mackerel was wrapped in a piece of fabric that looked like a small, patterned sail, only it fell softly around him, and from under it, Hook could just see a pair of feet. His gaze snagged on them, and he wasn’t sure how long he stared. He wondered what it was like to have two limbs instead of one — perhaps it was like controlling his flippers and his tail separately…?

Suddenly, on the rocks above him and to his right, a male voice cleared his throat, and Hook jumped, lurching away with a snarl.

“Sorry,” the man said with an earthy chuckle. “Didn’t want to spook you, but I figured you should know I was here, and that you’d better not try anything either,” he warned.

Hook’s upper lip peeled back to show his row of sharp teeth. “If he wants to be there, I won’t stop him,” he growled. “Who are you?”

“Crown Prince’s bodyguard. You?”

“His friend.”

Hook eyed the man up and down and found he didn’t dislike him, physically. Like Hook, he was clearly a warrior, since he had what the humans called a ‘sword’ belted to his hip, and he carried a long spear in his right hand. His clothes looked like they’d been made of fish scales though, and Hook immediately wanted to touch. The fabric shimmered in the torch light and clinked softly, almost musically.

When he saw where Hook was staring, the man chuckled. “Yeah, mail’s a bit like fish skin, I suppose.”

“Mail?”

“This,” he said, plucking at the shirt that ended halfway down his thighs.

He crouched down, leaning on the spear for balance, and at the sight of the dark, soft fabric underneath the mail and covering his legs, Hook’s curiosity surged and he swam a little closer.

“Fuck,” the man breathed when he saw the way Hook moved.

“What?”

“Never been this close to one of your kind.”

“Without hurling a harpoon at us, you mean?” Hook growled, gripping the rock at the man’s boots and raising himself up out of the water enough to reveal his entire torso. Then, with one hand, he grabbed at the man’s mail shirt near his neck and hauled him close.

The spear dropped from his hand and clattered onto the rocks, but the human didn’t resist him.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled instead.

Hook snarled, lip rising again on one side, and he heard a shout of alarm from the beach.

Flinging the man aside so that he toppled and landed hard on his backside on the rock behind him, Hook looked over to find Mackerel standing shakily and staggering on the sand. The ‘sail cloth that wasn’t sail cloth’ fell to his waist and he grabbed at it, just as his brother lurched to his feet and helped to steady him.

Together they walked shakily around the cove and over to the rocks that jutted out into the sea like a dock, but the shore was too jagged for Mackerel’s bare, human feet, and besides, he was too unsteady on his unfamiliar legs.

He beckoned Hook over though, and Hook glanced back at the Crown Prince’s bodyguard, then sloshed into the water and drove himself at the shore with a few powerful sweeps of his tail. There, he half-beached himself, looking up at Macks.

Mackerel crouched, keeping the soft fabric around himself and half hiding his strange limbs from Hook’s view for some reason, and the older man stepped back when Mackerel nodded at him. “You’re human?” Hook croaked, looking up at him.

Mackerel made a little sideways motion with his head. “For now. I’m sorry I never told you what happened. I… I was afraid you’d… that you wouldn’t want me in your family anymore if you knew the truth. I know how you talk about humans…”

Shame twisted in his gut and he looked back at the man on the rocks who was standing up at the approach of Mackerel’s brother.

“You going to stay with them?” Hook asked.

“I’m not sure. I want to talk with my brother a bit longer. While I can. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Hook nodded. “I understand.”

“Hook…?”

He met Hook’s blue eyes with his brown and reached for him. His skin was warm and soft in the firelight, and Hook found he missed the stony grey it had been before. Being human didn’t suit him, but he didn’t feel it was his place to say that, so he just swallowed and nodded. “Take your time. You know where we’ll be.”

“Hook, whatever I decide, you're family too. All of you. Pearl and you and the whole clan. You took me in and cared for me in a way my family on land never really did. They sheltered me and they loved me, but… not the way you did. I’ll always love you all for that. You know that, right?”

Hook nodded once and shoved his weight backwards in the sand, awkwardly carving a channel in the wet shoreline with his massive body. He glared as Mackerel’s older brother strode back across to join them, and he helped Mackerel to stand. His legs trembled and wobbled, and he laughed and leaned into his brother, and the two retreated up the beach to talk some more.

At the whispering of metal rings sliding like scales across one another, Hook glanced to his right and saw the guardsman approaching along the sand. He set down his spear and held up his hands, laughing softly. It was a warm, chuffing sound, and it stirred something in Hook’s gut that he’d thought only awakened for Mackerel.

“What do you want?” he asked, though it came out more petulant than threatening, and it only made the human warrior snort another little laugh. “You sound like a seal with a cold, making that noise.”

That made the man’s laughter grow and he shook his head. Hook saw that his hair was wavy and dark brown, and it looked impossibly soft. A shiver ran down his whole body and he felt a spark of arousal thrum through him. He was glad he was lying on his front, for one.

The two princes talked long into the night, and Hook stayed with the guardsman.

Slowly, he got over his hostility and started to ask questions about the humans’ world, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The guardsman had plenty of his own questions too, and by the time the sun was well up into the sky and hammering down on them, Hook’s deep voice was hoarse and his golden-brown skin was dry and prickling.

“I should…” he rasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the water behind him. “I’m going to turn into one of your baked fish soon.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guardsman said. His name was Kit, it turned out, which Hook thought was a very funny sounding name. “You need a hand getting back in the water?”

He didn’t, but the thought of having this human’s hands on him sounded suddenly and bizarrely appealing, so he shrugged. “You strong enough to actually help me, or are you just looking for an excuse to get your hands on a merman?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Again, Kit laughed. It seemed so easy, so natural for him to laugh, but Hook felt a little flicker of pride all the same at having made him do it.

“With all that muscle you’re packing? Probably not,” Kit admitted. “Seemed polite to ask though.”

Hook snorted too, and shook his head. His hair had dried while they’d been talking and it was tickling his face. The guard surprised him by reaching out and tucking it behind his ear with a smile. “I’m glad I met you, Hook,” Kit said. “Maybe… no matter what His Highness decides, you’ll meet me here again some time?”

“His… Highness?”

“The one you call Mackerel. He’s a prince, you know?”

“He’s just… Macks,” Hook scowled.

“Yeah.”

Kit straightened with a grunt and dusted the sand off his legs, and Hook used his forearms to back himself back out into the surf, tail lifted so it didn’t drag like an anchor.

His back was burned, and the saltwater was agony to start with, but it had been worth it to spend so long in the company of the strange human. He ducked beneath the water without a word and vanished, deciding to wait out the rest of the time until Macks’ spell conditions were met in the solitude of a nearby kelp bed.

Occasionally he surfaced, but he didn’t go back to the shore, and finally, when the moon was starting to rise again, he breached the water one last time and looked to the beach. There was no sign of Macks this time, and he realised he’d probably made his choice.

Grief struck him a worse blow than even the harpoon, and he curled inwards with a grunt as saltwater leaked from his eyes and he realised he was crying. He doubled over and turned towards the open ocean. His scarred tail gave a throb of pain as he pushed himself to the limit and blew past his clan who had been waiting nervously out in the open water all day.

Pearl yelled after him but he ignored her. He wasn’t sure how far along the coast he swam but eventually he doubled back to familiar waters and located his clan.

And there, in the middle of all of them, was Mackerel.

Hook halted and stared, and the motion of his black and white tail attracted his best friend’s attention enough that he stopped mid-sentence and darted away from the girls, his body flashing like a minnow between the figures of orca merfolk. He shot out and blasted over to him at a pace even Hook hadn’t known he was capable of, and collided with him with the speed of a racing tuna fish. He gave a soft ‘oof’, a cloud of bubbles rising up to the surface in a foam as the air was knocked from his lungs and he started to cough. Mackerel tugged him up to the surface and made sure he got a good gulp of air before hugging him again.

“I know you don’t see me as your brother,” he said, “And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you wanted, but… I hope you’ll accept me back into the clan all the same.”

“I love you,” Hook said, “No matter what, or how. I can’t believe you stayed though. I thought… I thought…” He squeezed him tightly, using his flippers as well as his arms, and Mackerel laughed.

“Turns out I actually prefer being a merman,” Mackerel laughed. “I was always out of place on dry land, but here… I think I’m meant to be here.” He waited a beat and then said, “My brother’s guardsman seemed quite taken with you. Maybe you can keep flirting with him when I go and visit my brother?”

Hook shoved him away and then used his trademark tail-wipe to wash him even further away, and the two of them laughed.

“Race you?” Macks asked.

Mackerel did an easy back-flip in the water, rolling gracefully and then twisting like a strand of kelp in the current. When Hook thought back to how he’d been in those first few weeks — when, he now knew, he’d only just acquired a tail instead of legs — he realised how Mackerel had really grown into that pretty tail of his.

As pretty as it was though, it somehow wasn’t as appealing as Kit’s legs anymore, and Hook hid a secret smile as he let his slippery friend scoot away from him before setting the muscle of his tail to good use and powering after him like an incoming breaker.

Relations with the humans changed after that. The old king died some years later, though not before he got to see his lost son one last time, and over the course of the next year, trade and new laws governing fishing rights and shipping lanes were established for the safety and benefit of the merfolk.

And if Hook disappeared from the clan for extended periods of time, and if those periods happened to overlap with Kit’s time off duty, well, it was only a sign of better things for both worlds, surely?

__

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[leoruby-draws]

Finally, I can introduce Indigo aka Brainiac 8! Last one, and with this I've done 8 straight days of posting. Not the best week (pretty shitty tbh) but posting these helped take my mind off all that horrible shit. Hopefully it helped a little for you too.

A villain turned hero (then villain again) who comes from the future and tries to make the future belong to Brainiac! She'll be fulfilling the superman role in the group! Best of all, she has pink hair! Yes that's important (no its not lol)!! You know how long she's been in the drafts? Since more than a year ago!

In my last post, I was considering making a oc that would fulfill what I would like for my superman expy of the group but decided against having an oc for that, but ironically I did find a character who was pretty similar to her. The fact that she was actually a 'child' of Brainiac made her, in a way, more perfect for the role. A lot of the kids on the TrWh Outlaw team tend to be stuck on the border between good and bad, so Indigo will have company in that regard. I think at a later point she'll also start making friends with her outsider teammates from the comics as well, I've got a couple of drawings of them as well. I'll post them later tho.

Indigo's personality is split, because just like in the comics, she actually has two sides to her. A sweet, inquisitive, innocent but manufactured side and her 'real' personality, an evil monster bent on enacting Brainiac's plans. Her entrance is similar to the comics, she comes blasting in from the future to try to kill Donna. Unlike in canon, Indigo fails. Cyborg helps rewire her and Donna tries to figure where to place her. Donna then thinks of those Outlaw rascals making trouble everywhere and gets an idea...

Here was where I was working out her costume, I gave her a black dress cuz of her canon black outfit, but it felt kinda boring no matter what I added to it. So I changed it up. I also gave her a human disguise, for whenever she wants to blend in. I also tried to give her a name of sorts 'Aryrl Dox', tried to make it sound like Ariel but don't know if it works.

Also her hairstyle, I kinda styled it after Yukino from KareKano. Yukino was someone who tried to create a secondary facade to fool her classmates into thinking she was perfect. Her obsession for maintaining two different personas gave her a similarity to Indigo, so I thought it'd be funny to give her hairstyle to Indy.

Also with Indigo being the superman of the group, this means Jason/Vanessa/Indigo are the trinity of the TrWh Outlaws. Seems like Vanessa doesn't feel too comfortable around Indigo.

And Vanessa isn't the only who's uncomfortable around Indigo. Karen, Kara, and Brainiac 5 seem rather apprehensive about her. I said earlier that the story that introduces her is similar to canon, where Indy flies in from the future to kill Donna. Since this happens earlier in canon, the plot point from Graduation has to be different. My idea was to have it happen in a ceremony where the heroes(Justice League?) formally establish Steph's and Tim's hero teams (Jason's team mostly rejected doing this, much to Toni's chagrin). A lot of heroes were there so a lot of people saw the destruction Indy brought, so she's currently got a pretty bad reputation atm.

Also I made Indigo's outfit more similar looking to Supergirl's, perhaps its her way to make herself easier for others to accept her.

More Indy's and a little moment between her, Jason and Vanessa. I imagine they're closer to 13/14 here. You can also see me putting her in her canon hairstyle, maybe I should've stuck to it, much easier to draw tbh.

Also here's a bonus little comic under the read more:

A fun comic showing how Indigo comes blasting into the team's life, Donna can't help but find this all rather amusing. As for why is Donna introducing Indy to the team? Well I figured it would just be like her to want to help this child, even if that child tried to assassinated her. Doesn't every child deserve the chance to make friends and be happy? It's a major reason why I like making this au, giving lonely young heroes a more happier life.

A little bit of an epilogue here. It was very important to me that at one point Jason would meet a character that basically 'beats' the shit out of him and then would make him laugh. Basically a parallel to his own meeting with Bruce, at least one meeting like this had to happen! What better character than the girl who doesn't know what humor is yet? I think they're gonna be great friends, lets hope these happy times last forever...

And with that, my 8-day streak of posting is over!!! My poor poor hands, I think I'll skip next week honestly.

Well, I hope you enjoyed all of that, and I hope you all stay safe out there!!

[antoncore]

do u have any jealous eunseok thoughts?? like he def gets jealous from innocent interactions, and it just builds up until its too much🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

this is going to be similar to an ask i got (which will probably be answered after this) and sorry if this is rlly soft and mushy haha

eunseok as your family friend, you’d known each other since you were kids. he always thought you were cute but as you got older, he started to develop a crush on you and he felt so embarrassed about it because he didn’t want his family or yours knowing that it could make things awkward. the moment he started to be jealous was when it was nearing exam season and he saw you studying with a guy from your english class. he was so mad inside but he had to keep it under control, he didn’t want to show you how in love he was. a week after, he looked out the window at night to see you walking home with the same guy, making his blood boil.

this jealousy continued for years, every small interaction you had with another guy building up in his head but you had no idea. not until it was years later and eunseok was back home for the summer, deciding to go to the bar with a mutual friend. he saw you talking to a man and the feelings that he had once kept hidden surged to the surface. you had somehow gotten even more beautiful in his eyes and the sight of you smiling and laughing had his heart racing with longing and regret. when you saw him, you were so excited to see him, throwing your arms around him. you introduced him to your friend, the word instantly calming him down. this friend of yours was about to leave (and thank god for that).

eunseok offered to walk you home and you accepted. as you walked home under the streetlights, you reminisced over all the memories you had shared together, remembering how much you liked eunseok and how you kept distracting yourself with other guys. he suddenly stopped and you were confused before he pulled you in for a kiss, unable to find the right words to express what he had been feeling all this time. to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. instead, you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around him as if they had always belonged there. the kiss spoke all the words that needed to be said, conveying all the emotions that you both felt for so long.

when you finally parted, both of you were breathless, as you tried to process what had just happened. “i’ve waited so long to do that,” eunseok confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “me too. i love you, eunseok,” you replied with a soft smile. “i love you too, i always have,” he whispered. “you wanna come to my apartment?” you asked, putting your hand in his as you looked at him. eunseok hesitated for a moment, processing what was happening. “yes, i’d love to,” he said finally, his tone longing. holding hands, you continued the short walk to your apartment as anticipation ran through both of you.

after what felt like ages to you both (it was 5 minutes, calm down), you finally reached your apartment, unlocking the door, barely closing it behind you before eunseok pulled you into a deep kiss. the door clicked shut but you hardly noticed, lost in the moment. his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, filled with the pent up love that had been building up since your teenage years. you reached your hand out led him to the bedroom, turning to him once you were inside, eyes filled with pure love. eunseok gazed back in adoration, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you. he closed the gap between you, lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. his hands gently started to explore your body, making you sigh softly.

you fall back onto the soft sheets as you continued to explore each other’s bodies, hands all over each other. eunseok pulled at the straps of your dress, revealing your tits as he admired them. “god, you’re so beautiful y/n,” he whispered huskily as he traced kisses all the way down your body. as he kissed your stomach, you felt yourself getting so needy for his touch. “please, take my panties off,” you said breathlessly, your voice desperate. he listened, sliding them off to reveal your bare pussy. he slid his fingers over your wetness, in shock at how wet you got for him. “i need you now,” he said with desperation as he got in between your thighs, pulling his pants and boxers down, his hard cock slapping against his stomach. you whined at his size, having never seen a cock as big as his. he chuckled softly at your reaction as he positioned himself between your legs saying, “it’s okay, i’ll go slow of course.” he teased you, rubbing his cock against your pussy before easing himself inside you, going inch by inch. he loved the way your face contorted with pleasure as you took him. “want me to move?” he asked, his only intention being to treat you so well, wanting to be the best you’d ever had. you nodded eagerly, needing to take him so badly. he moved slowly, making you moan his name.

as eunseok continued thrusting into you, you both moaned each other’s names and i love you’s repeatedly. you were both so happy to finally be this close to one another. the night ended with his arms wrapped around you, both whispering “i love you” before closing your eyes, drifting off to sleep comfortably.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 1: Infection

(Disclaimer: the character in this story does not belong to me. MadPat/AftonPat/Phone Guy is the property of Random Encounters.)

(The end of this story was actually inspired by some fanart courtesy of the amazing @insane4fandoms ! I would link it here…if it wasn’t already hidden in plain sight~ Hope you’ve been feeling better, friendo! Also, thanks for remembering one of my special fanmade scrunglies yet again, lol)

(Trigger Warnings:  blood/gore, body horror, degloving/skin-flaying, mentions of murder/death, implied dismemberment/self-mutilation, nightmares, paranoia, weapons. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(Note: the events of this story take place right after the end of FNAF The Musical: Shadows of Agony. Which means, of course, that it also takes place a while after a certain collab I've been working on lately...)

Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7

___

Cold. 

He isn’t sure how he can hear his teeth chattering over the drumbeat of his heart. 

The air is so, so, so damn cold. 

He doesn’t understand—he’s still wearing his precious work-suit. Even after all these years, the tan-colored fabric has remained soft, somehow always seeming to keep him insulated despite how thin it is. 

And yet, it’s like there isn’t any cotton barrier between him and the air at all. The chill is actively seeping right through his skin to settle in his bones. 

The corridors are so dark. 

Although he’s never felt remorse for his actions (and knows by instinct that he never will), he still curses every single time he complained about the obnoxious humbuzz emitted by the light panels installed up above. 

There’s nothing above him anymore. Not even an actual ceiling. Just a still, shadowy void. Even if he was able to climb up the walls, he knew he wouldn’t dare. That darkness is palpable. If he were to get close enough, something would reach up from the other side and drag him into it.

The only reason he can still see anything is a faint glow that flickers just up ahead. A plethora of shadows practically lick at the walls right around the corner… 

Fire. 

There’s fire somewhere nearby. Warm dancing, beautiful fire.

Then again, “nearby” apparently isn’t all that accurate. 

Because he’s been able to see that tantalizing light all this time. He’s been able to smell the smoke, to hear the crackling and popping all this time.

And yet, whenever the fire seems to be at its closest, whenever he finally manages to round that corner…

He doesn’t find a burning pit, doesn’t find any sort of kindling. 

He just finds. Another. GODDAMN. HALLWAY THAT STRETCHES ON FOR MILES WITH  MORE FIRELIGHT TO TAUNT HIM AT THE VERY END.

The black-and-white checkerboard floor tiles have all been swallowed up by a shroud of scrap metal.

Bits and pieces of animatronic endoskeletons, their once silvery material now covered in rust.

Every few feet or so, warped arms and legs and eyes and sets of teeth peek out of the ruin, framed by twisted wires that still spark now and then.

The robotic nature of it all truly makes this place feel like a hellish combination of junkyard and slaughterhouse. 

A screeching, grinding cacophony is fueled with each and every footfall. How he can still hear his chattering teeth above even that, he has no idea. 

It’s all made worse by the fact that the corridors are so narrow. 

He can’t move an inch without his elbows knocking against the painted plaster. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to feel the constant aches surging through his tendons if he was walking, but he just can’t afford to be slow right now. 

The air keeps getting colder and colder—to the point that he starts to see his own breath. Small, steamy clouds pour out of his mouth, disappearing less than a second later. 

He’s been sprinting for hours now. 

Why the hell isn’t he sweating? 

Why aren’t his lungs burning if they’re already more-or-less threatening to burst any second now? 

Why does his blood seem to carry both the consistency and temperature of a fucking slushie?!

He skids to an abrupt halt, just barely keeping his balance as he pushes what’s left of his hands—the stumps wrapped up in layers of bloodied bandage—against the walls.

…A new sound has joined the cacophony both in-and-outside his head. 

A splashing, churning sound. 

And it’s echoing from somewhere above him. 

He glances up just in time to see ripples stretching out on the surface of that inky void. As though something inside is stirring in its sleep, struggling to wake. 

He throws himself down, burrowing through the metallic waste until he feels enough of it slide into place over his back. 

He is hidden. Not safe—he’ll never, NEVER be safe after all the things he’s done—but hidden.

He shifts his neck, not wanting to move any more than that. He needs to keep watching the surface, but too much movement will only ensure that they catch him sooner.

Above him, something heavy touches down on top of the wreckage. The rusty pieces are all jostled in a rhythmic pattern. 

He lays there, muscles tense, feeling the blood rush through his head, waiting for what feels like hours. 

But nothing starts digging toward him. Nothing ever pushes his cover away. 

Finally, FINALLY, the new noise starts to fade. The jagged, uneven footfalls above move past him, getting quieter and quieter every inch of the way.

Once they disappear completely, he flounders, moving in a way that’s reminiscent of both climbing and swimming. He surges up, determined to get back on his feet and keep running, keep looking for that precious fire. 

…But his head never breaks the surface. 

As his arms sweep the layers of junk away, he only finds more waiting to take its place. 

He feels icy claws drip down his spine—he’d only buried deep enough to cover himself! That was it! How the hell are there suddenly miles between him and those hallways?!

In his haste, a section of his bandages gets caught on the jagged edge of a robotic hand—the way its lifeless fingers are curled resemble the branches of a long-dead tree.

He snarls, pausing his movement to yank his arm back. But as he does, at the very last second…the bandage tears, allowing the sharp rust to scrape the already marred flesh of his wrist. 

Fear cuts through anger like a hot knife through butter.

He howls in pain, trying again and again to free his arm. But the more he moves, the more his now ruined bandage gets tangled up in the rust. The more exposed his stump becomes.

All at once, the newly bare skin starts to hiss. Wisps of discolored vapor begin drifting out of the wound—only a few at first, thin and short. But in a matter of seconds, larger clouds start flooding out, alongside a stream of dark red ooze.

He can only watch and scream as his skin keeps burning, keeps blistering, keeps bubbling. Flesh and muscle peel away in ribbons, sloughing off of him until the rough, splintered remains of his wrist-bones are revealed. 

And it doesn’t stop there.

Like shed scales being pulled away from a snake’s coils, the sizzling rot proceeds further up his forearm. His skin continues to twist and melt away. Now he can see the glistening shapes of his radius and ulna; they’re being unveiled slowly, little-by-little, inch-by-inch.

Even as he thrashes and flails and shrieks, he keeps aiming for the surface.

There has to be a surface! There has to be relatively fresh air somewhere outside all the rust! The world hasn’t just caved in on itself all because he wanted to hide—!

He feels more searing pain start to concentrate on his shoulder.

And then his neck…

…his jaw…

…his EYE-SOCKET…

___

What could only be described as an intense Charlie Horse sensation wracked the space between Mad’s eyes as they snapped open.

That sensation then slithered down to his throat, forcing him to cough and gasp as he writhed against the old mattress. 

He had to roll onto his side, had to use his elbow to prop himself up. It took a couple long, agonizing minutes before his breathing became steady enough. 

Heart still hammering painfully against his sternum, he stared down at his wrist-stumps. 

The bandage-layers were still splattered with crimson stains, but they were whole. No rips or tears to be found. 

The jagged mess of his skin in that area was still covered. The bleeding had stopped a long time ago. 

No organic steam, no hissing, no peeling…

With a heavy sigh (and much more effort than he’d care to admit), Mad manuvered himself to sit up, his legs now sliding over the edge, letting his boots thump against the old hardwood floor. 

His vision was quick to adjust to the darkness; this building had lost all electricity about a month ago, but that didn’t bother him too much. Besides, the moonlight filtering through that cracked window in the corner certainly helped. 

He eyes kept wandering back to his stumps as he glanced about the decaying room. He snarled at the thick spiderwebs that clung to the ceiling—what were the odd of one of those eight-legged creatures scuttling in-between the gauze and spinning a little egg-sac somewhere in his flesh..?

Mad shook his head feverishly, shudders pushing their way along his ribcage. Bright red glinted out of the corner of his eye: that wonderful, deadly, genius new toy he’d put together just the other night was sitting on the nightstand. Right where he’d left it. 

Mad stood, and as his shadow fell over it, the weapon's material seemed to glint even more. Almost like it was waiting for his next move. 

Taking a deep breath, he cradled the flame-chain (yes, that was what he was calling it. Patent-pending, bitches) and hefted it onto his back, the straps fitting around his shoulders perfectly.

Though this dead motel—the recently-condemned place that just so happened to be only a few blocked away from Freddy Fazbear’s—had made for good shelter earlier, he couldn’t afford to stay any longer. For all he knew, a construction crew would be en-route to tear this place down and start building something else on its bones first thing tomorrow morning. 

He needed a new hideout. Somewhere else to stay before he could make a plan to get back to the pizzeria. 

Licking his lips, Mad threw the room’s door open and stormed down the rotting corridor. 

Adrenaline started to fester in his lungs as he realized that he already had somewhere else to go. 

He had someone to stay with. 

He had a favor to cash in…

@sammys-magical-au @lexusinsannus @im-a-weird0 @b-is-in-the-closet @that-bat

[runningwithmyeyesclosed]

Evitative by Vichan

Main Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (There is very little romance)

Type: 5th Year Rewrite - Morally grey harry potter

Explicitness: None

POV: Harry Potter

Word Count: 222,453

Song:

My Summary:

The year before fifth year Harry Potter ends up expelled; luckily it was a mistake so he is able to return to Hogwarts under one condition, he must be resorted. Harry can already guess what that might mean for him, hadn't the sorting hat told him twice already where he belongs? When the sorting hat finally gets his way Harry finds himself in the den of snakes; but Harry is finding that not everything is as cut and dry as it seems.

My Thoughts:

I have a lot of thoughts! Long story short I enjoyed it. It gave me a lot to think about which I think is always a good sign. I wish there was more closure its left very open ended. Other than that it was super well written and a great read. But read on if you want my more in-depth thoughts on it!

I have so many thoughts on this I'm not even sure where to start. So maybe at the beginning. I started this fic twice before i decided to buckle down and finish it.

The first time the size was taunting so I chose a shorter fic. The second time the subject matter was a bit taunting so I chose a softer fic. I this the themes were what stopped me the longest. I finally decided to just do it and I am glad I did.

The writing is very good, it draws you in and is easy to follow. I think the main theme of this book is very complex and I think the author handles it well over all. I think i wish I could see one of these types of stories where Ron isn't a jerk about it haha but it is what it is.

This fic really makes you think about what is good and bad and why you think these things. I think I found myself doubting Harry's actions and whether or not I liked the way the story was headed; however, I do think it was entirely intentional. I think you are meant to doubt meant to question and in that find that there are many ways to do things and many reasons people may choose the things they do.

I do have to say, I liked all the characters and how they were written. None of them felt like caricatures of a type of person. For example Ron was a bad friend and didn't believe in Harry but he was a person raised a certain way with a set of beliefs, this feels more real than some other portrayals I've read where Ron is just almost goofy with how much he is a bad friend. Hermione is still Hermione in all the ways that matter but she was told her whole magical life that dark magic was bad so she is understandably distrustful of it. The Slytherins who were raised with hateful ideals aren't suddenly going to stop having those ideals because Harry becomes a Slytherin. All these things made sense to me and didn't feel forced or goofy.

The one thing I have to point out because I wasn't aware was it is only of year 5. I wish I had more it's no one's fault and I know that some people prefer an open end; but, I really kind of felt we didn't get enough a payoff for all of the growing and thinking that Harry did. I know there is a sequel; however it hasn't been updated in a little over two years if it gets updated I may pick it up. On its own though this is a very good fic. I wish there was more closure to the overall plot line of Harry choosing dark but that is what it is. I can't say enough though,  how well written it was and how much I have been thinking about this fic the last couple of days.

[harocat]

5, Hualian

Hello. There is a cat AGAIN. CW for animal death I guess, because it's a ghost cat, but it is being loved and cherished and there's no details.

----

Hua Cheng could never begrudge Xie Lian’s kindness. It was one of the things he adored about him, that he found so special. Among all the gods in the realm of heaven, in Hua Cheng’s opinion, only Xie Lian was good enough to deserve to watch over the prayers of the common people. 

But lately, and he’d never admit this to Xie Lian, lest the other man think he’d done something wrong, which he hadn't, Xie Lian’s kindness had come at a disadvantage. 

It had only been a couple weeks since Xie Lian had come back to Paradise Manor with the tiny black and white cat in his arms. It wasn’t a normal cat, but a ghost cat that had wandered to the entrance of Ghost City. Xie Lian had found him on the way back from a meeting with the heavenly court. Hua Cheng did not know what had befallen a friendly domestic cat that would cause it to return as a wandering soul, nor was he sure he wanted to know, but Xie Lian had not been able to resist its plaintive mews. 

And so now the cat, a little girl Xie Lian had named Jiahao, had free reign of Paradise Manor. The truth was, Hua Cheng was actually very happy Xie Lian had felt comfortable enough to bring the cat home without even asking beforehand. It showed he viewed Hua Cheng’s home as just as much his home, and that he fully understood, believed, and accepted that everything that belonged to Hua Cheng also belonged to him. He knew the Xie Lian he had met again years before would not have been able to do that. 

Xie Lian doted on the creature. She was a ghost cat, he reasoned, so she could eat whatever she wanted and it wouldn’t matter. This meant that if the cat asked for it, she got it. This was also fine. Hua Cheng wanted him to be happy. He would just get more food if they ran out. 

The bigger problem was that the cat clung to him like a particularly stubborn shadow. There was no time at which the cat wasn’t by Xie Lian’s side. He couldn’t even take a bath without Jiahao coming in and reaching in to playfully splash the surface. She slept with him, she ate with him, she bathed with him, she relaxed with him, and she even went out with him, walking alongside him dutifully. He imagined if E-ming had been a cat, it might act a little bit like Jiahao (though Jiahao, to her credit, was much quieter and mellower). 

In short, Hua Cheng missed Xie Lian. He missed having his full attention and cuddling with him and Xie Lian only having eyes for him, and he also missed sex, because it was hard to have sex when there was a cat in bed with you. And he was trying to be patient, because the cat made him happy, and Xie Lian’s happiness was tantamount to everything, but it was becoming difficult.

Was he jealous of a cat? Yes. A ghost cat, even, but as he himself was a ghost, he supposed that was irrelevant.

Xie Lian, to his credit, did finally notice. It had been Hua Cheng’s fault; he’d accidentally dropped his nonchalant front and scowled when Jiahao got with them one night. The cat licked both of them on the nose (she was sweet, he couldn’t deny), then nuzzled up to Xie Lian, coaxing him to open his arms so she could snuggle in them.

The scowl was, he imagined, quite dramatic. His brows were furrowed and his lips were drawn, and to anyone else, it might be frightening to have Crimson Rain Sought Flower looking at them that way (though to be fair, he was looking at the cat, not Xie Lian). 

Xie Lian froze, and concern crossed his features. “San Lang, what’s wrong?” he asked. He was still petting the cat, but he did reach over and press his other palm to Hua Cheng’s cheek. 

“Nothing, gege.” He shook his head. “I think I’m just tired.”

Xie Lian frowned. “San Lang, you rarely get tired. Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

“We haven’t had sex for two weeks,” Hua Cheng managed after a few moments of silence. That is not what he’d meant to say. 

The other man burst out into peals of laughter, and Hua Cheng thought, as always, that it was beautiful. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

He continued, despite his embarrassment. “Well, that cat is always here. I know you love that cat, but gege… it feels like you give her so much attention and…”

Xie Lian gasped. “Sang Lang, are you jealous of Jiahao?” There was a playful edge to his voice. 

Hua Cheng sighed. Jiahao meowed. 

“I just miss spending time with you alone.”

“You miss having my eyes on just you.” Xie Lian smiled, and he placed his other hand on Hua Cheng’s cheek as well, then squeezed. “I’m sorry. You give me so much, and in return I made my San Lang feel unloved.” 

“You’ve given me more than enough.”

Xie Lian shook his head. “Poor Jiahao. She’s a lonely ghost who has clearly been through so much, and she just wants to stay by the side of someone who loves her.” He glanced down at the cat, who had already dozed off. “Maybe I like her so much because she reminds me of someone else.” 

Hua Cheng’s mouth dropped open, and then he pursed his lips. “Gege…” 

“But I hate that you’ve felt neglected, San Lang,” he continued. “I’ll try to be more conscious of this so I can take proper care of both of you.” 

The other man shook his head. “Jiahao makes you happy. I’m glad you brought her back, gege.” 

“Mhmmm,” Xie Lian replied, “but I don’t want any of my happiness to come at my San Lang’s expense. We’re married. We exist to make each other happy. It goes both ways.”

Hua Cheng nodded, then after a few seconds, spoke up again. “Can we have Yin Yu take her some nights?” 

Xie Lian laughed again, beautiful. “Yes, and we can do whatever San Lang wants on those nights.” 

“What about tonight?” he asked, and he leaned forward, attempting to ignore the cat between them so he could whisper in his husband’s ear. Xie Lian pressed a playful kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek, interrupting his attempt at seduction.

“Not tonight. I’m not moving Jiahao when she’s already fallen asleep.” 

Hua Cheng would have to look forward to tomorrow, but, he thought, that was fine. They had endless tomorrows. 

[365sylviaplath]

If I Was Anything, I'd Be Everything - 12th House x 12th House Moon

astrology blurb: from my perspective, houses tend to be the thing that separates the astrology enthusiasts from the Vaguely Curious But Not That Into It. houses kind of ask that you really learn the material and apply it, think a little deeper, etc etc. my perspective. anyway, the 12th house in astrology is probably the first of the houses i began to seek more information on. discovering i have a luminary (my moon) in the 12th house was a trip.

we follow the houses through a life cycle- born in the 1st house, going all the way around until the 12th, the end of the cycle. 12th is where we review everything before we die, but we are not yet ready to let go. it's like how in older age, you remember bits and pieces - less of the details and more of the feelings. the feelings will never die. to me, 12th house has always felt like i've had the feelings and am looking back reflectively, but i have no recollection of the experience itself. like i'm reviewing a life i haven't even experienced myself. here, i attempt to elaborate.

Source: https://www.tumblr.com/mitskiarthistory/612950940503441408/illustration-for-goodnight-moon-clement-hurd

pulling a line from Carrie Bradshaw after hearing Big was engaged - “after the relationship ends, where does the love go?”. except my focus is neither of those bozos. it's the concept of this intangible- what happens to a feeling once the circumstances have changed? what happens to this part of you that does not die after it's been born? what happens when you're born into a house of memories?

on a cellular level, i can never forget any of it. the conscious memories always lied dormant, which i speculate is why it was so easy to begin to feel them again when given the prompt. it takes time to make peace with reality. some of us never belonged in linear time to begin with. some of us have a physical response to what has never happened to us on this plane of existence, and it makes us look insane to the external eye. i could never put it to words and i thought for all this time it would be useless to try -- maybe it still is -- maybe i don't mind it being useless. in the grand scheme of it, no one can tell me what matters to me like i can. nobody writes the thesis statement for the essay that makes no sense and elicits criticism for its incoherence and complete rejection of mandatory structure. nobody remembers the writer who is too old to live and too young to die.

i am enrolled in film 101 and i am presenting a homemade psychedelic mind trip of a final project as a freshman who is exploring fantastical concepts i don't quite believe in. i immediately fail the class critique. i am trapped at the intersection of the dreamers and the realists and i remind them they are more alike than they are opposite. at the end of it all, we become the same thing over and over until we can no longer be differentiated. i love you in the sense that our molecular structure was once interwoven and i never forgot, i just needed to see again. i love you in the sense that i would never deny that we forever change each other every time we meet, and we always arrive at exactly the time we need, each and every time. we are there exactly as long as we need to be and not a second more - but there we always were and always will be. i speak like this about everyone, platonic, familial, romantic, past present and future, because they all coexist. much like everyone i've ever loved, time also can no longer be differentiated. the smell in the air reminds me of yesterday, 5 years ago, a day soon to come, the rest of my life and i know these things all to be true with no evidence to provide until it can be demonstrated in the linear scope. why can’t i trust myself to know? by that point, no one will care, but it was never going to matter to anyone but myself. i can only bear witness to myself in here, i cannot see anyone else despite my best efforts

state change is the only thing most people will recognize. i've left, i've started again, i've done something markedly new and different and i have stopped the old. nobody saw what i did before the change. nobody saw what brought me there, how hard it was to be in the state of inbetween, incapable of witness and intangible to everyone including myself. it hurts to be here because i do not know where anything is going, how i'll know when it arrives, anything more than i will just have to hope.

i have faith in what i cannot yet see. i look insane for it. i know the joy i will experience because it lives within me and i have felt it throughout time. einstein's "spooky action at a distance" or quantum entanglement is an attempt to describe and quantify this phenomenon that many of us viscerally know and feel (whether we admit it or not). in essence, pieces of us will influence others without ever having solid evidence as to why. entangled pairs, as they call it, will tell you more about each other than you’d be able to learn about them individually. things that are true about one will be immediately and entirely true about the other. i never had to even know you to have been influenced. we share the same state and have no idea until perhaps one day in this life, we meet. over and over, the universe creates parallels, pieces of each other will live together / separate / in some bizarre in between state of together yet separate / forever influenced though intentionally separate. in minor ways, we are always preparing for what will be coming. meeting people changes our lives forever. the universe is very romantic in this way! i may love you for my entire life and never even fully realize it until much later. or ever at all! we may never even meet, but it is still there and a major piece of me. in dedication to the love i don’t know, i hope you’re out there somewhere feeling held by our unwitting mutual state. i hope you have a deep love for everything we both are. and i hope you never feel alone when you wake up anxiously in the middle of the night, because i am awake with you.

being born honors an entire prior lineage. i love who i never knew but always will be. i can never be without you! i reject the notion that i can never know the women who came before me and didn't live at the same time as i did. i'm more them that i can ever cognitively realize. i feel pain when visiting places i never even knew she suffered in. i speak what was hidden without a clue as to why i'm saying it. you cannot put me in the box that hurt her. i won't fit. i am the opportunity to try again and i do not have the option to go back in. i am crying out in pain because she wished she could, i wake up confused as to why i'm crying -- i'm crying for us all, so she can finally be free and at peace -- she deserved it long ago.

[devieuls]

The way of love pt.IX

Neteyam Sully x Tayrangi Fem Reader (Na'vi)

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Dom Neteyam x Fem Reader; SMUT; ANGST; FLUFF; Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; Blood; Spit; Power Play; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; Enemies (because of you, Neteyam treats you well). Aged characters: Neteyam 19 y.o / You 18 y.o. SERIE

Synopsis: After a great loss happened in your family, you are forced to take a role that before did not belong to you, following a path that you will feel like your only in time. Just when you thought you were finally overcoming the loss, your clan shows up with those you blame for the great offense received. You are the daughter of the first Olo'eykte of all clans and are about to take your mother’s place to lead the Tayrangi clan, but first you must follow Neteyam (the eldest son of the man you detest with all your heart) To train him, despite your contempt for the Sullys and everything about them, you inevitably bond with the boy, unknowingly falling in love with him.

CHAPTER WARNING: ///////

Lenght : 4.2k

Notes: I cried so much in the scenes of Ney'nari, because they reminded me of a friend I was close to many years ago and who unfortunately passed away. I cried loving the scene, I hope it can touch your heart a little bit. I recommend listening to these songs while reading: OCEAN EYES; HOSTAGE; IDONTWANNABEYOUANYMORE BY: BILLIE EILISH

NA'VI WORDS: 'ITE: Daughter; TSMUKE: Sister; OARE: Moon; SA'NU: Mother; YAWNETU: Darling; NGATSYIP: Little you; SEMPUL: Father

Character Cast: NEY'NARI: Your dead sister; IKEYNI: Your Mother; TSENTEY: Your Father; YÌMKXA: Your Ikran; ULEYTE: Your bestie; TUL'PEY: Your future Mate

PART: 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 ; 5 ; 6 ; 7 ; 8 ; 9 ; 10

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

You spent a few hours in that place, letting nature embrace and welcome you, remembering that you could ask for advice and receive comfort from your sister by making Tsaheylu with one of the voices trees that was placed just a short distance from there. You needed guidance and someone who understood your emotions, so who better than your sister to help you figure out the way to go?

The cold air now hit your face as your eyes pointed towards the tree of voices, not feeling able to get up to reach it. You felt dead lying on that grass, letting a few tears go while you seemed lifeless, almost extinct. It took a few minutes before you could get off the ground, your steps were heavy as you squeezed your hand at chest height as if to keep the small fragments that now composed it connected, creating cracks and letting you bleed. Now the tears became faithful companions, a way of vent for the pain that you could not hold back. When you reached the tree you sat on its roots and weakly connected your tail to one of the bright vines of the tree, slightly afraid of not being able to connect with your sister. This was the first time you’ve been looking for her voice and her memory like this, because you knew it would be destructive to hear and see Ney'nari and then go back to reality and remind yourself that you no longer had her guidance, therefore you preferred to look for it in the wind or in the waves and you felt good so.

Within seconds you found yourself in a cherished memory, and you realized that you had found your sister. You remembered that day well because it was the day you killed the Palulukan whose tooth became the pendant of your necklace. You felt the breath die in your throat when you noticed a beautiful Na'vi from behind, with long braided hair, some jewels and feathers embellished her braids, while the band on her arm was indistinguishable, because you had made her, even though it was woven mediocrely she had never taken away that cherished memory of her little sister. When the girl turned a sweet smile greeted you and her kind eyes looked at you as if to invite you to approach her, while warm tears bathed your face, giving you the strength to run towards her and embrace her. Her arms were warm and comforting, and her scent was stored back in your memory. You collapsed in her arms, taking her to sit with you, as she held you to her immediately realizing that you were not well, her hands caressed your braids as she whispered "Take your time, ma Yawntutsyìp, take your time…." not knowing that her words only made you cry more. You missed her so much, her warm and comforting embrace that welcomed you whenever you needed it, the way her voice calmed you even in the worst of times.

She made you lay your head on her legs, just like when you were a child, beginning to caress your braids and your face, smiling lovingly as she wiped your tears. "M-Ma 'Nary…" you managed to whine and whisper without a voice while your hand caressed her face, trying to convince you that this was real and she was really there with you. "You became so beautiful, ma Yawntutsyìp" Her voice was sweet and melodious as she spoke to you, you had forgotten her voice and hearing her again led you to take long breaths and hold back tears, and then smile at her. "It’s been so long, ma 'Nari, so much… I’m sorry" she nodded at your words, smiling and holding you to her as much as possible. "Not much for me, I always listen to you, when you talk to me and look for me, because I am always here" She put her hand on your heart, looking at you with a sweet sadness. " And I feel that my house is being destroyed, what happens to your heart, ma Tsmuke?" Your eyes looked at her with desolation before opening your mouth.

She remained silent as you spoke to her about everything that had happened to you since her death, seeking comfort in her sweet eyes full of love and affection for you. She nodded at your words, waiting for you to finish talking and then pass her hand over your forehead. "Ma y/n, the ways of the Great Mother are many, and none cruel. Within you, you know what you really want, but your mind prevents you from understanding. I prayed very much to the Great Mother for you, to send you a good person because I know that Tul'pey cannot offer you all his heart, I'm sorry… You've become so beautiful and great, but your mind is still small like when you were still a child. You are hurt and your spirit is protected by your hard thinking. Neteyam Sully, he is where your happiness lives, I've seen it" You have remained silent, listening to her as she spoke. "Your eyes speak and I read his name in them. If you are suffering this way, let him go, and continue on the path that others have chosen for you. But this isn’t you, I still remember how much you hated following the rules." "I don’t think I’ll be happy with him, ma Ney'nari… He knew about Tul'pey, he knew that I was paired and that he would be my future partner but he wasn’t sincere. He took my heart and destroyed it-"Ney'nari stopped you before I finished talking. "But you asked? Did you ask him if he had a partner?" She looked at you as if she already knew the answer to her own question.

"I… I thought he haven't, because… well, I understood that… I-" You began to stutter, searching your mind for the moment when you asked Neteyam if he was paired. "I’ll answer you, no, you didn’t. As I told you, your mind leads you wrong, you are wise ma'Tsmuke, but very stubborn. " "He has a woman… She said she was his mate, ma tsmuke. His M-a-t-e!" even the mere memory of what was said caused you pain. "You too have a partner, whom you do not want. As he does not want her. You two have found each other, this is even greater than what our mother said or his tsahìk. You chose eachother" she whispered, caressing your cheek to comfort you. "She’s not his mate, not yet" You looked at her incredulously, is it possible that she was right? That Ninat’s daughter had said those words just to mark her territory? "When Eywa sent you the young Sully, I was blessing that boy for you, desperately trying to change your mind about him and his family." She gently hit your forehead, making you grumble. "You know how hard that was? Trying to influence the events of the living for a greater purpose is very difficult. The lost necklace was easier than sending you signals to change your mind." You looked at her wide-eyed even more incredulous "Then it was really you…" you whispered without a voice. "Of course it was me, I had to pray to the Great Mother for many eclipses to get her consent. And you kept being so stubborn, that hard work," she sighed dramatically, making you laugh slightly, vaguely reminding you that it was something Neteyam often did. "I could feel it, I knew it was you watching over me," you said with a small smile, as you squeezed his hand and carried it on your cheek. "I never stopped doing it, but Oare. Once sisters, sisters forever. Not even death can cut this bond" You looked at her nodding as you felt some tears come out of your eyes again, thanking her in silence.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma y/n" this time it was her eyes that got shiny. She never had a chance to tell you, because you were too young and you wouldn’t fully understand the meaning of this sentence. "I’ve always seen you, so I know that your heart and your mind want Neteyam Sully. Listen to your heart, he’s your destiny. Fight my big, fearless, little warrior" You nodded in tears, squeezing her hand against your cheek. "Oel Ngati kameie, ma Ney'nari" you answered with a broken voice. You wanted to stay in that enchanted place forever, listen to her voice and cuddle up in her arms whenever you needed, feel protected and at home when she was near you. You knew it wasn’t gonna happen, but you didn’t feel ready to go back to reality without her, not again. "It’s time to go…" she whispered once your breasts met because of the hug you needed so much. "Just a little bit more… please, leave me here a little more, I’m so afraid…" your broken voice as you squeezed your sister’s body, letting her do the same while caressing your head as a mother would have done with her daughter. "You can’t, it’s already late out there, ma y/n. I’ll be with you there too, don’t be afraid" You could hear from her tone that she also wanted to stay a little longer with you. "It’s not true, I won’t see you anymore! I won’t feel your warmth and your voice… You’ll disappear again, I won’t, I beg you… please" Ney'nari took your face with her hands and looked you in the eye, wiping with her thumbs every tear that came down your face . "No, don’t say that. I will never leave you. Never, ma tsmuke. I’m always with you, just listen. I am in the air you breathe, in the breeze that caresses you, in the waves that embrace you and in the stars that you look at. You carry me in your heart, listen to me. I will be your sister in all the lives that Eywa will give me, I promise." She tried to convince you to nod with her. Your fingers still held her shoulders as if she were a life preserver in the middle of the ocean and you were drowning. "Now go, and make your own way, follow your future. You have a strong heart, ma y/n, go get him."

Before you could answer her, you found yourself embracing the air, disconnecting the Tsaheylu that had been created between your tail and the bioluminescent liana. Lean your forehead on the bark of the tree, trying to feel the warmth of your sister’s arms for a while longer, wrapping your own body with your arms. Some tears streaked your face before feeling a gentle breeze caressing your back, making you smile in silence, realizing that this was Ney'nari. You opened your mouth, taking a deep breath, letting the cool sea breeze below open your lungs. You noticed that the sky was coloring slightly, and other gusts of wind hit you making you understand to get up and go to find Neteyam, to allow him to explain himself. When you arrived at the village you rushed to his hut, entering without even knocking or asking permission, immediately noticing the emptiness that was in his house. There was nothing left of him, no clothes or weapons, nothing, the bare walls and the tables well arranged. As you approached one of the tables you could see the presence of your necklace, the one with the palulukan tooth that you had lost, noting that the threads had been worked again with other green threads, making the closure knot more difficult so you don’t lose it anymore.

With the jewel in your hands you ran home and there you found your father looking at you worried, after all you had been gone for hours and your Ikran was still near the village. "Where were you? We-" You stopped him impatiently, looking for something vaguely reminiscent of one of the Sullys. "Where's Neteyam?" your tone of voice was impatient and almost exasperated, which confused your father. "I thought you knew, he left with his parents about an hour ago. He said that you had given him permission to leave because he was ready, and-" Tsentey froze, noticing your sad look and your still-shiny eyes. "Too late… it’s too late…" you managed to whisper, holding your sister’s necklace in your hands. "Ma 'ite, too late for what?" The man approached you, laying a hand on your cheek and looking at you worried. At that moment a lantern lit in him, making him understand why you had said those words. "Ma y/n, too late to find him?" he asked you to see you nod. Tears turned your face, looking again for affection and warmth in Tsentey’s arms. "Dad, I was late. Again. I didn’t get there in time," you said in the sobs as he stroked your back, clutching at you.

Your father had always been the loving parent, who understood you and left you free to be yourself, increasing your warrior spirit. He wanted to see you happy, and he always tried to soften the pill in everything, while Ikeyni was the toughest parent, who, yes, loved you but was tougher. They were two kinds of love that made you feel closer to your father than your mother, so you were looking for the maternal figure in Ney'nari. "Ma 'ite, Neteyam wasn’t just a student to you, was he?" Tsentey’s gentle voice echoed in the empty hut, which despite being warm made you feel cold. "I no. I don’t…" Your father’s eyes met yours, and you couldn’t lie. "He wasn’t just a student…" you sighed as a comforting smile from your father destabilized you. You were expecting a lecture that you two were heirs to two different clans, that you were both paired with other people and things like that. But he understood you, you could tell by his look. "I knew it. When you looked at him, you had the same eyes as your mother when I met her years ago." He reassured you, clutching you at his chest. "Don’t you want to scold me?" you said sobbing, you were sure you’d shed all the tears of your life in one day. "How could I? The heart is not commanded, ma Ngasyìp" Your father looked into your eyes, wiping your tears gently. "But it’s too late now… He’s gone, and it is all my fault" you whispered with shame, knowing that you had not even given Neteyam a chance to apologize and explain himself; for when he did you were deliberately deaf, so caught up in your emotions that you forgot his. "If it is fate, you will find yourself again," he said before laying his chin over your head, clutching at him. That’s when Ikeyni walked in and you two looked the other way, like you hadn’t just told your father that you’d been unfaithful in Tulpey for a guy you shouldn’t even have seen romantically.

The days without Neteyam were long and exhausting, your spirit had returned to what it was before you met him. You spent your time squeezing your fingers around the necklace that he had fixed, never taking it off, thus keeping the boy closest to you. Sometimes, when the night came, you would still look out the window hoping to find him and hear his voice and sweet words once again, being disappointed when you remembered that he was gone and would not return. To make his memory even more exhausting, it was that his hut was so close to yours that, inevitably, when you needed to feel him close to you, you went back to his house. You breathed the air that every day lost more and more his scent, taking with it the memories enclosed in those walls of leather and wood. Your routine had become monotonous: Tsakarem lessons to become Tsahìk; training with your father to be a strong Olo'eykte; the exasperating encounters with the family of Tul'pey that inevitably led you two to quarrel; some sacred rites and meetings with the elders of the village. You could say that your day took a moment of relief only when Uleyte came to see you and tried to cheer you up, understanding what was happening to you and feeling bad to see you suffer in silence, without making a noise.

Days became weeks and weeks became months. Now it was two months since your skin had forgotten Neteyam’s touch, since your lips had last met his and you wondered if he felt like you. You wanted to know if he missed you, if you were in his mind as much as he was in yours, or if you were just a distant and painful memory for him. Slowly you began to feel 'better', the wounds he had lefton you were healing on your own, patching those deep cuts with a few bandages, but not suturing anything. You had accepted the path that your mother and elders had marked for you, you were going to become Tsakik and Olo'eykte of the clan without protesting. Tul'pey tried in those months to fill a place that was impossible to cover, but without ever stopping fighting with you, trying to figure out what your problem was, your relationship had become something toxic. The thought that in a week you should mated him frightened you, you would not have lived the happy life you hoped to have, and it was at that moment that words struck your mind: 'make your own way, follow your future'. Your way, your future. These words sounded so familiar when placed close to Neteyam’s name, but it was an illusion to believe that there could still be a "you two" after that night he left.

It was ironic how life brought Neteyam back on your path just a week before your official mating with Tul'pey, but it wasn’t happy news. The Omatikaya clan had invited the Tayrangi clan, especially the Olo'eykte Ikeyni and her family, to the celebration of the union of Neteyam and Reyin'al. The news tore your soul, making those bandages useless now, making you bleed again. Your father and Uleyte understood when you expressed your desire not to participate, using as an excuse the commitments and preparations of your 'wedding' event, but Ikeyni would not hear any objection from you, she had already decided to bring you too as a form of respect. "Please, sa'nu… I don’t have time for this, Neteyam and the Sullys will understand" you whispered, hiding the pain behind your words, but your father understood right away, trying to change his partner’s mind. "You were his teacher. You are obliged to go and bless his union, it is tradition. You would bring shame to your name if you did not participate. has already been decided, we will leave tomorrow morning" She answered you, forbidding you to counter her decision, while you were looking for your father’s support with your eyes. "Ma' Yawnetu, maybe we should leave her here, after all she is also going to mate with her partner, you should understand her…" Your father shut up when Ikeyni’s look landed on him, making him look down. Unfortunately, you knew your mother was in charge of the relationship, but you appreciated Tsentey’s attempt to take your side. "I said it was decided. The mating will be the day after tomorrow, and Neytiri is like a sister, I will not offend her and her family for this." She took leave, leaving you and your father to look at each other with a sorry face.

You sighed in frustration all day, until Uleyte invited you to take a walk on the beach to empty your mind. "How are you feeling? I know this is hard for you" began your friend, as she wrapped her arms around your arm, walking on the seashore with you. "I feel…" you sighed stopping and then looking at the sea waves that were on your right. "I won’t lie, I feel bad. I haven’t seen him in months, and I missed him… I know I shouldn’t feel like this, that I shouldn’t have believed his promises, but I can’t forget his eyes. He was so sincere…" your tone was full of nostalgia and melancholy, remembering those moments where he spoke and you believed him, losing yourself in his golden sunset that gave you so much confidence. "But they were lies… The day after tomorrow he will belong to another woman" a bitter smile was born on your face. "You too will belong to another man, but the Great Mother watches over you, she will deceive the way if this is fate" your friend reassured you, receiving a faint smile from you. "Keep telling me about this fate, it seems that you’ve all agreed… I can’t blame him, in the end I told him to leave and be with her, I would be selfish to think that the fault was just his" you stopped sighing heavily while the girl next to you comforted you caressing your arm. "Do you want me to come with you? I swear, I pack my things, and at the cost of mounting on your Ikran I will come with you" She said in a solemn voice, making you laugh because you knew how afraid she was of height and flying, so much so that she always avoided following you when you went hunting, just for your banshee. "No, you don’t have to. You’ll die of fear after the first meter of height. But thank you"

Uleyte smiled at you, trying to convince you that she would take the risk if you needed her support. You two spent the day talking and laughing, feeling that you needed a moment like this before you had to face the ceremony of union between the boy who possessed your heart and that unknown Na'vi. Your friend tried to free your mind with nonsense thing that you did as children, took you to collect shells and pearls of the sea, making some low quality jewelry with the salty sea vines, or playing with the sand while it made you vent. When you said goodbye, she recommended that you come and greet her before your departure, leaving almost all the jewels made that afternoon together, and then wish you goodnight.

The night before you left, it was deadly for you, you had packed some clothes and jewelry that you would need for the days you would be in the Omatikaya clan, your hands trembled as you wrapped the various tops and loincloths in the leather blanket that would be your luggage. You could not help but look at your 'suitcase' and think that you would prefer not to leave, to turn away from your thoughts was your father who entered the part of the most private hut and of which you had appropriated. In his hands were traditional ceremonial clothes and you looked up at the ceiling, knowing that that would be your clothing for one of the worst days of your life. "Ma Ngatsyìp, I came to-" you opened your mouth before you even let him finish talking. " Yeah, put it on the table, I’ll pack it later." "It’s not just the dress, I wanted to know if you needed anything." Your father’s placed the clothes on the table and then looked at you tenderly. "Other than permission to stay home? Nothing." You made yourself too late that your tone was far too sour to address your father, who after all was only trying to comfort you. " I… I’m sorry, I’m just tense, Ma Sempul" You sat exhausted on your flat, then made space for your father. "Don’t apologize, ma 'ite, I understand the burden in your heart," he said as he sat next to you, before gently smiling at you.

You spent hours talking to your father, finding comfort and confidence even in his words, beginning to feel more confident in your encounter with Neteyam. You convinced yourself that if you saw Neteyam happy with someone else, maybe you could get over him and live your life in peace. Before you fell asleep you went over the plan in your mind: see Neteyam as little as possible, pretend to be happy and not think about him anymore, be a mature woman and wish him the best for his life as a couple with Reyin'al. It was easy, it would have been easy, if he had looked at you without that look in love you would have made it; after all two months had passed, surely the crush that he had for you had passed and had finally convinced himself that mating with a woman of his clan was the best choice to make.

Then why did your heart beat so fast at the thought of his eyes in love and enchanted as he looked at yours?

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Notes II:

There are only two chapters left at the end, I want to cry so much because I have grown fond of this series, although I know I could have written this series much better. Despite this, it is the first time in months that I did not write and I started with a series, be patient with me.

Tell me what you think about this chapter, I am curious to know your opinions

-Mel

[critter-paw]

Part 3 X Zeppeli Reader Angst

A/N: This was inspired by a post I saw by faegramme

Gif is not mine.

— Everyone in the Joestar family knew of the Joestar and Zeppeli legacy. The two families destined to be friends.

— That’s why, when Caesar died, Joseph didn’t know what to do. Caesar was probably his best friend, no doubt.

— When Kars was defeated and sent to space, Joseph almost didn’t want to give away the last momento of his best friend. Caesar’s headband was all that was left of him…

— You are the grandchild of Caesar Zeppeli. Your mother was the result of an affair. You remember the story your mother would tell when she found out your grandfather, her father, had died. You weren’t alive at the time, after all, your mom was only about 5-years-old at the time. She recalls your grandmother being heartbroken, her sobbing continued for days.

— Your mother inherited Caesar’s headband. Tying it tightly around her head as a young child and and vowing to never forget him. However, as she grew up, the story became twisted.

— You were told by your mother that it was the Joestars fault that your grandfather was dead. It was all their fault that you were never able to meet him and see what a great man he was.

All their fault.

— When you turned 16, you inherited the headband. Once you took it, you felt a surge of energy run through you. Caesar had passed his hamon onto you. You decided to train your newfound power. You tinkered with the bubble powers and brought it to new heights.

— So once you were 18, you set off to find Dio, hearing rumors of said man being located in Egypt. You started your search in Cairo and luckily for you, that’s where he was. He could feel the bond between your two families using Jonathan’s body.

— Once you found him (more like he found you,) you begged him to take you under his wing. You stated that you hated the Joestars just as he did. He agreed, even seeing no reason to flesh bud you.

— You spent a few months in Dio’s mansion with these others called stand users. You were trained to see stands even though you refused to get one of your own. Life in the manor was a bit tough, being amongst the youngest of the members. Hol Horse insisted on flirting when any woman was over, Enyaba and her son were just plain creepy, and that monkey kept staring at you…

— Soon, you got your first mission from Dio. You were finally going to do what you set out for. You were to attack the Stardust Crusaders should Yellow Temperance be defeated. Yellow Temperance was honestly a bit offended that someone that was barely an adult was expected the take out the group if he couldn’t. You packed your shoulder bag light, and only brought the one weapon that could enhance your powers. It was a small gun, no bigger than a Glock. However, it did not shoot bullets, it shot hamon bubbles and hamon infused water. (It looks like Sigewinne’s gun from Genshin.)

— Ultimately, Yellow Temperance was defeated. It was your time to shine. You had been waiting for this moment. You pulled your gun out of your bag and took aim at one of the group members. Hol Horse had helped you practice your aim in the mansion, it was a low chance that you missed. You took aim at the silver haired one. It would be your hamon against their stands. The stand that belonged to the silver haired one could easily pop your bubbles with its’ sword. You took careful aim, then fired!

— To say the group was shocked to see Polnareff trapped in a giant bubble was an understatement. Why was this always happening to him?! This bubble was oddly tough. For some reason, his stand could not puncture it and free him!

— “Watch out everyone! It’s probably an enemy attack!” A red haired kid called out, causing the group to be in high alert.

— That’s when you noticed him. The man that had caused your grandfather’s death. Joseph Joestar. Your eyes gleamed with rage as you took a heavy step towards the group, the look of death on your face.

— Once you made your monologue, it all made sense to Joseph. The headband, the Italian accent, the flamboyant and cocky outlook. You were definitely a Zeppeli.

“You- You’re Caesar’s grandchild!” Joseph gasped.

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” You snarled, clutching onto your gun and aiming it towards Joseph.

Your monologue included something about getting revenge and working for Dio.

“Yare yare, another fleshbudded henchman,” a young male said.

Your nose scrunched as your lips curled into a snarl once more. You pushed your hair out or the way to reveal you weren’t fleshbudded.

“I don’t have a parasite in my brain!” You screeched at the boy.

— After that, Joseph saw the full picture. You blamed him for what happened to Caesar. He blamed himself too. He still did blame himself. If only he could somehow make you see that.

“How about you put that gun away and we fight one on one, just hamon. No gun on your end and no stand on mine.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Joestar?” The redhead spoke.

“Do you know them, old man?” The rude boy asked.

You could tell that rude boy was a Joestar. After all, just looking at him made your blood boil. It was hard to tell if it was hatred was what boiled in your blood though.

You smirked, putting your gun back in your shoulder bag, confident you could win against some old man.

— The battle was hard fought, in fact, you almost won. What you forgot to account for was Joseph’s craftiness. You almost pulled your gun on him if it weren’t for a purple fist that sent you flying into the dusty earth.

— You coughed, your face and body bloodied and bruised. On your hands and knees, you looked up at Joseph. You spat out some blood from your mouth as you grinned. However, it was not out of malice, it was out of sadness.

“Looks like you were the stronger of us… Even with my grandfather’s power that I extended… I couldn’t avenge him…”

— Joseph’s gaze was soft, he wasn’t angry. He was far from it. He was a failure of a best friend. If Caesar were around, none of this would’ve happened. In fact, Caesar would blow a gasket if he knew that Joseph just beat up his grandchild.

“Listen, kid. You don’t know the true story. Are you willing to listen?”

— Part of you wished and begged that you could stand up. Push yourself off the ground and continue fighting. You had to be fighting for a just cause. But your pitiful body wouldn’t move. You just looked at Joseph and despite yourself, you answered him with a weak nod.