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[prael]

WYR-0573: Dirty Little Student Wang Yiren And Her Sexy Secret Camgirl Life Tempts Horny Teacher Into Rough Fuck and Creampie!

Everglow Yiren x male reader smut

Thankyou @co-reborn for allowing me to spiritually succeed this fic (Everyone read it if you haven't already.)

Masterlist word count: 4,221 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It seems like everything these days is a fucking ethics issue. It's not like you're trying to do anything that's going to hurt somebody. You're not ripping off old people, you're not laundering money, you're not putting lives at risk.

Shit, it's just a bit of fun, but if anyone finds out you've had your cock inside Wang Yiren, then the ethics committee is going to eat you alive. It doesn't matter if she wants your cock in there just as badly as you do.

You have to get creative to make it work. First thing is first: get her out of your office. Sure, it's not unusual for a student to take some office time with her thesis advisor, but walking out in the state she does? Her cheeks flushed, and her blouse dishevelled, with a slight, satisfied smile on her face and her panties stuffed into the front pocket of her backpack.

People are going to notice, and that can't happen.

There's a part of you that wishes you could make it stop outright, but you can't. Every time she uploads another one of those videos, your eyes are locked to your computer screen and your cock's locked in your hand.

Maybe it's the novelty of knowing that the girl on the camera's not just any other girl on the internet; it's perhaps the fact that she's the girl that you've had inside your office. Maybe it's that her body's incredible; her tits are small and pert, her ass tight, and that little slit of a pussy is just begging to be fucked.

Or maybe, it's how openly she will sit across from you at your desk and ask you so casually what you thought of her latest video with the same sort of inflection that a student would use to ask you about the latest reading. "I wasn't really sure if the whole clamping my nipples thing worked. I mean, it was kinda hot, I guess. And I got off pretty hard, so there's that. What'd you think?"

What do you think?

You're a good guy—a good professor—so you give her honest feedback, "I thought it was hot, Yiren, but it took a while for you to get into it. Was that your first time? Playing with your nipples that way?"

"Mhm." You can see the little smirk curl up on her face, "I was hoping it wasn't obvious that I was nervous. It's tough getting started with some new kinks, you know?"

It's a strange little world the two of you inhabit. On the surface, it's the relationship of a graduate student to her thesis advisor: a mutually respectful relationship based on academic mentorship and intellectual discourse. Under the surface, it's the sort of thing that gets both of you expelled: the sort of relationship that's built on her need for you to see her get off in front of her webcam and your need for her to keep uploading videos.

But as you look at her now, you think about what she's doing. She's a twenty-something grad student who gets her rocks off by playing with herself on camera for thousands of strangers on the internet. It makes her hot. It makes her cum. And you're only too happy to be there for her. It makes you hot, it makes you cum, and there's a bit of you that feels a sense of pride knowing that even though the whole world gets to see what her face looks like when she climaxes, only you have managed to fuck her to one.

"Don't get me wrong, Yiren. It was hot. I'm sure everyone got off to it."

There's a slight cockiness to her smirk—she already knew it to be true. "And you?"

"Do you really need to ask every time?" you reply.

"Mm. Yes," she leans back on the chair in front of your desk and raises one leg over the armrest. "I like to know that you liked what I put out."

You don't miss a beat, and the words come out as casually as if you were critiquing an assignment: "I jerked myself raw, Yiren."

"I'm glad," her fingers are tracing little lines down the inside of her thighs. You lean in closer, elbows against the desk. "What part did it for you?"

"Yiren, I know what you're doing."

She starts to pull up the hem of her skirt while flashing you faux innocence with her blinking eyes. "What's that, Sir?"

"Seriously. We can't. Not here."

"I'm just showing you, Sir," her skirt is around her waist now. She's not even trying to hide her desire. Her pussy's wet. Glistening. "Looking for a little feedback. Was it my pussy? My fingers? How wet I was?"

You want to grab her, throw her onto the desk, and fuck her until the entire floor hears her scream. You want to feel your cock sink inside of her pussy, feel your skin slap against hers, feel the wetness of her desire as you thrust into her. But that would be the end of everything. "You're killing me here, Yiren."

"You know, people keep asking for more stuff with a guy. I could put it on pay-per-view, make a killing." She runs her fingers along her slit and you hear that soft little moan that's driven so many guys to bust on their keyboards. "What'd you think about that, Sir?"

You're starting to breathe hard. It doesn't matter that you've fucked this girl before. All you know is that you can't have her now. And she knows that drives you nuts.

Her finger's on her clit now and she's rubbing in circles. Her head tilts back slightly, her mouth parts, and you know she's going to cum right here if you let her go on. "Yiren," your voice is almost hoarse.

Her finger is a blur, and her voice is a half-moan, "Mm, Sir?"

"You're going to get us in trouble."

"I think I'm worth the trouble." Her chest's heaving. She's going to go off any second. "Sir," her eyes look straight at yours and there's something about that direct stare that sends a shiver through you, "Are you hard?"

You nod. There's not much else to do.

She takes her hands away from herself, leaving her pussy on the edge. You know that it's aching, throbbing. She bites her lip and stares at the growing bulge in your pants. "Maybe you can show me how you jerked yourself off the other day."

"Yiren. Fuck. Not here."

"Then where?" She snaps, clasping her legs closed and pushing her skirt back over them, "You won't do anything in your office. You won't take me home. Where, then, huh? Maybe I should just go to the headmaster and tell her what you—"

She doesn't finish that sentence. Your hand is gripping her arm tightly as you yank her up off her seat, "Come with me."

You lead her down the hallway. She's struggling, but she's grinning too. She knows she's getting her way.

Your eyes dart from left to right. It's late and the chances of running into anyone is pretty low, but still, there's always the chance.

"Sir, what's the deal?" she's laughing now. "What's your plan?"

"I don't have one."

It doesn't matter. You've been in the same spot before with her. She's been begging for it, you can't do it in your office, and you need someplace quiet, someplace private, someplace where the two of you can be alone for a while.

You lead her to the parking lot and she realizes your plan. Her voice is almost mocking. "Sir, that's not exactly original, you know. A parking lot? Your car?"

"It'll do, Yiren." Your voice is firm, almost angry, and she's eating it up—you know what gets her going. "And maybe it's a bit clichéd, but we won't have any of these pesky problems of you being too loud and giving us away." You stop her at the passenger door to your sedan, lean her against the car and press yourself against her. "And trust me, you will be too loud, Yiren."

She grins up at you. She likes the sound of that. "What're we doing here, Sir? I thought you didn't want to fuck me anymore. Not after last time."

"I never said that." Your fingers run down her side and you feel the familiar thrill of touching her again, feeling her body under your fingers. "I said no more fucking in my office, Yiren," you slide your hand over her ass. "So we're here." You lean down and kiss her, and she moans as her body leans into you.

She pulls away from the kiss, panting, "But, Sir, you know what else I want." You feel her fingers reach down and run across the bulge in your pants, and her breath catches. "Mm. I want this. I want to film you, Sir. I want to film this."

It's a bad idea, you know. The riskiest of ideas. You can see her in your mind's eye: the way her face looks when she's cumming, when she's biting her lip to hold in the scream, the way her body shudders, and her eyes shut tight, the way that she gasps for air afterwards. You want her to be able to share that with the world, to get her off by getting the world off. "Fine."

"Seriously?" She looks at you in disbelief, but you've already opened the door and nudged her inside. She climbs in and crawls to the other end, tossing her purse in the front seat after she pulls out her phone. "It's not ideal but it'll have to work." You're on her in an instant, pulling her skirt up around her waist, pushing her down against the seats, kissing her, and sliding your fingers into her.

She squeals, then gasps, and then giggles as you thrust your fingers in and out of her pussy. "Mm, Sir," her moans are punctuated by each thrust of your fingers, "Fuck. Wait. I haven't even got my phone set up yet. Fuck. Wait."

You slow, just a little, just enough, then you concede and pull out. You know she wants it, needs it. You watch her hands shake as she rushes to set the phone up, she's got it in selfie mode and it's the best she can do.

"The lighting's all wrong, but who cares, right? They're here to watch you fuck me. They don't care about lighting." She's talking to herself as much as to you, but you know how she is. You know that she wants you to play along.

"Let's show them how pretty you are, Yiren." You pull out your fingers, then press your palms against her legs, pushing them apart and sliding in closer between them. You watch as she tries to hold the camera steady. Her breaths are shallow. "Show them what your pussy looks like." She turns the camera down and focuses it on her pussy. She spreads herself for the camera, showing her audience her soft pink pussy. She's so wet, you can't wait to feel her on your cock, feel that heat, that wetness, and that tightness.

"God," you groan. You've watched her videos so many times, but seeing it up close and in the flesh is always different. You run your fingers down the inside of her thigh until they brush her pussy lips, and you spread her wide. Her hips buck slightly and you watch the juices of her desire drip down the crack of her ass. You push your fingers into her, and you feel the warmth of her insides. She cries out, "Mmf! Oh god."

You take it slow. She's filming it all. You want this video to be hot. You pull out your fingers, then push them in, watching the wetness cling to them as you thrust them in and out of her pussy. "Fuck, Sir. Oh god." You curl your fingers up and press your fingertip against the spot you've learned to find. You feel the rough skin against your finger and you press into it. Her head tilts back, her eyes shut tight, and you watch as her body shudders. You push your finger harder against it, rub it, and her moans get louder.

You pull your fingers out, then push them in, slowly, rhythmically. She whines, but you don't give in. "Tell the audience how it feels, Yiren." You're teasing her now. She doesn't want you to go slow. You know she's aching for more.

"Feels so fucking good." She pants, holding the camera steady. "God, Sir. Don't stop."

"Why?"

"Mm." She whines, and you can hear that she's on the edge, "Feels so good, Sir. Your fingers feel so good in my pussy." You pull your fingers out of her, then press the palm of your hands against her thighs and spread her wider.

You take your time. Your fingers brush down the length of her pussy, from her clit down to the juices on her asshole, and you press against that tight little pucker. She gasps and you hear her moan. You press your fingers against her hole, feeling it tense and tighten against your fingers.

She lets out a sharp, shocked whine as you tease her asshole and you can't take it any longer. She knows just what you want. You lean down and press your lips against her clit, and you hear her squeal as you lick her clit. You suck her clit, tasting the juices that flow from her, and you feel her body tense up. She's so close. You pull yourself away from her and grin up at her.

She's panting hard, staring up at you. "God. I need you to fuck me." Her voice is a whine, a needy whine. You can hear her desperation.

"I know you do, Yiren," you reply, unbuckling your pants. You pull your cock free and stroke yourself a few times as she stares down at you. "I know how much you want this."

She nods, her mouth open and panting. "So much. God, please fuck me with that." You press your cockhead against her pussy, rubbing it between her lips. "Fuck, Sir, please. I love a big hard cock in my tight pussy."

You grin and whisper, "Tell them what you need, Yiren."

She looks right into the camera, "Please fuck me, Sir. I need you to fuck my pussy. I need to feel you stretch me wide. Fuck, Sir. Fuck me." She's begging and her breath is a desperate pant. "Please, I'm so wet. I want to cum with your cock inside of me. I need to."

You press yourself against her entrance, just enough to push her open, then you pull away and watch her cunt quiver at your touch. You can tell she wants to be taken, needs to be fucked hard and fast, and she knows you can give it to her.

You push your hips forward and thrust your cock into her, and you watch her pussy open and spread for you. "Fuck," she cries, her hands trembling, but you don't slow down. You thrust hard, pulling her hips into you, and you slam your cock deep into her.

"God, your pussy feels so good." Your fingers grip tight on her thighs, spreading her wide as you pound into her, and her cries fill the car.

She tries to keep the phone steady, filming you thrust into her. She can barely keep herself together. You can see the camera shaking, "In his fucking car. You hear that? He couldn't even wait to get me home. He needed to fuck me. He spends all day watching me in class, thinking all these dirty little thoughts about me, and then he just can't take it anymore and he fucks me right in the parking lot. And you know what? I'm gonna fucking cum because of him."

You're going hard and fast and she's so fucking tight. You can hear her moaning and groaning with every thrust, and her pussy is clenching around you. You can tell she's on the edge, her pussy is trembling around you, and she's screaming for more. You know that the video is probably a mess, a shaky, poorly framed mess of her tits shaking, her face pulling the dirtiest of expressions and her pussy getting fucked.

Her words are getting more erratic. She can barely keep it together, so you snatch it from her hand, record the way you thrust into her, how your balls slap against her cunt. She moans louder when you do and you realize she likes that you're the one recording her.

The camera pans up to her face. You want to see her cum. You want to film it. "Cum, Yiren." Your voice is loud and commanding. "Cum on my cock. Let them see you cum on your teacher's cock."

Her hands are above her head, grasping at the leather seats. Her back arches beneath you and her head is thrown back, pressing into the very same upholstery that her fingers do. Her hips shudder and you feel her insides squeeze around your shaft as she cries out, "Fuck!" The sound of your flesh slapping into her flesh fills the car, and she's a writhing, whimpering, cumming mess as you pound her through her orgasm.

You keep filming as you reach down, and with one hand, rip open the buttons of her shirt. Three of them come flying off, pinging around the car and leaving a lopsided mess of fabric and bra that exposes the flesh of one of her pert tits. It doesn't take long before your hand is gripping her breast, pinching at her nipple, tugging at her flesh as you keep pounding into her.

Yiren gets the message, pulling the rest open on her own and pulling down her bra, exposing both tits. Her fingers are on her own nipple, tugging at it and pinching. You watch the way she teases herself, the way her body reacts, and the way she's still shivering from her orgasm. She's a mess and you love seeing her that way.

If there's something painfully obvious from her videos, it's that one is never enough. So Yiren doesn't even need to ask, you're already guiding her onto her knees and then pushing her forward so her face is against the glass. "Show them your ass, Yiren."

You hold the camera in your hand and record the image of her reaching back and pulling her skirt over her hips, exposing her bare ass and pussy to you. You record as she reaches back and spreads her cheeks for the camera, letting her fingers pull apart her wet pussy and letting your audience see that tight, puckered asshole.

"Sir," you watch her face pressed against the window. Her breath leaves an opaque cloud against the cold glass, "How does my ass look?" You can't help it, your free hand comes crashing down against her skin and you watch it ripple under your palm. "Oh!"

You grin at her reaction, "You look like a naughty little girl who needs a good spanking."

"Oh, Sir," she moans, "What did I do?"

You slap her ass again, and again, watching it redden under your hand. "Such a naughty little girl. Making a mess in my office." You're slapping her again, watching her ass jiggle and turn pink.

Yiren whimpers, "I did. I was so naughty."

"What did you do, Yiren?"

"I was so fucking wet. I couldn't stop touching myself."

"Why were you wet?" You spank her again and you watch as her hips press back into you, "Tell your viewers what made you so wet that you needed to touch yourself."

"I needed you." Yiren's panting hard, her voice a needy moan, "God, I need you to fuck me. I was thinking about your cock. How good it felt when you fucked my pussy. I wanted you to fuck my pussy again."

You push her forward, letting her hands come down against the foggy glass. Her ass is up in the air and you're pressing your cock against her pussy. She's still wet from her cum and it takes no effort at all to thrust deep into her.

You're so deep in her wet folds. Her soft embrace is warm, tight, and you feel yourself slide deep inside of her, and you watch as her face twists and contorts in pleasure, in desire.

"Show them what they're doing to you, Yiren. Show them how they make you feel." You pull the phone up to her face, filming her moans, her cries, the faces she makes as you fuck her. "You like it when they watch, don't you? You like it when I fuck you like this and they have to watch."

She's panting, moaning, and nodding. Her hips press back into you as you pound into her and you watch her ass ripple and bounce with each thrust.

You reach around and grab her tie. She always wears it loose, but it's still enough to pull it up tight against her throat, pull her back into you. You wrap it twice around your hand and it yanks her up straight, her body against your chest. She's panting hard as her hands come up and try to claw at the tie around her throat.

She can't stop moaning, crying, and she can barely breathe, and you watch as she struggles to hold on, her head tilting back and resting on your shoulder. You film her as she struggles to hold it together. She can barely keep her eyes open and her voice comes out as a desperate, choked moan.

You let go of the tie, and it unravels in your hand. You watch her slump forward and her hands come down to the seat. Her face presses into the leather and she's whimpering. "You're such a good girl, Yiren." You press yourself deep inside her and grind your hips against hers, "Such a good girl for taking my cock."

She groans, "Thank you." She's still pushing back against you and her eyes are shut tight. "Thank you, Sir."

"Good girls get a treat, don't they?" You grin and you run your fingers against her asshole. "I bet you like a nice treat for being such a good girl."

Her breath hitches, and her eyes flutter, "Please, Sir."

You press your finger against her hole, and she pushes her ass back, and you feel her ass relax and open for your finger. Her tight asshole squeezes your finger tight and you hear her moan, and her pussy clenches your cock. "Fuck."

"Oh god, Sir," she moans. She's a needy, whining little mess, "Please cum in me."

Her words are like music to your ears. Her body is trembling under you, and she's moaning for you to cum. Her words are so desperate. She's begging, and you can't resist. Your hand is gripping her ass, with a finger slipped inside, and you pound into her, feeling her tight, wet cunt squeeze around you.

"Fuck, Sir, please," she begs. "Breed your favourite little student. Fill her up with your cum." She's crying out, her voice echoing inside the car.

Your hips shudder as you thrust deep into her and feel your balls clench, you can't take any more, and your cock is pulsing, throbbing, and your cum is filling her, flooding her insides, and her ass is trembling around your finger. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is pounding, and you can barely breathe. She's still pushing her ass back against your hand and her body is shivering with every pulse of cum that your cock pumps into her. You keep thrusting, feeling her pussy tighten and milk your cock.

When it's all over, you watch as she slowly pulls away from you, and you see the thick white seed drip from her hole and onto her thighs. She sits back on her knees and looks right into the camera. Her chest is flushed and heaving. Her hair's a mess, and her shirt's hanging open. Her makeup's running and there are tears on her cheek. But there's a satisfied look on her face.

She's grinning from ear to ear and you can't help but grin along with her. "That," she pants, still trying to catch her breath, "is how I get a good grade in class." Her words are followed with a giggle and then she leans forward and shuts off the camera. Her hand finds the back of your neck and she pulls you into a kiss. Her lips are hungry and her tongue presses into your mouth. Your hand wraps around her head, and your fingers get tangled in her hair as you pull her closer and deeper into you.

She pulls away, a smile on her face, and a twinkle in her eye, "You're a natural, you know. You really know what they want. Makes sense, you are one of them."

"Thanks." You laugh. You can't help but notice that her hand's between her legs, rubbing and stroking. She's unsatiable.

"Sir? Since I'm such a good student, does it mean you'll take me home and fuck me in your bed?"

[occamstfs]

Sticky Fingers

Junpei finds himself drawn to sneak an early peak at Arcadio Carvajal's new exhibition. When the chance to take a piece home presents itslef, he'll find himself a little more than changed from the experience.

My first sequel! Arcadio from Marichismo decides to take the chance to find a new assistant and lover! In other don't forget to vote on my Viral Transformation poll, ends Sunday! Otherwise enjoy this tale of muscle growth and otherwise masculine changes! -Occam

Junpei can’t believe that he somehow hadn’t heard about this art exhibition until just now. Like many a young thirsty gay across the country he does well to keep a tab on the illustrious (Read: Hot) work of Arcadio Carvajal. Many institutions are a little hesitant to host an artist whose name may well be synonymous with sexual provocateur but, with attendance numbers down across the board, even more museums are thrilled at the chance to host a man who almost magically draws in hordes of adoring patrons.

His latest exhibition on homoeroticism in popular culture is setting attendance records at just about every museum it stops at. Junpei was beyond thrilled when his friend Corey leaked that the gallery he works at was going to be hosting an exhibition of Arcadio’s starting tomorrow! Ignoring any concerns as to how odd it is that he’s not heard anything about the opening until the night before, Junpei grabs his backpack and makes for the gallery immediately, almost as if possessed. Something in his chest flutters with anticipation as he wanders the few blocks down to the hall where he’ll hopefully be able to sneak an early peek of some of the works on display. 

Making the trip down a few blocks with haste he finds  there’s surprisingly little activity at all in or around the gallery. Sure it’s after hours but the night before an opening, let alone an opening by an artist as impressive as Arcadio Carvajal? You’d think there would be some last minute prep work to be done. Skulking up to nonchalantly look through the front door, he puts his weight on it just as a little test. Just to see if it's locked, no overt plans as to what he would do with the information, he just wanted to know. Just wanted to see.

When the door gives, he can’t suppress the grin rising on his lips. In for a penny, he decides. Fighting to keep his expression guiltless he surreptitiously looks around to make sure no one’s watching the entrance before he sneaks into the dark hall. He tries to scheme up an alibi as he digs out his phone to use as a flashlight. Probably wouldn’t buy that he thought they were open. Could just say he was supposed to meet his friend here, though he’d hate for Corey to catch blowback. Junpei then rolls his eyes as he figures he could come up with something on the spot, if he’s even caught that is! Adrenaline keeps his conspiratorial mind from noticing he of course already has been, as the gallery’s cameras follow the young student into the exhibition hall holding Arcadio’s exciting exhibit.

The amateur intruder almost has a heart attack as he steps into the gallery proper and the lights flash on. Stumbling into a wall in shock, he ducks behind a display case and nervously scopes out the new space he finds himself in. After quietly ensuring that no one is actively here, Junpei chalks the lights up to be automatic and hastens his pace. Switching off his now unneeded flashlight, he starts scoping out the litany of artwork dedicated to the male form surrounding him.

His excitement eclipses whatever paltry dregs of anxiety or fear remain as he sees the works of incredibly influential artists gathered here. Junpei knew Arcadio was a titan but he could never have expected the prolific art that fills this place. First things first, as he enters he sees a diptych of the artist himself, under his breath he murmurs, “god he’s so fucking hot.” Somewhere out of sight surveillance footage shines onto a man watching him explore the gallery as he mischievously smirks.

On the student’s left are a wall of nudes and more softcore fare from artists across the ages. Mizers and Mapplethorpes hang floor to ceiling alongside more modern work by Arcadio and his own gay contemporaries. Near the far side there seems to be a whole section dedicated to portraiture of St. Sebastian but Junpei is less eager to explore the thorough history of homoerotic photography. Certainly a medium that has brought him endless pleasure, as it were, but they may as well just be prints to him. No, he wants to see the real stuff.

Wandering past some dozen miniature recreations of Michaelangelo’s David made of shining plasticine latex, some clad in leather, others in the buff as the artist intended, Junpei finds what he snuck in for. Spotlights shine down unto the wall opposite the photography, teeming with works from gay trailblazers of the art world. Namely the ones whose primary focus was on nothing but bulging fetishistic muscle and strong-jawed pretty boys. Those who crafted overt unapologetic pornography and others who snuck homoeroticism covertly to the masses. This is to say there is more work by Tom of Finland and Leyendecker than he could possibly appreciate in this brief time alone. 

He spends as long as he thinks he can just staring at the work. Drinking in the graphite scraped bulges and tight leather uniforms of the massive men drawn by the Finn. Reverberations from his work still echo into the art and lusty imaginations of countless gay men today. Indeed upon gracing dear Junpei’s eyes they immediately cause some mobility issues to arise. He struggles with his pants as he struggles to walk forward with a package that only surges harder with each fervent tug of his pants. His rising issue stops not as he moves on to observe the bright colors and hungry eyes of the men in Leyendecker’s advertisements. Masculine forms idealized and gleaming opposed with the raw heightened sex found in the work nearby. Junpei can barely control the desire coursing through him, but knowing he can’t stay forever the young man continues onward, biting his lip as he tries to will his boner away. 

Going through a curtain into a still darkened room, it takes a second for Junpei’s eyes to adjust before he sees a room dedicated to non-western homoeroticism. Finding aged Chinese scrolls of gay eroticism he snaps pictures, quite thankful that they are less visceral arousing than the work he just left behind, though he’s decidedly happy to see some shred of himself in the gallery. Turning around he gasps as he sees something he wasn’t quite expecting. Next to a wall of more deliberately pornographic bara men he sees panels from his favorite mangaka depicting bulging muscled men in provocative poses. But more thrilling than that, it seems the main sketch isn’t in a display case. It’s just sitting there, loose, free.

Junpei doesn’t know what came over him, he wasn’t even planning on coming in illicitly, but staring at the crisp art in front of him he cannot stop himself as he pulls a folder from his backpack. Before he can even issue a command to his body, the sketch is already in his bag and he’s sprinting away. The smirk of the man watching his every move grows wider as he watches Junpei clumsily flee the scene. Fleeing out the door into the dark streets, Junpei pushes past other students thoughtlessly as he races home, delirium setting in as struggles to understand and realize what he just did. Slamming his apartment door behind him he yoinks out the swiped art. He isn’t sure if it’s the image itself or the exhilaration from his crime but his only recently stilled cock begins to harden once more. 

Mind barely present what can he do but obey his rising erection. Junpei begins to masturbate, staring at his stolen artwork, panting as he quickly comes close; free hand moving thoughtlessly he feels it scrape against something taped to the back of the sketch. Eyebrows furrowing as he continues to beat his meat, Junpei turns the picture around and he instantly stops as his blood grows cold. “Evening Junpei. I know what you did. See you Soon. Yours, Arcadio Carvajal.” Junpei drops the drawing and it flutters to the floor, lying face down, leaving the note facing up at him. His mind escapes from whatever haze compelled him to commit larceny as his thoughts race faster than could possibly be productive. 

What do I do? I need to bring it back now. How did that note get there!? It certainly has my name on it, and it’s signed by Arcadio. Fear seizes him as he backs away from the stolen piece, tripping over the pants that had fallen around his ankles. In his scrambling he falls back and hits his head. Before he completely loses himself to unconsciousness he sees the picture purloined face up once more. Groaning as his vision begins to fade, his eyes latch onto his legs as searing pain slowly burns through him. Cresting into a trancelike state he mumbles incoherently as it almost seems like veins are bulging onto his thighs?

Perhaps unsurprising given the prominence of Arcadio in what lead him into this stupor, but as he’s truly overtaken Junpei sees the massive artist himself. The man’s arms are crossed but the expression on his face is not one of judgment or disdain at Junpei’s actions. Rather, to the best of the young man’s judgment, it looks like one of anticipation. Junpei tries to speak but finds his mouth dry up as the man across from him waves a finger, “Ah ah ah mi ladrónito. I believe you have something of mine.” The eponymous little thief pats himself down trying to dream his plunder into existence but produces naught. Arcadio pouts his lips but there is a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Well perrito. For your little transgression I think you owe me, si? Think I could use some more hands on deck to watch out for petty thieves, don’t you?” Arcadio’s expression loses all the performative animosity that remains as he looks at Junpei with glee and his intentions begin to suffuse the young man. Feeling his ability to speak return, Junpei opens his mouth but before he can produce a word he is wracked with burning pain from the artist's stare.

Beginning from his feet, clad in the cheap tennis shoes that he wore to his haphazard heist, heat sears the soles of his feet. At first it’s as if he’s standing on coals before simmering down to the pain of sprinting across a hot beach; finally it shifts to the pleasant warmth of a warm footbath. Pain swiftly gives way to pleasure as Junpei flexes his feet just to ensure he feels every sensation he can, only then does he feel his toes bump against the front of the small shoe, just as the bridge of his foot strains against the tongue. Junpei grunts as he hears stitches begin to give way, toes blasting through the cheap fabric while his soles rear through the sides and spill onto the floor as his feet totally eclipse the remains of his shoe.

Looking down at feet that may as well need clown shoes compared to the petit ones he’s always had, Junpei feels some new instinct in his mind. Almost like an intrusive thought, he feels a need to be brash, to spar with the man he so respects more than anything. Ignoring his usual nature he follows this instinct, it’s just a dream right? Fighting through the pain and pleasure still coursing through him, Junpei speaks up, “Grgh- What are you- Are you giving me a foot fetish or what?” Arcadio’s face lights with a smile as he hears the young man speak up with the slightest amount of acid on his tongue. With no words to betray his emotion at the seed of Junpei’s changing psyche he moves his eyes up to Junpei’s legs.

“Oh what the fu-” he’s unable to even finish the thought as his whole body convulses with the sensation of his legs lengthening before they start to pack on muscle. Shooting almost a foot higher, Junpei falls back on his ass as he clenches at his calves and thighs. His gaze follows Arcadio’s as the man stares at his tight calves, expanding with each pulse of the heart. Just like every other inch of Junpei’s body there’s initially little at all impressive, and then they flex larger, and then there's a bulge that will never leave, and then there is a calf that would inspire jealousy by any lesser men who glimpses it. More than baseballs, muscle bulges enough for even socks large enough for his massive feet would struggle to contain them. This is nothing however compared to the transformation moving upwards into his thighs. 

Veins bulge thick as power seeps upwards, burning warmth sears his hands as they clutch at the hocks of meat that now constitute his thighs. Junpei blushes as he sees new distinct masses bulge out of his once bony thighs. Staring down at his increasingly powerful lower body he is filled with determination to get them even larger. The need for power begins to wash over whatever ideals or needs the young man had before this dream. Seeing the thick veins clearly pump and bulge larger with each beat of his heart, Junpei traces them with his finger and bites his lip as Arcadio can’t help but stare at the growing package that demands attention from the both of them.

Arcadio is more than pleased to stare, each second spent lingering on the cock sends waves of pleasure through Junpei as his mind struggles to parse that his cock and balls are stretching larger by the second. Quickly surging higher and thicker, his dick eclipses the size its been at its most turgid erection before now and it still pushes further with each groping grasp and sweaty breath. Similarly, beneath it his balls hang lower and the few dark hairs that shade his groin grow thicker and curl longer as his heavy balls rapidly increase production of the hormones this increasingly massive body demands. He cannot help but thrust into the air, his thin arms struggling to support the power his thighs summon. Landing back on his ass it too bulges larger with every flexing movement, quickly regaining its position as the largest muscle on the body as it becomes a bubble butt that would entice even the least male-interested eyes.

Moving on, lest Junpei blow his load all over himself, Arcadio's eyes continue upward to begin the most impressive work yet. Junpei groans as he desperately needs a break from the overwhelming pleasure burning in his lower body. He drags his hands across his inner thigh,  feeling callouses scratch his sensitive sweaty skin before palming his cock to a spurt of pre before moving on. His fingers trace towards his torso as veins begin to trail upwards, crossing his abs as they bulge into existence.

His body involuntarily goes into a crunch as every powerful ab cramps, sending stabbing pain and searing pleasure through his mind. Drool flings out of his mouth as he launches forward moaning. Junpei’s rougher hands grab his beefy thighs to prevent himself from falling backwards once again. His eyes almost cross as he seemingly loses control of any unengaged motor function. Across from him Arcadio just smirks and watches as Junpei’s sweat soaked hair changes from the same unintentional look he’s had all his life into something far more deliberate and fashionable. Exactly what he would want in a body man.

Hearing the strained groans and hungrily looking to the ephemeral expression dancing across Junpei’s face, Arcadio hesitates before continuing. Feeling the briefest of pauses from otherworldly bliss, Junpei cries out, his voice rumbling deeper as he finds his neck has thickened, “Mrgh- Don’t stop boss. I want, more.” The artist’s lips twitch as he is more than happy to obey the thief’s desires. After all, it's about time to get to his favorite part. At the same time Junpei’s mind flickers to the massive pecs that he so enjoyed observing at the museum as he begins to feel building pressure, increasing potential, on his chest.

Summoning a laser focus, Arcadio stares at Junpei’s arms and currently non existent pecs. He has trouble ignoring the bulge dawning in his own pants as he sees Junpei’s stick thin arms begin to bulk up. Immediately his arms fly behind him as he rapidly alternates between stretching them and flexing. With each thrust away from his body into the air they lengthen, fingertips shoot longer as his palms widen. With every bulging flex veins are forced to protrude even further through his faultless skin. His biceps may as well be forged of cast iron as they become impossible to ignore, power courses through them as from now on even the smallest movement causes a medley of muscle to dance across his beastly arms.

In between his bulging biceps, above the cobblestone abs, underneath shoulders still widening and taps pushing against a shirt that barely holds on, his pecs finally begin to receive the attention they have always lacked. Junpei’s nipples increase from the dimesize they’ve ever held into half-dollar protrusions that will be impossible to hide under a shirt. Similarly, the measly pecs they stand strong on begin to grow at a rate more prominent than any change so far. 

The sound of Junpei’s shirt giving way to muscle he couldn’t truly fathom before now burgeoning onto his chest overwhelms him more than he could ever know. In the moment of them bursting larger than life, he feels himself let loose of whatever restraining fragments of his past self remain. He wasn’t sure what caused him to take the sketch from the gallery, but Arcadio knew he would. Arcadio Carvajal, his boss, clearly had more planned for him than Junpei ever could imagine. As his pecs bloat beyond reason and he feels his chest pulse with power does he give himself totally over to become the perfect, powerful man that not for a moment in his life he thought he could become. 

His body shines with sweat as he finally loses control, loosing load after load into the white dreamscape around him. He opens his mouth to cry Arcadio’s name but before a sound could release he finds his godly body pressing up against one of the few men he considers an equal. His new burning muscled form grinds against that of Arcadio. Getting his sweat all over his boss, his lover, his best friend, Junpei smirks in between labored breaths and slobbered kisses. Somehow feeling the scratch of Arcadio’s chest through his shirt the new body man can’t help but frot against the artist’s torso.

Shoving his bearded face into Junpei’s neck, which certainly doesn’t help matters, Arcadio moves his scratchy mouth to his lover’s ear and whispers, “Me esperas… See you soon mi amor.” Seeding desire more potent than anything, every bulging muscle clenches and forces itself larger one last time. Every inch of his impossibly large, inhumanly powerful new form sizzles with the capacity for more pleasure than could ever be bestowed upon him before. Junpei will evermore dominate any room he decides to grace. He will do so physically and intangibly with an aura that exudes strength and entices the appetites of all, though perhaps that due to constantly sweating through any clothing or deodorant he throws on within an hour. 

Feeling emptiness fill him as Arcadio disappears from his dream after whispering in his ear, the now massive man has no recourse besides willing himself to wake up. And so he does.

Junpei wakes up on the floor of the apartment he’s been renting with Arcadio in the leadup to their new exhibition, for some reason the back of his head is sore as if he hit it. Though that’s nothing compared to the soreness that absolutely fills every last inch of his body. The giant groans as he wills his titanic upper body to sit up and smirks as he sees the sweat he must have just worked up. Scratching his pits and struggling not to sniff his hand after, his head briefly filled with countless memories of Arcadio chiding his poor hygiene, he hesitates before noticing some expensive paper lying on the ground. 

Tilting his head and grabbing a nearby towel to wipe the sweat almost dripping from his hand, he takes great care to grab whatever this is without getting too much of himself on it. Turning it around he’s floored to see a sketch that’s supposed to be on the museum wall right now, worse than that it’s from an area that Arcadio has left to him! Taking no time at all to question how this possibly ended up here, Junpei puts it in one of Arcadio’s artsafe folders and sprints down the street to the gallery. 

For being the assistant of such a fastidious man, Junpei has a habit of letting things slip through the cracks, but Arcadio never minds. He knows in the end Junpei will always more than make up for it, always aiming to go above and beyond and, somehow, more often than not exceeding what Arcadio even thought was possible. Entering the gallery the behemoth switches into the closest thing to a sneak that he can muster, unfortunately his massive clumsy feet would always betray his presence. His lover smiles as he hears Junpei’s failed covert operation.

Standing in front of the frame that is supposed to hold the piece that Junpei is now overtly returning, he turns with a sly smirk to see the man doing his best impression of a cat burglar. Arcadio rolls his eyes and goes to grab the folder, lest his lover get his streaming sweat onto it and create an awkward situation with the mangaka. After depositing in where it belongs and shutting it into a plastic case that was conspicuously absent earlier Arcadio returns his attention to Junpei who now looks around the gallery in wonder at what they have crafted together.

Arcadio’s grin grows wider with every step towards Junpei, nearing close enough to kiss, he stands tall and the two enjoy each other’s passion for the first time in reality. Though as Junpei’s deific form clearly demonstrates, what is real doesn’t matter all too much at all. Arcadio doesn’t quite understand the whims of the world he exists in and he’s pretty confident given enough time he won’t even remember being the impetus for his lover’s changes. In fact, as he stands in the arms of Junpei, memories already begin filling his mind of their years together that are as real as anything. Looking around he sees a room full of decisions they made together, body man he may be but the two of them are more than equals. Breaking away from the kiss, he sniffs the air and steps back from Junpei.

Arcadio looks at Junpei’s puppy dog eyes and ruffles his short hair, “Now go take a shower, perrito. Opening is in two hours and you stink, mi amor.” Junpei looks down at himself in shock, somehow forgetting the cold sweat covering his clothes and nods fervently before sprinting back out the door. The two lovers remain on each other's minds as they go about preparing for opening day. Ever but a thought away and always eager for the next moment that they will have alone together. 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {5}

Summary: It’s Charles first real introduction to his new employee. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm, underground fighting, injuries. WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

The black leather pants and hoodie hid your presence well as you crept through the backyard just before midnight. After years of sneaking in and out of the property you knew exactly where to step to avoid activating the motion sensor lights and Charles followed each step carefully. He had tried to get you to stay at home but finally relented to your stubbornness and changed into more inconspicuous clothes too. 

Eventually you reached the small gate that the gardeners used for supply deliveries and found Franco had left it unlocked. The gentle giant had worked security for the last 20 years and aided your escapes more than he liked to admit. 

“I hope you know how to ride,” you commented as you opened the caretaker’s shed and tossed him your helmet. 

Charles looked at the helmet and turned it so the moonlight caught the almost imperceptible writing on the black carbon - What doesn’t kill me makes me angry. “Fitting,” he chuckled before handing it back. “You wear it.”

“You’re the one with the career, you should wear it.” You swung your heel back and knocked the kickstand up before wheeling the motorcycle out of the shed. It wasn’t the quickest way out but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up with the engine so you always walked it down the street before climbing on. 

“It’s actually in my contract that I should avoid dangerous activities and I’m pretty sure this would count as one,” he said as he hung the helmet back on the handlebars and helped push the heavy bike along. 

“You’re welcome to stay here in that case, or walk.”

Charles scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You deemed it far enough from the house and swung your leg over the seat, patting the space behind you. “Get on.”

Charles’ arms wrapped around your middle as he took the seat and kicked the riding pegs out with his boots. 

“I’m not sure if you are brave or stupid,” you commented. “You do realise your life is in my hands now.”

“Ma said the two usually go hand in hand but I trust you.”

You were acutely aware of every inch of Charles that touched you for the 15 minute ride to the latest address you had received. His chest rested against your back and his hands that lay on your thighs, only shifting to hold your waist through the corners he leaned into. It was clear he had ridden before but it was probably his first time being the backpack. 

“This used to be a nightclub,” Charles said with a frown as you parked in an alleyway and killed the engine. 

The old staff entrance was propped open with a brick and you ushered Charles inside where the noise grew with each step. 

“Phones,” Rex said as he held his hand out in front of the door that led to the club. You handed yours over first, taking the tab with a number so you could claim it after but the rules were strict, no phones, no cameras. Charles had a harder time parting with his but eventually handed it over with a frown and the doors opened. 

The old three storey nightclub had an empty core surrounded by a spiralling staircase that descended two storeys into the basement and one that rose up. The biggest punters would be in the VIP area above and the spectators would line the rails to get the best view of the pit that sat central on the lowest level. 

Charles looked over the rail and blanched as two regulars went face to face, blood dripping from the gashes that had been opened by the bare knuckles they fought with. 

“Hey,” Arthur greeted with a beer in his hand. “I thought maybe he talked you out of coming.”

“As if, but I was hoping he would stay behind” you said, stealing his beer to take a sip. “Who’s going to bail us out if this place gets raided?”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur joked. “He’s a runner so we can still call him.”

“Except they took my phone,” Charles grumbled. 

Arthur looked at his brother’s hand that almost always held the device and laughed until he noticed the dark sweatpants and hoodie he wore. “You stole my clothes.”

“You left them in my girlfriend's room.” Charles paused and stole the beer next, finishing it off with a cringe. “That is not a sentence I ever thought I would say.”

“While you ponder what your life has become, I am going to go get ready.” You turned and kissed Arthur’s cheek in farewell. “See you down there.”

“Where’s my kiss?” Charles asked, his brow arched in a challenge. 

You were already two steps away when you looked over your shoulder. “You can kiss my ass.” It unintentionally drew his eyes down your body to the leather that looked like it had been poured onto your skin and those eyes lingered on your ass until you descended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“You do realise you are fake dating, right?”

Charles rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his younger brother. “I can still appreciate a good looking woman when I see one.”

“Well, keep those thoughts to yourself. She’s been hurt enough.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know, she told me. I really fucked up, but I thought you were happy about the arrangement?”

“I don’t exactly have a genie lying around, so you're the next best hope she has of getting out of that hellhole.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you that if you fuck this up for her I will never forgive you.”

In the bathrooms of the basement you opened the duffle bag and changed into your usual sports bra and shorts before uncapping the Vaseline and smearing the gel over your cheeks. The familiar scent calmed your mind as you wiped the excess off and grabbed the tape to wrap your knuckles. The monotonous routine was your focus, the sounds outside the room fading as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Evidence of your tears still remained in your puffy eyes but you felt better having finally told him what had weighed you down for a decade. You didn’t want to read too much into that thought as you tied your hair back into a bun so no one could pull it in the ring. 

The bell for the end of the last fight rang out and you shook your head to clear it before kicking your bag under the sink and leaving. Arthur was waiting outside with Charles a few steps away and he checked your fists before walking to the ring. Blood splatters littered the vinyl floor that had been rolled out and two of the helpers were dragging an unconscious man out of the way.

“Bathroom is there if you’re gonna vomit,” you said to Charles as he swallowed nervously. From the other side of the ring Kaine was grinning at you, his mouth guard the colour of blood he was looking to spill, and you blew him a kiss. 

“You’re fighting a guy!?” Charles exclaimed as he realised that was your competitor. 

“There’s not exactly many female fighters to choose from.”

“You could get hurt, that man is huge.”

You rolled your shoulders out and bounced on the balls of your feet as you warmed up. “You’re really great at instilling confidence, you should have your own Ted Talk.”

“If you’re not going to help then go away,” Arthur growled before turning to face you. “Remember, he favours his right leg and Javier broke his collarbone last month. What doesn’t kill you?”

“Makes me angry.” You opened your mouth and Arthur put your mouthguard in before opening the cage door for the octagonal ring. On the floors above cash was trading hands as the bookies took the bets but you paid them no mind as you circled the floor with Kaine. 

“She’s going to get killed,” Charles choked as he laced his fingers in the chain link fence. “He’s massive.”

“She’s agile. What she lacks in size she makes up for with speed. Just don’t be shocked by what you see.”

“What do you mean? I'm already shocked.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Just wait, I didn’t even recognise her the first time. It’s like watching a completely different person take over her body.”

All the anger and hate that lay dormant in your body awoke when the bell rang and the ref stepped out from between you and Kaine. All the emotions that you kept bottled inside were released and your eyes narrowed on the man who was going to be at the receiving end. 

Kaine rushed across the mat with all the grace of a baby elephant charging on rollerskates. The very floor vibrated with each stomp of his size 14 feet and his fist reeled back and he poured his entire strength into the first punch. Unfortunately it was his bulk that slowed the punch down and you easily avoided the attack that could have probably crushed your skull. You ducked under his arm and used your spinning momentum to land a kick on his left knee. The joint twisted unnaturally and he cried out as with pain and anger. 

Arthur was right, he did favour his right leg and you had just re-injured the old ailment. Off balance, he tried to follow your quick movements but you were already back in front of him, jabbing a quick one-two combo to his core. Heat flared in your fists as they connected with the hard muscle of his abs but you welcomed the rush of adrenaline that followed the pain. Kaine threw a punch of his own and you skirted away but not quick enough and his knuckles more than caressed your cheek. You had dodged the knockout blow but there would still be a bruise to show for your slow reaction.

“Nice work,” you said with a grin as you circled around each other. “You almost got me, big boy. C’mon, take another shot.”

You probably shouldn’t have taunted him because there was no avoiding the roundhouse kick that rattled your rib cage and knocked the breath out of you with a gasp. It was a mistake to look at Charles through the fence but you saw the worry in his eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the chain. 

“Watch out,” he shouted as the concern turned to panic for what was coming behind you.

On instinct you dropped low and raised your arms to protect your head, barely missing the right hook that would have rendered you unconscious. Rage took over as he leapt forward on his good leg to attack again and you waited for him to overextend into the punch before stepping closer. It was impossible for him to defend in such a confined space and he was surprised by the sudden change. You planted your feet and drove the power of your punch up from your legs, twisting your hips as you rolled your shoulder and crashed your left fist into the softer skin protecting his kidney. A deep grunt expelled from him as he hunched over and you followed through with a right hook of your own. Right into his weak spot. 

His piercing cry was almost as sharp as the snap of bone under your knuckles and he stumbled back clutching his collar that was freshly rebroken. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the bell rang for the round’s end and you threw your swollen fists into the air while your ribs protested. 

Kaine limped back to his corner and shook his head to the ref, ending the fight after only one round. You tugged your mouthguard out and shook your head disappointingly. “Pussy.”

He spat his guard to the ground and winced as he cradled his arm over his chest. “Crazy bitch.”

You smiled at the insult and curled a finger. “Wanna come over here and say that?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t attempt to re-enter the ring so you turned and made your own exit. Arthur was waiting with a grin on his face and his arms open but before you could step into his embrace Charles was there. The shock barely registered when his arms curled around you and for a moment you felt something, but then the pain in your ribs reared its ugly head.

“Fuck,” you groaned as you shoved him away and looked down at the bruise already blooming along your side. “I think he might’ve broken one.”

“Shit, we need to get you to the hospital.”

It annoyed you how easy it was to read Charles' face. Concern, regret, anger. It was like reading a book and you wanted to tell him to relax but it was quite nice to have another person around who actually showed their feelings. 

“Great idea, and what do you think we should tell them?” you asked as you started to make your way back to the bathroom. “I don’t think ‘it was an accident’ is going to satisfy them.”

“Fine,” Charles sighed, “where do you normally go when you get hurt?”

You stared at Arthur and he stared back before his lips twitched and you both laughed. An irritated growl rumbled from Charles before Arthur pointed to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. 

“He makes a cute doctor,” you said with a wink before he followed you into the bathroom. Charles tried to follow too but you blocked the doorway. “Sorry, patient/doctor confidentiality.”

You cut off his protests with the door and leaned back against the cold wood. “Do you think he will still be there?”

Arthur nodded and opened the bag to pull out a few bandages and a bottle of arnica. “I don’t think you are getting rid of him anytime soon.”

“Great.”

“Is it really that bad?” Arthur asked as he gently dabbed the arnica over the bruises. 

“Kind of hard to erase a decade of hate, even if he is hot.”

Arthur grinned and you rolled your eyes. “You think he’s hot.”

“Shut up. I’m not blind.” You unravelled the tape from your knuckles before waving a hand over him. “You’re hot too but it doesn’t mean I want to date you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You know what I mean. Would you date me?”

“Are you asking me out? It’s a bit awkward since you are dating my brother.”

You huffed and glared at his amused grin. “Fake.”

“Potayto, potahto. But, no, if you really need to know, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend, you know me way too well.”

“Exactly, I could never be with someone who brushes their teeth in the shower.”

“Once, for fucksake, I did that once when I was running late.”

You screwed your face up and shook your head with disgust. “There’s no excuse, Tur. We will just have to be friends.”

“Carve my heart out now,” he mocked before patting your side. “All done. Ready to go?”

You thought about the man waiting on the other side of the door and sighed at the thought of having to sleep in the same room as him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh, no, no, I am not going to be your buffer. You gotta figure out whatever is going on between you and Charles on your own.” He kissed your cheek and grinned at the sour look on your face. “Love you.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you groaned and his smile only grew wider at the lie.

“Tell Cha to call me in the morning, so I know he is alive.”

Click here for the next part.

[l3tm3kn0w]

CHAPTER ONE: The Wheel of Fortune

jungkook x reader | friends to lovers | spiderman!au — link to masterlist

chapter summary: your mission to get an interview from spiderman reaches a new milestone as the arachnid vigilante acknowledges your presence during your latest chase, and the wheels of fortune are put into motion as you're faced with a devastating turn of events

wc: 8k

warning: explicit language, swearing, sexual innuendos/jokes, one joke about brutally murdering a best friend, mentions of drinking, mentions of kidapping, slow burn that’s burning slowly, jungkook has a crush tho ur just fucking oblivious sorry, other bitches wanting jungkook also deserves a warning i fear

a/n: hello world, hello tumblr!! first time publishing something here (a sister hailing from ao3 speaking) so please bear with me as i try to relearn how to navigate this website from my preteens. i’ve DMs open & believe i also opened asks????? with anon enabled???? (help????) so if you want to holler at me, you may do so there as well :)

aaaaand, welcome to the first chapter, where we’re really just setting the scene for what’s to come, hehe. please know that i don’t have a beta-reader, so please excuse any mistakes i might’ve accidentally left in 😣

hope you’ll enjoy it!! happy reading <3

You watch as the man plummets towards the ground from the 12th floor balcony.

A pretty jammed crowd of bystanders have formed on the street corner you, too, are standing on, watching with bated breath as the suited figure limply approaches the ground. You play with the voice recorder in your hand as parents cover their children’s eyes, and friends tightly grab onto each other in anticipation. The rest have their cell phones’ cameras up and ready, but the focus is not on the falling man.

You take a deep breath.

“C’mon,” you mutter under your breath. A man elbows you in the ribs, but you graciously ignore it in favour of not breaking your focus. “C’mon, c’mon, dude, show up. Show up. Don’t be a false reporting and an unnecessary trauma, c’mon.”

A gunshot is heard from somewhere within the apartment building. A window breaks, but it’s hard to say if it’s because of the bullet or the lean, male figure that jumped through it. 

The crowd gasps as if one person, heads and cameras both immediately snapping towards the new person, clad in unmistakable red and blue. You allow yourself a satisfied smirk. He free falls for a moment, and someone shrieks, and you don’t bother trying to suppress your snort because, come on, it’s obvious that in the very next second, he’s going to— yup, Spiderman shoots a web, as Spiderman tends to do, and swings towards the suited man in a pleasant, even arch. 

OK. Good. So, Spiderman is here. 

Time to get into position.

“Excuse me, sorry,” you mutter as you fight your way through the crowd, trying to secure a nice spot around the edge, towards the closer side. People don’t really mind you, looking awestruck with their mouths slightly open as Spiderman’s hands steadily encircle the torso of the man who was previously plummeting towards certain death, very heroic indeed. And anyways — you’re a native New Yorker. Meaning you’re not above a little elbowing here and there when the situation calls for it. “Sorry, I’m coming through, excuse me.”

The crowd spits you out at the edge. 

After stumbling a little, you huff, fixing the straps of your backpacks on your shoulders, and ruffling your hair. 

You walk a little closer, just in time to hear the crowd erupt in a loud cheer as Spiderman touches ground, the loan shark looking man in his forties held bridal style in his arms. God, now that’s a sight. You should’ve brought your camera — if only you didn’t catch the report on Spidey-Watch so last minute while stepping off the subway.

OK. Approximately 25 seconds, now. That’s what you have.

You lean down to retie the shoelaces of your trainers. Tightly. With a double knot, and all. 

Spiderman sets the man on his feet. Tentatively, the man, too, releases the hold he has around Spiderman’s shoulders. 

He looks shaken, understandably. Face pale, clearly on the brink of vomiting, legs shaking as he takes a few tentative steps. The reality that his bones didn’t end up cracking into a million little pieces seems to sink in for him as he cries, hands flying back to grip onto the vigilante’s shoulders. “You saved me, Spiderman.”

“Yeah.” Spiderman nods. He pats the man’s hands on his shoulders — maybe in a show of comfort, maybe in an awkward attempt to get them off. “Please make more responsible deals in the future. Preferably not with the, y’know, uh. . . the mob.”

“I didn’t know they were the mob, Spiderman.” The man shakes his head, voice very utterly serious, before giving himself away by swallowing. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Spiderman complies.

“Of course I didn’t,” the man affirms. He gasps, taking his hands off of Spiderman’s latex suit clad shoulders to rummage through the inner pockets of his suit jackets. “Wait a second.”

You take the chance to walk closer to the scene on the sidelines while the crowd is busy watching intently as the man produces a 5$ Starbucks gift card. Some gasp, some sigh in awe. Personally, you just think he’s a bit of a cheap ass loser as you grip your voice recorder tighter, fingers hovering ready over the buttons. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—” Spiderman shakes his head as he declines the generous offer, holding out his palms in rejection.

“Please, take it,” says the man, pushing the gift card into the vigilante’s chest before swiftly letting it go, so that the other has no chance but to grab it before it falls to the ground. “Let me repay you. Thank you, Spiderman.”

“Thank you, Spiderman,” the crowd echoes. 

The scene is a bit funny. In the same way it’s funny when people clap when a plane lands.

OK. About 10 seconds now. 

Spiderman quickly says his goodbyes to his impromptu audience, throwing up a few peace signs here and there while shooting a web behind him, ready to take off. 

“Goodbye, you people. Drink water and, uh, stay safe!” Spiderman starts walking backwards as he speaks, gradually gaining speed. “Oh, and wear sunscreen!”

The crowd answers, “We will, Spiderman!”

And just like that, Spiderman is off. 

It’s your time to shine. In your comfortable running trainers, you take off on the pavement, right under where he swings, attention divided between evading fellow pedestrians and keeping an eye on the arachnid vigilante. 

“Spiderman! Hey, Spiderman!” you shout. For a moment, you swear you see him teeter. “Spiderman, I’m ___ from the NYU Weekly, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

Nothing. 

Spiderman keeps swinging. So, what to do, you keep running.

“Spiderman!” you continue, “I study journalism with a minor in communications and am writing my thesis on the presentation of superheroes in the media, and I think an interview with you could give great insight on the subject to the academics!”

Spiderman keeps swinging. 

In your heedlessness, you faintly crash into one of the green, metal bins out on the street with your hip, letting out a painful yelp as you press a palm against the most likely forming bruise to soothe the pain. 

But still, you keep running. 

“Miss!” you hear someone shout. Snapping your head up, you see Spiderman looking down on you as he glides through the air, expression hidden behind his mask but voice a bit desperate. “Miss, please stop doing this, it’s very dangerous.”

“Give me an interview?” you try, starting to get out of breath. 

You’ve never gotten this far before. Usually, he manages to shake you off pretty quickly at the first approaching street corner. This is a bit more than what you’ve been working out in the university’s gym for. 

This might just be your chance, though— Spiderman actually acknowledged your presence, it’s been like half a minute and you’re still hot on his trail, and your new running shoes, although very, very fugly, are holding up great so far. 

But before you have a chance to give it another try, a few — unexpected to your calculations — things happen in quick succession. 

You hear Spiderman let out an uncharacteristical squeak, and the next thing you know, you’re falling back on your ass, some of the textbooks in your backpack painfully digging into your back as you collide with a news stand by the crosswalk. 

A few metres from you, cars start speeding down the road as the lights turn green. 

“I’m really sorry, miss!” Spiderman shouts once more. “Soak it in one part water and one part vinegar overnight! And be more careful watching where you’re going, please!”

And with that, Spiderman turns the corner, and away he swings above the New York traffic. 

Well. There’s always next time.

Groaning, you push yourself up into a squat with both hands on the ground, before massaging the strain in the top of your neck where your head has jerked back upon impact with the news stand. 

All over your chest, are slimy, gooey, sticky white spiderwebs. You try not to cry.

The sweater is cashmere.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

“Where the hell have you been?” Yoongi Min, a short, mint-haired communications major senior with cat-like tendencies and an endless temperament, (and your best friend since the diapers, but that’s worth mentioning only on the margins), whisper-yells as you slide into the seat next to him during the ongoing lecture. 

Eyes on the presentation screen, you pull your laptop and water bottle out of your bag without any haste, trying to get an idea of which lecture of yours you are even sitting in on right now. You catch a few buzzwords like defamation, source credibility, Johnny Depp, and deep fakes on the presentation. 

Introduction to Media Law, is the most feasible conclusion you can come to.

“I had a lead,” you mutter to Yoongi as you power up OneNote on your screen. 

“You mean you stalked him on Twitter,” Yoongi corrects. He drops his stylus in favour of tugging on the sweater you didn’t have time to change out of, curiously touching the gooey remains of spiderwebs before wiping it back into the material from his fingers with a scrunched up face. “Ew. You look as if someone depraved just came all across your tits. What the fuck did you do this time?”

“As you can see, I had an actual interaction with Spiderman this time.” You smirk. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Details are unimportant. The point is, now I’m sure he knows who I am, and the next time he sees me he’ll—”

“Wait,” Yoongi interrupts. “What do you mean next time? Namjoon told you to give up on the article.”

“That’s only because Namjoon’s been dumped again and became a defeatist.” You shake your head. The lecturer asks a question, so you start randomly typing on your keyboard. Old man Professor Hendersson’s a softie, he wouldn’t call on a student busy in the making of the perfect lecture notes. Some person in the third row answers him, and so you continue to do the same to Yoongi. “Dude’s gonna be kissing my feet when I make him the first NYU Weekly editor who signs off on an Avengers feature.”

“Avengers-adjacent.” Yoongi corrects.

“Spiderman wouldn’t appreciate you saying that.”

Yoongi snorts. “What a relief Spiderman won’t hear shit of what I say.”

“Hey guys,” whispers a third voice. 

Jungkook Jeon — shy, giggly, fellow journalism major junior with a long haircut that makes him look like a triangle kimbap — slides into the other seat next to Yoongi, only a notebook and a branded cup of coffee in hand. 

He looks slightly out of breath, cheeks aflame, and clothes messy, his large black t-shirt hanging inside out on his lean figure. It’s 11:42, which might as well be the ass crack of dawn in Jungkook-terms. He must’ve slept in. 

Jungkook settles in the seat, taking a sip of his coffee with the straw as he turns the pages of his notebook to the next blank. That is when he seems to remember something. 

Before he could even look over and ask, you reach over Yoongi (who scratches your arm that blocks his sight of his iPad, HayDay opened, which is not very nice of him, is it, but see — the aforementioned cat-like tendencies) to hand him the pen you’ve fished out of your bag the moment Jungkook sat down.

You know him too well.

Cheeks going a bit pinker, Jungkook huffs, accepting the pen as he whispers, “Thanks, ___”

“Welcome, as usual.”

Yoongi pipes up, his interrogative gaze turning to Jungkook this time. “And you? Been on a coffee date, debating existentialism and forgot time exists? Why am I the only one taking my education seriously?”

You can’t help but scoff at that. “No offence, dude, but the only thing I see you taking seriously is trying to hack into Seokjin’s farm to sell his raspberry cupcakes to yourself.”

“I need to sell some to Greg.” Yoongi shrugs. “And I, unlike you dipshits, was here on time, wasn’t I?”

“I was at my Stark internship,” Jungkook whispers, before mumblingly adding, “In case it was genuine curiosity.”

You sigh. You look at this boy, with a hint of pity in your eyes. So young, so bright, way too cute for his own good, but just a bit too easy for this big, bad world. “Jungkook?”

“Hm?” he hums.

“Do you think you’ll ever get hired?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, didn’t you say you’ve been interning for him since junior year of high school?” you continue. In your years of friendship with the guy, steady since the freshmen camp in Upstate NY he ditched after a day and a half, you’ve heard your fair share about this internship at whichever branch of Tony Stark’s company, both from Jungkook and his childhood friends, Jimin and Taehyung alike. “It sounds like the old Ironbag is exploiting your labour for me. Go somewhere you’re appreciated. And is relevant to your studies.”

“Damn, I just realised it.” Yoongi pipes up.

You didn’t dignify him with asking the question. Yoongi’s eyes are screaming bullshit. You’ve known your own childhood friend for a bit too long to fall for an obvious bait like that. 

Jungkook, who has been looking at you with a nervous glint in his eyes, though, is seemingly not as seasoned as you are. “Realised what?”

“Thank you so much for asking, Jungkook,” Yoongi pats the younger boy’s arm, before turning to you. “I’ve realised that you’re exhibiting extreme levels of jobless behaviour and should take your own advice first.” Next, he addresses Jungkook again. “Can you believe she was chasing Spiderman down the city this morning, too? That’s jobless. Jungkookie can at least put the Stark stuff on his resume.”

“I can, too,” you protest. The only reason you’re doing any of this is for the good of your academic advancement, after all. And if you get some brownie points with Namjoon for it, too… well? 

“Yeah, you can put ‘stalker psycho’ as a previous position,” Yoongi says. “Will open lots of doors for you.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when I become the first journalist to get an interview with Spiderman, like, ever, and get hired to The New York Times straight out of college, but you do you, Yoongles.”

“Correction. Put ‘delusional stalker psycho.’”

“I—”

“Why do you want it so bad, anyways?” Jungkook interrupts, quickly averting his eyes when you look over at him again and catch him staring at your chest, and. . .  right. Spider goo on your sweater. As already stated, he interrupted your bickering, but good thing he did, because you already have one hand in the air ready to whack Yoongi, and killing him might not be appropriate behaviour during lecture. Even if none of you are paying attention to it, and skinning Yoongi alive would be much more beneficial to your career in the long run. “You could just get an interview with Daredevil for the thesis. I think he gives out interviews from time to time.”

Yoongi snickers. “She’s scared of Daredevil.”

“I’m scared of Hell’s Kitchen,” you correct. “That’s very different.”

“It’s understandable, though,” Jungkook says, smiling sweetly at you while he doodles on the corner of his notebook. “The crime rate is a bit high there. I get it.”

“Oh, no Jungkookie, you don’t.” Yoongi shakes his head. He has a shit-eating grin curling on the edge of his lips, looking you up and down coyly as he whispers to Jungkook in dramatics. “She’s afraid of Hell’s Kitchen because she used to think Gordon Ramsey was Daredevil. Wanted to avoid him at all costs.”

It’s silent for the while — well, silent between the three of you. Professor Hendersson has started playing some video on the screen and that’s pretty loud. 

Poor man has no clue on how to control the speaker system. 

“I’m… pretty sure he’s not,” Jungkook says tentatively.

“Tell that to an 8 year-old me who was awfully confused by Hell’s Kitchen, the neighbourhood and Hell’s Kitchen, the television show.”

Jungkook looks at your best friend. “You’re right, Yoongi, I don’t get it.”

Yoongi pats his arms. “No problem, Jungkook. Being weird as fuck is her only charm.”

Jungkook looks ready to either confirm or fight that standpoint, but you interrupt.

“Anyways, I want the interviewee to be Spiderman, because… Lots of reasons, actually.” You sigh, thinking about how to put it into words. “First of all, most signs point towards him being young, like, around our age. He’s part of the digital native generation so he probably has different and potentially more complex views on social media and how it affects his job than the old farts and defrosted chickens in the Avengers. We could also assume he’s very media conscious, judging by how extremely lowkey his direct presence on the internet is, and yet he has a very unique relationship with the Spiderheads.”

“And who the fuck are those?” Yoongi asks.

Surprisingly, it’s not you, but Jungkook who answers for him. “His fans.”

“Please, not you, too,” Yoongi sighs, looking at Jungkook in horror.

The younger boy is very quick to shake his head. Vehemently. “Nah, nah, it’s not like that, I’m just very. . . uh, chronically online, you know.”

“You might wanna fix that, then.”

“Also,” you butt in. If you’ve started explaining, you want to finish explaining. Men, and their short attention span, God. “He just seems like a genuinely nice guy, you know? Other superheroes tend to end up in all sorts of scandals, and despite being high-profile and being around for years now, Spiderman’s slate is spotty clean. So he either has a killer PR team or he’s really just, like, a really nice and responsible guy, y’know? But it makes him a bit. . . well, impersonal when it comes down to it. I don’t wanna do an exposé or anything like that, of course, but I think people would like hearing his thoughts on stuff.”

“And you have the hots for him.” Yoongi adds.

Jungkook squeaks, and your hands shoot out to smack Yoongi on the chest. It’s a reflex, at this point.

“I do not have the hots for him,” you protest.

“Jesus Christ, how did I not realise,” Yoongi bemoans. “You so wanna fuck him, you samaritan-sexual freak.”

“You say that like being attracted to good people is a bad thing,” you hiss.

“Okay, here we go.” Yoongi points at you with his stylus. “Fuck, marry, kill: Hulk in Hulk form, Gordon Ramsey, Spiderman.”

“Dude, that’s so rigged!” you object.

“That’s what you get.” Yoongi shrugs.

“Kill Gordon Ramsey, fuck Hulk Hulk, marry Spiderman.” You give in, listing them on your fingers. “Obviously.”

“Knew you were a monster fucker. Freak,” Yoongi says delightedly. You hit him in the chest again, but he pays you no mind — probably has a dent in the shape of your fist on his chest at this point to soften the blows — as he turns to Jungkook. “Okay, let’s move on. Jungkook. Fuck, marry, kill: Megan thee Stallion, Rihanna, and ___.”

Jungkook looks at your best friend with wide eyes, cheeks already aflame a deep scarlet as he anxiously chews on his now soggy paper straw. 

“C’mon, Gigi, don’t tease him,” you scold him.

“What?” Yoongi protest. “It’s a good line up.”

“Ignore him, Jungkook.”

“— could give us an adequate answer to that, right, Mr. Jeon?” Professor Hendersson’s voice breaks through your little bubble as the rest of the heads in the auditorium turn towards your little trio in the back in unison. 

Uh oh. Busted.

Jungkook gapes a little as his eyes flit between the presentation and his blank notebook, swallowing nervously before clearing his throat. “Um. . .” 

“You might wanna answer him, though.” Yoongi mutters. Utterly, utterly unhelpful. 

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

Hari’s playlist of 5 Seconds of Summer — a nostalgia mix, strictly made up of their first three albums’ repertoire — is blaring through your student apartment. 

Sitting in front of the mirror in your room, you can hear them singing along in the living room as Hari carefully braids Piper’s hair, and you have to stifle a smile during their terribly off-key high notes as you perfect your eyeliner. 

Half an hour ago, all three of your cell phones pinged in unison while watching Love Island on the couch as Seokjin messaged the big communal group chat a simple, ‘seoulite @ 9? who in?’ and a quick follow up of ‘reply or like this at least if you coming fuckers’. 

Which brings you to the current scene: quickly getting ready as you wait for Taehyung and Jimin to pick you guys up since they live in the same off-campus student apartment complex you do, and Taehyung doesn’t drink, but drives. (Like a maniac, really. He drives as if he did drink.)

The quickly getting ready part elongated a little bit somewhere between Hana settling on the green corduroy flares and you brushing your teeth as your phones lit up with a short additional message in the thread. 

Jungkookie [20:34]: me too ^^

To his credit, Jungkook is a pretty faithful lecture-goer, and due to some cosmic coincidence, semester after semester, you guys end up in almost all of the same classes, so you, who is enrolled in the same programme he is, cannot complain about a lack of Jungkook in your life. 

That cannot be said about the others, though. Piper, for one, is pretty fond of complaining about a severe Jungkook deficiency. 

To put it fairly, Jungkook is not the most. . . reliable guy you know. Lacks a little bit of consistency. Too scatter-minded. 

Because sometimes, the man cannot be shaken off for days on end even with some super high-tech Stark Industries scraper (for the hyperbole to work properly, please imagine that they’re producing handy tools instead of, like, weaponry). 

Then, there’s the other times, the admittedly much more frequent times, when there’s just simply no sight or sign of Jungkook until he conveniently decides to pop up out of the blue again. 

But to be honest, it’s the dynamic your little group always had since forming. 

The first time it happened, you were worried, though. Mostly because the two of you were partnered up for a group project that was rapidly coming up all the while you couldn’t get a hold of this guy you’ve known for like three weeks at that point, but the worry, of course, extended to his person, as well. 

Although, after some time, seeing how nonchalant Jimin and Taehyung — friends who have known Jungkook since the dawn of time and are thick as thieves with him — are when faced with worries over Jungkook’s where- and howabouts (‘He’s just home tending to his aunt,’ / ‘He had to travel for the Stark Internship, happens sometimes’ / ‘He sprained his ankle in the gym, no biggie’ / ‘He’s probably helping out his aunt at their restaurant for the week,’ / ‘He just travelled back to Korea for Chuseok with his family to visit relatives,’ / ‘He’s fostering a stray cat, can’t leave her alone,’ and such) you decided there’s surely no reason for you to sweat about it too much.

(And anyways, Jungkook made it up to you tenfold for that one instance. He showed up to your dorm one night with two bags of takeout from their family restaurant — amazing jajangmyeon — and braved through the assignment with you in one sitting on your shitty, spring mattress. Volunteered to hold the Q&A segment following your presentation, and stayed over late into the AMs to watch the first two Star Wars prequels with you. It really solidified your budding friendship.)

It’s probably not that easy to be all cool about any of it when you have a big fat fucking crush on the guy, though. Like Piper does, for example.

These past few weeks were also ones that have seen very little of Jungkook, so the excitement bubbling in all three of you at his message is quite understandable — it means all ten of you in the groupchat have RSVP’d Seokjin’s invitation, after all. And it’s been way too long since a get-together with everyone present. 

The levels of excitement only differ where Piper got struck by a desperate need to change into a tighter pair of jeans, put on some highlighters over her eyelids, and braid her blonde hair into something called a waterfall braid.

But it’s okay. After finishing your own makeup and jumping into a looser pair of pants, you gladly join Hari and Piper in the living room to line the latter’s lips with a dark red colour. Her crush is cute. 

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin and Taehyung blast up Hari’s phone with announcements of their arrival and even more messages urging the three of you to make haste. They throw in a few threats of leaving you guys to fend for yourselves in a cab if you’re not down in 10, as well, but after all this time of being friends with them, you know they’re just shooting blanks. 

Grabbing your coats for the chilly September nights, the three of you lock up your apartment and make your way down from the fourth floor, and into the waiting Hyundai by the sidewalk in front of the complex.

“6.34 after the first message.” Taehyung turns to Jimin who’s sitting in the passenger seat as the three of you file into the back. “Chim, can you believe that?”

“Can’t say I do, babe. It has to be a new record.”

“Do you know who edits the Guiness’? I’m gonna call them on the way.”

“Har-har-har, hello to you, too, brothers and in-laws,” Hari chirps, poking a finger through the gap between the seat and the headrest to prick the back of Jimin’s neck with her acrylics. The boy yelps, trying to snatch his younger sister’s hand, but he’s too late. “Nice evening we have here.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice evening, pleasant breeze, picturesque light pollution,” Taehyung drones on, one hand on the steering wheel while he fiddles with the radio with the other. “Let’s get a move on, are you guys ready? Have everything, all in one piece, et cetera? I have serious business to deal with Jungkook.”

“Yeah, we can leave,” you answer him, while Piper pipes up:

“What’s up with Jungkook?”

“Got a new dog,” Jimin supplies.

“And the asshole refuses to send me a picture of him,” Taehyung huffs as he drives out of the parking lot, before pointing a thumb at Jimin. “And this asshole refuses to hack Kookie’s iCloud gallery for me.”

“After all these years, which part of ethical hacking do you still not get?” Jimin sighs.

“What kind of dog did he get?” Piper follows up enthusiastically, and that conversation entertains the three of them for most of the ride. 

(Jungkook got a doberman.)

Sitting by the window on the driver’s side, you drone out their conversation and occupy yourself with the city view and your thoughts.

You’ve washed your sweater. Spiderman’s washing tip has, surprisingly, worked. Which could be a nice opener for the next time you see him. 

It’s been a few days since there was any sighting of him that you could catch, though. 

Two days ago, Reddit was buzzing with a store robbery the vigilante has managed to stop while you slept, and yesterday, you got an alert from a Twitter account you follow called the Spidey-Watch while eating lunch in some burger joint close to campus with Seokjin and Hoseok, but it was on the far edge of Queens and you doubted you’d even get there in time to witness anything. 

But never mind. Ever since you took this on the mission at the beginning of the previous spring semester, there’s one very important lesson you’ve learned: serious journalism requires patience.

And hell, if you’re not the epitome of patience by now. (Yeah, there might’ve been some problems with your inner zen in the past, but you took up yoga over the summer).

Even if just unwittingly, you lose track of the conversation in the car as you drive through Queensboro Bridge, but then a few moments later, it’s the radio playing faintly in the background that inadvertently gets your attention.

The music on the station ends in favour of the 8PM evening news, a female voice with a bit of an irritating intonation covering a few economic and political reportings your brain doesn’t quite retain, before — “. . . so with the disappearance of Amanda Porter, we urge the young population of New York City to be particularly cautious in the upcoming weeks as the number of missing person cases increases all over the city. Especially people in their late teens to early twenties are advised to avoid remote areas and travelling alone at night. The New York Police Department’s Missing Persons Unit has yet release a follow-up statement since their press conference on —”

“Jesus Christ,” Taehyung mutters as he quickly turns the volume down, sharing a concerned look with Jimin from the corner of his eyes.

The rest of the ride over to Queens passes quietly.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

The Seoulite is a small, Korean hole-in-the-wall type of bar, except it is not as much of a bar as just the owner, an old woman commonly just called Auntie Aecha’s street-front apartment with a second-hand bar from Ebay dumped into her kitchen in the place of an island, and a couple of tables and chairs scattered around her entrance hall and living room. 

Don’t ask. You’re not quite certain of its legality, either. 

A few things to know about Auntie Aecha:

She’s a compulsive hoarder, and the decoration (or maybe, at this point, with its excessiveness, the lack thereof) proclaims it loudly. The place is packed with rugs, vases, paintings, magazines, lamps, biblical figurines, blankets, pottery and a wide array of trinkets laying around everywhere. 

She has three cats, a dog, and a parrot freely roaming around the place. You’ve never learned their names, but that’s because their names keep changing every time you're here and not because your lack of trying, even when Auntie Aecha, despite her impressive age of 70 and some mystery as she says, doesn’t display any of the typical symptoms that usually come with old age, like forgetfulness. She just simply keeps calling them different fucking names, so you’ve stopped trying to keep up. 

And lastly included in this list that obviously lacks completeness — she’s a self-proclaimed psychic. No other comments on that. 

Namjoon found this place accidentally (distraught from heartbreak, he was trying to go over to Jungkook’s — the only problem with that plan was that this is not the area of Queens Jungkook lives in) last year after getting dumped. 

Ever since Auntie Aecha has personally nursed Namjoon’s broken heart into beating again with imported peach soju, your little group took up frequenting this bar/apartment any time the urge to get together somewhere arose. (And that was only partly because Auntie Aecha gives alcohol to those of you — Piper and Hari — who are twenty-but a little short on-one). 

By the time the five of you get in tonight, everyone else is here, already sitting around your usual table by the decorative fireplace. 

There’s a bit of commotion as they all stand up and everyone tries to greet everyone, before you file back into your seats. Somehow, you end up on the bench seat with Jungkook — even if you distinctly remember seeing him in the armchair, the most coveted seat, by the other side of the table — and shoot Piper an apologetic look as she dejectedly takes a seat on the puff between Namjoon and Hari. 

“Congratulations on becoming a father,” you mutter to Jungkook, playfully elbowing the guy on his side.

He shoots you a confused look, eyes impossibly bigger as he peers down on you. Sitting on the small bench just enough for two people, your shoulder is pressed against his biceps. The material of his large, black hoodie is nice against the bare skin of your arms.

“Don’t look so scared, I meant your dog,” you scoff at him, teeth biting into your bottom lips as you smile. Jungkook’s gaze wanders, and you wiggle your eyebrows, “Unless there’s something else I don’t know about?”

“No, no, no, there’s… there isn’t. No,” he protests, shaking his head as spots of red freckle his cheeks. 

It makes you giggle ��� Jungkook is rather easy to fluster, despite the many eyes that follow him around hungrily anywhere he goes. As it seems, he’s completely unaware of his own allure, when objectively speaking, Jungkook is one of the prettiest guys you’ve ever met. He has these huge sparkling eyes, an elegant nose, an endearing smile overflowing with teeth, and freckled smooth honey-skin with beauty spots to kill for. And that’s just the outside.

All in all, let’s just say that you’re not entirely blind to what captivates Piper so much. 

“He’s. . . Bam,” he continues. “That’s his name. I. . . um, y’know, found him a few days ago. A stray.”

“You’re sweet, Kook,” you tell him. Seokjin with the help of Hoseok has arrived back at the table with drinks, and places your usual orders — a whiskey coke for you and wheat beer for Jungkook — in front of you guys. You quickly thank them and take a sip, fiddling with the straw as you ask, “Bam. Anything particular behind the name?”

“Yeah. It means ‘night’ in Korean,” Jungkook tells you, reaching for his own drink. “My aunt named him. You, um, you wanna see pictures?”

“Sure.” You nod, and hold your drink out of reach when Jungkook leans a bit into you to fish his cellphone out of his jeans pocket. 

With two fingers, you pick the lemon out of your drink to chew on it — you’re between friends with no one to impress, so if you want to rather unflatteringly suck on the garnish, you will, thank you very much — while you watch from the corner of your eye as Jungkook unlocks his phone and starts scrolling through his gallery.

He freezes, and scrolls up and down for a long moment, before hesitantly handing over his phone to you. “This is, um,” he eloquently mumbles as a description to accomapy the picture. 

You take the phone from Jungkook that’s opened on a selfie of him and a dark brown doberman in bed. The focus is clearly on the dog, given that the picture cuts off somewhere above Jungkook’s chin, and you recognise the location as his bedroom, a few Star Wars and Overwatch posters on the wall in the background giving it away. 

He’s a cute dog, Bam. He looks into the camera, deep dark eyes looking weirdly intelligent, his mouth open and tongue lolling out as he’s laid back against Jungkook’s naked torso. That has abs. Like, a fucking six pack. Wow.

You know Jungkook frequents the gym, he has even accompanied you to your treadmill workouts in preparation of chasing Spiderman from time to time, but in the oversized clothes he always wears, it’s easy to forget he's not actually scrawny. Still, wow. So he has abs. Yeah. Good to know.

Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, so you make the executive decision to zoom in slightly on the dog as you comment, “He’s really cute, Kook. Bam looks like a smart boy.”

“Yeah, he. . . yup, he really is, very smart.”

“IS THAT BAM??!” 

Suddenly, you have a Taehyung-weighted mass thrown across your lap, and two hands wrenching Jungkook’s phone out of your hold. 

Caught off guard, you let out a yelp as you fall slightly over Jungkook, and you would’ve been about to spill your drink, too, if it weren’t for one of Jungkook’s hands fixing around your wrist, while the other balances both you and Taehyung by wrapping itself around your back. Quick reflexes.

“Hey, shithead!” you snap, slapping a palm over Taehyung’s back.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this cutieful little cinnamon roll from me, dude!” Taehyung cries, zooming in and out of the picture with two fingers like a boomer. “Look at Bamie! So, so adorable, look at his ey— wait. Jungkook Jeon, is this a thirst tra—”

“Tsk, children,” an accented voice chides. “Behave.”

You peek your head out behind Taehyung’s shoulder to beam up at the woman who has walked over to your table. “Auntie!”

Alerted to her presence, Taehyung assumed a position with a degree more of civility (he’s now sitting perched on your legs, back straight and legs thrown over your thighs on one side) looking up at Aecha with a toothy grin, telling her something in Korean.

The woman snorts, retorting in the same language. Jungkook fails and tries to stifle a giggle beside you. 

“I brought you children a little something,” Auntie Aecha says, setting a plate of cookies on the table. 

Another thing to know about Auntie Aecha: though she would never admit it to your faces, too big on that tough love shtick she has going on, it’s an open secret that your ragtag group of ten are her favourite customers.

Expressions of thanks echo around the table as all of you latch onto the cookies, Seokjin standing up to offer his seat, but Aecha denies, “No, no, sit back, sit. I won’t stay to bother you young people for long, this old lady just wanted to say hi.”

“You never bother,” Namjoon says between two bites. “Stay, Auntie, please.”

“You kids are too sweet,” she smiles, patting the boy’s shoulder with ringed fingers. Auntie Aecha has the most exquisite collection, full of emeralds and intricate silverwork, unique enough craftsmanship to match her generally eccentric style. Right now, too, she’s dressed in an elegant white blouse and a long, navy blue skirt covered in detailed patterns and a beaded shawl tied around her waist. 

The conversation picks up around the table again, but Aecha lingers. “___?”

“Yes, Auntie?” 

“Have you had your fortunes read lately?”

You smile at her, breaking off a piece of the cookie in Taehyung’s hand. He looks about ready to protest, if only Auntie Aecha’s presence wasn’t holding him back from whining publically. But he decided he could share your seat, so you might as well share his cookie, right? Simple and fair.

“You know you’re the only one who does me readings,” you tell her. 

Sometimes when the group is fewer in numbers, or when you visit in the afternoon for a cup of coffee, you entertain her charade from time to time. You think it’s rather silly — yes, you live in a world with Scandinavian Gods and purple evil aliens, but no way in hell a random old lady in Queens is, like, an actual psychic. Who tells the future from tarot cards, of all things. Right. . . 

Aecha hums. “Right. . . The Wheel of Fortune. What does it mean?”

You’re unsure whether the question is directed on the card’s meaning in general, or on its possible effect on your life. But regardless, the answer to both scenarios is:

“I don’t know.”

She does that thing. The thing that chills you to the bone sometimes, the thing when her eyes seem to dim, like there’s no sight or soul in them, and her face looks paler for a moment under the lights. She fixes her gaze on you, before it slips over to Jungkook.

You feel his fingers, that are still splattered across your back, tighten as he stares back.

“So soon?” Aecha mutters, then: she snaps out of it. A smile is back on her face, a bit weaker than before, as she says. “Very well, then. I’ll leave you kids to it. There’s a clue in the night, ___.”

And with that, she walks off.

Slowly, Jungkook retracts his hand from your waist, while Taehyung’s head whips around towards the two of you. “So, that was weird as fuck, huh?”

“Right. . .” Jungkook and you both mumble. 

You break a bigger piece off of Taehyung’s cookie, and then break that into halves again before offering one of them to Jungkook. He seems spaced out, but readily accepts it.

That’s another thing to know about Auntie Aecha: she says weird, cryptic shit sometimes. But that’s how you love her.

“‘There’s a clue in the night, ___’,” Taehyung repeats in a deepened, mysterious baritone. He wiggles his fingers in your face, which you promptly swap away. “Any clue what that might mean?”

“None.” You shake your head.

“Anyways.” Taehyung shrugs, picking Jungkook’s phone back up, and giddily scrolling through his gallery. “Let me look at more of these Bam pictures.”

You sigh. You’ve long since stopped whacking your brain to figure out what Auntie Aecha’s off handed comments might mean. They’re usually just similar nonsense.

Suddenly, Taehyung is yanked off your lap just as abruptly as he came, before Yoongi’s fingers latch onto your forearm next. “Bitch, I need you at the table soccer, pronto.”

“And that’s my cue, guys,” you sigh, before standing up.

After ruffling Jungkook’s hair, you step over Taehyung who’s now splattered on the floor, then take one last sip of your drink, and leave it besides Jungkook’s beer on the table. 

He’s the only motherfucker here you can trust not to drink it while you’re away.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

The following Thursday evening finds you tucked away in one of the public libraries of Queens, sharing a table with Hoseok who quietly types away on his short story, while you add the finishing touches to your article for next week’s newspaper before sending it over to Namjoon for editing. 

Originally, you guys came over to the neighbourhood because you accompanied Hoseok to pick up these sneakers that he found on Facebook Marketplace, which turned out to be a total scam, unfortunately.

So, in Queens and awfully unaccomplished, the two of you tried to ring up to Jungkook’s (his aunt answered the intercom, Jungkook’s apparently out) and to Namjoon’s (where you guys actually got in, but were promptly kicked out at 6PM because some show Namjoon’s grandmother is obsessed with like a teenager was starting on the telly, and she doesn’t want you kids around to make a rattle) so without any idea of what to do, the two of you decided to retreat to the next best option of a free shelter in Queens, since you’ve already made the commute here. That’s the library. 

“What’s another word for ‘motivating’? As an adjective,” you ask Hoseok, taking a sip of water.

“Duh. ‘Inspiring’,” Hoseok says without even looking up from his laptop. Or stopping typing, for that matter.

“It makes me so happy that you hold my intelligence to such high regards, friend.” You kick his shin under the table, but it does little to deter him. “I meant besides that and ‘encouraging’, obviously.”

“‘Impelling’, ‘propelling’, maybe ‘provoking’ depending on the context,” Hoseok lists like the walking thesaurus he is — the pros of having a friend in the English major.

“Thanksie yousie.”

“Bless you.”

You finish typing up the article, and send it over to Namjoon’s school mail inbox. Without anything to do now, you immediately fall victim to boredom.

Hoseok seems to be in the flow, though, fingers rapidly flying over the keyboard as he mumbles under his breath, so you scroll through your newsfeed for a while — someone won the lottery this week, a politician is under suspicion of tax fraud, wow, who would’ve thought, another disappearance happened in Manhattan, a baby giraffe was born in the zoo, nothing about Spiderman since you’ve last checked — before opening up a Watermelon Game with cat pictures on the web to occupy yourself with for the time being.

Some ten minutes pass with that before the silence is broken again. 

“So how’s the Spiderman thing coming along?” Hoseok asks. 

After combining two large, yawning cats into an even larger, screaming and wet one, you meet his gaze over your computer screens. 

“Steady,” you simply say, and it’s vague enough not to constitute a lie. You let another baby kitten fall from the metaphorical sky. “Why?”

“Yoongi told me about the spider cum on your sweater.”

“Ew, it’s not fuckin—” you shriek, earning yourself a few ‘ssh’s and a dirty look from the librarian. You nod your head in apology with an awkward smile. Bending your laptop’s screen slightly, you lean in closer to hiss, “It’s not fucking spider cum.”

“Think about it,” Hoseok argues. “It’s his bodily fluid.”

“Actually, a few people on the forums think it might be synthetic,” you tell him.

“You’re just gonna have to ask him that, too.”

Humming, you take your phone out to make a quick note of it. That’s actually a pretty relevant question — for science. 

“Yoongi also told me that you left class early to try and catch him again yesterday and just ended up falling into Meadow Lake,” Hoseok continues.

“So why are you asking me then, if you already know everything?”

“I’m just curious. Unlike the others, I do kinda think that you’re gonna get somewhere.” Hoseok shrugs. He continues typing as he adds. “All this embarrassment without some sort of a pay-off? Nah. Karma is kinder than that.”

That’s. . . wow, that was actually pretty nice to hear. Impelling, if you will. 

Even if it was a little — a lot — backhanded. 

“Aww. Hobi. . .” You pout, kicking his leg under the table playfully. “My only fan.”

“Lukewarm supporter,” he corrects. 

“Whatever,” you brush him off. “Actually, nothing much happened besides those. Taking the subway back home drenched and stinking was a humbling experience, but I’m just gonna have to keep going. For the pay-off, like you said.”

Hoseok just hums again, and turns back to his writing, his curiosity seemingly running dry. Whatever.

For the next twenty-something minutes, you occupy yourself by playing round after round of Dress to Impress with Yoongi (later joined by Seokjin and Hari, as well) and you have lots of fun downrating each other’s outfits, so you don’t really accomplish anything. But who cares.

‘ur ootd look like smthng drawn on a deflated balloon lol ugly butt @ yunkiboongi’ you type in the chat, whipping out the lame PG-13 insults in consideration of the fact that, you know, Roblox is for middle schoolers, when Hoseok unceremoniously snaps his laptop shut, standing up from his seat.

“I’m perched. A quick drink at Seoulite before we leave the ‘hood?”

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

After consulting Google Maps, the two of you make the twenty-minute walk through Queens to Aecha’s. Sharing Hoseok’s Airpods, you listen to Epic Sax on repeat on the way, while you try to bring up the topic of Namjoon as subtly as possible.

See, you and Jungkook have a running theory. 

It’s not long — it’s just that Hoseok and Namjoon are in love with each other, possibly secretly dating already (this is the point where you guys usually lose the rest of your friends when trying to get them onto the bandwagon, and to be honest, your faith has wavered at this point too, but then Jungkook raised a good point: for the past six months, you haven’t even seen pictures of these people, let alone meet them, that Namjoon is apparently getting dumped by biweekly. Jungkook thinks keeping up the pretence of Namjoon being an unlucky serial dater is part of their elaborate cover-up plan) so Jungkook and you are trying to get any sort of hint or confirmation on the matter, like the nosey little bitches you two are. 

Whatever. You come up empty. After droning on about Namjoon’s chest, like ‘He has really nice tits, doesn’t he?’ and ‘You kinda just wanna suffocate buried between them, am I right?’, which are not at all subtle, you admit, you come to the conclusion that Hoseok must be either oblivious, a damn good liar, or not in love with Namjoon, which you personally refuse to believe. 

When you round the corner to the street of the Seoulite, the two of you step into the flashing of red and blue police lights in the pitch black night. Confused, you hand the borrowed half of the earbuds back to Hoseok, furrowing your brows as you two keep walking closer.

A smaller crowd has gathered around the block that you know houses the Seoulite, some clearly passersby and others most likely denizens of the neighbouring buildings, clad in their pyjamas and a coat in the evening hours. 

“What the fucks going on?” you croak, grabbing onto the arm of Hoseok’s coat with two fingers as the two of you squeeze into the crowd.

The pavement in front of Auntie Aecha’s door is railed off with a police line, officers moving in and out of her apartment through the opened door. 

No. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

Hari and Jimin were here just this morning. 

A weak rumble befalls the crowd as people whisper to each other, too quiet and too much for you to overhear anything. 

You rummage through your backpack, taking a deep breath before noticing two officers engaged in conversation by the police line.

“Excuse me?” you call out.

One of them turns, sparing you a look over his shoulders, before saying. “Not now, kid. Please wait for the official reports.”

“I’m ___ from NYU Weekly News,” you continue, flashing him the press card you have procured from your bag.

“School paper’s covering crimes now, girl?” The officer sighs, but walks closer to inspect your ID nevertheless.  

“Always did,” you reply. It’s a bit of a stretch. 

The most illegal activity you’ve written about was someone stealing a piano from the music room. Which was a fun one, by the way, because how the fuck do you steal a piano without anyone noticing, and yet. . .

“Okay,” the policeman says, not entirely convinced. “The owner’s kids from Kentucky requested a wellness check. We did it. The apartment shows clear signs of struggle, and the owner couldn’t be reached, so the NYPD is opening a missing person’s case, suspecting kidnapping. And that’s all I can tell you, kid.”

You swallow, grip tightening around Hoseok’s wrists, who has gone just as rigid as you did. 

“Thank you, officer.”

The man nods, and leaves the two of you alone as he walks back to his colleague. 

Hoseok looks at you, expression baffled as he reaches for your hand. His tight hold is welcome. You feel like you’re about to vomit.

“Auntie Aecha’s missing?”

NEXT CHAPTER

[aliesbienish]

The study of wolves - Part four

chapter one ✩ chapter two ✩ chapter three

“This is it,” you declared, confirming your GPS location with the ones of the latest wolf sighting.

It was still a fairly wood area, only a small clearing letting in a circle of sunlight. You placed your bag on the side of the trail and began to have a scan of the area.

Paul watched you in awe as you examined the ground for paw prints and the brush for any animal made tracks. After a few minutes you saw an area of flattened grass a few feet off the trail that peaked your interest. The animal made path left the small clearing and continued on downhill, meandering past rocky outcrops and large pine trees. Importantly you can hear the faint sound of flowing water in this distance, making the path a possible trail from den to the stream.

“Can you bring me my backpack?” You yelled to Paul.

“Here you go,” Paul passed over the bag a few minutes later. You went searching for the small motion sensor camera tucked at the bottom. “You found something?”

“Yup, our first spot! There is an animal trail here, you see? I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s our wolves, but the location makes sense with the water down that way and possible den locations up higher. I think we place it here for now and come back in a few days to see what it’s captured.”

“Why don’t we follow the path up or down?” Paul questioned.

“Honestly this is the easiest spot for us to access and find. If we do capture photos I think we could probably go place another camera down near the stream. I probably wouldn’t risk going up to the dens, they only use them when they are rearing pups and I don’t particularly want to piss off a mother wolf when we go to collect the camera.”

“I’d protect you,”

“I don’t doubt that cowboy. But what if it’s Jared with me when we are collecting them? You and I both know he’s sacrifice me to save himself,”

“Good call. Here it is,”

You wrapped the strap of the camera around a sturdy tree trunk at the bend of the track. Hoping you’d capture wolves coming and going from both directions.

“Okay, I need you to test this out for me!”

“You what? No thanks,”

“Oh come on, you just have to walk up and down the path. I promise to only put one of the photos in the data report, got to credit you somehow” You joked.

“Oh ha ha,” He stated starting to head up the trail. Once he was out of your sight you called him back, and he performed a turn any catwalk model would be jealous off. After walking down the track a few yards you checked the photos captured and gave your go ahead. Quickly snapping a photo of the site, noting the coordinates and saving a location on your phone it was done.

“Well that’s us good to go, nice modelling work there. I think the elders would be silly not to put out some Quileute merch and leak those photos,”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, I just happened to be channeling my inner wolf.”

“Of course, I forgot wolves are known to be natural stutters.”

“And don’t you dare leak those photos, because I’m sure as shit that the elders would have no clue how,”

“Don’t worry cowboy - whoops I’m sorry wolf boy, I’d make sure to get photos of Sam and Jared as well. The world deserves to see all three of you rock khaki,”

You reserved almost an animalistic growl from Paul for your comments, that probably should have startled you but realistically made you feel hot and bothered.

Paul himself wasn’t sure if it was in appreciation of the wolf boy comment or the jealously towards Sam and Jared.

“Come on smart arse,” he quipped, helping you put your backpack over your shoulders, “We better start to head back to the car before I give into the temptation to leave you here,”

“Go right ahead - I’ve been leaving a breadcrumb trail all day, so I can easily find my way back without your help,” You stuck your tongue out, and confidently stated heading in the opposite direction of the car.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Next chapter

But of a short (but hopefully sweet) chapter. Is Paul absolutely OOC when he’s with reader, yup. If anyone thinks that’s wouldn’t how he would be one on one with his imprint then fight me xx

Thanks for reading!

[fratttymatty]

Bro, It's Haunted

(All characters are 18+)

It was the perfect night for a paranormal investigation. The kind of night when a full moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows on dilapidated buildings, and the air was thick with the smell of old dust and mystery. A group of nine friends—paranormal investigators and self-proclaimed nerds—had been itching for their latest adventure. They weren’t just any nerdy crew; they were a tight-knit group of gay, liberal, and openly eccentric thirty-year-olds. They had faced haunted dolls, cursed objects, and even poltergeists. But tonight’s location was a bit… different.

The Alpha Sigma Pi frat house, once the pride of their small college town, had been abandoned for years. No one had lived there in at least a decade, and rumors about the place circulated like wildfire. No one dared go near it anymore—except for the team, of course.

The nine of them gathered in the parking lot, adjusting their equipment and checking the cameras on their phones. There was Nate, the confident team leader with a deep love for horror movies and a perpetual dark hoodie; Jesse, the sarcastic and dry-witted one, constantly cracking jokes but deeply sentimental when it counted; Finn, the tech genius who could hack anything and had a fascination with all things supernatural; Liam, the sensitive one, who was always the first to believe in things like ghosts and spirits; Ollie, the curious but quiet skeptic who had a soft spot for astrology; and then there was the rest of the crew—Emory, Miles, Theo, and Xavier—each one an essential part of the quirky, nerdy ensemble.

They stood in front of the house, which loomed like a forgotten monument to a time long past. The windows were boarded up, the paint peeling, and a thick fog curled around the crumbling structure.

“Alright, so the legends say this place is haunted by the spirits of the worst kind of frat boys—those who never grew up and are stuck in the 'glory days' of their youth,” Finn said, adjusting the strap on his backpack, filled with ghost-hunting equipment.

“Yikes,” Liam muttered. “Not looking forward to meeting that kind of energy.”

"Eh, at least we won’t have to deal with them 'till we're dead and rotting," Ollie quipped, eyes scanning the dark silhouette of the house.

The team filed into the front door, which creaked open easily, as if welcoming them in. The inside of the house was just as abandoned as it looked on the outside—empty beer cans, broken furniture, and posters of former college athletes lined the walls. It smelled like stale alcohol and faded memories.

“This place is definitely haunted,” Jesse muttered under his breath, looking around. "Either that, or these are the vibes of my worst nightmare."

“Let’s get to work,” Nate said, trying to focus the team. “We’ll split up. Emory, you and I will check the basement. Theo, Jesse, check the upper floors. Finn, Liam, and Xavier, you’re with me on the ground level. Ollie, you’re on monitoring. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the investigation began. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They set up their cameras, EVP recorders, and motion sensors. Every now and then, a strange creak echoed through the house, but that was hardly enough to draw anyone’s attention—until it started happening.

The first person to notice was Theo. He stood frozen in the hallway, staring at an old photograph hanging crookedly on the wall.

“Uh, guys,” he said slowly, “this picture looks weird.”

The photograph was of a group of young men, all smiling proudly in front of the house. But as Theo looked closer, the faces seemed to shift, almost imperceptibly, until the men no longer looked like their college-aged selves.

"Did… did those guys just move?" Theo whispered, voice quivering slightly.

Finn rushed over, but by the time he reached the wall, the image was still and normal. Nothing had changed.

“Bro, you good?” Jesse asked, clearly trying to joke, but something in his tone felt off. “Just a picture. Maybe you’re seeing things.”

It wasn’t until the lights flickered that the first real sign something was wrong occurred. The house itself seemed to breathe, the walls exhaling in a slow, deliberate shudder.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit them all at once.

“I feel dizzy…” Liam said, his hand reaching to steady himself against a doorframe.

“I’m good,” Jesse muttered, “but I swear I’m too good.” He let out a low laugh, as though something was tickling his brain, but not quite reaching the punchline.

Then things got… stranger.

One by one, the group started to change. At first, it was subtle—nothing more than a shift in posture, or the way their voices sounded. But soon, their bodies began to morph, skin tightening, muscle mass increasing, faces becoming more angular and chiseled. Their clothes felt tighter, their jeans more fitted—though most of them couldn’t quite put their finger on why.

"Hey, bro, I feel kinda… strong all of a sudden," Miles said, flexing his bicep absentmindedly. “Like, I wanna, I dunno, lift something heavy. Bro things.”

“Bro?” Jesse blinked, his voice coming out in a deeper tone. His hand shot out to slap Miles on the back, but instead of the usual playful gesture, it was almost an aggressive, over-the-top bro hug. “Yeah, man! Let’s get that pump going.”

“I… I don’t know what’s going on…” Theo’s voice trailed off. He ran a hand through his hair—hair that was suddenly much thicker and styled differently. He felt the front of his shirt and blinked as if waking up from a strange dream. “What the hell? Why am I—?”

“It’s the house,” Nate said slowly, his own voice shifting into a more gravelly, assured tone. He glanced around at his friends, realizing, with growing panic, that they weren’t the same people they’d been an hour ago. “We’ve been taken.”

Finn turned around in disbelief, his fingers instinctively adjusting the collar of his polo. “Nah, man. I feel good. Like, really good. Like, I’m the king of this house or something.”

The transformations continued—tighter jeans, broader shoulders, more swagger in their steps. Their personalities were shifting too, as if something in the house was rewriting their identities. The sarcastic and clever remarks gave way to cruder jokes, and deep thoughts were replaced with loud cheers about football and frat parties.

By the time they had all fully transformed, they stood before one another—completely unrecognizable from who they’d once been. Their names had changed too, though they couldn't remember exactly how or when.

Nate was now "Chad," Jesse was “Brock,” Theo was “Kyle,” Finn became “Tyler,” Liam became “Brad,” Ollie was “Zach,” Miles was “Jake,” Emory was “Ryan,” and Xavier was “Max.” They looked at each other in confusion—before bursting into raucous laughter.

“Bro, this is sick!” Chad (formerly Nate) shouted. “I feel so… alive, you know? Like, we’re living in the moment, man!”

“I dunno about you guys, but I love being 21 again,” Brock (Jesse) chimed in, punching Kyle (Theo) on the shoulder with a laugh. “This is what life’s all about, man! Football, parties, and, like, grilling stuff, y’know?”

They all laughed again. They had no memory of their past selves—no interest in returning to who they once were. The house had changed them, and now they belonged here, in their new lives.

“Who needs ghosts?” Max (Xavier) added with a chuckle, slapping a high five with Zach (Ollie). “We’re the real menace now, bros.”

And so, the abandoned frat house stood—alive, buzzing with energy as its new inhabitants reveled in their transformation. The doors closed behind them with a final, definitive slam, and the house hummed as if content, its newest bro occupants already planning the next big party.

The Spellsisters were a tight-knit group of ten liberal, nerdy, 28-year-old paranormal investigators who prided themselves on their intellect, critical thinking, and love of all things supernatural. But when they stepped foot into the abandoned Delta Kappa Omega sorority house, they had no idea they were about to face something that would completely change them.

The team consisted of:

Cassidy – The level-headed leader, calm and collected, always keeping the group grounded.

Lana – The intuitive one, deeply attuned to spiritual energy and the vibes of any place.

Sierra – The techie, always with gadgets in hand, trying to find logical explanations for everything.

Ella – The free-spirited dreamer, often lost in mystical thoughts, fascinated by energy fields.

Bailey – The pragmatic skeptic, always on the lookout for rational explanations for the unexplained.

Tessa – The tarot card reader with a sharp wit and a skeptical edge, always questioning the unknown.

Zoey – The empathetic one, sensitive to emotional energies and trying to understand the deeper forces at play.

Emilia – The witch-in-training, passionate about crystals, herbs, and mystical rituals.

Riley – The scientist, logical to the core, though secretly intrigued by the supernatural.

Morgan – The dramatic one with an epic flair for storytelling and a surprisingly deep intuition.

They had come to investigate the Delta Kappa Omega house, a once-vibrant sorority that had long been abandoned and was rumored to be haunted by the spirits of its former sisters. Now, as the house lay in ruins, they were determined to uncover the truth.

"This place is... heavy," Cassidy said as the group stood before the house, the old, dilapidated structure looming before them. "It feels like it's holding onto something... dark."

"Yeah, dark energy," Sierra muttered, fiddling with a device meant to detect electromagnetic fields. "This place is off."

“I don’t like it,” Bailey added, scanning the area with a frown. “It’s like something’s watching us.”

“Well, we came here for answers, not to get freaked out,” Lana said, looking up at the house with determination. “Let’s do this.”

As they entered the house, the air felt charged with an unnatural energy. Dust swirled in the air like a ghostly mist, and remnants of the sorority’s past—old furniture, faded photographs, and posters of smiling young women—lined the walls, now decaying with age.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Zoey murmured as she stepped cautiously into the living room. “The vibes here are… weird.”

“Well, whatever it is, we need to figure it out,” Cassidy said firmly, taking charge. “Let’s split up, cover more ground. Stay in contact. If you sense anything… strange, let me know.”

The group split into smaller teams: Cassidy and Riley headed for the kitchen to investigate, while Zoey, Tessa, and Morgan set up their base in the living room. Lana, Sierra, and Emilia went to the attic, where the coldest, most oppressive energy seemed to gather.

It didn’t take long before something went terribly wrong.

The house began to hum, an eerie vibration that rattled the walls. A heavy, oppressive feeling filled the air, and a sudden dizziness struck all of them, as if the house itself were rearranging their minds.

“Something’s not right,” Cassidy said, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to steady herself.

"I—I feel weird..." Bailey said, her voice trailing off. She glanced down at herself and froze, blinking rapidly. Her loose, comfortable jeans and hoodie had been replaced with a form-fitting, trendy crop top and high-waisted shorts. She was now, suddenly, perfectly toned—her stomach flat and abs defined. She ran her hands through her hair. "Wait, what the hell just happened?"

Cassidy looked at herself in the same reflection—her shirt was now tight, and her body had shifted in ways she couldn’t explain. Her once wild hair was now perfectly styled, and her makeup—subtle yet flawless—somehow appeared. “Is this… real?”

“What’s happening?” Riley asked, tugging at her jacket. It now clung to her body in a way that was completely foreign to her. Her voice, once confident and logical, now had a higher pitch, more energy, and a certain tone to it. She caught sight of her reflection in a broken mirror. Her jeans were now tight and trendy, her hair styled in soft waves. "I look… good."

Lana, standing near the window, twirled a lock of hair and glanced at herself in disbelief. Her long hair had become voluminous waves, framing her face in a way that made her appear effortlessly glamorous. Her baggy clothes were gone, replaced by tight pants and heels that somehow made sense. "Oh my god, I look amazing," she said, flashing a grin at the others.

"Okay, I’m freaking out," Sierra said, now feeling herself. Her hoodie was gone, replaced with a fitted jacket that hugged her body, accentuating her curves. Her hair was styled with perfect volume, and her usual intellectual focus had been replaced by something a little... lighter. “I look, like, totally different. And I kind of love it."

“I don’t know about you guys,” Zoey added, glancing down at her now-bodycon dress, “but, like, I’m feeling myself right now. Like, I could totally get used to this."

“What is going on with us?” Tessa asked, her voice oddly high-pitched and bubbly now. She fidgeted with her hair, which had grown shinier, thicker. "Like, I’m literally glowing right now. What happened to us?”

"I—I don’t even care," Bailey said with a shrug, her voice now more carefree than before. "I’m, like, so over the ghost stuff. I feel hot."

Cassidy, the former leader, stood still, her hands on her hips. Her old, rational thoughts slipped away, and a strange new energy surged inside her. “Honestly? I’m kind of digging this whole vibe. I feel like we should just go out and party. We can figure out the ghosts later.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Tessa laughed, flipping her hair dramatically. “Why deal with spooky stuff when we could be living our best life? I’m, like, ready for a night out.”

“I need, like, so many more outfits,” Zoey giggled, now twirling in the middle of the room. “I’m obsessed with how cute I look!”

Lana spun to face the group, her attitude completely transformed. “Let’s hit up a frat party. I need some attention, and I’m ready for it.”

“I’m like, so ready for this,” Sierra added with a wide, confident grin, brushing her hands through her hair. “We’re totally in charge now.”

Each of the Spellsisters had undergone a full transformation—not just physically, but mentally, as well. Gone were the curious, thoughtful, and empowered women who had walked into the house. In their place stood something else entirely: young, fashionable, superficial versions of themselves, obsessed with parties, boys, and their looks. They were no longer concerned with the supernatural or solving any paranormal mysteries.

Their names had changed along with everything else:

Cassidy became Carmen – the bubbly, fashion-obsessed, carefree girl who only cared about herself and looking perfect.

Bailey became Brianna – the ditzy, energetic girl who was all about fun, partying, and catching attention.

Zoey became Zara – a sparkling, happy-go-lucky girl obsessed with shopping, boys, and being the life of the party.

Tessa became Tiffany – the fun-loving, ditzy girl who lived for drama and self-love.

Lana became Kylie – the confident, flirtatious sorority girl who was always the center of attention.

Sierra became Sienna – the outgoing, trendy girl who always knew what was in style.

Ella became Ellie – the ditzy girl who cared only about getting Instagram selfies and looking cute.

Emilia became Mia – the fashionable, self-centered girl who only thought about herself and her future popularity.

Riley became Riley (yes, Riley kept her name, but now her personality was transformed into that of a carefree, boy-crazy party girl).

Morgan became Madison – the dramatic, always-the-center-of-attention girl who thrived on admiration.

The house had claimed them, and they no longer cared about ghosts, spirits, or mysteries. They were new people, and they were loving their new lives of shopping, partying, and social media fame.

“Ugh, I need a cocktail,” Kylie said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s go hit up a party or something. Who even cares about ghosts anymore?”

And just like that, the Spellsisters were gone. In their place, new, ditzy, party-obsessed sorority girls had emerged. They were more than happy to leave the house’s haunted mysteries behind and step into their new lives.

After a strange, eerie night spent in the haunted Delta Kappa Omega house, the Spellsisters had transformed into something completely different. Gone were the intellectual, nerdy women who had entered the house. In their place were confident, party-obsessed, fashionable girls—completely unconcerned with the ghosts or the mysteries they came to uncover.

At the same time, across town, the former paranormal investigator guys—the Bro Hunters—had undergone a similar transformation in the Delta Kappa Omega’s brother house, Alpha Sigma Pi. Just as the Spellsisters had been turned into bubbly sorority girls, the guys had turned into frat boys—cocky, straight, and eager to hit the nearest party scene.

Cassidy, now Carmen, stood outside the Delta Kappa Omega house, looking up at the massive structure, her perfectly styled hair fluttering in the breeze. She twirled her keys in her hand, glancing down at her new, super-cute outfit—a tight crop top and high-waisted shorts that accentuated her toned body.

“God, I look so good right now,” she muttered to herself, checking her reflection in the window. “I’m literally going to make all the boys fall for me.”

“Carmen! You look like a snack,” Zoey—now Zara—called from across the street. She was leaning against a car, her eyes covered by oversized sunglasses despite the fact that it was nearing dusk. “Like, I swear, you’re hotter than anyone on Instagram.”

“Oh, stop,” Carmen giggled, flipping her hair. “But, like, you’re right.”

“You know what we need to do tonight?” Zara said, a mischievous grin crossing her face. “We need to party, girl. And I know just the place.”

Across the street, a group of frat boys were walking out of Alpha Sigma Pi’s mansion, all loud, cocky, and looking for their next big adventure. Among them were Jax, Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock—each of them now fully immersed in their frat boy personas, with names to match their new identities.

“Oh, hell yeah, tonight’s gonna be lit,” Jax—formerly Jake—said, his grin wide and confident as he checked out his reflection in the nearby window. His frat brothers—Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock—flanked him, all dressed in the tightest, most stylish clothes that fit the frat look perfectly.

“We’re gonna own this town,” Zane said, flexing his muscles and striking a pose. “The best party in town? It’s gonna be at our place.”

Brock slapped Zane on the back. “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get some attention tonight. Some real attention.”

“Well, we’re gonna get more than attention,” Max added, cracking his knuckles. “I’m thinking we’ll get ourselves some new girlfriends tonight.”

Just as the frat boys approached their cars, they saw a group of girls walking down the street toward them—Carmen, Zara, and the rest of the new “Spellsisters,” all of them laughing and chatting, their heels clicking against the pavement.

Brock’s eyes immediately locked onto Carmen. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s fire.”

“Yo, check it out,” Zane said, pointing at Zara. “She looks like she’s ready for some fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Max said with a grin. “Looks like we’re not the only ones looking to have a good time tonight.”

“Yo, ladies!” Jax called out, flashing a confident smile. “You girls lookin’ to party or what?”

Carmen turned around at the sound of Jax’s voice, and her eyes immediately scanned the group of guys. She felt an overwhelming rush of energy, her pulse quickening. This was it—this was exactly the kind of attention she craved. “Uh, yeah, we’re looking for a good time,” she said, flipping her hair back with an exaggerated flourish. “What’s your deal?”

“Oh, we’re definitely looking for some fun,” Jax replied, stepping closer. His new, cocky swagger was undeniable, and Carmen could feel the electricity between them. “I’m Jax, and this is Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock. We were just about to hit up a party at the frat house. You down?”

“We’re totally down,” Zara chimed in, flashing a sweet smile that had a hint of mischief. “I’m Zara, and this is Carmen, Ella, Tessa, and Sienna.” She winked at Jax. “We know how to party, trust me.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” Jax grinned, his eyes scanning her body. “You sure you can handle us?”

“I can handle anything,” Zara replied, crossing her arms confidently. “And you guys look like you could use some serious attention.”

Brock stepped forward, grinning. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to make this night unforgettable. Let’s make sure you get the full frat boy experience.”

The Spellsisters and the frat boys laughed together, the instant chemistry between them undeniable. With every word exchanged, the former nerds and introverts grew more confident, their carefree personalities fully taking over.

As the night went on, they moved into the frat house, music blasting and the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air. Carmen was inseparable from Jax, Zara kept flirting with Max, and Sienna couldn’t seem to get enough of Brock. Tessa and Derrick were in the corner, gossiping and laughing about their latest party experiences, while Ella and Zane were dancing together, their chemistry undeniable.

“I’ve never had more fun in my life,” Carmen whispered to Jax as they sipped drinks and stood near the dance floor. “Like, why would I ever go back to my old life?”

“You don’t need to,” Jax replied, his arm casually draped around her waist. “We’ve got everything we need right here. Who needs the paranormal when we can have real fun?”

“Exactly,” Carmen said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Who needs the ghosts?”

And in that moment, it became clear—both the Spellsisters and the frat boys had left behind their old, nerdy selves. They were no longer investigators or skeptics; they were now young, fun, and living for the moment. The ghosts that once haunted the Delta Kappa Omega house? Well, they were just part of the past. What mattered now was the party, the attention, and the fun of their new, carefree lives.

And, of course, there was a whole lot of dating going on—because in this new world, the only thing they cared about was each other, the fun they were having, and their new, exciting, drama-filled lives.

(From row 4, 2, 1 left to right, Brock, Zach, Ryan, Tyler, Max, Jake, Kyle, Chad, Brad.)

(From row 4, 3, 2, 1 left to right, Sienna, Zara, Tiffany, Brianna, Ellie, Kylie, Riley, Madison, Carmen, Mia.)

[storm-angel989]

She's hardheaded, just like her Daddy.

@lolita1266

Hey I was wondering if you could do valentine's daughter where she gets hurt during an exterminator.

Like let's say she is six or something and she gets curious on why she has to be in her room on a specific day and the vees won't tell her anything just that it's a 'special' day.

So one day when no one is looking she go's outside to see what so 'special' about it.

Just to be chase by some angles luckily the Vees see her with one of the many cameras in the city and save her. But she get a scar from it.

How would the vees react to it?

Also hope your have a nice day!

This is the actual story to this request! Enjoy!

"Daddy, I don’t wanna spend all day in Uncle Voxxy’s office,” I complained as my father pulled a dress over my head. “Why can’t I go to school?”

“Princessa, you know the answer to that. Today is a special day,” my father replied. “Now sit so I can braid your hair.”

"I want Mommy,” I grumbled as I complied. “Why did she leave again?”

"Mommy has an important job, bebita. And today, you do too.” My father said softly as he wove his fingers in and out of my hair. “I’ll get a good report, right?” 

I pouted but let him kiss my forehead. He swept me up in his arms and carried me out towards the living room. Unlike every other day of my life, the big sweeping floor to ceiling windows were covered in black curtains, obscuring the walls of silver that went in two days ago. Instead of the usual sunlight that dotted the room, the only light came from the lamps sprinkled around the apartment.

Every single year since I could remember, the week before today the walls went up. And on this day, I wasn’t allowed to go to school. Instead, I had to spend the day in my Uncle Vox’s downstairs office, playing with one of his assistants- usually Issac- until my father came and got me. It was boring, and Issac had zero sense of creativity. Nor did he have any desire to create unicorn traps or make slime. 

“Do you want a pop tart or a sticky bun?” My father asked as he set me down on the kitchen counter.

I crossed my arms. “I want to go to school.”

My father opened his mouth as if to scold me, but instead shook his head. “I’m sorry baby. Make a choice, you have to eat something.”

"Yeah, squirt, you’ll need your energy to hang in Uncle Voxxy’s office all day! Are you gonna draw my sharkies!?” My Uncle’s cheerful voice rang through the kitchen. “Issac is excited to color with you!”

I glared at my Uncle Vox. “That’s a lie. He only does it because you make him.”

"And if he doesn’t do a good job, Uncle Voxxy will fire him. So be a good little boss for me, won’t you?” Vox replied as he ruffled my hair. “I expect a full performance review at the end of the day!”

I grumbled. My Dad handed me a pop tart and begrudgingly, I took a bite. A few moments later, my Aunt Velvette walked in. Wordlessly, she poured herself a cup of coffee. 

“Velvette! How are you this hellish morning?” Vox sang as he added another spoonful of sugar to his coffee. 

“Cut the shit Vox, you know how I am,” Velvette grumbled. “And why is the baby still here? She needs to be downstairs with Issac in…” she paused and glanced at the clock. “A half hour at the latest.”

"We got a little sidetracked,” Valentino replied as he packed the final few snacks into my bright pink lunchbox. “But she’s almost ready to go.” 

“What else does she need? I’d hurry up if I was you,” Velvette replied with a glance at Valentino.

“Nothing. Come on bebita, Daddy will bring you downstairs,” Valentino said quickly. He lifted my backpack off the kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder before lifting me up. I laid my head on his shoulder and he carried me to the elevator.

“Why do we have to do this every single year?” I complained as he walked me through the maze that was Vox’s basement office. “I don’t wanna spend all day with Issac, I wanna go to school.”

“Stop whining,” my father said sharply. He pushed open the door and set me down on the small twin bed in the back of my Uncle Vox’s second office. He knelt down and gently grabbed my chin. “Listen ninita, I need you to stay in here with Issac until one of us comes and gets you. Do you understand?”

I flinched at his words and looked down. “Yes, Papi.”

“Good.” He planted a kiss on my forehead. “Now be good for Issac, I’ll see you tonight.”

My father strode out the door. I turned and glanced at my would-be jailer and he gave me an overly bright, obviously fake smile. 

“Good morning reader! Would you like a snack? Or to play a game?” Issac asked cheerfully. 

“It's too early for a snack,” I grumbled as I stomped my way over towards one of the beanbag chairs. I picked up my tablet and opened up one of my favorite aps.  “Just leave me alone.”

Issac sighed. “Your Dad said he put a two hour timer on it.”

I ignored him and put my headphones on. In all honesty, that was an hour and a half more time than I usually got each day. Maybe there was something to this special day afterall. 

Six hours later, my tablet time had expired. I had leafed through every book and played exactly one excruciating round of Go-Fish with my fish faced warden. 

“I have to go potty,” I announced as I won yet another hand. “Bye.”

Leaving Issac behind with the pile of cards, I turned and walked down the windowless hallway. To the left the door led to the little girls room, but the heavy door to the right, usually closed tightly on this special day, was opened just a crack. 

That interested me. Maybe now I could find out why this day was so very important, and why Daddy covered every window and door in our apartment. I pushed the door open and walked up the stairs to the first floor.

I expected the doors to be barred up like the entryway to our apartment, but to my surprise, the first floor was bright. I crept by the empty greeters desk and out the doors of the tower. Why was my family so obsessed with today? It looked totally normal to me.

A sudden screech and I jumped, my attention pulled to the sky. To my horror, it looked like a cloud of flies had invaded, every other spot of sky blocked by black and white winged creatures. I stepped back towards the door to scurry back inside, and was hit with a volt of electricity. 

I yelped and one of the creatures, drawn by my cry, swooped down towards me. I threw my arms up to cover my head and braced for impact. 

A slew of angry Spanish and the feeling of my fathers arms as he pushed me into his arm protectivity. I opened my eyes to see the glowing red eyes of my Uncle Vox and the angry expression of my Auntie Velvette. I looked up to my fathers face and yelped when I saw the sharp teeth that made up his smile. Fear wracked my body as he cut down the creature with a single bullet. 

“It’s Papi, bebita. Shussh, niña papá está aquí,” he muttered. 

He turned around and with the wave of his hand a sharp blue light, Uncle Vox opened the previously locked front door. My father carried me inside, my Uncle and Aunt following close behind.

“Breath, little girl,” my father said softly as soon as the doors closed. “Papi is here. You’re safe.” 

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until his words. His hand pressed to my chest and I let out a slow exhale as I buried my face into him. Tears welled up in my eyes and he held me tighter. 

“Calm down baby, you’re safe,” he said softly. “Come on, deep breaths for Papi.” 

He shifted me and kissed the top of my head as he cradled me to his arms. A sharp crack and sizzle against the door and I looked up in horror at the blackened figure pressed against the glass. 

“Val, we should take her upstairs,” Vox said firmly. “Back to her room, if she needs you. Vel and I can hold down just fine.”

My father nodded and he carried me up the stairs. I laid my head on his shoulder and stuck my thumb in my mouth. Unlike every other time, my father let me. As soon as we got into my bedroom, he closed the door and sat me down on the bed.

“Bebita. We told you to stay with Issac,” he scolded as he knelt down. He ran his hands down my arms and squeezes gently. “Are you hurt?” 

I shook my head no and looked him up and down. He looked like my Daddy. He sounded like my Daddy. But I couldn’t shake the fear- my Daddy didn’t have sharp pointed teeth. 

“Open your mouth,” I demanded in response. “Say Ah.”

He raised an eyebrow but obliged. To my relief, his teeth looked completely normal.

“But I thought..you had..outside, Daddy your teeth,”

“I told you it was a special day,” he said soothingly. “That’s why we keep you inside away from the windows. Our minds play extra scary tricks on us, today of all days.” 

He must have seen the fear that I was sure showed on my face because he carefully lifted me up and I clung to him tightly as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Daddy is here baby, you’re okay. You just have to listen when we tell you to do something,” he said softly. “Are you ready to go back down to Issac or do you want Daddy to stay with you?” 

“You,” I mumbled into his neck. “Daddy, I’m scared. And I want Mommy.”

He sighed but laid us both down on the bed. 

“Lay down on your tummy, I’ll rub your back. Mommy will be home soon. And I know you’re scared, baby, but I promise you you’re safe. Okay?” 

I closed my eyes and under the weight of his hand, I felt myself relax. Tiredness washed over me and I closed my eyes.

“Daddy? You promise to keep me safe, always?” I asked sleepily. 

“Always baby girl,” my father replied back, “always.”

[angeliqueiguess]

“Focus!” (j.jh)

024. mutual warnings: swearing, taeyong being kinda petty

Between photo sessions, edits, and outfit changes, the day flew by faster than Y/n had expected. She was snapping the last few shots of the day, already mentally calculating how long it would take to edit all these photos. With a quiet sigh, she adjusted the lens in her hands. As she reviewed the latest shots of the model in front of her, she realized the lighting wasn’t quite right. Naturally, she looked around for Taeyong—her go-to for fixing the lights—but he was nowhere to be found.

“Taeyong?” she called, catching Mark’s attention, who had been observing the session. He just shrugged, looking as puzzled as she was.

“No idea.”

“Huh, weird,” she muttered as Mark wandered off, probably to look for him. Scanning the room, she spotted Jaehyun entering with Starbucks cups in hand. He smiled, dimples flashing, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey,” Jaehyun greeted.

“Hey, Jae. Could you do me a favor?” she asked, and he nodded right away. She quickly explained what she needed with the lighting, and he set things up while she continued shooting. “Thanks,” she said, taking the last few shots. A few minutes later, they finished up, and the model went to change.

“Mark’s got a serious eye for style,” Jaehyun commented as Y/n set her camera down on the nearest table, just as Mark returned with a slightly flustered-looking Taeyong.

“Y/n, here he is… Oh, you already wrapped up the session,” Mark said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah…” Y/n replied, a little awkward. Jaehyun handed the guys their coffees as she explained, “Sorry, Tae. I couldn’t find you, so I asked Jae for help.”

“Sorry for stealing your gig,” Jaehyun teased with a grin as Taeyong took his cup.

“No worries. Wasn’t my job anyway,” Taeyong said with a shrug, not bothering with a “thanks,” before turning and heading back out. He passed the model on his way, who waved cheerfully.

“Bye, everyone! Great working with you!” she called out, and everyone waved back, though a slightly awkward silence followed.

Y/n, Mark, and Jaehyun exchanged looks, surprised at Taeyong’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“Maybe he’s just having a rough day,” Mark said, breaking the silence. Jaehyun just shrugged, not too bothered.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ten burst into the studio, but froze when he saw their expressions. “What happened? Someone died?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Y/n shook her head, turning back to pack up the lenses scattered on the table.

“I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I need to get home and start editing all of this.”

“Are you sure? Johnny offered to give you a ride. He’s dropping me off too,” Ten said, picking up his backpack.

“No worries, Ten. I’ll take her,” Jaehyun said out of nowhere, Ten nodded, giving Y/n a weird look

“Hyung, mind if I join you too?…” Mark started to ask but stopped when Jaehyun shot him a look. “…Actually, I’ll ask Johnny. His car’s roomier anyway,” he said laughing nervously, grabbing Ten by the shoulders.

“Text me when you get home,” Ten called over his shoulder as he headed out with Mark. Y/N nodded, watching them disappear through the door.

“So… you’re my ride, then?” Y/N asked, giving Jaehyun a small smile. He smiled back, tossing his empty cup into the trash.

“Lead the way,” he said, matching her smile.

prev//next. masterlist

angie’s note: what tf is wrong with Taeyong ???

taglist (open) @apolloxxivmin @aerivrs @chan-yeoldelling @livingdoll-hara @cryingforjae @heavenjae @milanco @sibwol @neocupidd @minkyuncutie @miniature-tragedy @kukkurookkoo @kodasity @injunnie-lemon @thegracerammy @hahaechans @illitzen

[cayrola]

𝟏-𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐡𝐜𝐬

𓂃𑁍 ࣪˖ includes: bakugo, deku, shoto, ochako, momo, kirishima, & denki

𓂃𑁍 ࣪˖ note: this is kinda bad sorry. just wanted to post something and i was having mha brainrot ˃ᴗ˂

꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰

bakugo:

is in mostly ap and honors classes and gets all a’s and b’s

is in a study group with mina, kiri, denki, and sero

teachers have a love-hate relationship with him (who doesn’t)

the type to argue with the teacher if they’re ‘wrong’ or if they make a mistake about something

has snapchat but doesn’t use it bc he finds it stupid and doesn’t get why anyone would use it religiously

his snap score is so low—like 1k type low

follows his favorite celebrities on insta

has tiktok but doesn’t post a single thing; mina forces him to repost all of her vids tho

plays football and basketball but was kicked pff the basketball team for being to aggressive

gymrat

3.998 gpa and it pisses him off bc he wants a 4.0

lives in a gated community

deku:

band kid i fear

debate team too

has a 3.4 gpa and wishes it was higher but is okay with it

gets b’s on all of the tests but a’s on the hw

in only 2 ap classes and it’s ap art and apush

he got a 4 on his ap art portfolio and a 3 on apush

the sleepiest sleeper build anyone could ever have

only uses snapchat to ft his friends bc he doesn’t have an iphone and most of them do

deku with glasses and braces (canon)

def uses twitter religiously; tweets about EVERYTHING he possibly can. his entire life story is basically there

teacher’s pet but in a good way; all his teachers love him and how respectful he is but if they forget the hw, he will keep his mouth shut

would still love all might

shoto:

easy 4.0 gpa

all of his class are ap and honors

all a’s—gets a 95% or above

loves checking out books from the library

doesn’t have social media, thinks it’s stupid

is on debate team with deku, does tennis and does track and field (100m and 200m). probably does any club he can get into so he doesn’t have to go home so early

never has hw bc he does it all at school

so many people have a crush on him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it or he just doesn’t notice

also shoto with glasses (canon)

is into photography

carries around a camera when he goes to big cities for school trips

has all of the latest apple products

also lives in a gated community

has at least one airpod in constantly

ochako:

literally my pookie wookie dookie bear

neat, color-coded notes

3.0 gpa, she studies with deku and shoto when they’re not busy

isn’t in many clubs bc she works after school

i can see her working at coldstone or something

has a samsung

has a pink owala waterbottle—gifted to her by momo

wears the simplest outfits but they’re super cute (thx to momo)

def comforts girls that are crying in the bathroom

her fav teacher is her math teacher but her fav subjects are p.e. and english

likes peach rings, sour gummy worms, and strawberry pocky

gossips with mina, momo, jirou, and hagakure at football games

has the pink bow jansport backpack—her parents surprised her with it as one of her early bday gifts

i feel like she would have a fluffy white cat named snuggles or cupcake

momo:

also gated community

also has a 4.0 gpa

all ap classes

does ap art and got a 5 on her portfolio

i feel like she would be captain of the swim team

hates sodas

i saw a tiktok saying she would be a bop and wear ethikas to school and vape and omg. she would NOT.

she’s so loyal to whoever her s/o is

she would wear stuff from like that light academia aesthetic on pinterest

would never touch a vape in her life. she tries to encourage the people that vape in the bathrooms to not do it

mascara girly for lifeeee

has a whole lash routine

definitely helped ochako with her outfits and make much of what she has

smells so girlalala

only has an apple watch and iphone. she was gifted airpods from her aunt but doesn’t use them often unless she’s going for a run

spoils her friends cuz she feels like it

kiri:

one of the popular kids fssss

is on the football team with bakugo and does track with shoto (same events)

knows everyone and everything about them (not intentionally tho. he just ends up finding out)

likes the c4 energy drinks—blue raspberry sour patch kid flavor is his favorite

sprays axe like it’s body mist

washes his face only with water and hand soap and has such clear skin

3.0 gpa and is proud of it

is in culinary arts bc he wants to eat before lunch starts

no ap classes, just regular ones

everyone likes him, it’s so hard for someone to not like him

watches youtube with denki on the chrome books

actually pays attention to what bakugo says during their study sessions bc he doesn’t wanna fail his tests

gets c’s and above on his assignments

try hard in p.e.

uses snap but not like denki—snap score is like 100k-200k (all from streaks)

avg crumbl cookie enjoyer

bromance with all of his friends

“i love u bro. no homo”

“i wanna kiss u so bad rn, man. no homo tho”

denki:

sigh

2.5 gpa and is perfectly okay with it. anytime bakugo brings it up he says “it could always be worse”

plays fortnite and dti with the baddies instead of studying

chronically online

brainrot humor

wyll warrior

snap score is like 700k

wears pj pants to school

avg call of duty enjoyer

has one of those kiddy backpacks from walmart. he probably got minnie mouse or bubble guppies

finishes his tests first just so he can go on his chromebook

plays papa’s freezeria when he’s done with his tests

loves p.e.

i feel like he had one of those rolling backpacks in elementary school all the way til middle school

goes to summer school every single year

gets low b’s-high f’s on his assignments (usually get c’s and d’s tho)

films the fights in the hallways

skips classes to get food (crumbl mukbangs in the car w kirishima)

he hit a vape once and is addicted now

gets made fun of for it

calls himself a nonchalant dreadhead (the exact opposite)

says “im gonna touch u vro” as a comeback

⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ⊹˚Ꮺ

© cayrola on tumblr. 2024. all rights reserved. pls don’t translate, copy, or steal my work in any way.

hope u enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it !! also, should i do pt2 with other characters or no ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Saw your offer and I'm not enough of a horror writer to pull this off perhaps, but you just might be :)

The scene is two field researchers going out to check cameras in the wilderness. It could be day, it could be night, that's up to you. One of them sees a cool plant and pulls out their species identification app to see what it is, as field researchers are apt to do. As a joke, they point the camera of the identification app at their fellow researcher, except it doesn't identify them as human, but rather, some other entity.

That's the prompt! You can take this in any direction you want - maybe the monster eats the researcher, maybe this is news to both of them, whatever you like. I would tell this story to freak out the other field researchers I worked with, so I think having a full version would be awesome :)

You're the best!

Aww, thanks! To be honest, I was inspired by what you did for your 600 follower celebration :)) I do hope I did this justice! It ended up being just over 900 words, hehe

*****

It was a miserable day slogging through the driest bits of the marsh, flies all abuzz around us. The morning had been slated to be sunny, and in preparation of that I had slathered sunscreen all over me and a sunhat besides. Nonetheless, I was drenched in sweat, and all the mosquito repellant in the world couldn't have stopped the army that decided to feast on delicious type AB-.

Pierce was the sole saving grace of it. He might've been a weirdo, at least according to the other interns, but he cracked jokes, helped pull me out of those awful little mires where my foot would get stuck, and hoisted me on his shoulders to grab the cameras. 

All through that walk, we saw not a single bird. It was almost as though they were avoiding something, and in a perverse way, I was grateful for that. In my current mood, I may well have thrown my backpack at any bird I came across, quit my internship, and left to go be a barista.

As we approached the umpteenth camera on our checklist, Pierce stopped me. “Say, what's that little guy over there?”

I stopped and let out a brief grunt of frustration. “Who cares? It's almost the end of our internship anyway- Oh, what is that?”

“It's a plant.” Pierce prodded a leaf experimentally. 

“Yeah, I can tell. What the hell is it?” I'd spent far too much time garnering a reputation for myself as the plant-nerd amongst our group to be confounded by some random little sprout. “Give me a moment, I think it's time to try out that ID app, eh?”

I fished out my phone and aimed it at the plant. “Well, whaddya know? It's not showing. That's odd,” I muttered. “Is it working?”

“Gimme it,” Pierce replies, snatching the phone out of my hands. “Let's see if it can identify you.” 

He froze. A shadow of something flickered across his face, before he plastered a fake smile on. “The latest update must've broken it ,I guess.” 

“Really? Let me see!” I tried to take my phone back, curious. “Did it call me a tree or something?” 

He lifted it up, just out of my reach, and took a step back. His smile grew more brittle, almost as if he were… afraid of me? “No, it's nothing. Ju- Just gonna close the app now, shall I?”

I shook my head. “Tell me what you saw,” I demanded. “What did it tell you I was? I assure you, it was lying.” I don't think my words were very convincing.

Shaking his head vigorously, he shuffled back, before tripping over a root. “Shit!” He scrambled even more, breath coming in little gasps. I could smell the fear in his sweat.

It made me hungry.

“Don't be like that, Pierce,” I cooed, stalking towards him. “It's almost the end of our internship. Be a good boy, and return my phone.”

He tried to struggle, he really did. But I had my hooks into him, and no mere mortal had ever escaped once they were in my clutches. I took the phone and glanced at it.

“Warning: Inhuman entity spotted? Danger level: High? Wowza, these things are getting good.” Mindlessly, I threw the phone into the water. “Perhaps I'll try for a degree in CS after this, get a good look at the insides of software development. At least that way I won't have to go out into the sun so often. Let me tell you: It really does make a girl appreciate her immortality all the more.”

My teeth were starting to protract, the result of being stimulated by- Damn it, the lectures I'd been going to were far too deeply ingrained into me. “Now, before we take down this last camera, let me ask you something: Have you ever seen me in the tapes we took?”

Pierce went still, connecting the dots. I laughed. “Oh, you sweet, sweet summer child. To be honest, I'm grateful you were so naive. I mean- I was certain I'd get caught at some point. A vampire wildlife researcher? That's almost as ridiculous as a vampire retail worker! Oh, but I did it. I think I deserve a treat for that, don't you?”

He struggled against invisible bonds, eyes flitting left and right. His teeth were gritted hard enough to show his jaw muscles, and I patted his cheek.

“Don't worry ‘bout a thing, P. It'll all be over soon,” I told him, baring my fangs. “I'll even make sure to get rid of the evidence afterwards.”

"Don't," he hissed, barely able to get his words past my grip. "Please, Elsie. This isn't you." I showed no signs of stopping, so he played his last, desperate card. "Someone- Someone will find out. They'll catch you."

"We're all alone in the woods, pal. Nobody's gonna find you. Ever." I paused. "Think on the bright side, though. You always wanted to give back to the environment. Now you get to! Your bones will fuel these trees for the weeks to come."

I leaned into his neck, which was already welling up from my little dengue-carrying bloodsucker cousins' bites, and ran my fangs along the artery that popped off out. “I'd say goodnight, but it's still light out. So, good afternoon, Pierce,” I whispered to his neck. “Good afternoon and good bye.”

Then I sank my fangs into his throat and drank him dry.

I think this is worthy of the taglist, so:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @nczaversnick

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[generalluxun]

Gift Giving- An Aro Alix Kubdel Ficlet

Second Pride Month ficlet. This one taking pace in what is very clearly an early divergence AU so, the specific time doesn't matter much. 😁 This one was longer than the 750 limit, but I didn't want to shave any off so, oh well, 978 words it is.

“Should I get her chocolate? Chicks dig chocolate, right?”

“Alix, you’re a ‘chick’ too, you know.”

“Ehn, still up in the air.”

Marinette leaned around the display to peer at her friend. Alix was setting down a small gold-wrapped and expensive looking box. Caught, she snatched her hand back quickly, sticking her chin out and tilting her head up at the same time.

“What?” She challenged.

Marinette blinked, “What what? You literally pulled me here after school.” She rubbed one wrist as she looked around the gift shop and mumbled, “How do you do that on wheels.”

Alix shuffled over to some cards. “You were just going to go moon over some new pictures of Adrien anyway.” 

Marinette adjusted her backpack, which completely coincidentally happened to contain the latest issue of La Verve Paris and a 10 page spread on Adrien. The scrapbooking tools already laid out on her desk at home could be for anything.

“Why me though?” She deflected.

Alix was frowning at a card she’d picked up. She opened it, made a face, and put it back down again. Her hand moved back to it, but became a fist. She let out a frustrated growl.

“Because you and Alya are like, best friends. You’ll know what she would like.”

Marinette beamed at the thought of being helpful. “Okay, you got it! So what’s the occasion?”

Alix shuffled to a shelf with some figurines on it and poked one despondently. “Three month anniversary.”

“So cool! The three month anniversary is very important. You have to-” Marinette’s brain caught up with her mouth, “Wait, whaaat?”

She grabbed Alix by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes, “Anniversary? Dating? You and Alya? How do I not know about this?”

Alix squirmed free, “I don’t know. It’s not like… a thing.”

Marinette took a deep breath, calming herself. She was fine, it wasn’t a thing, no big deal…

“When did you start dating?” She yelped.

Alix shrugged, siddling to another shelf. “Iunno. It just kinda happened. She’s cool, right?”

Marinette followed, “Cool, right, very cool. You know that, I know that, but…” she pleaded with her eyes for more.

Alix sighed and gestured vaguely. “Well, she was always running off after Ladybug -Did you know she can do some wicked Parkour?- and getting herself in trouble. I just… followed her a couple times, my wheels made it easy. I pulled her fat out of the fire, but she would keep at it. She always wanted those pictures, and the latest scoop. Nothing slowed her down. Eventually I had her give me the camera. Wheels, right? I can get in and get out. She’d want info though after an akuma so she’d spend all night grilling me. Her mom makes awesome food by the way. Since we already hung out a lot, and she’s a hottie, when she asked I said yeah.”

Alix shrugged again.

“It’s no big deal.”

It was a lot to take in, but it made Marinette smile, “That sounds so cute! A match made in danger!”

Alix grimaced.

Marinette scooted back in, taking a porcelain elephant out of Alix’s hands and swapping it with a half kilo bag of fine ground coffee and a mug that read, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m published.’ The mug had a stuffed bear stitched to look like it was sleeping tucked inside.

Alix examined the offerings, “This is good for an anniversary?”

Marinette nodded, “You see the bear is a classic and coffee she likes but it also says ‘I want to stay awake and spend more time with you’ and-”

“Ouch!” Alix had looked at the price tags while Marinette rambled.

Marinette wilted a little, “Too much? I can pick out something cheaper…”

Alix glared at the numbers a moment longer as if she might intimidate them into vanishing. “It doesn’t matter, I can kiss new bearings for my skates goodbye for a while, no matter what.”

Her expression shifted from anger to resignation, and even timid.

She asked, “She’ll like them though?”

Marinette nodded, but also tried gently to take the mug from Alix. “You know, Alya’s not like that. If it’s a problem right now, I’m sure you don’t need to get her anything.”

Alix pulled it back quickly, snapping, “Yes I do. You don’t understand.”

Marinette held up her hands, “Seriously, Alya won’t think you love her less, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Ugh!” Alix threw down the gifts.

Marinette saved the mug by a quick dive. She blinked at Alix’s back as the other girl stalked away. In five steps though she’d turned around and trudged back. She crouched and helped Marinette up.

“Sorry,” She grated, brushing Marinette off. “You don’t get it though.”

Marinette held onto the gifts, “Tell me?”

Alix pulled her cap off and ran a hand through her hair. She gave the bag in Marinette’s hand a desultory swat with her hat. “I hate this stuff. Well, not hate, I just think it’s lame. it’s all schmoopsy junk to me. Alya likes it though, and she deserves it. It’s just not easy for me. Some people know when you are just supposed to. I don’t, but I can remember dates and times. One month, three months, six months, birthdays, holidays, you get the idea.”

Alix replaced her cap and took the gifts.

“That way, she gets what she deserves, even if I don’t understand it.”

Marinette thought about that long enough for Alix to start shuffling her feet awkwardly. Finally Marinette plucked the coffee from Alix’s hands and replaced it with a card. “Write what you just told me, in here. This’ll cost you half as much and she’ll like it ten times more.”

Alix fumbled the card uneasily, opening it to the blank interior. Her features set slowly and she glanced hopefully up at Marinette, “You really think so?”

[swanhurrem]

Chapter 5:

Embry Call x FemReader (no use of y/n).

Sumary: You were best friends with Embry, Jacob and Quil. And you saw how each one of them walked away from you. What will happen when out of nowhere they try to fix their relationship?

A/N: Hello, again sorry to have disappeared. This chapter can be a bit boring but don't worry, for the next one it changes and there is an interesting appearance of Embry. Thank you for all the love you give to the fic💗💗

Twilight Masterlist.

Imprint Masterlist (this serie).

<Chapter 4 | Chapter 6>

Despite trying to keep your tears from falling and wiping them away every time they did, Chris noticed your anguish anyway, being such an attentive person it was to be expected. When he asked you what had happened, you told him the truth; that you had not ended your relationship with that old friend well and the wound was still fresh.

"Okay, we're going to Seattle," Chris said after a few minutes as he started the car.

You were so focused on wiping away your tears in the car mirror that you were sure you had misheard "Wha-what did you say?"

"We'll go to your house and mine to get some things and then we'll drive to Seattle," he said simply, his gaze focused on the road.

You were frowning in utter bewilderment and all he did was drive home. "Why would we go to Seattle?" you asked puzzled

"Have you ever been there? It's great; the Space Needle, Pike Place Market and the Big Wheel, you'll love that I'm sure"

"Christopher, we can't go to Seattle, are you crazy?" you were completely turned towards him now, Chris just had a smile on his face.

"Why not? It's Thursday, our teachers will be missing tomorrow, we have Saturday and Sunday and if we want until Monday, we're going to have fun"

You looked at him stupefied, but you had to admit that the idea wasn't so unpleasant, a change of air would be welcome and Seattle wasn't far from Forks, just a few hours.

He began to smile at you when he noticed that your silence meant that you were beginning to think about the idea and every so often that he took his eyes off the road, he would stare at you while you heard him whisper "come on" and "it will be fun", as if it were the voice of your conscience trying to dissuade you from accepting and in the end you did.

_____________________________________

You picked up from your house two backpacks that you used to use for school; one full of the most necessary things like clothes and cleaning accessories, while the other only had your camera, your cell phone charger and the remaining space was for whatever you bought there in Seattle. Your father asked you a couple of questions about where you were going and when he was satisfied enough, he just told you to always keep your cell phone on to keep in touch.

Chris did the same, only when he left his house he had a full bag of snacks and drinks for the road in his hand, leaving them in the back seat as soon as he got in.

He had tuned into a radio that was playing the latest hits of that year while you made fun of the ridiculous number of groups he was a part of; volleyball, basketball, debate, etc.

"You're even part of the group that's in charge of taking care of the greenhouse" you said as he stopped behind some cars that were waiting to pay the toll.

"Someone has to take care of those plants" he replied as he counted the money in his hand.

"Okay that's right, I give you that. Who else is in the group with you?"

Chris looked at you letting out a sigh, you were sitting in the passenger seat amused waiting for his answer.

You pushed it with your hand "Come on, who?"

"Alice Cullen" he blurted out.

You laughed at that, not to make fun of her or anything, but it was funny that Chris, who was afraid of the Cullens, would spend an hour straight every Friday with one of them.

He waited until he paid to answer you "Don't laugh, she's nicer than I expected"

"Of course it is, they all are" you said remembering the thousands of times you shared the odd class with them, Jasper seemed to be the most withdrawn but Alice was always there to make the time more enjoyable.

"But they are strange" he answered. Little by little your laughter faded and a comfortable silence settled in both of us. The road was normally dark except for the truck coming up behind you, considering it was a long weekend for no one but you and Chris, it was understandable that the road was empty.

You had taken from the glove compartment one of the gums that he had given you earlier, when you heard him speak again "Did I ever tell you... the story of my great-grandmother?"

You said no and while he was still looking straight ahead, he spoke again "She was...pretty normal; she lived all her life in Alaska until she married my great-grandfather and they both started living in Forks. "They lived a quiet life until the Cullens moved to Forks and she just…freaked out.” His brows were knitted and his grip on the wheel softened, his eyes darting down the road like someone trying to search their memories.

"The Cullens?" you asked softly. He seemed really nervous and you didn't want to pester him with questions, but considering that this was a topic he brought up himself, it didn't seem like you were prying.

"She said that she already knew them, that she had been to Rosalie and Emmett's wedding many years ago in Alaska, she swore it was them and she just shut herself in her house until she died. She wouldn't even go out to the backyard of our house and I was the one who spent the most time with her"

"That's why you fear them" you declared realizing, you never knew where his dislike for the Cullens came from but you certainly hadn't expected that reason. Her great-grandmother had passed on all her fears to him.

"She used to tell me to be careful, that they won't hurt me as long as I'm out of their way. It gets worse with Edward, when I'm sitting with you and my attention drifts to them and memories of my great-grandmother invade my mind, He looks at me like he knows I'm thinking of them. It's like he knows everything about me and I can't understand why" he finished with a broken voice.

You didn't know what to say to that statement, how to make him feel better, maybe there wasn't even a way. So you simply rested your hand on his shoulder, stroking it there slowly with your thumb. He smiled at you and turned the music up higher, making him escape the stormy memories of him.

Taglist:

@ xmysec0ndself

@ ravenclaw-hoe

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list 💗

_________

Buy me a coffee.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jill Colvin, Colleen Long, and Lindsay Whitehurst at AP, via HuffPost:

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. (AP) — Donald Trump was the target Sunday of “what appears to be an attempted assassination” at his golf club in West Palm Beach, Florida, the FBI said, just nine weeks after the Republican presidential nominee survived another attempt on his life. The former president said he was safe and well, and authorities held a man in custody. U.S. Secret Service agents posted a few holes up from where Trump was playing noticed the muzzle of an AK-style rifle sticking through the shrubbery that lines the course, roughly 400 yards away. An agent fired and the gunman dropped the rifle and fled in an SUV, leaving the firearm behind along with two backpacks, a scope used for aiming and a GoPro camera, Palm Beach County Sheriff Ric Bradshaw said. The man was later taken into custody in a neighboring county.

It was the latest jarring moment in a campaign year marked by unprecedented upheaval. On July 13, Trump was shot during a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, and a bullet grazed his ear. Eight days later, Democratic President Joe Biden withdrew from the race, giving way for Vice President Kamala Harris to become the party’s nominee. And it was sure to add to the questions about Secret Service protective operations after the agency’s admitted failures in preventing the attempted assassination of Trump this summer. In an email to supporters, Trump said: “There were gunshots in my vicinity, but before rumors start spiraling out of control, I wanted you to hear this first: I AM SAFE AND WELL!” He wrote: “Nothing will slow me down. I will NEVER SURRENDER!”

He returned to Mar-a-Lago, his private club in Palm Beach where he lives, according to a person familiar with Trump’s movements who was not authorized to discuss them publicly and spoke on condition of anonymity. It was not immediately clear whether the incident would affect his campaign schedule. He was set to speak from Florida about cryptocurrency live on Monday night on the social media site X for the launch of his sons’ crypto platform. He planned a town hall Tuesday in Flint, Michigan, with his former press secretary, Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, followed by a rally Wednesday on New York’s Long Island.

[...] The Florida golf course was partially shut down for Trump as he played, but there are several areas around the perimeter of the property where golfers are visible from the fence line. Secret Service agents and officers in golf carts and on ATVs generally secure the area several holes ahead and behind Trump when he plays. Agents also usually bring an armored vehicle onto the course to shelter Trump quickly should a threat arise. The Palm Beach County sheriff said the entire golf course would have been lined with law enforcement if Trump were the president, but because he is not, “security is limited to the areas that the Secret Service deems possible.”

Yesterday, Donald Trump was the target of an apparent assassination attempt at his Trump International Golf Club. This is the 2nd assassination attempt against him this campaign cycle, just over two months after the assassination attempt in Butler, PA.

[satoshi-mochida]

Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater physical edition pre-orders now available - Gematsu

Konami has opened pre-orders for the physical editions of Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater.

In the Americas, Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater will be available in a day one “Tactical Edition” and a Collector’s Edition.

In Europe and the United Kingdom, a Deluxe Edition will be available.

Get the Americas details below.

Collector’s Edition

The day one “Tactical Edition” of Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater.

Miniature terrarium based on the iconic opening scene of Virtuous Mission where Naked Snake must recover his backpack snagged on a tree branch. Includes miniature Naked Snake figurine and tree stump with hanging bag.

A recreation of the fake identification badge Naked Snake uses to break into Groznyj Grad Northeast as a scientist.

High-quality stitched patch showing membership in the legendary FOX UNIT.

Unique rubber patch commemorating Naked Snake’s historic HALO parachute jump.

Beautiful retro style metal game case utilizing original Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater artwork.

Tactical Edition

The retail release of the day one “Tactical Edition” of Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater contains the full game plus additional unique digital items that will be announced at a later date.

Metal Gear Solid Legacy Series Part 2

Actor and writer David Hayter introduced new mechanics and graphical improvements coming to Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater in the latest installment of the Metal Gear Solid Legacy series. Hayter touched on key features such as the new damage system that leaves battle scars on the main character as players progress through the game. A New Style control and camera layout offers intuitive controls for players accustomed to modern third-person action games. Plus, Hayter sat down with producer Noriaki Okamura who has worked on the series for several years to discuss the new title and the future of the franchise. “We left the gameplay, the story, and the voice cast of the original game as-is, but we had to bring the graphics and controls up to modern standards, all of which has changed over the years,” Okamura said. “All of that has been updated, but the core game—and the creative vision of the original staff—none of those parts of the game have changed.”

Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater is in development for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, and PC (Steam). A release date has yet to be announced.

Watch the new Metal Gear Solid Legacy Series video below.

Metal Gear Solid Legacy Series Part 2

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 7: Home

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 6

cw: descriptions of grief, depression, and lack of eating

October 1986

“So,” Sarah says while unlocking the front door of her old trailer. “You can grab as much as you like, but I need you to understand that you can’t take all of it. There’s not that much space in your new placement, so be mindful of that.”

She says it like it’s routine, which is probably is. Julie is just another line on a long list of kids that this woman has had to deal with. It’s just another day of work for her. Where it’s just another day of heart wrenching grief for Julie.

The doorway to her home, old home she has to remind herself, looms in front of her. From what she can see, it remains untouched from when she left. The plates on the drying rack, her mom’s winter jacket on the coat rack. The old, busted pair of work boots her mom always swore by even if she had to glue the soles back on every few weeks.

“I know this is hard for you,” Sarah says sympathetically. “But it’s important for you to get the things you care the most about. It’ll make this whole process a little easier.”

Julie looks at her, with empty eyes. Begging her to see that none of this is making it any easier. Can’t she see the tear stains from last night, from this morning. The permanent bags from nights of restless sleep, images of her mom’s crash haunting her whenever she closes her eyes. The two-day old clothes and greasy hair. None of this is easy for her.

But she still steps through the threshold, back into the place she’s called home her entire life. Up until a few days ago when it was all stripped away. The air still smells like it always did, that scent that you don’t even notice because it’s been there the whole time. The smell of home.

The door to her room sits ajar, waiting for her return. She opens it to find everything as it was. Her posters on the wall, jewelry scattered across her dresser amongst the hair ties and old clips. On her desk lays her small mountain of journals, each filled to the brim. One, or even two, marking the years. Right next to a photo of her and her mom.

It was the day Julie turned eight. Her mom smiling from behind her as she holds the camera out in front of them. She had bought a new roll of film just for the occasion. Julie was smiling with a smudge of cupcake frosting on her face. So excited that her mom got her favorite, red velvet with the good cream cheese frosting, that she didn’t care that some got on her face.

They were happy, even though it was just the two of them. Her mom never let it show how much she struggled with it. It was only later that Julie started to pick up on it. When the latest boyfriend stole all the money out of the tip slash savings jar, leaving them high and dry. When Julie grew out of her clothes, or they were too ripped to repair, and her mom had to take an extra shift to cover buy new ones. She noticed.

She starts to fill a bag with her clothes. Opening her closet and dresser drawers, just shoving as much in as she could. The only ones left were too small, or just didn’t deem appealing to her anymore. Nothing seemed appealing to her anymore.

Moving on to the desk, she fills her backpack with her journals and school supplies she forgot about. Opening a drawer and finding the folder that her mom gave her all but two weeks ago. Right after she told Julie about her dad.

It hits her then, what she said with it. Her mom was receiving payments from him, monthly or something like that. Considering he was rich, she wondered how much it was. And more so, why it was never enough to calm her mother’s worries about the bills. It should have been, unless he was a cheapskate and a cheater. With all of that money, he’d be a bigger asshole than he already was before.

There’s one last bag that Julie can fill before she has to leave the rest behind. She fills it with smaller things. Some books she loves, her jewelry box. Some cassettes and her old Walkman. Carefully laying the picture of her and her mom overtop of it all before zipping it shut.

She brings the bags out to Sarah, who asks if she’s ready to go. Taking one last look to her old life, tears fill her eyes. What is going to come of this place, to the life that was lived here? What is going to happen to her?

Her eyes stop at the trunk next to where her mom stored the cot. She walks over to it and opens it up, revealing the neat piles of her mother’s clothing. Her cheap perfume that she wore hitting Julie when she does. All she does is sit there, looking at the clothes her mom had worn. A tear falling down her face as she carefully sorts through them.

There’s one piece that she’s looking for. Her mom’s old, beat-up hoodie that she’s had since high school. Holes sewn up with small flowers or patches. Each stitch done carefully, making it her own.

Julie finds it, bringing out of the trunk and slipping it on. The slight warmth of her mom’s comfort washing over her, bringing her the smallest amount of peace.

As she stands, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and grabbing the other two bags, she leaves. Sarah shutting the door to the only home she’s ever known, officially closing it off forever.

. . .

Present Day

Julie sits down at her lunch table, just about to bite into her sandwich when another lunch tray drops in front of hers. She looks up to find Dustin sitting down across from her, ruffling through his bag to find something.

“Um, hi,” she says, annoyed.

“Hi,” he responds, making a small triumphant sound when he finds what he’s looking for. Pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and placing it on the table. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Julie places her sandwich back on her tray, the slight appetite she was feeling going away. “This again? No.”

“Dustin?” Jane questions as she walks up to the table, Max rolling beside her. “What are you doing here?”

Max rolls up to her usual spot at the end of the table. Weird how a once a week sort of thing turned into usual, almost daily at this point. “We sit here to get away from you. So go away.”

“And you are in my seat,” Jane adds with a scowl.

“So, you can make a new friend, but I can’t?” He retorts, scoffing while Jane rolls her eyes. “And I find it offending that you want to get away from me so bad.”

Max groans. “I’m sorry hanging out multiple times a week, both in and outside of school, is such a blow to your ego that I can’t hang out with my one friend outside of the party.”

“Me too.”

Even though they spent multiple lunches together at this point, Julie didn’t think she was at the friend level. Acquaintance, maybe. Someone that was calmer than the chaotic energy that radiated at their usual table, definitely. But friend, that typically wasn’t how it went.

Julie thinks back to the last few weeks, replaying the conversations the three of them would have over lunch. It was mostly Jane and Max talking at first. But then Julie started getting comfortable around them and would talk more. So much so that it started to come naturally. Like they were friends.

Does she consider Jane and Max friends? After looking at the scene unfolding of Max and Jane continuing to bicker with Dustin, fighting over their seats at her table. This wouldn’t be an acquaintance behavior. But it would be a friend’s behavior.

Julie made friends. That was new.

“I will just sit next to Julie then,” Jane says, walking around the table. “Since you won’t get up.”

“How do you even know her?” Max prompts, glaring at him with her clouded eyes.

Dustin shrugs and gestures to Julie, “She knows Steve.”

Jane and Max stop what they’re doing at the same time and look at Julie. “You know Steve?” Jane asks.

“Steve Harrington?”

Julie is taken back by the shock in their voices. “Yeah, I do. Do you guys?”

“Dustin,” a guy with black hair asks from behind him. “What are you doing over here?”

“Are we switching tables or something,” another guy in a basketball jacket asks.

“No,” Max interrupts, “you’re not. This is Jane, and Julie, and my table. Not yours.”

The attention turns to Julie again. “Oh hi,” basketball guy says. “I’m Lucas.”

“Mike,” the black-haired guy says.

“Will,” the third guy that had walked up a little late finishes.

Jane leans over and fills in who they are. Will being her adoptive brother, Mike being her ex-boyfriend, and Lucas being Max’s boyfriend she won’t admit is her boyfriend. Each explanation just adding a million more questions that will probably never get answered with how this conversation keeps going.

“Is this who’ve you’ve been sitting with at lunch?” Lucas asks, directed at Max.

“Yes, obviously.”

“And she knows Steve,” Dustin adds.

Julie glares at him. “Thanks for that.”

She looks up to find the three boys staring at her with wide eyes. Do all of these people really know Steve? And is it really that surprising that she does? It’s getting tired at this point.

“You know Steve,” Mike says, eyebrows raising.

“You guys know him too?”

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah. Looks after us sometimes.”

Realization hits. “Oh, you’re the kids he used to babysit.”

Max bursts out laughing, causing Jane to start giggling while Dustin gasps. “He was not our babysitter.”

“Well,” Lucas starts, “he sort of was. At least that one time.”

“And he did watch over us a lot,” Will adds.

Mike rolls his eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, it is sort of true.”

Lucas addresses Julie, “And you know him too. Did he look after you or something too?”

“No,” both Julie and Dustin say at the same time. Causing her to send another glare in his direction.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” she adds. “Sit down, you look like idiots just standing there.”

The boys sit down, Lucas and Mike taking seats next to Dustin while Will walks around and sits next to Jane. The entire table is looking at Julie, including Dustin. Almost giving her encouragement that she can do this, as if he’s not the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.

She lets out a long sigh before just biting the bullet. “Steve is my brother.”

The table erupts in various reactions. Shock mostly, paired with confusion. Asking why they never knew, how long he’s even had one. The fact that they didn’t know he had one being the biggest issue.

Max is the first to connect the dots, the only one who knew Julie before she knew Steve. “Your dad is a piece of shit.”

Julie nods. “Yeah, he really is. From what I’ve heard, never met him.”

“That alone means he’s a piece of shit.”

Lucas lets out a long breath of his own realization. “Holy shit. This is your friend from the trailer park.”

“What are you even talking about?” Dusitn asks.

“Max said that she was eating lunch with an old friend from the trailer park. This is her.”

“So,” Mike says with a confused face. “You’re only half related to Steve, because you lived in the trailer park?”

“Mike,” Will chastises while Lucas hits his shoulder.

Julie snorts. “Yeah, basically. The whole story is my mom and his dad had an affair, he paid her out to keep quiet. I didn’t even know I was related to Steve until like, a month ago.”

“Woah, that is crazy,” Jane says.

Julie picks up her sandwich again. “Yeah, it is.”

. . .

Steve falls against his front door after it closes behind him. He never expected manager training to be exciting, or entertaining in the slightest. But he would have never imagined it being so excruciatingly boring. If he had to hear Keith going on about the responsibilities of managing a team like he knows Steve can’t handle it one more time, he might quit. He won’t, but he likes threatening it. And if Steve was so unqualified for the position, he wouldn’t have gotten it in the first place.

But he did, and now that means he has to be at Family Video at seven in the morning, every morning, for the next two weeks. After that he’s back at normal opening hours and Kieth will be across the country. That he’s looking forward to.

The phone rings while he’s in the kitchen, protein bar hanging out of his mouth and a beer in his hand. He sets the beer down and heads for the hall phone.

“Harrington residence,” he mutters while chewing.

“Steve, it’s Sarah. I am calling to tell you what the decision is about Julie’s placement.”

A puddle of nerves builds in his stomach as he tries to breathe. Heartbeat pounding in his ears. “What was decided?”

“I am pleased to tell you that you have been approved for temporary guardianship.”

Relief flows through Steve as he leans against the wall. “That is great. Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure. As we talked about before, there will be frequent visits for a while until Julie is settled, and most of them will be unprompted. I will also have a few more interviews with both you and Julie to assess the adjustment.”

“Yes, I remember you saying that.”

“Now, the unfortunate part of this is that you are only granted temporary custody. This means that Julie will still be in the system and can be moved if needed. Considering your age, that could happen more frequently than most. But, if you two would ever decide to make your custody permanent, I would be more than happy to help you along in the process. It would be a legal battle and you would have to stand before a judge, but it is not uncommon for people your age taking in their siblings.”

“I’ll let you know if it comes to that. Thank you for everything, Sarah, really.”

“Anytime. Please call me if you have any questions. I’ll leave you to tell Julie the news.”

“When would she be able to move into my house?”

“As soon as both of you are ready. I will be the one who picks her up and drops her off at your house. Just let me know when to do it.”

Steve thinks about when the best time would be. This weekend probably. He wouldn’t have work, she wouldn’t have school. He could make sure that everything was ready in the guest room. Her room now. Another room in the house with someone else’s name attached to it. He liked the sound of that.

“That sounds great. I’ll talk to her later about what works for her.”

“Great. Talk to you later then.”

Sarah hangs up the phone, allowing Steve to quickly type in Robin’s phone number. Excitement flowing through his veins as the line rings in his ear.

“Hello,” Robin’s voice comes through the line.

“Rob, I got approved. Julie can come live with me.”

There’s a loud thump on the line before Robin’s screaming through the line. “Holy shit, that amazing, Steve.”

“I know.”

“Oh, this is so great. I’m so happy for you two. Does she know yet?”

“No, called you right after I found out. I’ll tell her later.”

“She’ll be so happy. Do you need any help making sure everything’s ready? Helping her move in?”

Steve shrugs, even though she can’t see it. “Don’t think so. I’ll let you know if I do, though.”

He hears some rustling on the other side of the phone, presumably Robin stretching the phone cord as long as she can and sitting down in the doorway of her room. “So, when are you going to tell her? How are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. She’ll probably be coming over after school, then I guess.”

“Aw, no cake.”

“Is this just a ploy for me to bake you a cake?”

“No,” she draws out. “Ok, maybe. You make a mean cake, Steve.”

“Whatever.” He glances at the wall, noticing how if he left now, he could make it to pick her up from school. “I’m gonna go, Rob. Talk to you later.”

“You better.”

He hangs up the phone and puts his unopened beer back in the fridge. Making a mental note to get rid of that soon. Grabbing his keys, he heads for the school.

Once he parks, he gets out of the car, so she can see that he’s there, and waits. He should have warned her that he was coming or something. But he didn’t know if she carried the walkie that he gave her to school, so he didn’t even try.

Eddie pulls up beside him. “Hey, what are you doing here? Thought it was Claudia’s pick up day.”

“Not here for Dustin.” He walks over to Eddie, whispering, “I got approved.”

Eddie’s face breaks out in a smile. “That’s great, man.” He reaches out and lightly grasps Steve’s arm, the touch radiating across it. “I’m happy for you.”

One tick off Steve’s list of things that were too much for him to not date Eddie. One thing that isn’t holding it back anymore. Replaced by the new dynamic of Julie starting to live with him sure, but the list grew shorter.

He said to himself that it would be too much to be in a relationship while all of the feelings of his childhood came crashing back. Never feeling good enough for anyone to stay. Feeling worthless all of the time. Like everyone in his life is temporary and one day they would realize that Steve’s not worth shit and just leave.

And Steve didn’t want Eddie to leave.

Steve’s been in relationships before. Gone on dates, had sex, kissed. It was all one thing. But with Eddie it seems like everything is enhanced more than anything he’s ever felt before. He’s felt more connected with him without going on a single date. With only sleeping with him the one time and not even kissing him since.

Which is why he was so wary of starting this at the wrong time. That he would get so wrapped up in everything that he wouldn’t have enough time for Eddie. That Eddie would leave.

But the old feelings were still dredged up, they still would have been even without Julie coming into his life. He would have always applied for the manager position when Keith left, he would have still forgot to take his mom off the reference list. There would have still been the phone call with his dad that left him feeling empty and worthless.

Maybe it was time to take the leap, jump off the cliff. Steve’s been reckless in the past, why stop now. Every step of the way, Eddie’s been patient. Checking in with phone calls, making sure Steve knew he was still there. Promising to stay, to not leave him like his parents did. Everything Steve’s feared, just wasn’t there with Eddie.

“So, when are you going to tell her?” Eddie’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Or does she already know?”

“I’m telling her today. Just found out like an hour ago.”

It feels like every time Steve looks at Eddie, all of the fear he had was gone. And he questions why it was ever there in the first place. But at night when he’s left alone, all of the thoughts creep back in again and he can’t help but agree with the step back.

“Well, let me know how it goes. She probably won’t have a lot of stuff to move, but I’ll help you get the house ready if you need it.”

But then the day comes, and Eddie just continues to be Eddie, and the fears fade away again.

“I will,” Steve answers, smiling.

The bell rings and the kids come pouring out. Julie spots him from the door and holds up a hand to wave before walking towards the bike racks. Max and Lucas come out not long later, Lucas whispering something in Max’s ear when he sees Steve.

“How dare you?” Max says in his direction.

“How dare I what?”

“Not tell me you had a sister. And one that I’m friends with.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “I didn’t know you knew Julie.”

Max gapes. “And I didn’t know you knew Julie.”

“I didn’t know Julie until today,” Lucas interjects. “She seems nice though.”

“Why do I have a strong feeling that this revelation was Dustin’s fault,” Eddie says, opening the back door of his car of Max’s wheelchair.

“Totally was,” Max snorts. “But also, yours for not telling me.”

“Us,” Lucas adds.

Max shrugs. “Yeah, us. Mainly me though.”

“I didn’t tell that many people. And I didn’t know who she wanted to tell,” He defends.

“Who wanted to tell what?” Julie asks, rolling up with her bike.

“Who you wanted to tell about this whole sibling thing that was revealed at lunch today,” Max fills in.

“Oh,” Julie shrugs. “I didn’t really care who he told. Not my family’s reputation that will be tarnished.”

Max crosses her arms and glares at Steve. “So, you could have told me. How many times have I seen you since you’ve known her?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says knowing the exact number of times, “sometimes.”

“Two times a week when you drive me to and from my physical therapy appointments. And you don’t mention it once.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the sibling I didn’t know I had until a month ago.”

“Thank you,” Max says victoriously. “Bye, Julie. We better be eating lunch like we normally do tomorrow. Alone,” she says pointedly at Lucas, “just you me and Jane.”

“Not my fault Dustin decided to move tables to be annoying.”

They continue to bicker while Max gets into the car. Lucas helping Eddie collapse the wheelchair before he gets into the back seat. Him finally taking Eddie up on the offer to take him to and from school since he’s already taking Max. Steve would honestly take Max, if he was available to do so every day, but he wasn’t.

Julie finishes loading her bike into the trunk, how it’s able to fit in there he’ll never know. Pure will probably. She gets into the front seat after dumping her backpack into the back seat. The whole thing seeming like a routine to her. That she’s so used to being picked up by Steve, it’s become normal. He’s happy that it’s become normal.

“So, you met the other kids today?” Steve asks on the way home, Julie sketching something in a journal.

“Yeah,” she draws out. “That was fun, to say the least.”

“And it was Dustin’s fault? I need to have a serious talk with that kid.”

Julie shrugs. “He’s not so bad when he’s not interrogating me about my past or inciting a lunchtime riot.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

A large car drives past him, the engine muddling the sound of whatever Julie says next. “What was that, couldn’t hear it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just can’t hear out of my right ear that well sometimes.”

Julie’s quiet for a second before continuing, “I said that Sarah said we should be hearing the results of the inspection soon. So, keep an ear out for that.”

Steve smiles to himself as he pulls onto his street. “Well, about that.”

“Wait, you heard back,” Julie shuts her journal and looks at him. Waiting for his response. “What was it?”

Steve waits until he pulls into his driveway and puts the car into park. Turning to look at her with a smile when he does. “I got approved.”

Julie makes the biggest smile he’s ever seen her make. “Holy shit, that’s amazing. I can get out of that house. I can move here. When? How?”

“Like when I got the call or when you moved in?”

“I don’t know, both.”

“I got the call earlier today and you can move in whenever we’re both ready. How, I’m not sure, but I’m not questioning it.”

“You better not.” Julie takes a second, looking down at her hands. “When do you think I could move in.”

Steve tilts his head to the side. “Well, I want to make sure I have everything ready, and so you have time to pack. I was thinking Friday, after school.”

“Friday, that works.” She looks at Steve again, mouth opening a few times before closing again. Eyes full of something he can’t quite read. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

. . .

It’s weird that Julie has had to pack up all of her things twice in such a short period of time. Well really only ever the once, some of her things never quite making it out of the bags she packed them in. But as she shoves the rest of her clothes back into her duffel bag, she can’t help but think that she might not have to do it too soon again.

Not that she wants to get her hopes up. This was all still temporary, Steve explained it all to her a few days ago. If there was another family that wanted to take her in, one that was better than him, she could probably be moved again. She didn’t want to though, at least she didn’t think.

It was hard enough to live in a house with two people she hated. Two people who very much hated her as well. And while her and Steve have grown closer, there are still so many things that they don’t know about each other. So many things she tried not to show.

But he cared enough to get custody of her, so maybe he would care enough to know all the things she was hiding. Not like any of them were bad, just things she didn’t want to think about. Mainly the sadness that still came at night, and sometimes during the day. The tears that were very much not dried up, still flowing from the ever-growing pool of grief.

That was her journey to go through, and she’s been doing it alone. She missed the moments where her mom would find her upset, and just sit down next to her with all but a hug to offer, hoping that it would do something to help. It always did. Never without fail. She missed those the most.

She stuffs the journal she’s been drawing in into her backpack, zipping it up afterwards. It wasn’t her most current journal, but one from last year. This year’s journal tainted by what’s on the inside. A story she couldn’t bring herself to finish. A gift that would now never be able to be given.

That’s not what today is though. Today is about being happy to get out of this house, to go someplace new. Someplace that she would get to call home again. Just not the same home.

Never the same home.

Blinking back the tears that came to her eyes without permission, she picks up her bags and heads to the front door. A patient Sarah waiting for her to finish packing. Her bags are placed into the trunk, and she leaves. Throwing a well-deserved middle finger and a fuck you behind her.

She never has to go back there again.

When they get to Steve’s house, he comes out and takes her bags from the trunk before she gets the chance. They’re dropped on the first step while he talks to Sarah about the next visit and when to expect it. Julie just standing in one spot, taking it all in.

Sarah pulls Julie to the side and wishes her luck, letting her know that if she needs anything, she’s just one phone call away. And just like that, she’s gone, and everything is cemented into place. Temporarily at least. But this time a better temporary. A more permanent temporary. At least she hopes.

“So, I thought that you could have the room that you stayed in before. But you can take one of the other guest rooms if you want. Not like anyone else is going to use them.”

Not just stay in. Have, take. A room that is hers and no one else’s. “The room I stayed in before it fine.”

“Cool,” Steve grabs her bags again, taking them up the stairs and to her room.

She meets him there, walking into a room that has terrible floral wallpaper with curtains to match. Wincing a bit, forgetting how terrible it was.

“Yeah, my mom’s take in interior design is terrible. You should see my room.”

“It’s definitely interesting.”

“I was thinking of ordering a pizza for dinner. That sound good.” She responds with a small nod. “Ok, I’ll let you get unpacked and everything. Let me know if you need anything.”

He leaves the door slightly ajar when he leaves. Not in a pressuring way, but rather to let her choose if she wanted to leave it open or shut. She stares at it for a bit, wondering what would feel better. But the room is already starting to crowd her, so she leaves it open.

She doesn’t know why it’s all so overwhelming. Maybe it’s the pink peonies scattered across both the wallpaper and the curtains. Only backed by sickening yellow or stark white. The bedspread is white with wildflowers and there are more pillows than there should be. Nothing seems like her, nothing is colors that she likes.

But it’s her room now. A room that she can hopefully make her own and feel normal in again. Normal in a home that she barely knows but is the best place for her to be. Not the place she’d like to be at, because it no longer exists.

Sitting down on the bed, Julie takes a few deep breaths. Not now, repeats in her mind. Out of all the times to breakdown, now is not one of them. Not when she has to pull herself together in twenty minutes to struggle and eat some pizza she’s not even hungry for. She could blame the change for her lack of hunger, but it wouldn’t last long.

Before it was easier to lie when she wouldn’t feel hungry when people didn’t care about her. When the idea of eating became too much and unappealing. Just pushing it around the plate more times than the fork made it to her lips. Hunger just wasn’t a thing that mattered. She wasn’t starving, just never hungry.

Some days it would be better. The days when she would wake up and be able to take care of herself. Get in the shower and actually wash her hair, instead of letting the warm water run over her skin. Put her hair in a new braid like her mom used to do instead of just a ponytail. Get dressed in clothes that were clean, instead of just the same sweats she wore to bed that night. But then the bad days came in the next and everything just felt empty again.

The bag with her mom’s picture stared back at her, boring a hole in her heart. She can’t bear to look at it. Shoving it under the bed, she squeezes her eyes shut to try and trap in the tears. Cursing herself for letting one fall down her cheek, burning in its path. This wasn’t the time.

Julie forces herself to stand, unpacking her clothes and placing them in dresser drawers. Hanging up her jackets and shirts in the closet that smells like mothballs. Everything in the room looking so staged it makes her feel so out of place.

Fully knowing that the only thing that would make her feel at place isn’t here anymore.

Cursing under her breath, she forces herself to keep moving. To unpack her backpack at the desk in the room, stacking her journals and shoving the one she can’t bear to look at in the bottom drawer. Taking out the folder with her documents and placing them in another, followed by organizing her old schoolwork.

Anything to try and get her mind from coming back to the same thought time and time again. This was not the time. Later she can break. Later she can crumble. Fall into the bed that will feel anything but her own, but now is. Because this is not the life she would have chosen but the one she is now stuck with.

There is a light knock on the door, giving Julie a second to take a deep breath and put herself together. One meal. She can get through one meal.

“Hey,” Steve says as he pushes the door open. “Pizza’s here if you want any.”

Even though he’s not forcing her to come down to eat, she still will. Because she needs to eat something today, and she’ll get down at least a slice with someone watching her. “Yeah, sure.”

He nods before leaving the room, somehow, she can tell that he picked up on what was going through her mind. She hoped she was wrong. But with the way he’s so cautious around her as they eat their food, it had to mean that he did. The slight glances he thinks she doesn’t catch, the worry in his eyes.

Blame the adjustment, she thinks. When, if, he asks about it, she can blame the uncertainty on getting used to the place. He doesn’t need to know what it truly going on her in mind.

Steve never does though. Just eats patiently and packs up the leftover when he’s done. Saying nothing when she excuses herself after eating barely a single slice. Taking the rest of her water upstairs, resting it on the nightstand.

She grabs the journal she was working on earlier, turning to the page of the sketch. Something about it felt off and she couldn’t fix it. So that was what kept her mind busy for an hour or so, keeping the thoughts at bay for just a little longer.

Until it became too much and all she wanted to do was to curl in bed and stop pretending to be ok. So, she takes her clothes and little toiletries she has to the bathroom and gets ready. Feeling up to brushing her teeth and washing her face. Running into Steve in the hall and letting him know that she was turning in.

“Night. I still have training tomorrow, so I’ll probably be gone before you wake up. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” It’s thoughtful, even if it would never happen.

“Ok, night.”

Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she takes off the unnecessary pillows on the bed and makes a little pile in the corner. The bag underneath the bed calling to her again, making her feel guilty for hiding it.

She pulls it out, unzipping it and taking out the picture with her mom. Their smiles so happy it makes her heart break into more pieces than it already ways. Covering herself in the blankets, she clutches the picture close to her chest. Finally, she breaks.

Chapter 8

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

[warningsine]

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. (AP) — Donald Trump was the target Sunday of “what appears to be an attempted assassination” at his golf club in West Palm Beach, Florida, the FBI said, just nine weeks after the Republican presidential nominee survived another attempt on his life. The former president said he was safe and well, and authorities held a man in custody.

U.S. Secret Service agents posted a few holes up from where Trump was playing noticed the muzzle of an AK-style rifle sticking through the shrubbery that lines the course, roughly 400 yards away.

An agent fired and the gunman dropped the rifle and fled in an SUV, leaving the firearm behind along with two backpacks, a scope used for aiming and a GoPro camera, Palm Beach County Sheriff Ric Bradshaw said. The man was later taken into custody in a neighboring county.

It was the latest jarring moment in a campaign year marked by unprecedented upheaval. On July 13, Trump was shot during a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, and a bullet grazed his ear. Eight days later, Democratic President Joe Biden withdrew from the race, giving way for Vice President Kamala Harris to become the party’s nominee.

And it was sure to add to the questions about Secret Service protective operations after the agency’s admitted failures in preventing the attempted assassination of Trump this summer.

In an email to supporters, Trump said: “There were gunshots in my vicinity, but before rumors start spiraling out of control, I wanted you to hear this first: I AM SAFE AND WELL!” He wrote: “Nothing will slow me down. I will NEVER SURRENDER!”

He returned to Mar-a-Lago, his private club in Palm Beach where he lives, according to a person familiar with Trump’s movements who was not authorized to discuss them publicly and spoke on condition of anonymity.

It was not immediately clear whether the incident would affect his campaign schedule. He was set to speak from Florida about cryptocurrency live on Monday night on the social media site X for the launch of his sons’ crypto platform. He planned a town hall Tuesday in Flint, Michigan, with his former press secretary, Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, followed by a rally Wednesday on New York’s Long Island.

Trump’s running mate, Ohio Sen. JD Vance, said in a post online: “I’m glad President Trump is safe. I spoke to him before the news was public and he was, amazingly, in good spirits.”

Biden and Harris were briefed and would be kept updated on the investigation. The White House said they were “relieved” to know Trump is safe.

Harris, in a statement, also said “violence has no place in America.”

In the aftermath, Trump checked in with allies, including Vance, South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham and several Fox News hosts.

Fox News host Sean Hannity recounted on air his conversation with Trump and the former president’s golf partner, Steve Witkoff.

They told Hannity they had been on the fifth hole and about to go up to putt when they heard a “pop pop, pop pop.” Within seconds, he said Witkoff recounted, Secret Service agents “pounced on” Trump and “covered him” to protect him.

Trump had returned to Florida this weekend from a West Coast swing that included a Friday night rally in Las Vegas and a Utah fundraiser. His campaign had not advised about any public plans for Trump on Sunday. He often spends the morning playing golf, before having lunch at the club, one of three he owns in the state.

He has had a stepped-up security footprint since the assassination attempt in July. When he has been at Trump Tower in New York, parked dump trucks have formed a wall outside the building. At outdoor rallies, he now speaks from behind an enclosure of bulletproof glass.

The Florida golf course was partially shut down for Trump as he played, but there are several areas around the perimeter of the property where golfers are visible from the fence line. Secret Service agents and officers in golf carts and on ATVs generally secure the area several holes ahead and behind Trump when he plays. Agents also usually bring an armored vehicle onto the course to shelter Trump quickly should a threat arise.

The Palm Beach County sheriff said the entire golf course would have been lined with law enforcement if Trump were the president, but because he is not, “security is limited to the areas that the Secret Service deems possible.”

“I would imagine that the next time he comes to the golf course, there will probably be a little more people around the perimeter,” Bradshaw said. “But the Secret Service did exactly what they should have done, they provided exactly what the protection should have been and their agent did a fantastic job.”

Former presidents and their spouses have Secret Service protection for life, but the security around former presidents varies according to threat levels and exposure, with the toughest typically being in the immediate aftermath of their leaving office.

Trump’s protective detail has been higher than some other former presidents because of his high visibility and his campaign to seek the White House again.

The man in custody was Ryan Routh, three law enforcement officials told the AP. The officials who identified the suspect spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to discuss the ongoing investigation.

The FBI was leading the investigation and was working to determine any motive. Attorney General Merrick Garland was receiving regular updates. Agents with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives were helping investigate.

“The FBI has responded to West Palm Beach Florida and is investigating what appears to be an attempted assassination of former President Trump,” the bureau said.

News reporters were not with Trump on Sunday. Bucking tradition, Trump’s campaign has not arranged to have a protective pool of reporters travel with him, as is standard for major party nominees and for the president. Harris does not have a protective pool at all times, but does allow reporters to travel with her for public events.

Martin County Sheriff William D. Snyder said the suspect was apprehended within minutes of the FBI, Secret Service and Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office putting out a “very urgent BOLO” — or “be on the lookout” alert detailing the specific vehicle sought, license plate number and description of the occupant.

Snyder said his deputies “immediately flooded” northbound I-95, deploying to every exit between the Palm Beach County line to the south and St. Lucie County line to the north.

“One of my road patrol units saw the vehicle, matched the tag and we set up on the vehicle,” Snyder said, “We pinched in on the car, got it safely stopped and got the driver in custody.”

Snyder told WPTV that the suspect “was not armed when we took him out of the car.”

The man had a calm, flat demeanor and showed little emotion when he was stopped by police, Snyder said, saying the suspect did not question why he was being pulled over.

“He never asked, ‘what is this about?’ Obviously, law enforcement with long rifles, blue lights, a lot going on. He never questioned it,” Snyder said.