#my whole room is done up in these colors with lavender walls

[the-commonplace-book]

do you have a favorite color palette?

I like the colors of sunrise, wild flowers, old maps, and rainy days in spring. I think it's summed up best in this personal moodboard I made years ago on an old defunct tumblr blog

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro

[tomb-the-god]

So you've finally chosen. Just remember, you picked this option, bud.

This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry in advance tomb...

(He instantly grabs tomb by the head and slams him into the nearest wall, immediately snapping his fingers while putting vines on him and his hands, having half of his body turn pitch black with his eyes shining with a very bright purple color)

I don't give a fucking shit if I'm acting like a father figure to you. You just like spewing your shit and you've never been beat the fuck up before for this I'd assume. You may have fucking gotten rid of some memories but you think you can just fucking spit in my face for even willing to help you?

You will never be better if this is how you want to be, I care not for your whole name and everything else you've mentioned. You may be someone I hardly know but I'll still do what I can to goddamn help you.

I was no fucking guardian, I was nothing before becoming a god and this is what I get for even trying to help you? You disgust me... You've done a whole lot for me but this I will not let slide. Now you behave in my god damn house or I'm gonna knock that fucking crown off your head in the most gruesome ways that you'll believe the lamb is A FUCKING ANGEL! I'll probably make you pick up your teeth with broken fucking fingers too so be careful with what you're gonna say next...

*Tomb just listened... Just listening to his... I don't even know. Tomb just listens... Waiting for Sean to finish before starting to quietly laugh... Then just full out... Have a laughing fit for a while..?*

"Ahahaha... Eheh... My friend..."

*The vines let go of Tomb. Lifting Tomb up to gain height over Sean. The vines quickly snatching the holsters and guns off of Sean, quickly ejecting magazines and ripping the firearms to little bits and pieces before dropping them to the ground.*

"Sean..."

*The vines start to wrap around furniture in the room, taking over the walls and floors*

"You are just..."

*Filling the room with flowers, the scent a strong burning lavender.*

"SO... Confusing... Irritating... Irrational..."

*Despite this form, we're still just... Dizzy..? It's like... A nice dizzy...*

"It's intriguing... I like that out of you... Thinking you can get away with anything because of a silly iron..."

*A vine offers a broken piece of Sean's gun, Tomb takes it happily... Examining it before flicking it onto the ground...*

"It hurts me, y'know. Having to do this to you... In your own home too..."

"Tea..?"

*Accept the offer. Our throat is dry.*

[knownangels]

lighthouse

When he tells his mum, her knife clatters against the side of her plate and takes a chunk clear off the ceramic. Even if it weren’t cheap, it’s secondhand. Ugly, she calls those plates. I’ll buy us a nice set when we have the spare to spend. 

Guilty eyes track the shard as it spirals a dance across the moth-chewed tablecloth. They follow the floral pattern (not really ugly, just a little) as it spins on its curved edge to become a swirl of color. Green leaves, pastel blue and pink blossoms, blue, pink, blue — purple. 

He’s scared to lift them. It’s been just them so long they’ve grown accustomed to even patterns of breathing. Her air is angry. 

“Maran.” She clips his name out between clenched teeth. The broken shard stops spinning. He slides it back across the table, finger pressed to the smooth lip and obscuring those daintily painted flowers. 

“What?”

“Maran.” She says again, sounding like absolutely not. She won’t let those words slip. She rarely does. She gives and gives and gives.

His turn. Only fair. 

“I already signed it.” He forms his words into a laugh, hoping the rest that follow won’t become a fight. “Binding, isn’t it. Take me to court.”

When he glances up at his mum, sat across the kitchen table, her fist is tight around the knife. The grip is so tight he can see flushed blood beneath umber skin that wraps her knuckles.

“That is a long time —”

“It’s a lot of pay.” 

“Fuck of a lot for —” He tells her the exact amount, enunciating each zero.

Her mouth snaps shut. 

The kitchen falls silent. 

Maran watches something play across her face that he doesn’t feel at all equipped to interpret. The pull of her brow looks like it does when he’s caught her sniffling, but her mouth is fixed in that you did what snarl. And something else rests behind her dark eyes; it isn’t Saturday morning mirthful laziness, or the glitter of her grudge-holding snuck in while speaking to their stubbornly rude neighbor. 

There are two pairs of guilty eyes at the table. 

*

She sends him off with six jumpers, three pairs of hardy trousers, maybe a dozen pairs of socks, a sock darner that had been his summer whittling project, and a cloth bag of lavender sprigs that are meant for laundry. It clinks suspiciously when she tucks it into a pocket, so Maran sneaks up behind her to snatch it away.

“Little bastard!” She howls, snatching at the back of his shirt — too slow. He slips away and stumbles across the room, peering into the little bag. Tucked amongst the dried stems are a couple of rocks. Shiny as obsidian, silver flecks smooth under his thumb. 

“Don’t make fun of me.” She warns, crossing to prod at his stomach until he snaps his elbows tight to ward away the tickling.

“Did I open my mouth!” 

“No. Because you’re a smart one.” She teases. Her palm slows into a soft pet over the back of his hand. “And you be smart, okay? Ah, fuck’s sake. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” 

He grins at her while she shakes his whole arm, her grip as tight in his sleeve as it was on the knife. He’s gone on jobs before — none so far or for as long away as this, sure. But he’s grown and he’s gone off alone. He’s come back every time. 

They both manage to hold it together until the moment he steps across the threshold. She drags him down for one last hug, one more pinch to a cheek she freckled herself. Maran squeezes her back just as tight; her soft, worried heaving make his eyes sting. 

Into each of his jumpers, at the nape of the neck, she’s sewn a simplified outline of their little house in thick yarn. Coral pink for him. Navy blue for her. He smoothes his thumb over the raised edge of it through her sweater, tracing the edge of the roof he’d once climbed and the gutter that hangs from a rusted screw that had once torn a red line down his calf and the corner of the eastern wall, which sports a hairline fracture from its settling foundation.

“Where you carry it.” Maran mumbles into her shoulder. Home’s where you carry it. It’s their code. Has been for as long as he remembered — at some point, he’d been little and unwilling to leave her arms to go to a neighbor’s or stay the night at a friend’s or be apart. Clingy, the both of them — I miss you, I’ll miss you was too much. Made them into congested full-on snotty, sniveling tears. And of course when one of them went off, the other was inevitable. 

“Shut up.” She groans, shaking him by dancing foot-to-foot. He laughs to be jostled. “Oh my days, Maran, would you shut your mouth? Really? I’d just stopped.”

But she says it back as he loads his meager packing over a shoulder. Really, really leaving. She says it a bunch of times, muddled between words of a prayer meant to shelter and guard and protect. One that, technically, asks him to be guided through a peaceful night into a safe return the next morning. Maran has never heard her pray aloud before.

And Maran won’t return the next morning. 

He won’t return for many, many more mornings.

*

He falls asleep on the bench at the docks, arms locked tight around the packed-full bag in his lap. He falls asleep on the ferry. He is the only passenger this late in the season, but his arms stay locked tight, fingers digging into the over-stuffed bag. He falls asleep, and because he sleeps so soundly to the crash of the waves against the boat, he would have no sense of time passing except for the mark of the sun in the sky. It warms his face. It warms his dreams; in them, he’s still sleeping, except now it’s a gentle summer morning beneath a willow

By its position, he wakes in late afternoon. He stumbles sleepily towards the cabin and knocks on the door. Privately, as it swings open, he imagines a dusty tomb’s crypt slab sliding free: the ferryman is up there in age. He’d been the only one to know the coordinates of their destination and how to navigate the waters — beyond the sound, the water became unpredictably shallow in places. The wrong captain would gut his ship trying to coast without experience. 

The old man looks as though he’s fallen asleep on the trip, as well. Maran isn’t sure if that’s a good sign, that he can make such a trip at ease, or a poor one. And, is it worse than the laugh he’d let out when Maran requested the lighthouse? Worse than the humored oh, there? he’d volleyed back?

*

The boat stops a distance away. Maran stands on the upper deck, fists tight to then rail. Like the boat can hold him there, in place. Like the inlet stretching before them is magnetic, like it wants to pull him, like if he lets go, he might as well be yanked across the remaining distance. 

Rest of the way on foot, the ferryman tells him. Maran doesn’t want to fucking move. He doesn’t want to look, either, but he can’t stop. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d gone into this blind, knowing it was good money for a reason. Not knowing — this. 

He thinks it looks like the half-finished grave of a monster, too ferocious to be properly buried. The craggy rocks and sea-sodden dirt pile unevenly around each spire where they rise from the earth. Every jutting piece of metal has been spaced evenly from the last; they form a gaping maw of time-tarnished teeth threatening to break through the mantle. At the center is the towering lighthouse, its white gold eye blinking shut, rotating, blinding, repeating.

The pattern is hypnotizing. He’d gotten in trouble for tearing a page from an oceanography picture book: an anglerfish and its beautiful lure, even on paper, had scared him that bad. 

As he stares upwards at the light, chin tilted towards the gentle patter of rain, Maran can only think of that crumpled page. 

“Cut it too close.”

Maran jumps. 

The ferryman extends the meager canvas bag. His frail arm isn’t so frail after all, even frozen there while Maran waits for his brain to catch back up to the moment. They stand at the edge of a rocky piece of land, jutting through the sea and extending towards the lighthouse in a narrow strip. 

“Sorry?”

As he slings the bag over his shoulder, Maran follows the old man’s gesture towards the monster — the lighthouse — in the distance. 

“Said, nearly cut it too close. Bridge’ll be gone by morning, if not sooner. That big hill it sits on?” He laughs. “Hope you’re ready to do some sland living for the next season.” 

Maran’s expression must betray his churning stomach, because the laugh tapers off. It isn’t followed by a noise of pity or comfort, which he sort of expects and would really like to hear.  “Um, that — well. That wasn’t really mentioned.”

The ferryman brays another laugh and claps him so hard on the shoulder that the stumbles forward. A wave laps at the toe of his shoe. He dances back from the shoreline, back into the vicinity of the old bloke, whose sea-spied smell Maran can no longer differentiate from the rest of the salt in the air. 

“Well of course it fuckin’ weren’t. Dumb enough fuckers, th’lot of the green ones like you. No offense. And even then, y’think they’d be stupid enough to take the job, fixed with all its details?” He snorts. “No chance.”

Maran stares.

“Like I said. No offense, lad. Look, stop givin’ me that. You’ll be right as, nice and cozy and cushy. Waited on hand n’foot, fresh fruit, meals cooked to your specifications…”

“You’re being a prick—”

“I’m providing levity to the situation at hand.” The man lifts his cap with a dramatically flourished bow that is cut short by a wince, hand to the small of his back. Maran fights a smile. “Ooh. Ow. You’ll need it, with the real prick about.”

Maran glances towards the rolling waves for a split second, which is as much as his stomach can bare before he gulps and has to look away. “Did they fail to mention the sea monster too, then?”

Another chortle. “Aye, there y’are. Levity. And naw, no monster — far as we know, right? Just company. ‘Least with that you can give yourself over to somethin’ other than the looming threat of isolation madness.” The ferryman wiggles his fingers. 

He wrinkles his nose and slings the bag tighter to his body. If he makes it to the lighthouse quick enough, the whipping ocean air might yet have spared its smell of home. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“Naw.” He agrees, winking and tapping his nose. “More.” 

They part with no fanfare. Maran heeds his warning about the upcoming season and its weather and surrenders a fistful of candy in exchange for the promise of a note sent home, which he scrawls quickly against the ferryman’s curved spine. 

Mum - Arrived. Incredibly creepy. View’s okay, otherwise. Sweater’s warm, thanks for patching that bit under the arm. Doing well! Will continue to do well! Will see you soon, doing fuckin’ well! -Maran

“Fuck’s sake,” the man crows, flapping a hand behind him. “Y’said one. A note, not a novel.” 

*

It’s a fifteen minute walk towards the far shore. It is the longest fifteen minutes of his life. The lighthouse seems to not move any closer — and yet, at the same time, his eyes tell him it grows on the horizon. Closer and larger and closer and larger, until he walks into the shadow of one of its guarding spires. The one nearest him looks blackened at the top, and he realizes then that they must be lightning rods. The lighthouse itself is metal, or the exterior at least.

Algae slips beneath his shoes. The path is well worn. He keeps his eyes forward as he walks, too scared they’ll wander to the side and into the depths of the sea and he’ll find something looking back. But even still, his gaze is drawn down every few paces. He has to keep an eye on it or else he’ll fall, and being in the water with whatever lurks beneath the waves is worse than simply seeing it, right? 

Like the path, the base of each spire —and the lighthouse itself — is dottingly adorned with barnacles, weathered a mottled gray in spots by salt, bleached in others by sun. But whatever metal composes them is dark. It doesn’t turn a pretty teal like aged copper, and yet he has a sense by looking at it the alloy is old. Maybe ancient.

At the thought, Maran shivers. He clutches his coat tighter to his body as he ascends the stairs up the hill, closer and closer to the rising pillar. Childishly, he’s relieved to find the lighthouse doesn’t hide the sun. He hates that in stories — when something blots out the sun. Fucking awful omen, if ever there was one. Instead, as he gazes up, he finds that it sits slightly to the left. He stands there, shielding his eyes and watching the yolk-yellow light drip as the horizon beckons it below, and breathes a sigh. 

It’ll be fine. Home for awhile — not forever. Proper fucking scary, sure, but only awhile. Lid on the dramatics’ll make it easier. 

Maran shuts his eyes and takes another deep lungful of air; it smells close enough to that his heart quiets a bit. The return of its steady beat gives him enough courage to take the stairs two at a time — stupid, because they’re slippery as the walk down. But it makes the trip more enjoyable. Makes it seem more fun and less like he’s walking himself towards…well. He isn’t sure. 

An experience decidedly not fun. 

*

He’s winded by the time he reaches the front door. It’s thick, weathered dark wood with a massive brass knocker. He contemplates it for a moment, finds he hasn’t the energy to lift the contraption, and instead braces himself on the frame. He surveys the rest of the inlet. Although the sky is clear, not yet hazed by the approaching night, he can barely make out the mainland’s sleek mirage. The ferry is also a further distance away than he thought — almost as if the old man had hurried to leave. 

He shivers again, sick of omens. Sick of superstition. With a wet dog shake, he catalogues the rest of the tiny grounds. The lighthouse and its maw, which he tries hard not to think about as surrounding him too; a study oak two-story attaché that bulges from the side of the lighthouse obelisk like a tumor, dotted with narrow windows and an old chimney, where he presumes he’ll be boarding; a rainwater cistern and well with pumps that seem, from one glance, to be at least attached. Beyond, towards the far edge of the hill near the shore, is a storage shed and a chicken coop. 

Maran brightens a bit at the idea of more company, other than a faceless nameless second keeper. He had no idea if the coop was occupied but his mum had always loved feeding birds. Every haircut, she’d make Maran gather his curls in a towel and toss them out the window. 

Good nesting material. 

When he goes to knock at the door, Maran’s rubbing a thoughtful hand over the crown of his head. He needs a cut. 

The door swings open, and Maran thinks: well, at least I’m not the only one.

*

They sit at the tiny kitchen table. It’s a smaller room than even the one back home. At the thought of it, Maran shuffles. He fingers thread tighter together, knee bouncing. 

He wouldn’t describe his company as unkempt. Haphazard, maybe. He needs a haircut, same as Maran: light strands spread out from his knit hat, stick to his cheeks from the damp sea breeze. He needs a new pair of boots, too. Maran knows how that goes. 

Neither of them have taken off their coats yet; the other man sits back in his chair with a lazy recline, one arm tossed behind, his coat open and hanging off his shoulders. Maran looks everywhere but that penetrating, unblinking stare. He feels himself being sized-up, judged, found wanting. 

Whatever expectations he’s had, Maran falls short. 

“You’ve n-never done this before.” 

It’s the first thing either one of them has said since Maran was ushered inside.

“Um.” He glances around the tiny room, making note of everything (stoveiceboxstoragebootscoatrackstairswindow) besides the other man and that stare. He laughs nervously. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” The chair opposite creaks. Maran still doesn’t look up. “You scared of the ocean, or something?” 

Maran thinks about that long, long fifteen minutes. He thinks about the waves lapping at either side of the rocky bridge. Thinks about his worn flat-soled shoes across slippery algae. Thinks about losing his footing. Thinks about falling in. Thinks about —

“Yes.” He laughs again. “Yeah, like. Very. Kinda daft, takin’ a job like this. I mean. Considering?”

“K-Kinda? Very.” 

When he looks up, the stare has shifted towards the tight thread of his fingers. Maran feels the weight of it, the judgment, and squeezes tighter. 

*

They don’t get on. Maran tries not to let it bother him. But the first thing he’s asked to do is fix a leak in the cistern collection pipe. He hasn’t a moment to set his things down, or find a good place to tuck the square of fabric he stows beneath his pillow, or clear his head of this new situation and its anxieties. 

The order is lobbied, a bit coldly, in his general direction. Maran lets his hand drop to his side, smile faltering. 

“I—Well, fuck. Thought we might as well be on a name basis, since we’ll be stuck together a bit.”

“If you last the night, s-sure.” He’s met not with an introduction but a cruel, smarter-than-you sneer. “Last five guys apparently tossed themselves from the top, and those were hardy s-seamen.” The other man snorts. “Seamen.” 

*

He wishes he could speak to Benji. Just for a moment — just that quick burst of frustration to let out. Uncork. The excitement, the homesickness, the frustration, the fear. Instead, he settles for cursing under his breath the entire twenty minutes it takes to make the repair, the entire thirty seconds to round the lighthouse. The barrage of four-letter words only pauses when he finds the front door.

Bolted into the thicker metal is a panel. It’s about five hands tall and three across, with whirls and divots scattered across the surface. In some places, like each of the four corners, the metal has been worn smooth. 

He realizes the barely visible markings must be all that remains of engraved letters. It looks as though the plaque is commemorative of the lighthouse’s birthdate, or maybe who its named after, or a historical tidbit. Whatever the details, they’ve been lost to time.

Passing through the entry gives Maran another missed detail. A sudden gust of wind sends him lurching in quite a bit faster than he intended. His shoulder connects painfully with the doorframe, and something digs in to the swell of his bicep. 

The other keeper is nowhere to be seen, so he doesn’t feel so bad about the startled yelp he lets out. Pouting, Maran rubs at the sore spot and looks for the culprit — only to discover that it’s a thick chunk bolted to the interior frame. The shape is familiar, a rectangle about as long as his finger and domed slightly. He smiles a little, thumbnail tracing the marking barely visible beneath layers of paint: a mezuzah. 

They don’t have any in the entryways  of their home, but his mum had told him about her childhood. And this far, it was a good reminder of that connection. 

He had been hoping it would curb some of the lingering fear.

*

It doesn’t. The fear twists in him until he falls asleep, and then without his consciousness to stifle, it springs forth.  Maran dreams. 

He steps up to the door and presses his hand on the plaque and is snatched into the sky. By the wind, or a hand in the back of his shirt, or the earth falling slipping beneath his feet. He hovers far above the inlet, a proper island now that the sea has eaten the path. No return. No hope going back home. 

When Maran reaches up to check that the embroidery still nestles against his neck, the ground rushes to meet him. He falls and falls and falls, plummeting towards the ground. He thinks briefly to look up, at the sky and sun, maybe have his tragic final moment be nice at least. But his skull is locked forward like there are icy fingers holding him still. Forcing him to watch as the grey rock and coarse sand rushes to meet him. He’ll be broken against the rocks, or flatten to the waves, or worse — 

He doesn’t feel the landing. But when he tries to sit up and assess the damage, hand behind him to touch the ground, it isn’t there. Looking to either side, he realizes he’s hovering slightly — but not caught by divine machination or mysterious mercy. 

Instead, one of the spires has made an impaled home in his gut. There’s no blood, no tear in his jumper, no pain. When Maran reaches up to touch the metal, a soft oh leaves his lips. 

*

It’s a scream when he wakes, though. He has the sensation of falling as he shoots upright, and it takes a moment to gather himself. He’s sweating, a hand clutched to his shirt. 

On the other side of the shared living space, Maran’s unnamed companion also sits awake. His legs are pale, dangling over the edge of his cot — well, Maran has the cot. He has the bed. First come, first serve. 

“N-nightmare?” 

Maran nods. His breathing wavers. He doesn’t want to cry in front of a stranger.  

“Yep.” He lies back down abruptly, turning his back too Maran. “Figured. Don’t go s-swimming. There’s an algae bloom. You’ll get fl-flesh eating bacteria and die. Slowly.”

Maran takes as deep a breath as he can manage. His hand, flattening over his stomach, doesn’t find a raised scar or wet wound or evidence at all of his dream. The relief feels childish. “Okay.” 

There’s a stretch of silence, where Maran thinks the other man might have fallen asleep, then: 

“Benson.”

*

The first week, Maran chips away at the mezuzah’s paint. He doesn’t recognize the letter carved into the wood, but he knows it’s oak — like the rest of the house. He finds another bolted to the beam that supports the spiral stairs leading up to the top of the lighthouse. There’s no door, no entryway, and he’s baffled as to why it’s there of all places when none sit in the frames of the living space of bathroom or storage shed. He stares up at the dizzying spiral, the flash-blink-flash of the mysterious light above, and decides not to dwell.

Instead, in the first week, he assesses the coop: full of fed and happy hens and one unhappy. He sterilizes and fashions an empty barrel in the shed to hold water in case of emergency, which gets a an approving nod from — Benson is a mouthful, but Maran hasn’t called him Ben anywhere but his own head. As starved as he is for companionship and guidance in this new place, the other keeper seems more interested in keeping to himself than listening to Maran ramble. 

The first week, Maran carries home on his back and tries to make the best. He flings himself into chores, preparing with all the (admittedly meager) knowledge he has of surviving a long season. And he avoids the spires. He avoids looking at them. He doesn’t touch them. He gives them, as best as the small expanse of land will allow, as respectful a distance as possible. 

For what it’s worth, the dream doesn’t repeat.

*

The second week, the third, the fourth: they pass. He hasn’t nearly enough to fill the hours, but there’s work enough to be done that he manages. There is a bookshelf full of dusty paperbacks and a few hardcovers that he largely ignores. Nothing calls to him (reading never has), and his fingers would feel gruesome touching page corners previously flipped by the dead. 

Bens— Ben has no trouble devouring their contents. He finishes a book a day. Maybe more. Even the thick academic tomes eventually get placed in his finished pile. Over time, Maran urges a summary from each. Mysteries, thrillers (an ear-reddening romance that seems more wank-accessory than literature), and even an ancient almanac. 

“The weather patterns and harvests and b-b-biodiver —” Ben pauses, his brow furrowing. “The environment completely changed. It’s fascinating.” 

Maran listens to all this with a fist tucked under his chin, attention rapt. Just because he doesn’t want to read doesn’t mean he lacks interest. Ben, as it turns out, is the perfect teacher. And for good reason; Maran finds out, as the time stretches, that he’s a scientist. While the money called, the opportunity for research seemed more attractive to Ben. 

“It’s just a little lighthouse.” Maran laughs. “What’s so interesting about ten paces of grass and some chickens?”

“It’s w-weird.” Ben asserts, leaning across the rickety table to make a serious face. Maran laughs. The smile that’s been pulling at the corner of Ben’s mouth comes out full force. For the first time. “Nobody’s studied it. Little isolated place, all this sea around it? S-Something’s here.” 

He launches into theories, then. Barometric pressure readings and tidal temperatures and nitrogen levels in stagnant pools and evolutionary patterns of fauna — 

Maran is kept by no invisible force; simply sits there, hands around his mug of tea, blinks occasionally. Mostly, listens.

*

 He tries to keep track of the time, after that. Things become…strange. The weather milds, then worsens. It snows early, and then he finds a raspberry bush behind the coop that boasts new buds. Maran finds his hair needs to be cut. Without a mirror, he has no choice but to go to Ben. 

“What’s the best way to go about this, you reckon?” Maran laughs haltingly, empty bin for clipping clutched to his chest. 

Benny glances around, then back at Maran, the slight difference in their heights with his boots and Maran’s trainers, the kitchen table. Then he drags the chair over (with an awful screech that makes Maran wince) and hops onto the table. It sways but doesn’t break. When he tugs the chair and gestures towards it, Maran hesitates. 

“C’mon. You want it b-buzzed. It’s that hard. I’m not gonna d-do you dirty.” Ben laughs. It’s become a more common sound over the past month. Still, he stays where he is. Ben rolls his eyes. “Sit down, Maran.” 

He goes. He goes immediately. Maran stumbles on the leg of the chair and is caught at the shoulder by a firm hand, but eventually he plants himself in the wooden seat. 

He isn’t sure he breathes the entire length of the haircut. But that can’t be right — it takes too long. Ben is meticulous. Ben is careful. He makes small talk about his latest experiment, something about nematodes and red algae. Maran watches curls float softly to the bottom of the bin and wonders if he’s getting sick. His head’s pounding with his pulse, and his brain’s foggy. He touches a finger under his nose at one point; he’d been prone to nosebleeds as a kid. His fingerprint comes back dry. 

Ben lays a hand across his shoulder. “All done.” 

Maran doesn’t move for a moment. His eyes lift, and he glances across the room, out the thin window that sits just above the utility sink.

There are storm clouds on the horizon. 

He must say as much, because Ben leaps to his feet. “Fuck, those stupid fucking birds are out.”The table rattles. So does the bin, when Maran drops it. He scoops up the hair that flutters out, feeling tears prick at his eyes when a tuft slips out the open door on the wind. The gulls have cleared out already — there’s no birds who will use it for their nest. He watches as the clouds creep closer, and is inexplicably filled with dread.

*

The next morning, Ben sits at the table with his head folded in his hands. 

“We lose something?” Maran asks tiredly, rubbing a fist into his sleep-sore eye. “Cistern looked fine when I checked but if there’s a repair —”

“Supply was supposed to be yesterday.”

Maran blinks a few times. He glances at the door. “Oh. The storm.” 

Ben’s eyes are red-ringed when he lifts his head. 

* 

Maran does it. He makes the excuse for more firewood from the pile, but Ben’s smart. Ben’s the scientist. He must know. He chooses the oldest girl and kisses an apology to the top of her head before it’s lobbed off, clean and kind. He isn’t sure what he’s meant to say, if he’s meant to say anything, so he just repeats the snippets he heard from his mum. Shelter, guard, peace over night and safety the next morning. 

*

Rationing isn’t hard. They only have to do it for a little, anyway. And Maran is used to lean months — he knows how to make rice last, chicken can keep on ice for six months on a stretch, and there’s plenty of canned things to pick through if it comes to that.

It’s not the chickens that starts to do Ben in. It’s the inconsistent weather, the nights that feel shorter than eight hours, and sometimes, the water near the south edge of the inlet reads boiling. 

Maran isn’t sure if that’s algae. He doesn’t think so — but he’s not the scientist.

The scientist insists there’s something there. The scientist starts having nightmares. Maran wants to ask if they’re the same as his, because they touch his mind some nights, too. He’s scared of the answer. He’s scared that it’s only been three months, and the isolation has gotten to them both.

“Is it electric?” Maran asks one evening as he’s bundling up at the base of the stairs, chin tipped up towards the flash-blink-flash. A panel has come loose near the top, and someone needs to fix it. Ben hadn’t needed to ask for Maran to know it would need to be his job.

He looks at Ben when his inquiry his met by silence. They rarely are. Ben looks even paler than usual, washed in the patterned churn of darkness and light, dark and light. His eyes reflect the light; Maran thinks it might be more hypnotic against that blue than the dark blanket of sky. He doesn’t say as much, and when the moment passes, he wishes he had.

“I don’t know.” Ben gestures around them. No wires, he doesn’t say but Maran gathers. No generator. But it goes and goes, a continual spin, continual light. There are no traces of burnt soot or wick or lantern oil to pretend it’s light is sourced by fire. The original analog. It must be electric. *

It hurts to think about, so he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t make Ben think about it either. That night, they do nothing but swap embarrassing stories like a couple of kids, cross-legged on the floor with a split two-thumbs of the last flask of rum and an unfinished card deck. Ben wins, but only (Maran insists) because most of the hearts are missing. 

When Maran lands on his cot, the left leg that creaks and keeps him up when he turns splinters, shatters, drops him to the floor. 

Ben laughs, but it’s not the usual pleasantly high lilt. It sounds a little manic. Maran feels manic. He splays arms and legs out, a starfish on dry land, and stares up at the weathered ceiling.

“I don’t want to jinx it—”

“D-Don’t, oh hah — oh, don’t fucking say anything you b-b-b—”

Maran raps his knuckles against the floor. “It cannot get fucking worse than this, mate. Swear!”

Ben tosses himself back against the mattress, and the creak that resounds in the quiet air makes them both pause — anticipating the comedic timing— but remains upright. They catch each others eye, and the laughter doubles. Maran’s stomach hurts with the force of it. When he splays his hand across his tensing gut, he hopes he thinks of this moment instead of his nightmare. 

Ben catches his breath. And then he leans across the space, one hand braced on the floor, to tug at Maran’s jumper. There’s another pause, another quiet swell of silence, another extended moment where they lock eyes. 

Ben doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer. But he shuffles back, shoulders to the wall, and makes room. 

Maran fills it. 

That night, there’s another storm.

*

There’s another storm. Or earthquake. Or other tectonic shift. Something that shakes the inlet, shakes the attached house and spills pans and belongings and rations, knocks a shelf from the wall, rattles the furniture, forces the lighthouse to creak and groan like a metallic beast. 

Something. Maran isn’t the scientist, but the waves beat as high as the window and the coop is washed away by morning and the cistern is flooded with salt, has to be pumped, and —

And it’s something. And the light is red.

The light has gone red. Flash-red-blink-flash-red. Red.

*

Ben joins him at the base of the stairs. Neither of them climb up to investigate. Neither of them externally share the internal fear that it might be a one-way trip.

They go about their day without speaking. There’s no acknowledgement of the light, or how it spreads in a sick tinge across the waves, or how it doesn’t breach the surrounding fog nearly as well as the bright golden yellow. Maran doesn’t ask him to read the aviary guide’s entry on canaries, and Ben doesn’t offer — he makes space, and Maran fills it. 

Maran has a nightmare. He dreams of climbing the stains and sitting on the floor in front of the light. He dreams of watching it turn (slowslowslowly). He understands, in that distant dreamlike way, that when it touches him that will be It. And when it does, red light spilling over the patch in his jeans at the knee, it burns through denim and skin and bone and all that’s left of him, at the top of that staircase, is the flash of red over dust. 

He wakes, but not violently. Arms around his waist keep him in place; he can only jerk forward, as if throwing himself away from the heat, and cry out. There’s a knowing, similar to his dream, that if he opens his eyes all he’ll see is that reflected wash of crimson. 

He doesn’t say anything. Ben, face buried in his shoulder, only shushes quietly. He turns until Maran has no choice but to do so as well, until their positions are switched. Maran draws air as they slot together, moves back a bit — he starts to apologize, because it was nightmare but — 

Ben pats behind him for Maran’s hip. His hand fits snugly there, grips with a strength and insistent that spills heat into Maran’s face. Then he yanks Maran forward until they press together, chest to back and hip to hip, legs warmly tangled.

“Sorry.” 

Ben hums sleepily. “For?” 

Maran can’t verbalize it. Too embarrassing, too heavy the shame. His lips part but stutter over the explanation. And he can’t move to explain, because — well — 

“Um. You know.” He sighs when there’s silence. “Ben, mate. C’mon.”

The body tucked against him shudders with a laugh, which does absolutely nothing to fix the situation at hand. 

“S’fine. I’m fucking with you, Maran. H-Happens.” When Maran takes his turn with silence, he isn’t permitted to get away with it. Ben nudges himself back (purposefully, the bastard, it has to be) and makes Maran gasp. “Regularly, here’s hoping.”

“Fuck you.” Maran grumbles, but the heat is probably lost when he rubs his cheek into a sharp shoulder blade and falls immediately back to sleep. 

*

The next morning, just as Ben leans in with hands cupping Maran’s cheeks, a foghorn sounds. 

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his tongue — which Maran cannot help but stare at — against his canine, head falling with a thump-thump-thump against the pillow they shared.

“If this is a hallucination I’m going to be actually so fuckin’ pissed.” 

Maran shifts, untangling their limbs from the almost-kiss embrace. It would have been nice. He wants it. More than he realized, he thinks, until they were exactly here. But —

“That’s the ferry.” 

They stare at each other. Then they nearly trip over one another bolting for the stairs.

*

It is. It’s not a hallucination. It is the fucking ferry.

Both of them, barefoot and in nothing but thermal underclothes, rush out the front door and steps towards the edge of the water. It’s still too shallow for the vessel, so Maran takes the dinghy out to bring the old familiar face to the inlet. 

“Light’s gone wonky, then?” 

“Have you ever seen it do that?” Maran asks, putting a plate of ration-gruel in front of the man. “Sorry. All we got.”

The old ferryman makes a face. It isn’t a pleasant one at all. “Rough month, lads?”

*

When he’s gone, and the sack of supplies rests against the front door like a sandbag meant to keep something out, Maran watches Ben pace the floor. 

“A month.” 

“It can’t have been.” Maran insists quietly, hands tucked between his knees. “It can’t have been just a month. I was counting days. We ate three of supplies — we nearly ran out.” He stares up at Ben, eyes not just wet but brimming, spilling over. “Are we losing it? Are we?” 

“No.” Ben’s turn to insist. He takes Maran’s chin in his palm and shakes him gently. The other flattens over the top of his scalp. “Your hair grew, Mar. It grew. That’s n-n-not a month’s fuckin’ worth of hair I cut.”

But they have no explanation, do they? Other than isolation. A mistracking of days, no matter how precise Ben is, how clean and careful his records. How consistent his notes. Wrong? And the sun in the sky, the passage of time; if he counts the minutes of boredom, that can’t wrong. Seconds, minutes, hours: real. Tides: real. Moon phases: real. That can’t be wrong. Ben can’t be. There has to be another explanation. There has to be another way —

Maran’s brow furrows. 

“I think.” He glances up at Ben, whose hand falls away to rest over the back of his neck. Maran hasn’t told him about the embroidered house at his nape, but a pale thumb rubs its comforting circle there, anyway. “I think you were right.” 

“What? Your hair?” 

“No.” Maran glances over his shoulder towards the door that separates them from the interior of the lighthouse. He thinks of the mezuzah on the beam. “No, Ben. That there’s something here. I think it’s underneath.”

Ben’s hands sting when they clap to his cheeks, but the kiss makes the pain worth it. Or, Maran thinks privately, maybe sweeter.

[slifarianhawk]

Chapter 43: what belongs where

When we arrived at Jake and Reina's home, Jake got out and opened my door. He was a quiet kid. He had barely said a word the entire ride to his place, only saying Hunk should run to the store for some food. Albert offered to drive him and pay for the food. Hunk agreed.

Jake held the door while I got out of the car. He held himself with a prideful stance. Walking me up to the door I could tell was difficult for him. He knew I was his biological mom... I bet that threw him for a loop.

"Please come in. We didn't have much, but it's where me, ma, and teach called home," Jake said, unlocking the door and letting us in from the rain.

"Thank you, Jake," I said, looking upon the house.

It was indeed small but very cozy. The entranceway opened up to a living room that was connected to the kitchen and dining room. It was more open than I remembered it being in ninety-two. Yet the nostalgic smell of roses, lavender, and sage stayed the same.

"Not what you were expecting? Thought your contributions would go further, hmm?" Jake asked, pulling down a couple of white ceramic mugs.

"No, it's just more open than I remembered, and the paint looks fresher too. Did you and Hunk remodel for Reina?"  I asked, noticing Jake put a kettle on the worn-down electric coil stove.

"Whoa! You can tell, huh? Yeah, teach, and I did it just after Mom got diagnosed with cancer. We thought more open space would be better for her in case she fell we could see her. Shortly after, Ma got with a, and we were a small family." Jake said, turning on the burner, "Unfortunately Ma wasn't big on there being coffee in the house, but we do have plenty of tea. What's your poison?"

I gently chuckle, "Jasmine, if you have it, and the whole no coffee thing was something her mom tried to drill into us. She was a bit of a health nut."

"Jasmine is mom's favorite. She had a special blend made for her at the local tea shop. Jasmine and Rose Hips, the tea is one reason the house smells the way it does." Jake said as the kettle began to whistle, "Sugar or cream?"

"Some sugar would be lovely." I smiled as he grabbed a tray with some chipped and worn china on it.

"Please go make yourself comfortable on the sofa. I'd feel like a total dick if I made a pregnant woman stand for tea that wouldn't be done for several minutes."  He said with a smirk on his face.

Gods did he look just like his father with that shit-eating grin on his face, "And you got my tongue that's for damn sure. I used to get heavy doses of bar soap to the mouth when I was your age."

We both laughed at that as I sat down. The living room was small with a china cabinet against the far wall and a nineteen-inch box TV in front of a blackout-curtained window. The carpets weren't the prettiest color, and they were pretty badly matted. I was curious about how the money I was giving Reina was being spent, but I figured I'd ask later.

That was when I noticed it out of the corner of my eye. There was a piano. Sure, it looked rough, but I knew Reina had a soft spot for it. I waddled my butt over to the piano and sat on the bench.

"Oh, that old thing caught your eye, huh? Mom gave piano lessons to supplement our income. Unfortunately, after a while of being a midwife in a near-constant war zone business dies. The money you sent us mainly covered bills and my school's tuition." Jake said, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry kid. I would have sent more if I could. Sigh, with Umbrella breathing down my neck I'm surprised you both didn't get found sooner. Fucking Sergei, fucking Spencer, they both deserve to be where they are rotting now." I said as he brought me my mug of tea.

"So let me get something straight, you gave me up so a pharmaceutical company couldn't take custody of me? Sure I know what they did but why didn't you keep me?" Jake asked taking a sip of his tea.

"The same reason why I didn't keep your sister. I didn't trust Ozwell E. Spencer.  He offered to take you both into his care since me and your father were under his watch. I just knew deep in my heart something bad would have happened to you both. I already lost Alistar to Umbrella. She died getting intel for me... she didn't follow my orders. I was supposed to die that day. I had to do what every parent dreads. I had to bury one of my children." I said holding back tears.

"So I had a sister. I bet she was a badass. Tell me, you are pregnant now. What has changed other than it being sixteen years later?" Jake said a bit of a sad expression on his face.

"The people who were after me and your father are dead. Mainly by his hand. Sigh, we were Umbrella scientists and I was one of Umbrella's experiments. Sadly between October ninety-eight and February two thousand three, I was Umbrella's prisoner and test subject. I'm in all senses of the word kid, a monster." I stopped, pulled my contacts case out of my purse, and took out my contacts.

"Jesus Christ! Your eyes!" Jake said stumbling back a bit not dropping or spilling his tea.

"They did this to me and your father to some extent, he wasn't downright experimented on like a lab rat but an Umbrella experiment all the same." I sighed taking a sip of the now slightly cooled Jasmine tea, "I just couldn't let my little ones be raised in such a hell. I left your sister with a lovely Russian couple... I wasn't careful enough though... my bastard uncle... your great uncle... he was a top figure in Umbrella. I went to him not knowing he had become Spencer's right-hand dog.  When I escaped he had tracked down the couple I gave Alistar to. They died in a fire caused by an umbrella facility catching a blaze. It was ordered by Spencer."

"That's why you kept your distance from mom then. You were trying to keep us safe." Jake said with a melancholy tone.

"Yes, you belonged here with someone who was able to love you and not be on the run all the time. Even during my and your father's stable period, we couldn't avoid being tracked by Umbrella. Che, even on date nights we were surrounded by Spencer's goons. Always watching us. The only day I felt free from it slightly was my and your father's wedding day." I shook my head sipping the tea.

"That had to of sucked but you said the bastards that did this to you are dead. Why did you wait to come find me then?" Jake said setting his saucer down and folding his hands together.

"Because Spencer's ambition is still alive in your father..." I took a long sip finishing off the tea and shook my head, "I am going to stop him no matter the costs. I just am here to ask a favor... I know it's selfish but if something were to happen to me I'd like for you to watch over your siblings. I don't think your aunt and uncle on my side would be able to care for them given they both hate your father."

"You said I have an aunt on my father's side why not ask her?" Jake asked finishing his tea.

"Because she sent a merc to kill me and my top guy," I growled clenching my fist at the thought of Alex getting a hold of my children.

"Damn so bad blood there, just let me think about it. That's a tall ask. I don't have much money or space." Jake said.

"If push comes to shove money is no object to me anymore I have a hunting lodge open and running at max capacity not to mention federal grants from the U.N. to keep up my anti-bioterrorism organization. Anything should happen to me they will not only fund you but keep you and your siblings safe." I sigh finishing my tea off as well.

"That's a hell of an offer but I'll have to still think I am a soldier of fortune now. I have to keep myself alive for a bit." He said taking our cups and setting them on the stained coffee table.

"I understand, and this is only if the worst outcome happens and I'm not around. Which isn't the most likely outcome." I sigh hesitantly scratching the back of my neck.

"I will keep my mind open so long as you pay a visit when you can. Teach and I have been quite lonely since Ma passed. It would be nice to have some company once in a while." Jake said putting a hand on my shoulder.

"It's a promise then. It finally seems as if things are where they belong." I heard Albert pull up and I smiled, "We will depart after dinner but before your father and teacher come in take this."

I handed Jake a card with a black and cyan blue wolf emblem on the back.

"What's this?" Jake asked taking the card from my hand and tucking it into his sleeve.

"A crossbow with a golden bolt is what that is. Should you ever need assistance, if your team fails you and H.U.N.K. isn't around. Destroy this, the tracker activates when destroyed. My personal guard dog will come get you, his code name is Cryo Wolf. I don't discuss mine and his terms but I will say that this is for a wipe-the-slate-clean kind of saving. Not only will wolf rescue but also set up with new anything if necessary. I only have so many of these cards. I just want you to have one in case shit hits the fan." I said sternly, "nod if you understand."

Jake nodded as we heard footsteps up the path.

"I wish had these when I was watching over your sister. Maybe then she'd be here still." I sighed as Hunk opened the door.

"I got food for chicken porridge." He said Albert walking in as well.

"Then I'll get started on dinner." I smiled as the three gentlemen walked into the living and started having a chat about Jake's life.

No matter what happens I must save my family. Hell will freeze over before I fail.

Hey everyone slifarianhawk here and sorry for the wait. I needed to do some serious recovering from the illnesses I'm dealing with and just like Tabitha I broke my damn foot. I'll be posting more regularly again just not as often as before. That is because I'm starting up a second book. It's still in my drafts and I'm going to take some time releasing it so arch angel will still have priority. The new story will be for genshin impact and I do hope if you are a fan of my writing you'll give it a chance. My name is Silfarianhawk and I'm not so far away

[buzzdixonwriter]

Daddy's Little Friend In The Basement Pt. 1 [FICTOID]

When I was a little girl daddy would tuck me in with “Nighty-night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

I’d giggle and kiss him then he’s leave and shut the door, thinking I’d go the sleep.

I didn ‘t go to sleep.

Rather, I’d spend a long time -- it seemed like hours, but who knows? -- thinking about things.

What I’d seen and done during the day.

Cartoons I saw on TV.

Stories I’d tell myself.

I could hear mommy and daddy talking in the living room and it always felt reassuring to hear their warm laughter.

Sometimes I’d drop off to sleep before they’d go to bed, sometimes I’d stay awake long enough to hear them go to their room and shut the doors.

Occasionally I’d hear daddy get out of bed, creep down the hall, then open the door to the basement.

I knew it was him by the way the floorboards creaked.  He was bigger than mom, not by a whole lot but enough that the floor sounded different when he walked on it, even in his stocking feet.

Mommy told me I was never to go down to the basement, that daddy kept his dangerous tools down there, that there were spiders and perhaps even mice and rats.

I believed mommy.

Then.

Of course, no self-respecting five-year old can resist the temptation to go someplace they’re forbidden so one day when daddy was at work and mommy was resting because she had another one of her headaches, I took the keyring from the secret place they didn’t know I knew about and unlocked the door to the basement.

It felt scary, let me tell you!  Maybe the scariest thing I did in my life up to that point, but I felt determined to go through with it and explore.

I crept down the unpainted wooden steps to the basement.  There were four small hopper windows along the south side.  Daddy put translucent plastic over them to let sunlight in but keep people from seeing inside.

On one side of the basement sat his workbench and tools:  Big, mean, ugly looking things; hammers and saws and screwdrivers.  I know today they’re perfectly innocent, but to a five-year old they might as well have been weapons of war or instruments of torture.

There were boxes stacked around the basement.  I recognized a few as the boxes we kept the Christmas things in. 

For all the warnings mommy gave me, the basement seemed spooky but not particularly dangerous.

Then I saw daddy’s room.

It looked like a big plywood box reaching from floor to ceiling.  It seemed a little smaller than my bedroom and my bedroom was only half as big as mommy and daddy’s.

Daddy kept it padlocked, but I tried all the keys on the ring and sure enough, one fit.

I opened it and stepped inside.  It seemed deathly quiet and awfully dark.  None of the light that same through the little windows in the basement reached it, so I groped around for a light switch and flipped it on.

Ever have one of those bad dreams where something terrible is happening that frightens you so much you can’t scream?

That’s what it felt like when the light came on.

There was a little girl standing in front of me, just my size and age.

My mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds, long enough for me to notice she wasn’t a real little girl but a mannequin or a doll or something.  I calmed down enough to get over my initial fear and shock, so I stepped forward to examine her more closely. 

While she was approximately my size and age, she didn’t look like me.  Different hair color and her face seemed more like an Asian’s though she didn’t appear to be completely so.  She wore a light blue frilly dress and wore stockings and nice shoes.

Much nicer than my shoes.

Her big, beautiful lavender eyes were open and looking straight ahead.  I stood just inches from her face when she suddenly blinked, smiled, and said, “Hello.”

Again, a shock so great it robbed me of my voice.  I jumped back, hitting the wall of the tiny room.  Daddy covered it in this strange black foam with bumps all over it like an egg carton.

Sound dampening foam, as I learned later.

“Who are you?” I asked when I finally regained my voice.

“You may call me whatever you want,” she said.  “I am here to please you.”

=to be continued=

 © Buzz Dixon

[way-to-go-lad]

Oh well I mean those are full albums no specific songs but rn Novocaine by FOB is playing and I love it! The whole American Beauty/American Psycho album is great, although unpopular opinion - my favourite is actually MANIA :3

I mean the kiwis aren't even red they're yellow with a tiny bit of red around the white middle. And they taste almost the same just a bit sweeter with less of a bite if that makes sense?

And yay I'm glad your work wasn't too bad today! And I hope you get lots of rest tomorrow. And good luck with painting the stars, that sounds lovely!

I need to buy a map of the world for my room so I can hang it up and put pins in places I've been to. I've always liked the look and I've finally been to enough places to justify it hah.

Oh sorry! I'm dumb 😅 MANIA is so good!!! I've been jamming to So Much (For) Stardust lately and I really enjoy it 😍😍

It does make sense! Never tried them myself, i'm more of a strawberries and apples kind of man, y'know. Can't wait for the Polish strawberry season. I've been carving some pasta with sour cream and strawberries lately, tastes so good and reminds me of childhood.

I did! I have such a great day today 🥰. Listened to the playlist @myownparadise96 made me for most of the day, because I just love it so much. I cleaned my room and set up my new desk. No painting done, but I can't wait to hang up all of my photos and art I collected over the years. I also painted my walls in pastel lavender color recently. Finally found a place to showcase my guitars and can't wait to buy a proper stand for both of them (no i can't really play, but i've been wanting to finally have some guitar lessons)

That's a great idea! I think it's a great decoration for a room also and it looks super cool 💚

How's your day so far? I hope it's great 🥺💚

Let's talk

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Part 2

Fancy Boots

Warnings: None

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Following the two of them through the streets of Nimrisé was surreal at best. The woman had picked up a basket she had dropped when trying to run past him. In it Riordan had spotted a few blocks of soap and some colorful linens. She walked hand in hand with the man — the Nightmare — occasionally even greeting people they passed. 

It looked so fucking normal, it was ridiculous.

Even more ridiculous was the house in front of which they stopped. An unremarkable little thing, with whitened walls and a dark roof and a garden surrounding it. There were bushels of lavender lining the path leading to the door, next to which a large window made it almost seem like it could be a shop. Behind the window, he saw colorful things; hanging from the ceiling, standing on little shelves, catching the last of the evening’s light. 

The two walked around the house, past more flowers, most of which he didn’t know the names of. There were orderly fields of vegetables and some bushes, then they reached the back door, which wasn’t locked.

The man walked in first, while the woman turned towards Riordan, giving him one last glare — at the same time making sure he couldn’t follow too closely. Riordan raised his hands, palms outwards. He’d play nice. For now.

When he was finally allowed to enter, the interior of the house looked every bit as fucking normal as he had expected. The door had led him into a kitchen, the countertops filled with copper pots, wooden ladles, cutting boards, dried herbs and more. A polished wooden floor with colorful rugs matched the polished wooden table with a similar tablecloth. The man had sat down on the bench at the wall. Keeping the woman’s words in mind, Riordan walked to the chair furthest away from him, pulling it out.

“So… your name?” he asked as he sat down, still too baffled by everything to remember the tiniest bit of politeness.

“It’s Damien,” the man said.

Strange. That wasn’t the name the woman had called.

“And hers?” Riordan asked, casting a glance in the woman’s direction. She was leaning against the counter. The fact that she was standing next to a wooden block full of what probably were very large and very sharp knives surely was no coincidence.

“She can hear you.” The woman glared at him. Again. “Her name is Merridy. Would be nice if we knew yours, but I can just call you Asshole if you prefer that.”

“Look. I’m—” Wait. He wasn’t fucking sorry. It wasn’t him who was a wanted criminal. Riordan buried his face in his hand, taking a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. This was so not going as he had expected. “My name is Riordan,” he then said, each word carefully measured. “I assume you know who he is?”

Merridy didn’t reply, but Damien nodded mutely. Riordan couldn’t interpret the look on his face. 

“So you know what he’s done? That he has made himself quite a name among the rebels? That he was in the dungeon, about to be tried for attempted murder and treason, and escaped?”

“I—” Merridy started, and this time it was her who was interrupted.

“She does know,” Damien said, looking at her intently. 

Okay, no, there was no way to put this nicely. “Then what the fuck is this? What are you doing here?” he blurted out. “Living like… like that!” He gestured broadly, encompassing the whole room. At least he managed to stop himself from saying ‘like normal people’, because the chances that he’d get acquainted with one of the knives weren’t too bad. “How do you go from torturing people for the rebels to returning home to a wife and a nice home cooked meal?”

“It’s him who cooks.”

“What?” Riordan looked from her to Damien and back. She couldn’t be serious. Not that he doubted that the man could cook, but… really, that was her problem with what he had said?

“Listen, Riordan.” The way she said his name surely still sounded like Asshole. “I know what he has done. And I know how much it haunts him, how deeply he regrets it. If you think he needs to pay for what he’s done… he has.” There was a sudden sadness on her features she couldn’t fully hide, no matter how hard she tried to keep her angry glare up. “If you think he’s a danger, to anyone… he isn’t. All we want is to live in peace, live like that.” With her last words, she had imitated his earlier tone. “Are you going to let us?”

Fuck, he couldn’t answer that question. He knew he should return to Caldeia and report Damien. He could even say he wouldn’t, then do it anyway, hoping they’d still be here when the guards arrived. There was no way he’d be that much of an asshole, though. 

Still, knowing what he should do… the last time it had led to him doubting his whole line of work. Perhaps this time he could doubt it before anyone came to harm. If he was honest, between the three of them, Damien looked like the least dangerous one at this very moment. He still remembered how it had felt, leaving him in the dungeon. How wrong. It sure as fuck wouldn’t feel any better now. And Damien had paid for what he had done, at least with his hand. Even if it seemed to be still there, now resting on the table. The fingers were moving, mirroring the motions of the left hand. It was intriguing. There was time to figure it out later. Hopefully.

“I can’t promise that.” The way Merridy’s gaze darkened made him raise his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m not gonna do anything just yet. But before I make such promises, I have to understand. I have to truly believe it. Sorry.”

Well fuck, now he had apologized after all. And for what? For making himself a traitor, too, by protecting both of them? It should feel wrong, but it didn’t.

“Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow?” 

“Damien,” Merridy hissed. 

But Damien only sighed. “Might as well get it over with. Perhaps a nice steak can convince him to leave us alone.”

“I don’t eat meat,” Riordan said without thinking. He expected a comment, or at least an eyeroll, for making demands half a second after he had pretty much invited himself, but all he got was a slight nod. 

“You’re cooking, right?” When Damien didn’t reply, just furrowed his brows, Riordan gestured in Merridy’s direction. “She’d probably poison me, then bury me under the lavender bushes.”

Riordan thought he saw the hint of a smile on Damien’s face. “Not under the lavender. She likes it too much.”

The softness on his features as he looked in her direction. The tone of his voice when he spoke of her. The way he had tried to protect her. Riordan sighed. Back then, what he had done had felt wrong. Right now it felt right. He just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.

[ID: The banner shows the feet of two people wearing boots, sitting next to each other in the grass. The title fancy boots is written next to them in a fancy looking, curly font in a bright green to yellow gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @teamwhump​​  @dont-touch-my-soup​​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​​​

[prettypinkpuddles]

Kinktober number 2 for Toji from jjk 🛐

That I can do! Luckily it’s the weekend and I have all the time in the world these days… hopefully.

Shower Sex with Toji

Fem Reader for this one… sorry!

♡︎𝙰/𝙽- 𝚂𝚘 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚄 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚘 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚎𝚝𝚌.

♡︎𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜- 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝙽𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔, 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢, 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

⚠︎︎𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐- 𝚈/𝙽 𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚈 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚏��𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚐 𝚊𝚜𝚜

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Parties like this bored you. All you did was decorate your husband’s arm, drink fruitless cocktails, eat chilled meat on a spiced cracker and smile and giggle. But this wasn’t the party you were expecting, first one woman left her husband’s side, then two more, then you found yourself leaving, taking with women about anything you could think of. You were there all night, sometimes leaving to get a glass of champagne one of the waiters were carrying. You knew all the now wife-less men were watching you catwalk you way to the bubbly, so you’d put on a show for them each time, fixing your top, swaying you hips as you turned to walk back, or stop and look for something non-existent, making sure to show your chest, it’s was practically spilling out your v-line.

When you got home, you realized just how much you had drank, almost tripping over your own heel. You stopped on the entertainment floor, remembering you left your phone there.

“Hi, Gumi, Itadori…” You waved to the two boys, them playing on one of the many consoles in the room. Megumi turned and waved to you, and Itadori couldn’t even look at you, his ears red and burning. He squeaked out a simple greeting and kept as much focus on the game as possible. You giggled and walked back to the elevator, clicking for the bed floor. You found Toji there, and he seemed rather mad. He grabbed a drink from one of the mini fridges and sat in one of the chairs, flicking on the giant tv. You walked up to him, leaning over the chair, draping your arms over him.

“I’m sorry, but the girls were so interesting… I made so many friends! More than I do at the other parties…” You put on a sympathetic pout on but he wasn’t buying it. “I just wanted a change..”

You sulked off, slipping out of your heels and putting them by the balcony door. You walked out and rested on the edge, staining at the ant-like people on the oh so low street. You felt a pair of large warm around hug you in place, a gentle sigh coming out from Fushiguro’s chest.

“I know how bored you get… I’m sorry I got so mad. I just like showing you off to the douches there, thats all.” He mumbled, lighting a cigarette. He took a puff and blew out in the direction the wind was flowing so it would land on you. You playfully reached up for the thing and but he said no.

Toji doesn’t like when you smoke, he wants you as healthy as possible. You knew this but still tried to take the smoke he had, no matter if it was a cigar or weed.

You slipped from his grip, telling him to enjoy his cig, walking off to your maid’s room, seeing her fast asleep. She must’ve been in a huge panic to get everything cleaned, she was still in uniform, not under the covers. You giggled and let her sleep, walking to the elevator. You slipped off your dress, knowing Toji was watching you, but you ignored him as he stared bullets into your back, pushing the button for the bathroom floor. You slipped off your panties, putting them on the elevator floor and immediately dipping yourself in one of the hot springs. You let out a broken groan of relief, the stinging water kissing and flicking your skin, as you sat down you reached for a white cloth and close hair tie. You put your hair up as best you could without a mirror, slipping deeper in the water. You heard the elevator ding and saw Toji walk up behind you.

He swiftly joined you, settling next to you.

“This is sooo nice.” I love this damn tub.” You smiled, and he kissed your forehead, pulling you on his lap. You took hold of his hand, putting his hand on your ass. You put your head in the crook of his neck, dozing off as you listened to his heartbeat and his voice as he spoke of everything he saw at the party.

“Y/N, wake up, shower.”

You opened your eyes and giggled at him, get out the tub and getting in the glass shower. It was right in front of a mirror so you could see yourself, you ethereal you found yourself and you sighed; reaching up to one of the lavender plants growing at the top(the garden floor above you).

You grabbed the shower nozzle, spraying the suds off you, the water lingering over your lower half a bit too much. You bit your lip, keeping it there until a knock on the glass made you scream. You looked to see Toji, a smug smirk on his face and a towel wrapped around him. He hung the towel over the glass and stepped in with you, pulling you and himself under the running water.

“Water’s nice, huh?” You grinned and he pushed his lips to yours, putting down the shower nozzle. You began kissing down his neck, mumbling about how nice it feels to be in the shower after a pretentious day. You manage to get yourself on your knees, right at your destination. You planted yourself right under his dick; a perfect match to your liking, it just just the right size for you and always had a pretty clear bead of precum at its head when Toji got hard.

You licked the tip of it, wrapping your lips over it, swirling and twisting your tongue around it, slowing engulfing it until you hit the base. You let out a sultry moan, looking up at Fushiguro.

“You good down there? I can do it?” He asked, holding his hand on your head. You nodded, letting out a hum and he gripped your ponytail, shoving your head back and forth on his cock. You choked and gagged as little as you could, taking as many fluids down your throat as possible. He held you at the base at one point for a few good seconds, letting you get a good breathe before he continued his self pleasure with your mouth and throat.

He finally yanked you off, releasing himself down the drain as you caught your breathe. You quickly got back to him and waited for his loving cum, looking at him with a pouty, annoyed look when you realized what he’d done.

He chuckled and got on his knees, helping you stand and pulled you over his face. You bit your lip devilishly.

“Do that thing you did… that time we were in the kitchen, and you put that whipped cream on me, you tongue felt sooo- Ah~! Fuck….”

Toji began ravishing your cunt, stimulating every part he could at once. You tugged his hair, dipping yourself into his mouth until he began to suck on your clit, flicking it at rapid speed. You squealed like a pig, trying to push him off, but you couldn’t. His hands were firmly on your waist and lower back. He relented and let you go, standing back up and kissing you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him pick you up and put you under the water again. He quickly slipped himself inside you, so the water wouldn’t wash all the slick away from your pussy.

“Ooh fucking… shit!” You couldn’t hold you moans back, sure the boys could hear you even in with Toji’s fingers around your throat. He pounded away at your sopping cunt, his grunt being drowned by the rushing water. He suddenly pushed you to one of the glass walls, still fucking your little hole and you began digging your nails into his back and shoulders.

“You wanna cum that badly huh?” He breathed and you shouted a yes as response. He chuckled, bucking his hips into you even more. You desperately wanted an orgasm, trying to match his thrust but it was futile; he put you down, turned you around and now you could see yourself. The mirror, you could see it.

You wiped the clouding fog away, able to see Fushiguro fuck the life out of you. The way your face contorted in pure pleasure, the movement of your fits, the slapping sound you could hear. Your eyes became hooded with lust, more languid, drawn out groans coming from your throat. Toji pulled you up to him, biting down on your neck hard, his fingers going at your nipples and clit. “Cumming! Fuck-!” You choked on your cries of pleasure, an orgasm flooding your veins with an overloading pleasure. You shook in Toji’s hands, falling limp as he turned to let you get rinsed one more time.

He peppered your face and neck with kisses and sucks, carrying you to the bed floor. He went into one of the room with colored lights, set you in the bed and changed the colors to a deep blue. He settled in and pulled you onto his chest, humming to make sure you weren’t knocked out already. You popped your head up with a hum of pure confusion, which made your husband smile.

“You were green the whole time, right?” He asked and you nodded.

Green was one of your safe words, you used them when you got into new stuff or some form of dangerous physical or mental play. There was Green to let Toji know you were fine and you were actually having fun, Yellow to tell him you were ok, just to make something a little less, like his roughness, grip or pace. Orange to tell him to stop or not do something anymore and Red to stop the play completely. You’ve rarely told him red, or yellow. You were mostly green because you loved everything you did with Fushiguro.

“Did you get my present in the elevator…?” You whispered.

“I did, of course you wore red…. It’s your go-to when it comes to those parties…”

“Well my dress was black, simple.” You grinned and put your head on his chest, slowly loosing focus in the conversation and drifting off to sleep.

Bonus

You woke to find a nice breakfast awaiting you, fluffy pancakes, melted butter with cinnamon, maple syrup, eggs with cheese, salt, and pepper, and of course bacon. You found a note folded up for you from Toji.

𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕟𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟, ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤

You smiled and ate your food, got dressed and went out to the other beds, seeing the boys passed out. You smiled at how contempt they were, remembering how cute they were together playing their game. Then you thought back to last night, how the elevator rang twice before Fushiguro met you in the bath… the pause in the rings. You recall how long it can take for the elevator to reach a floor, the distance of the entertainment floor to the bed floor. The bathroom floor was the floor two floors above the entertainment floor… so the elevator hit the entertainment floor befor picking up Toji. You tested your hypothesis, checking the elevator rings. You were right. You gasped, realizing one of the boys must’ve seen your little ‘gift’ before Toji.

You giggled of embarrassment for you and them, and of how funny it was.

[sxdmoonchxld]

Operation: Pop The Cherry | JJK

Jungkook x Virgin!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough bathroom sex, college au, unprotected sex, teasing, fingering, Jungkook has a virgin kink if you couldn’t tell by he title, lowkey sadistic JK, Gay BFF Jimin, mentions of alcohol and weed, brief mention of homophobia. bIG diCK Jungkook, more belly bulging, and I forgot what else

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: Against you better judgement and thank to your best friend Jimin. You somehow agreed to let a stranger on campus known as the Cherry Popper, too well..pop your cherry.

Alternatively: You're a virgin. Jungkook has a fetish/kink for fucking virgins.

A/N: I guess i’ll keep putting this note until i stop reposting my old stories. I use to be lizardsocial, and this fic was previously called Game. You may still be able to find it somewhere on tumblr. I edited this fic heavily and it’s honestly a new story, but there are still some elements from the fic it used to be still in there. Unedited so please let me know of any mistakes or typos. Like, comment, reblog, let me know what you think. Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Bass boosted pop music seeped through the dense walls of the energetic room. Strobing bright colored beams danced to the rhythm of the music in mesmerizing synchrony. The musty odor of marijuana, booze, and sex-saturated air shrouded the room in a turbid veil, covering the sea of drunken undulating bodies packed in the cramped living room.  Empty beer cans and other various booze bottles mixed with burnt-out blunts accompanied the young adults. You groaned with irritation and disgust. You didn't want to be here, but to your chagrin, you had a promise to keep.

It wasn't a secret that the college nightlife was unquestionably not your type of 'scene.' You quite frequently elected to willingly engage most of your time in your freshman dorm, wrapped in your weighted burrito blanket. A nightstand stockpiled with all your favorite snacks, lights dimmed low, and lavender incense burning, filling your room with the aroma of relaxation. The perfect setting to binge-watch your favorite show for the umpteenth time, the shifting distorted brightness of your computer screen, projecting the scenes against your face. 

It's kind of funny how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. The one time you decide to take the chance and branch away from the alternate antisocial hermit, your personality had adopted as its own had come back to bite you in the ass. You admit, lately, you've been neglecting your best friend. Your reasonings generally varying from the classic 'oh I was sleep' to deliberately silencing your phone, not wanting to hear the constant shrill ringing of the default ringtone. You loved Jimin, you truly did, but you could only take so much of his eccentric mashup of bubblegum and rainbow sparkles that was his personality. Eventually, guilt began eating away at you piece by piece until you ultimately caved in and invited your friend over for an impromptu movie night in your dorm room. 

Not even 30 minutes into the movie, one that you had been dying to see, might you add, Jimin commenced his drunk and high chattering. He had already started 'pre-gaming' before he came over; Six shots of straight Vodka and 2 blunts. Every day you prayed for this man's liver and brain function; with how much he drank and smoke, you would think he needed it to function. 

"Oh! Oh! Bitttch. Did I tell you about that football player, I fucckked last week!" Jimin started slurring on certain words. You noticed his eyes were glossy and glazed over. 

"No, you didn't, Chim." You sighed, completely giving up trying to watch the movie. You would have to watch it on your alone time. 

"Reeaally?" Jimin slurred, a goofy grin uplifting his lips.

"Yes, really. You haven't told me." Amusement lightly coated your voice. 

"Welll, his name is T-tae, Tae-tae something. Hold on, it's coming to me." Jimin said, rubbing the sides of his temples, trying to remember the guys' name. 

"Taehyung! That's it!" Jimin shrieked, snapping his fingers in victory.

You looked at him startled. You remember Taehyung from high school. You didn't recall him being at this college, though. Well, it wasn't like you paid attention to many things outside your bubble anyway.

"Wasn't he homophobic as fuck in high school?" You asked, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, he was. Buttt I guess he was trying to cover up, that he was actually on the DL." Jimin smiled, whispering the last part.

"DL? What's that mean?" You inquired

Jimin looked at you with a look of betrayal. "It means he's on the down-low, meaning he didn't want anyone to know he's gay. Girrl, I'm too crossfaded to be explaining this to you."

You chuckled, " My bad, Chim. So was it good?"

"Fuck, no! Dick was straight trash. The only thing that saved him a little was that his dick was huge." Jimin said, wiping away a pretend tear from the corner of his eye. 

You laughed boisterously at that. If Jimin wasn't so adamant about becoming a professional dancer. He could seriously take up a career in comedy.

"Speaking of dick. When are you gonna get some?" Jimin asked, turning his body to face you completely. As you looked at him, you noticed his eyes seemed a bit clearer, and his face wasn't as red as earlier. Not only did Jimin drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. He was somehow able to sober just as fast.

"Oh my god, Jimin. Please don't sta-"

"Mmm, no missy," Jimin said, wagging his finger in your face.

"Don't you hear it?" He said, cupping his hand around his ear as if he was straining to hear something.

"Hear what?" You replied, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest.

"The cobwebs and tumbleweed living in your cunt."

"Jimin!" You shrieked, slapping the arm closest to you.

"Don't Jimin me! You know it's true, I swear you're gonna be a 40-year-old virgin, and by the time you finally make the decision to have sex, it'll be too late!" Jimin yelled, stumbling to stand up from the couch.

"First off, ouch. I won't be a 40-year-old virgin. That's very insulting. Second, I do plan to lose it soon. I just haven't found the time or the right guy." You said, looking down at your feet shyly. You did want to lose your virginity, but with being an introvert with a mix of social anxiety and just a dash of seasonal depression for added flavor. It was hard even to get out of bed sometimes. Much less going out and trying to find someone to do the do with.

"Oh! Well, if that's all, then I got you covered, babe. Time? Next week Friday at Jihyo's dorm. As for the right guy, I know a dude. He has like a kink for that kind of thing." Jimin answered nonchalantly, now scrolling through his phone, probably on his social media page.

You looked at Jimin, head tilted to the side, confused. "What kind of thing?"

"Oh, you know fucking virgins and shit. Popping their cherries." He said, popping his "P's."

You sputtered, exasperated. What the fuck. You didn't kink shame, that was for losers, but he can't seriously expect you to do something like that.

"What the actual fuck. Jimin, are you serious?"  

"Deadly." He said, looking you square in your eyes. His tone of voice haven dropped an octave lower.

"Jimin no. I-i can't."

"Jimin, yes! Err, I mean _____ yes, you can! Come on, it's a once in a lifetime experience. Plus, it's not like he's a total stranger. I've known him since he was 8 years old. I use to babysit the little shit head." Jimin said, waving his hand in the air, trying to swat away a rogue fly.

"Wow, Chim. You know, now that you put it like it makes me feel a lot better about the situation." You said tone dripped in sarcasm

"Really?" Jimin squealed, a delighted twinkling in his eye.

"Of course not! Don't be stupid!" Offended, you gawked at Jimin. You swear sometimes he could be so dimwitted.

"Come on, please? At least meet him, and if the vibe is not right, then you can leave no harm done." Jimin pleaded, his attention back on you. Was it crazy that you were actually thinking about agreeing to this? Jimin did have a point. It was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. He did know the guy, and if you didn't like the vibe, then you could just bounce, right? Right?

Sighing in defeat, your hands dragged down your face and turned towards a pouting Jimin. Grabbing at his deflated shoulders, you shook her lightly, and with urgency in your voice, you spoke, "Alright goddammit! I'll do it, but you have to stay by my side the whole time, no running off, you understand!" 

You watched Jimin's face quirk into a sly smirk. You swore you could see the cogs in his brain churning. Damn, you were going to regret this. You had the tendency to make deals when pressured. Most of the time, those agreements ended up backfiring on you, confining you in the proverbial rock and a hard place. 

"Yay! Operation: Pop _____ Cherry has commenced. Okay, so will meet at the auditorium on the art campus. From there we will walk to Jihyo's dorm, it's only five minutes. Promise me you'll actually show up and won't flake on me." A complacent expression rested arrogantly on Jimin's features, a single pinky finger extended towards you. 

"Don't give this situation a not-so-secret code name. And I can't believe I'm saying this but, I promise." You agreed, interlocking pinky fingers, yours thumbs coming up to press against one another.

"So I'll meet you at the location Friday, don't be late, and wear something sexy. No granny clothes." he chirped, making his way to your front door.

"Wait! You're leaving already?" you frowned, looking at the clock on your wall. He's only been here for an hour, and 30 mins of it were spent persuading you to hurry up and lose your virginity. You didn't even get to finish the movie together.

"Sorry babe, but I have a dick appointment." he shrugged, putting his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

"Can you at least tell me the name of the guy who's supposed to fuck me?" you huffed, honestly you were done for tonight. As soon as Jimin left, you were heading straight for bed.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget." Jimin slaps the center of his forehead. "He's a real cutie. I would fuck him if he wasn't as straight as an arrow." Jimin looks off to a far wall, eyeing it with jealousy.

"Just tell me his name, please." You pleaded. Oh yeah, that's definitely a headache forming. You could feel it already. Jimin snaps out of his daydreaming and spins his body towards you.

"Jungkook."

Time skip to a week later, and precisely as you suspected, what a mistake that whole conversation was. Now here you were at this fucking dorm party with people you didn't know or care to get to know. Jimin had left you as soon as he saw his next piece of ass. Restlessly you hauled down the short black dress that insisted on riding up your ass, the soles of your feet protesting in the slim heeled shoes. Floundering your way into the packed building, you couldn't help but query where Jungkook was. Jimin was supposed to get around to send you a picture of the mystery man, but that never happened. Funny how now was the best time you decided to question why exactly Jimin was your best friend.

"Well damn, the pictures Jimin sent me doesn't do you justice at all. You're fucking hot." You recoiled from the closeness of the voice, the heated breath sending chills skittering down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck ramrod straight. Heat spurred to your face when you whisked around to meet an absolutely gorgeous guy. Like unfairly gorgeous guy. You stared wide-eyed, taking in his chiseled facial features, paired with wide doe eyes and bunny smile decorating his face. Somehow, someway he's mastered looked soft and sexy at the same damn time. And fuck was that a dangerous combination for your pussy. Your heart too, but more so your cunt.

"U-uh, thanks? Who are you exactly?" You watch as he recoils back from your with a look of apprehension on his face.

"A-are you not ____?" he stutters cutely. You think you can see the beginnings of a blush burning his cheeks. You nod your head once to confirm his question. He stared at you a minute longer before you see the recognition spark in his chocolate orbs.

"Jimin didn't send you my picture did he?" Shaking his head with his eyes close, you get the courage the scan his face a bit more. Yeah. He's definitely blushing.

"Sorry. I guess seeing you here, I thought Jimin would have...prepared you better." Shaking your head from side to side because your words refused to come out. You watched as he backed up a bit further from your personal space and thrust his right hand out to you. 

"The name's Jungkook, or J.K. Whatever suits your taste."

With clammy hands, you taking his outstretched hand marveled at how it almost covers your hand. Now that he's moved back from you, you now had to chance to see how tall he really was. Maybe about 6 to 7 inches taller. You look down at his feet and eye his combat boot, perhaps a little shorter but still taller. And big, yeah, definitely bigger. His oversized black jacket did little to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You let your eyes travel down the length of his body. You bet he's hiding some killer abs under his shirt. And holy fuck, his thighs.

"You like what you see, baby girl?" Teasing, he's teasing but God, if his voice didn't make you pussy throbbing pathetically. Whimpering slightly, you let out a meek "Yes." God, you hope he didn't hear that.

Much to your dismay, he did, hear you. How he heard you with the music as loud as it was, was a mystery to you. But you watched his pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare slightly. Jungkook tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes rake up and down your scantily clad body. His heated stare scrutinized across your body, intrigue exerting over him, as he analyzed the way the snug-fitting dress molded to the curves of your shape. He could tell you didn't do this often. His dick twitched in his jeans with enthusiasm. 

It's the increase in pressure of your hand that makes you realize you're still holding his hand. You go to retract your hand from his. However, yelp shrilly as he tugs you closer to his body. Both hands now resting on his chest, and his wrapped around your waist. Fuck, you could feel the warmth and coarseness of his hands through your thin dress. A spontaneous tremor racked your body. The heat-transmitting from his frame mixed with the floral yet musky undertone of his cologne made you somewhat featherbrained.

"Fuck, you're so soft." You squeak as he squeezes your waistline, pulling you even closer against his body. You were now putty in his hands.

"Jimin told you my....preferences, right?" his voice caressed your ear. Just a slight movement or subtle twitch, and his lips would be on your skin.

"Y-yeah, he did." It should be an embarrassment how frail and breathless you sounded, but that didn't matter.

Jungkook hid his smile behind your ear. This was just too easy. Just how he liked it. He almost felt bad- almost. He was gonna ruin you utterly and completely, mold the shape of cock in the walls of your pussy. His name spilling from your lips, voice going hoarse by how loud he would make you scream. Fuck he couldn't wait. He's had virgin's before, a lot of them. That's his whole M.O. The cherry popper, virgin fucker, whatever. Jungkook's heard all the names in the book. But there's just something about you, you just had an air of genuine innocence, and he couldn't wait to defile it. 

Jungkook pulls his head back, enough to where his eyes can trail over the bared skin of your neck, and the sprinkling of perspiration sparkling off the bright strobing lights, no doubt from nervousness. His tongue traced over his thin upper lip, watching the droplets of sweat spiral down the curve of your neck. He wanted to taste you. 

"Alright, then." He jerks his body away from you. You're no longer touching his chest, but his hands are still on your waist. 

"Let's enjoy the party before the fun really begins. Every done body shots before?" Jungkook spoke casually, undeterred by the way you recoiled back or the look of stupor on your face.

"W-what? B-body shots, why?" you squeaked, failing to keep from stuttering over your words. Is this how it's supposed to go? Is this normal? You're bewildered, and just a bit perturbed. Were you just imagining that sexual tension that was going on just moments ago? For sure, you thought Jungkook was gonna throw you over his shoulders and haul you off to the nearest unoccupied bedroom or bathroom. At that instant, you didn't care. 

Jungkook regarded the war of emotions wage across your features, merriment and strobing lights twinkling in his eyes. Fuck, you were cute, so desperate staring up at him with a pout on your face a puppy dog eyes. He could honestly just take you back to the closest room and fuck the shit out of you. But he wanted to play with his prey, a bit more. The wait made it that much more satisfying.

"Don't pout too much, baby girl or I may not be able to contain myself. Follow me. The table is this way."

Jungkook didn't indulge in answering any of your questions you rambled off at him, delighted to see you trailing on his heels like a lost pup. Jungkook directed you further into the dorm, and like a dog on a leash, you followed. In the center of a sparse room sat a scraped up black table. You observed the area. It was devoid of many people. The several that were present made no recognition of your proximity in their intoxicated state.

"So who's first?" Jungkook asked, setting the bottle of tequila, rim salt, and limes down on the table.

"U-uh, I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter." You shrugged hesitantly. You were way out of your element here.

"Perfect then, you first." Jungkook should be ashamed by how excited he was at getting to sample your skin. It looked smooth, felt soft when he had you in his arms, and would no doubt probably taste as sweet as it seemed. You nodded in docility, wandering over to crawl on top of the table, being attentive to your dress. You lay flattened against the table, shiverings racking your body as he began pouring a trail of salt between your cleavage. 

He poured himself a shot in the depression of your throat and tore the lime in half with his bare hands. Smirking at how you flinched when he thumped the liquor bottle down beside your head. Jungkook pushed the other half of the unevenly split lime towards your lips, a silent gesture to take the lime in your mouth. Jungkook watched as your lips curled gently around the hull of the green citrus. A flare of lust stirred in his loins at the action. He couldn't wait to see your lips stretched around the head of his cock. He observed your eyes clamped closed as he began dropping his head forward to your chest. It was adorable and innocent. He noted the way your lips slackened around the citrus in your mouth, your chest heaving in speed, the closer his tongue trailed to your neck.

You tasted splendid, just as sweet as he thought. The salt on your skin did nothing to deter your natural flavor. If anything, it enhanced your sweetness, rendering your skin damn near mouth-watering. Jungkook's ears perked at the breathless moans slipping past the fruit perched against your lips, drawn out by the repeated pass of the wet, pink appendage lapping at the salt line between the valley of your breast. Committing your muffled moans to memory, he lapped persistently at the collection of salt and tequila in the hollow at the base of your neck.

You face flammed in embarrassment as panting moans effortlessly tumbled from your mouth. Who knew your chest and neck was such an erogenous spot. Despite your shame, you couldn't stop wriggling, shifting your thighs together for some form of friction to sate the rising arousal dampening your panties. You yelped at the sensation of blunt teeth nibbling at your skin before soft lips came to suck at the shallow indentations. Fluffy hair with an undercut came into your line of vision as Jungkook lifted his head up to your lips. Your heart stammered tortuously against your ribs, flirtatious eyes stared lidded with searing lust, his head advanced closer to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips puckering against the bitter hull of the lime.

Jungkook closed the distance, slanting his mouth over the lime, blocking his contact with yours. He sucked against the sour fruit, acidity puckering his lips, residual tartness flowing to your cracked lips. Jungkook withdrew from your mouth, taking the drained lime hull with it. Your saccharine moans were heaven to his ears. It had awoken something inside him, fueled his fire in knowing that possibly no one had ever heard such a sweet sound. He wanted more, craved more. 

"Have you ever been kissed before, sweetheart?" Your eyes followed the movement of his tongue, poking out to moistening his lips. 

"Yeah, once in like 3rd grade." Who hasn't snuck behind a tree or hid underneath the dark coverings of playground equipment to lock lips with a childhood crush?

He grinned salaciously, body moving to rest between your spread legs. Oh, now he was really excited. Your lips were practically untouched. Just another part of your body to claim first. You jumped when palms pressed flat against the revealed skin of your thigh. Gently, Jungkook rubbed lazy circles on your skin, never lowering or furthering than the hem of your dress. He felt you wiggle beneath his hands, observed your eyes, glimpsing―darting about, should you concentrate on his face, or his hand, uncertainty was etched on your face.

"Amazing." He groaned, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, before grinning again. His face inched closer to yours, his lips but a breath apart, warmth flickered against your lips as he talked, level and smooth. " Well, how about I become your second?

And then his lips were on you, the soft muscle mangled itself to your lips, tentative and sluggish to give you a chance to register his mouth slanted upon yours. Jungkook chuckled against your lips at your unresponsiveness. He guesses you were a little shell shocked. It only takes a few more stagnant seconds before you're shyly reciprocating his kiss. Delicate, shaky movements highlighted your inexperience. Increasingly, Jungkook increased the pressure behind lips, his hands spreading to enclose around your waist, dragging you closer against him. One of Jungkook's hands removed from your waist to bury itself in your hair, gently his fingernails scratched against your scalp, an airy moan was his reward. 

Hands completely abandoning your midsection, one gripped the meat of your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the table, flush against the tent of his denim jean encased manhood, the other embedded in your strands pulled sharply on your roots, a loud gasp tearing from you. Jungkook took that opportunity to advance his tongue into your gaped mouth. His tongue wrapped itself around yours, briefly wrestling for dominance before easily pinning your tongue in submission. His hips ground against yours, the heat of your covered core teased him through his jeans. 

He thoroughly explored your mouth, swallowing the now copious cries leaving your mouth. Reluctantly, Jungkook tore himself from your kiss-swollen lips. The ravished looked suited you perfectly. You looked beautiful, thighs brazenly spread, eyes glazed over in lust, your sticky chest heaving from the length of the shared kiss. Even in the dim lights, he could make out the taunt pebbling of your nipples. 

Your mouth gaped wide, flapping about like a fish out of water, trying despairingly to draw air into your lungs. Your first kiss definitely didn't compare to this much. Your wide eyes flicked between Jungkook and the floor, your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, feeling shy as he just stares at you. Releasing your teeth from your lips, you timidly touched your mouth, admiring how plump they've gotten from the intense liplock.

Wordlessly Jungkook hitched you over his shoulder, winded with a grunt as his defined shoulder blades dug into your stomach and what sounded like a growled vibrate up into you. You squirmed lightly in his hold, scared he was going to drop you, and secondly, your panty-clad ass on display for the party-goers, not that anyone was looking. 

You watched the continuous panels of hardwood floor move beneath you as Jungkook carried you to an unknown destination. You couldn't believe you were really doing this. Were you actually going to have sex with a complete stranger? Someone who was known for explicitly fucking virgins. Realistically, you should be ashamed, yet, you conceded full control to him without a second thought. What did that say about you? About your character? Would you now be labeled as 'easy' or a 'hoe' after all this was done? What was going to happen between you and Jungkook? 

The flick of a switch stirred from your thoughts. You shield your eyes with your hand at the bright lights pouring into the room, or rather a bathroom. Jungkook loved the confusion marring your features. He wouldn't fuck you in his bedroom just yet. That was a privilege you would have to earn, no matter how intrigued he had become with you. There's always humiliation to be had in the corruption of innocence, and fucking you in the bathroom was a good start. He planned on making you watch him as he destroyed your body, popping your cherry, stretching your tight virginal hole to accommodate his length, and claimed it as his own. Jungkook shuddered at the thought, his possessive nature taking a turn for the worst. 

Impatiently Jungkook sat you on top of the bathroom sink counter, his lips smashed against yours, the previous tenderness was gone, vanished into a puff of smoke. Teeth banged, and tongues flailed recklessly against each other in the heat of passion, with you struggling to keep up with the demands of his dominating kiss. Thick fingers trailed beneath the hem of your dress, tickling the expanse of your thighs. Jungkook wasted no time in shifting your slick soaked panties to the side, a warm digit gliding effortlessly through your damn folds.

"Fuck, you're already so wet. You're enjoying this a little too much, baby girl." Jungkook growled, panting against your lips. His finger breached your sex, you tensed deftly around the foreigner intrusion, stretching your weeping walls. 

"Ah, Jungkook." You cried listlessly, rocking your hips against his stilled finger. He felt so good inside you, and it was just his finger. Maybe this experience wouldn't be as bad as you heard. Now you couldn't wait to see what his cock felt like embedded deep within your pussy. Jungkook pumped slowly, eventually introducing a second finger to help loosen you up more. You were gonna be a tight fit, very tight, but that just made it even better. You hissed at the slight burn as he began scissoring his fingers apart with each withdrawal. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you buried your head against his broad chest, your mellifluous moans suppressed by the fabric of his shirt. 

"G-go faster, please." You begged, your body adjusting and quickly becoming frustrated by the snail's pace his fingers were pumping. You bucked your hips against his hands, hoping he would ease the growing discomfort boiling in your stomach. 

"Have you ever had an orgasm before, babe?" You nodded eagerly at his question, whining as you bucked against his hand again.

"Oh, really? Who gave it to you." Slow, he was going too slow you wanted, no you needed more friction, more stimulation from him.

"M-me. I-i did." Jungkook loved how you stuttered, it stroked his ego and filled him with arrogance to know it was him, and only that was capable of making you stumble over your words.

"Mmm, and how did you do it? Did you rub this little clit of yours raw?" You cried louder when his thumb flicked at your clit, the stimulation further drawing the appendage from its hood.

"Or did you fuck this tight hole, with these tiny fingers of yours?" At those words, a loud, choked moan, even muffled by your face in his chest, echoed throughout the white bathroom. Jungkook had gone deeper inside, almost to the third knuckle. Another moan left your lips as he twisted his fingers inside you, his palm now facing upwards.

"Though you and I bought know they couldn't possibly reach deep enough to touch the spot you really want." It's euphoric, no better yet orgasmic, the sheer shock of electric pleasure that zaps through your body when he finds the spongy bundle of nerves. Your body jerked heavily, legs go to snap close, only to be stopped by his broad body between your thighs.

He chuckles softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand. Jungkook shifts his head down, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He exhales quietly, warm air tinged with tequila and lime caresses the light hairs on you around your ear. " I found it, huh?"

You whimper, rubbing your head up and down against his chest.

"You want me to speed up the pace, sweetheart?" Jungkook's voice is delicate now, so gentle. But you're confused, overwhelmed, and scared. It's never felt like this when you did it yourself. Your not sure if you could handle the feeling, so you don't provide an answer to Jungkook's question.

"Don't ignore me ____, that's not nice manners. I'll ask again." You clench around his fingers as Jungkook inches just a bit deeper. 

"Do you. Want me. To go faster?" With each pause, he arches his fingers in a 'come here' motion, pressing deeply against your bundle of nerves, the sensation of having to pee accompanied with each thrust.

 "Y-yes, faster, more. Pl-lease." Fuck, you sounded so pretty begging for him if he wasn't addicted before. You had him sprung now. Jungkook buried his face in the crook of your neck, the sharp smell of tequila and salt still lingering on your skin. He sucked at the junction where your shoulder and neck met. You bucked harder against his fingers, your juices now dripping to coat his palm is sticky cream.

"If you wanted more. Why didn't you just ask?" Jungkook said deviously. Confused, you felt withdraw his sticky digits, walls gripping to stop their departure. Without warning, Jungkook flipped you over onto the counter, your knees buckled at the sudden change in position. Your faced burning at your displayed state, droplets of your essence dribbled from your pussy, slicking up your inner thighs. You yelped as Jungkook grasped at the length of your hair, pulling back pointedly, your neck craned back to observe him addressing you in the mirror.

"You've been wondrous for me ____. Such a sweet girl." He expressed, his empty hand disappearing behind your perked ass to fiddle with the groin of his pants. 

"Truly, you have. Your response and reactions to my touch have really gotten me riled up. It's been a while since I've tittered on the edge of losing control." You wheezed, starting to panic as you felt the thick head of his cock slap teasingly against your slicked throbbing hole. Oh, God, he's huge. Jungkook's cock might just tear you apart. You shifted your hips forward, pressing against the cold marble of the bathroom counters door.

"I-i don't think, I can t-take it Jungkook, you're too b-big. It's my first-time, r-remember?” Your stuttering worse now, but you're scared.

Jungkook pulls your hips back with the hand the was grasping his length, the side of your hip now coated in his pre-cum. His hand lays flat in the crease of your back, forcing you into a perfect arch. 

"You can take it, all of it. And don't worry, of course, I remembered your fragility. I'll go slow, I promise." You plead silently with your eye contact through the mirror. 

"You ready?" You nod once an advert your eyes down to the sink.

Your mouth shakily falls agape as he slowly began pushing the head of his cock into you. It burns, but not as bad as you had anticipated. You take the chance to look back up into the mirror, adamant about giving Jungkook a thankful smile for his gentleness. That vision that greets looks like it jumped right off the page of your favorite erotic story. 

Jungkook's got his head thrown back, the edge of his t-shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, your eyes trail the drip of sweat that follows the curve of his jawline. You have a clear view of his abs all the way down to the v-cut of his hip, to the happy trail that leads to a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair. You clench tightly around him, efficiently aroused by the view. You feel his cock throbbed heavily inside you, even getting bigger if possible.

"You like that, sweet girl? You like seeing me struggling to contain myself because you're so tightly around me. This little pussy trying to milk me for all I can give you." You love it. You feel powerful in a way. Do you really feel that good around him?

"Yes." Jungkook draws out the 'S.' 

"You feel amazing, so warm and wet. I wished you could see how coated in white you've got me, and I'm not even all the way in yet."

You scream soundless as he bucks into you, shoving in half of his length. It doesn't hurt anymore. You just feel stuffed full. Lifting a trembling hand, you take the chance a feel the lower part. You noticed swelling that wasn't there before, intrigued; you push down against it, moaning in shock you realize it's Jungkook's cock. 

"Yeah, baby girl, that's all me, well, most of me. You ready to take the rest?"

"Yes! Please!" That's the clearest you've been all night. You don't get an answer as Jungkook immediately picks up his pacing, thrusting into you faster. He wastes no time pumping deeply into your tight pussy, his tip smashing against the entrance to your cervix as you pant and grit your teeth in slight discomfort, overshadowed by pleasure. The burning sensation is back as he fucks in deeper with each brutal and swift stroke. But you don't care cause it still feels amazing. You can hear yourself, sloppy and soaking wet, echoing throughout the bathroom. You're drooling down his pistoning cock. You can feel it dripping down your inner thighs. Your head jerks violently against your shoulders, to weak support your head from his menacing thrust. 

Tightened vocal cords released strained shrieks of praise; from your mouth, drool dripping from your lips, into the sticky cleavage of your breast, and sweat coated your skin. The coil in your stomach was quickly tightening, never had you felt anything so deep inside you. If you ever had sex with anyone else, they would never compare to Jungkook.  You were fucked both figuratively and literally.

Jungkook pulled you further from off the sink, the new position allowing him even deeper. You clawed at the marble tops underneath your fingers, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. That sensation of having to pee is back again.

"J-K, I-m. I have to-," You don't get to finish as the band in your stomach snapped. Silently you announced your release; if it wasn't for the new wave of cum coating his cock, or the fluttering tightness of your walls, Jungkook might have missed your orgasm. He wasn't far behind you. The constant clenching of your ridged walls around his cock, had him reaching his limit sooner than he would like. Jungkook had half a mind to pull out but decided to gamble his odds. You're the first person he's fucked raw in a while, and with three deep thrusts later, he was shooting his hot seed right against your cervix. 

Breathing heavily, Jungkook lets you fall against the sink, observing as you crumpled against the sink countertop. Pride swelled his chest as he watched his seed bubble out of your well-used hole. He's never contemplated going farther with the virgins he fucked. He wouldn't make any hasty decisions now though there were still a lot of things he wanted to do with you. He would sleep on it and revisit the idea in the morning.

"So would you say, Operation: Pop Your Cherry was a success?"

You giggled, winded, still having difficulty catching your breath. You straighten up against the bathroom counter, the majority of your weight still resting on the object as you had yet to regain the feeling in your legs.

"Jimin and his stupid code names. I swear when I get a hold ass, he's dead." You warned already preparing your revenge on your best friend. You stare at Jungkook in the eyes through the mirror, smile a bit goofy, you say.

"Operation: Pop My Cherry. Mission complete."

[ratsoh-writes]

What do their bedrooms/living areas look like? I'm going to use all 3 of my asks to request this for all of the boys if that's ok! ❤

Man, I’ve had this one in my secret notes for a good while now!

Undertale:

Both the tale brothers live in a nice little gated community. Their house is one of the smaller ones and has the same layout as the one in Snowdin. The house is pretty basic with some cozy throws and wall tapestries to spruce it up

Sans: his room actually has a proper bed and frame this time. The sheets and blankets are still bundled up in a pile on the floor though. Sans also has his homemade trashnado in the corner. There’s a desk on the wall adjacent to the door which has his laptop. And several folders stacked next to it. Other than a dresser, there’s literally nothing else in there. Sans doesn’t care much about stuff

Papyrus: his room has bright orange walls. He left the race car bed behind underground but has a race car blanket to make up for it. His walls are covered in superhero and comic posters. He also has a display case for some old figurines and his comic collection. Papyrus’ desk is one of those nice fancy drafting ones where he can adjust it to tilt upwards. He has a ship wheel attached to his door for some reason.

Underswap

The swap bros home is only a few blocks from the classic brothers neighborhood. The only thing basic about it is the cream walls. All the furniture and decorations are bright colors. The kitchen especially is real nice. The oven and stove are top notch, and the counters are filled with mason jars full of goodies.

Star: his room can blind a lesser man when you walk in. The walls are bright yellow, the bed (which is a bunk bed by the way) is neon orange. Galaxy posters decorate the wall. Besides the clashing colors, the furniture is pretty basic. Only the top bunk actually has a mattress. The bottom bunk is used as a storage shelf. He also has a shoe rack by his door

Honey: you can practically feel the nerdy aura as you enter his room. The first thing you see is a display case housing some neat figurines of characters from his favorite shows. He’s also got a pretty nice bookshelf on the opposite wall that’s nearly full. Honeys bed has a curtain around it for extra privacy with a nice little wall lamp above the pillows

Underfell

They have a home a little closer to the city center but still far enough to be considered suburbs. It’s a very sleek and modern house with white walls, tile floors and sleek black and metal furniture. The only thing that doesn’t fit the rest of the theme is this nasty old patched up sofa in the living room. The thing is absolutely hideous but is sooo comfy.

Red: his room has soft grey walls and smells like miter oil. Makes sense since one wall is just a long basic table covered in machine parts that red tinkers with in his down time. He actually doesn’t have a bed. Instead he sleeps on this giant leather bean bag. He likes it that way. There’s a few car posters decorating the walls

Edge: he obviously put a lot of thought into his rooms decorations. Everything is pretty black marble or a sleek white wood. His bed covers are blood red with a nice geometric designs on top in silver. He has a beautiful black desk with some pretty jars filled to the brim with nothing but novelty pens. If you looked in his desk drawers you would find notebooks and even more pens

Swapfell

They don’t own a house and instead live in a two bedroom one bath apartment on the third floor of one of lords complexes. The furniture is pretty minimalistic but very nice quality. Most decorations are metal

Mal: the first thing you’ll see in his room is a large wooden drawing desk where pencils and watercolors are neatly arranged on the side. There’s also a vanity with a light up mirror and a nice collection of makeup. Also a huge slanted hunters knife. He uses it to make sure his eyeliner is extra sharp.

Cash: his bedroom is the perfect definition of organized chaos. It looks messy but for cash, he knows exactly where every thing is. There’s a small tv in there with some old game consoles hooked up to it. The bed is never made.

Horrortale

Their home rests in a neighborhood bordering the forest of ebott. The houses there all have a lot more yard space than most houses in the city. The horrortale home is super cozy with lots of knit throws and pillows scattered around. The back patio has a little dog door and there’s a 50% chance of seeing a chicken walk through lol

Oak: his room is also pretty basic. The bed however has so many blankets. Like way more than any person should need. Oak is a blanket hoarder. There’s a lot of notebooks stacked on his wooden desk along with a file of patterned paper for scrapbooking.

Willow: his room has a raised bed with a cute little ladder on the side so that his dog can jump up. You can tell a lot of the furniture has been homemade or refurbished. The room is larger and in the middle is a circular stone table that’s stained with paint. It’s usually housing his latest craft

Underlust

They used to live in the same neighborhood as the classic brothers but have recently moved closer to the inner city because of work. Their home is still in the process of being unpacked mostly, but their rooms are done! The house is actually pretty conservative looking with grey walls, white wooden furniture and soft pastel decor. They do have a stripper pole in the living room though lol

Charm: his room looks exactly how you expect from him. Dark walls with lots of bright rave type decorations. On his dresser is a large pretty cake display that stands out from the rest of the rooms theme lol. His room is always on a state of organized chaos with his desk and bed covered in nick knacks but the floors staying oddly clean

Sugar: his room has light lavender walls and black furniture. It’s a big difference from the soft feminine style people expect from him. Instead sugar has a more sleek modern style to his room. He also has a standard mannequin in the middle that always has a new dresses pinned to it.

Fellswap (red)

They own a pretty two story house only a block away from the two apartment complexes that lord owns. The front lawn/garden is in top shape with lots of those metal flower decorations stuck in the ground along the dirt outline. Inside the house is most worn but comfy looking furniture. Nothing special

Lord: his room is pretty basic with mostly brown and grey accents. He does have a large mostly filled bookcase. There’s also two white bean bags and a deep red rug that covers nearly the whole floor of the room.

Mutt: he actually has two rooms. The first is pretty simple with just his bed, a writing desk and a rack for some shoes. Also his bird cage for KFC (pet pigeon). The second room has a sink, and several cages and boxes for the injured animals that he rehabilitates. The second room is slightly larger than his actual room.

Fellswap gold

They actually live in a studio apartment above wines antique shop. The apartment used to be an unused storage static until wine bought the building and repurposed it. The living space itself is a little small, but they also have access to the roof which the gold bros use as a potted garden and dining area.

Wine: his room is very classy with silk curtains on the window and a silky cream canopy above his head. All the furniture is a dark grey wood with pretty carvings and designs. The walls are decorated with beautiful floral paintings from his brother. It’s a pretty well planned out room. Very cosy and luxurious

Coffee: he has two rooms as well. The smaller of the two is just his bed, dresser, closet and a tv with some consoles hooked up to it. The second room has shelves lining nearly every wall except for one which is just a big collab mural. On the shelves is various art supplies and projects. There’s one large sketch desk on one wall. And finally in the middle of the room is a tarp attached to the floor housing whatever piece of furniture coffee is restoring at the moment .

Dancetale

They also own an apartment, one of the flats in lords buildings on the ground floor. It’s the other building from the swapfell brothers. The walls are painted a cheery yellow and the house is mostly decorated with spring colors. There’s always a huge bowl of fresh fruit in the kitchen.

Pop: his room is mix and match of completely different furniture and gadgets. Pop isn’t someone who cares about themes so he will keep whatever catches his fancy. Instead of a bed, he has a hammock attacked to the ceiling with a pillow and some throw blankets casually tossed on top lol.

Rhythm: his room is pretty sparse with just his bed, a shoe rack, and a dresser. On the dresser are pictures of each of his face classes right before they graduate. Rhythm doesn’t really care all that much about decor so the walls are pretty bare too

Outertale

They live in the same gated community as the classic brothers! The outertale home has high ceilings and lots of windows. The living room is the real centerpiece of the home. It has several large antique bookcases and display cases. Inside the displays are various rocks and crystals and the occasional fossil. It’s really neat.

Pluto: his room is comprised of mostly blues grays and greens. He has a small bookcase on the side of his bed where he keeps the things he’s currently reading. There’s also a large fish-tank with an assortment of saltwater fish inside. Pluto’s room also has a large circular fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. The floor itself is hardwood

Jupiter: his room has a similar color scheme except instead of greens, Jupiter has gold instead. He has some exercise equipment stacked nicely on the side of his bed including weights. There’s a wall tapestry with a printed picture of the asteroid belt the outertale monsters used to live in.

Gastertale

The gaster brothers also live in the same neighborhood as the classic and outertale bros. They’re at the very end in the little cul-de-sac. The interior of the house is almost all white with cream carpet, metro grey walls, and white furniture. A few of the small decorations add a bit of color. There’s a lot of potted succulents.

G: his room is probably the only dark room of the house. His walls are a charcoal grey and the furniture is mostly jet black with a few mustard colored decorations. There’s a metal wire bookcase hanging on the wall. G also has a plastic anatomy dummy that he dresses up in his motorcycle gear when he’s not using it. G thinks he’s funny

Green: like the rest of the home, his room is also mostly white. He has a pretty pale green rack for all of his glasses on his dresser. Green also has his several degrees framed in silver on the walls. his room is always spotless

Farmtale:

The farm bros have an old Victorian home that they fixed up themselves. They’re home borders the acres of farmland they own and is about a 45 minute drive from ebott city. The inside is decorated with mostly wooden furniture. There’s like four rocking chairs on the porch lol

Peaches: his room fits the theme of the house with mostly wooden furniture and a lot of quilts and rugs to add color and soften it up. Peaches always has a vase of fresh wildflowers on his dresser. The walls have photographs of plants and animals taped to them that peaches took himself.

Rancher: this mad lad has a large moose skull hanging above his four poster log cabin bed. He also hangs his favorite hunting rifles just below the moose lol. His bedroom is mostly wooden of course but is also decorated with lots of red and orange plaids.

Horrorfell

They live in the same neighborhood as the horrortale and horrorswap brothers. Their home is literally right in between the two. Inside it’s decorated in a mix between sleek modern metals and frumpy cozy style. Somehow the horrorfell bros still have their original sofa from the underground. There’s a lot of little homemade staircases for their cat doomfanger who’s too old to claim on top of things herself now

Rust: his walls are painted a soft heather grey and have some basic wooden decorations that noir painted for fun. The furniture is pretty normal with the exception of a large treasure style chest next to his bed. Open it up and you’ll find a collection of drawings and gifts from the kids he’s watched over the years. Rust didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Noir: unsurprisingly, his room is littered in canvases and paintings on the walls. It’s divided into two sides: the messy paint side and his nice neat living side. He even has a line of tape going down the middle to complete the divide. On his living side is his bed, closet, and a low bookcase that he uses as a second dresser. The actual bookcase is in the living room

Horrorswap

As y’all all know, their house is right next to the horrorfells and one house away from the horrortales. They like bright colors and have a sort of summery themed house. The best part is the back garden which is filled with garden boxes of veggies, fruit bushes, and fruit trees.

Lilac: his rooms main color is a pretty powder blue along with canary yellow and some bright green. He has a yoga mat on the floor in place of a rug. The walls have some neat sunrise posters

Basil: his room is pretty cosy with lots of knit blankets and fluffy pillows. He has a massive poster of Pixar’s ratatouille that rust got him as a joke. Basil has like five coconut planters, each housing a different herb plant making his room smell like an Italian restaurant

The Mafias (tale, fell, swap)

The mafia brothers live in an apartment complex masquerading as a warehouse. The ground and top two floors are working area while there were three secret basement levels. The mafia bros home consists of the whole bottom level with all their rooms connected to a hallway. At the end of the hallway is a living space and the kitchen.

Snipe: his room is the one closest to the living area. Inside is sage walls with a few house plants that can survive in low light. His bed is almost never made lol. If one was to tear the room apart, they would find at least six different guns stashed in hidden compartments

Bruiser: his room is the closest to the staircase. Inside the room somehow looks super messy but is actually spotless. Bruiser decorates the walls with all kinds of gifts people randomly give him during his vigilante escapes. Stuff from pocket mirrors, to foreign currency to even a small collection of sea shells. He drilled holes into them and hung them up on strings. Other than his walls, the furniture is pretty plain

Butch: his room is a mix of greys, blacks an silvers with the basics of furniture and a small black leather sofa. On the walls are some pretty hand melded metal decorations that butch made himself. He smokes in his room so it reeks of cigars

Boss: his room fits him perfectly with clean white plaster walls, sleek metal furniture and black and gold marble decor. Everything in that room has a specific place. If anyone moved his stuff, he’d know. It’s the only mafia bro room that doesn’t caught smell like smoke somehow. There’s a male model mannequin that he uses to practice designing clothes on

Ace: the most eye catching part of his room is a large vanity with several lamps attached and a very extensive makeup kit. I’m talking professional grade. Ace isn’t the spy for nothing. He also has an open closet so all his clothing is out on display. The main color of his room is mauve funny enough

Slim: his room is a drab grey and has a large desk taking up a whole wall. It’s filled with screens and monitors. He also has a few tv screens hooked up to the wall. It almost looks like a security room. On the other side is his bed with a canopy curtain for privacy. There’s a few anime posters on the wall as well

[princehrry-writings]

Y/n's a witch and Harry's her soulmate

I'VE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR 2 MONTHS!!!

lanfvksbkvjbs I hope you guys like it because I poured my whole soul into this!!!! I wanted it to be over 10k but I felt like I was just dragging it on and the ending isn't great but it's ok.

I switch between present and past tense without meaning too- oops :)

wordcount: 9911

warnings: uhhh, swearing, google translated latin :) catcalling and unwanted male attention (with a bad witch moment... see what i did there😏), a little bit of violence, very lightly edited lmao

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

or

Harry walks into Y/n’s shop one day, sees the brooms sweeping by themselves and gets a little curious.

.

.

.

“Althea, get your claws out of there. You’re gonna get hair in the muffins!” Y/n shrieked, quickly shooing the troublesome feline away from the open bowl of batter sat atop the counter. The cat just meowed at her, unbothered by her person's shrieking. Thea was quite the diva. She couldn’t give a flying fuck even if she tried.

“Oh Stars, look what you’ve done!” Y/n continued, cleaning up the trail of paw prints left in the flour on the table. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the kitchen when I’m baking Thea! Why don’t you ever listen!”

Y/n has been a little strung up lately. That’s probably the understatement of the century. Maybe if she hadn’t been put in charge of the shop for the first time by herself while her mother went to gather supplies and place orders for said shop, she wouldn’t be so stressed. She’s only 22 years into her eternal lifetime. She’s yet to learn the virtue of patience, her mind never ceasing to run with ideas and thoughts and feelings.

Her mother always griped about how she needed to take a deep breath and let go of the tension in her shoulders because now that she had stopped ageing- she had all the time in the world (literally) to do everything she was worried about. Y/n would argue that she’s not worried so much as eager. She’s just very excitable.

“Why do I even bother yelling at you anymore.” Y/n grumbled, flicking her wrist in the direction of the broom closet. The broom and dustpan came floating out and got to work sweeping up the bits of flower seeds and petals that had dropped off the table instead of into the mortar like she had planned.

Y/n’s never been known for her cleanliness.

Out of the blue, the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood at full attention, a warm shiver shooting down her spine. What the hell? She thought to herself. Thea didn’t seem bothered by whatever energy was coming closer so she knew it wasn’t any danger, but it was something. Y/n flicked her wrist once more, quickly sending the broom away and going to hide behind a wall where whoever this was couldn’t see her.

The little bells above the door chimed, alerting anyone inside that someone had just arrived. In walked, who Y/n thought to be, the most beautiful boy she thinks she’s ever seen. Chestnut curls shielded by a knit beanie, sea glass eyes, broad shoulders, a kind smile on his face. He looked as ethereal as she was.

She felt the earth shift under her feet, her heart speeding up slightly in his presence. He was magnificent, she thought. The shiver she felt was steadfast and unchanging, finding a home in the goosebumps covering her whole body. She had never felt like this before.

The witch watched from behind the wall as the man gazed about the shop, his hands rested behind his back. In a pair of black jeans with a rip in the knee and a white tee shirt with a cardigan thrown over it, he shuffled about.

Y/n took a deep breath, collecting herself before making her presence known. She walked out from behind the wall, stepping behind the main checkout counter and clearing her throat lightly.

“Welcome in! I’m Y/n, let me know if you need any help!” She said, trying not to cringe at how scripted that sounded.

His head popped up, eyes connecting with hers and that’s when they both felt the energy in the room grow. Thea came sauntering out of the kitchen area in the back, Y/n made a mental note to check the muffin batter for cat hair later, no doubt at the electrical charge of the room.

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

There was a pause, where neither of them wanted to move, in fear of this moment passing and never getting to feel like this ever again.

It felt like having a picnic on a warm summer day, where it’s not too hot but just right. It felt like the first breath of fresh Spring air, like hearing a baby giggle. She felt fuzzy and warm. Like she was wrapped in a hug. Y/n felt… peaceful. She felt all of her anxiety about the shop melt away, as if it had never been there.

Harry smiled at her, a pink tinge coating his skin, and pulled his eyes away (he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by staring), continuing on with his peruse of the shop. He had no idea why he was here, truly. Didn’t realize where he was until he pushed through the door. He doesn’t even know what any of this stuff is, he’s just looking so it seems like he knows what he’s doing.

He felt something brush his ankle, looking down and seeing a fluffy snow white cat with striking green eyes (just like his!), and cooed at her.

“Is it alright if I pet her?” He asked, looking back up at Y/n. He would take any chance he got to look at her. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. With her shiny hair and kind eyes, a smile that made you want to hug her. She looked so welcoming. He felt… oddly peaceful.

“Yeah of course! She’s my little attention whore, aren’t you Thea?” Y/n giggled and Harry thought his heart would stop right there. Her little giggle was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard, he decided.

She got up from her little stool behind the counter and floated over to him, using her cat as an excuse to get closer. She just couldn’t figure out why she had such a pull to him. It didn’t make sense to her. Maybe he was a witch and was just masking his energy really well, maybe he was some sort of other creature, or maybe… no, that can’t be it.

Well…

Maybe… he’s her Flame. Her Twin Flame… Her Soulmate.

No. There’s no way. It’s so rare for witches to find their flames. And especially at such a young age. Y/n’s parents didn’t find each other for almost 75 years, and here she is at just 22, stumbling upon some magical happenstance where her Flame just saunters into her family’s shop.

Harry scratched behind Thea’s ear, a motor-like pur erupting from her little belly. She nuzzled into his touch, and then sprung up onto his shoulder from the table, startling the man. Y/n giggled at the look on his face, reaching up to scratch just above Thea’s tail, her favorite spot.

“She does that when she likes someone.” Y/n explained. A blush appeared on his face at this.

She likes him.

“So was there anything in particular you were looking for?” Y/n continued, hoping to make more conversation with him. Her fingers are buzzing, wanting to reach out and hold his hand or touch his arm, anyway she can get her hands on him really, but she knows that would be inappropriate so she refrains (however difficult it may be).

Harry was in the same boat. He felt the need to wrap her up in his embrace and never let her go. It was the strangest thing he thinks he’s ever felt.

“Honestly, no. I don’t really know what any of this stuff is… I didn’t even realize when I walked in but I didn’t want to look like a psycho just walking in and out of shops randomly.” A shy smile displays on his features.

Y/n chuckled. This furthers her hunch that he is, in fact, her Flame. Getting a random urge to come in here could only mean that the invisible string tying them together was leading him to her. Pulling them closer and closer everyday until this very moment, when they were fated to meet. Written in the stars to know each other, whether that be for love or friendship only time would tell.

She really hopes it’s love.

“Ok… We’re kind of just a general shop. We carry crystals, herbs, spices, oils, candles, and my mother does a lot of crafts, so we sell those here too.” Y/n went on to explain, Harry’s eyes flitted around to all the things she mentioned. He saw glittering crystals, by themselves but also made into jewelry like rings and necklaces, he saw bundles of different flowers and vials of liquids he assumed were the oils she mentioned.

“What is all this stuff for?” He questioned. He had never heard of anyone suddenly needing Oxeye Daisies or black onyx crystals, but he’d never been one to judge.

Y/n paused, thinking of the best way to explain everything. Practising “witchcraft” wasn’t an unusual topic to humans, but they didn’t know that witches with magic that was (semi-inaccurately) portrayed in movies and tv shows actually existed.

“Uhm, anything in the shop can be used for a number of things. Apothecary, gardening, herbal remedies, manifestation.” She explained. He nodded along with her words, doing his best to focus on what she was saying rather than just her. His body was tingling the closer she stood. He never wanted this feeling to go away.

Whatever this feeling was.

Harry looked around, his sights landing on a shelf full of colorful candles. His eyes lit up, trotting over to them, picking up one that was a light lavender color. He didn’t know he was drawn to this one in particular, but something had pulled him to grab it. Something was telling him to buy it, bring it home, and burn it on his bedside table, right next to his head every night.

It was Y/n’s favorite color.

The girl's cheeks burnt when she realized this was the one he had picked out. The occurrence might seem random to anyone passing by, anyone who didn’t know two halves of a soul had just been reunited with one another after being apart for however many years. But Y/n knew, and hopefully Harry would know soon.

She didn’t want to scare him though. He would think she was crazy. Imagine a random stranger that you’ve never seen before in your entire life tells you that you’re meant to spend the rest of your life together. He would run away screaming.

So she has to start slow.

“Think I might get a few candles…” Harry trails off, looking around at all the different shapes and sizes of colored wax sitting before him. Y/n smiles at this and nods, letting him know she’ll be at the counter if he needs anything.

Please need something, she hopes to herself.

He didn’t end up needing anything, but he ended up purchasing 3 candles, all of them being that same lavender color.

* .

. * .

It was a few weeks later when Y/n felt a familiar tingle run down her spine. Harry must be near, she thought.

She had spent the last fortnight and then some moping about the shop and her flat, hoping her Flame would turn up again. Her mother, Asteria, had been ecstatic when she heard that her daughter had found her Flame, and empathised with her pain, understanding that he was a mortal and it was difficult to form bonds with them quickly. The woman always found it interesting how the most indefinite creatures took the longest to form their bonds. But then she remembered they had no knowledge of Twin Souls and often settled for one not fated to them.

“Mama, he’s close. I can feel him!” Y/n cried, tidying her appearance in the reflection of the window. She hopes to the Stars that he’s coming to see her and not just passing through.

Waving away the brooms fluttering around the shop, she busies herself restocking shelves. Asteria had just finished a new batch of candles that needed shelving. The mother had been trying new recipes lately and was excited to see how they would fare.

Y/n almost misses the little chime of the bells signaling that someone has just entered. If it weren’t for the energy in the room skyrocketing and all the hair in her body standing at attention, she wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Turning, her gaze falls upon a familiar set of sea glass eyes and chestnut curls that have enchanted her mind every passing second since the first time they met. She tried her damndest to hide her grin, but had to turn away so he wouldn’t be able to see it.

Harry looked around the shop before his gaze fell upon the girl he hadn’t stopped dreaming about since he last was here. There she stood, back turned to him, with her shiny hair and adorable outfit. In a lavender colored sundress, hair pulled back by a white scarf, she fussed about the candle shelf that Harry had searched the last time he came.

Everytime he burned that candle, he thought of the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the different items in the shop and how she smiled at him when he asked her a question.

Harry had never been one to jump into things quickly. He was the kind of guy that liked to get a feel for a situation before he really dived into it. But there was something about this girl that made him want to jump in head first, fearless. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her, daydreaming about little scenarios that he wished would happen between them.

He knows he sounds crazy, but he has a crush on her. And he’d only met her once! That is so not like him at all.

Y/n turned once again, sure that she had calmed the burning in her cheeks, greeting Harry as if she hadn’t thought of him in weeks.

“Welcome in,” she says, wondering if it would be weird to him if she remembered who he was, she decided she doesn’t care, “Oh, hi Harry!”

“Hello Y/n!” He smiles. Y/n felt her heart stutter in her chest when her name fell from his lips. As if she was floating (she had to check to make sure she actually wasn’t), she followed the sound of his voice, going to stand before him. Her first instinct was to hug him, and she was very sad that she had to stop herself.

“What brings you back?” She asked, itching to reach out and hold his hand. His gaze flits around for a few seconds before landing back on her face, a rose tint now on his cheeks.

“I- uh, I don’t really know. I just felt like I needed to come back…” He stuttered. A smile graced her lips, causing an identical one to grow on his own. Asteria watched from behind the counter, beaming at the couple.

“Y/n dear, who’s this?” The witch called. Y/n snapped out of her love-drunk haze, looking to her mother.

“Mama, this is Harry. He came in a few weeks ago while you were away.” She answered, giving her a look that said “please don’t say anything.” Asteria had a tendency to butt into her daughter's life, and Y/n needed to figure this out on her own.

Thea came flouncing out from whichever corner she had burrowed herself into and nosed at Harry’s feet before launching herself onto Y/n’s shoulder and staring at Harry from her new height advantage.

“Well look at you Thea, sittin’ all pretty up there!” Harry reached out to scratch behind her ears. Thea began purring loudly, louder than she did when Y/n petted her (Y/n did her best not to roll her eyes at her attention whore cat). The one thing the girl loved about this was now she had a reason to step closer to the boy before her. He smelled like citrus and woods, with a hint of weed (she’s not judging, she just wouldn’t peg him for a stoner so it’s a little surprising). She let it take over her senses until all she could think about was HaryHaryHary, having to stop herself from purring just like the cat.

“Well, whatever led you back here, it’s nice to see you again!” She blushed, deciding to let her affection for him shine through lightly. Y/n realized she didn’t really want to waste time dancing around mortal niceties. She didn’t want to scare him off but she wouldn’t feign disinterest. The witch wanted to make it clear she was smitten with him. So this was her way of starting slow, letting her blushes be seen, maybe resting a gentle hand on his bicep if he says something that makes her laugh, letting her longing gazes be caught before she looks away.

Like she said before, she’s going to start slow.

“I am too…” Harry wondered if maybe she felt the things he was feeling too. If she couldn’t stop thinking about him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her out. See if she wanted to get dinner with him, or have a picnic in a park on a sunny afternoon while he stared, as uncreepily as he could, at her bright smile and star-stricken eyes.

Very quickly, like it almost didn’t happen, Y/n saw a blush pink haze surrounding the boy. He was feeling love. The heat in her cheeks rose, fluttering of her heart increasing.

Now she knew for sure, he was her soulmate for love- not friendship. Thank the Stars!

* .

. * .

The next few weeks, Harry would come in every few days just to see Y/n. After realizing that she might be feeling the way he was, he wanted to make it clear to her that he was smitten. So he’d come in after he got done with whatever he’d been doing that day, bring her flowers or a blue-raspberry red bull italian soda (he saw her drinking one one day when he came by) and they would talk and sometimes he’d bring food if it was late and they would eat at the counter in the back kitchen. It became a routine, and he started showing up almost everyday. On slower days, she would close up early, so as not to have a single distraction from her Flame.

The two would talk about the most obscure things, not giving a rat if others heard them cackling at each other's jokes and misspeakings (Y/n stumbled over her words quite a bit when she was tired, he came to realize. He thought it was adorable).

In return for the beautiful flowers and the delicious drinks he’d bring her, Y/n would give him little spell jars or charmed items to make his life easier. He didn’t know they were spelled or charmed, but he thought it was cute how she gave him a lavender colored pen and told him he would think of her every time he wrote anything down (she had charmed it to always spell things correctly) or a little jar filled with lavender and chamomile buds, a few drops of lavender oil and a small amethyst crystal sealed in white wax to help quell the anxiety he’d been feeling with his job lately.

He appreciated them more than any material thing she could have purchased for him. He liked that she wanted him to think about her or that she wanted to do away with his ailments. He came in with a cold once and she spent the better part of an hour fussing over him, telling him all these little tricks to clear his sinuses and giving him different blends of herbs and spices that should clear this up in no time! He thought she was very adorable, worrying over a little cold and wanting to make him better.

Harry found that each time he left her, the force that pulled him to her grew stronger. He wanted to be in her presence more and more every time he walked out the door of the shop. The boy still didn’t really understand what it was about her, but he’s long since stopped asking questions and was just rolling with the punches.

Speaking of things Y/n did that Harry thought was cute- the things she said enamoured him, rendered him so speechless sometimes all he could do was sit there and look at her, (ironically) wondering what magical force brought her to him. He had no idea that the Universe herself was the one who chose his favorite girl.

“Oh Stars Thea! Get out of the nettle! It makes you sneeze, silly cat!”

“Stars forbid you ever listen to me, mother.”

“Althea Rose get your furry ass away from that hot wax before I feed you to the hellhounds!”

He loved how she was always saying Stars where he would normally say Jesus Christ. He never was one to be into religion but it was just something people around him said.

As the weeks went by, they began to sit closer and closer to each other. What started as across the table from one another, began to turn into her at the head and him on the corner next to her, then both of them sitting on one side but a bit of space between them, and then side by side, thighs touching, on the bench seat. Eventually, Y/n would lay one of her legs over his and he would rest his hand innocently on her skin, his thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth, tapping his fingers to an imaginary beat as she told him a story about a kooky customer that came in.

That was another thing he loved that she said a lot: kooky.

Their goodbyes had grown more and more affectionate over time as well. From a little wave and a shy smile to a little hug, to a bear hug with a kiss on the temple from Harry.

Things were moving very swimmingly. Y/n was happy with the progress the two had made in getting to know each other. She had learned that he worked at a marketing firm but his passion was music, that he was in a band when he was in high school, and he’s from a village in Manchester.

Harry learned that Y/n has a degree in herbology and really likes the woods, and the show The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (despite the inaccurate depiction of witches, she thinks the characters are pretty).

Y/n has been trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry about her… lifestyle. It’s going to be a big shift in his reality and she worries that she’s going to overwhelm him. Her parents didn’t have this problem because they were both witches, but she had been fated to a mortal, which she’s not complaining about because loves Harry and all his human afflictions (loves!), but it’s quite a task keeping him in the dark until she’s ready to shed light on everything.

Especially on a day like today.

Her mother is out again, leaving her in charge of the store, again! And as previously mentioned, Y/n gets a little strung up when she’s left in charge. She’s forgetful, her mind flying all over the place. Her messiness gets worse, leaving different things all over the place (she somehow left a grimoire in the refrigerator at home), losing things… Basically, Y/n’s not doing so hot at the moment.

A busy spell had just finished, she had like 7 different customers in at once, all of them needing her for different things and all the chamomile and lavender oil rubbed behind her ear in the world couldn’t calm the anxiety flowing through her at the moment. She’d been so strung up that she hadn’t noticed the warm golden shiver running down her spine or all the hair on her body raising to attention or the jingle of the bells on the door when Harry walked in.

Walked in to see… the brooms sweeping up by themselves? And different pots and pans flying back into place… with no one carrying them. And Y/n muttering words he didn’t understand while her fingers wiggled, making the pestle inside what he learned to be called a mortar, moving by itself.

To say the least, Harry was very confused. And a little scared. Was he dreaming? Did today even happen? Was he still at home lying in bed?

The only thing that makes him realize he’s not is the shriek Y/n let’s out when she sees him standing frozen in the doorway, eyebrows pulled together in confusion (and a little bit of terror), mouth agape like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. All at once, every moving item ceased and dropped, including the pots and pans which made a very loud noise, scaring Thea so much that she did the loud “meow!” that you only hear cats do in movies, and Y/n let out a quiet“Shit!”

“Harry…” She muttered, standing up slowly and treading towards him.

“Um… Y/n. What- what the fuck… was all of that?” He stuttered, and she continued to walk to him.

“Love, why don’t we go sit down and I’ll explain everything to you!” Y/n said slowly. She had taken to calling him Love lately, not being able to stop herself. They had yet to really “confess their feelings” to the other, but it was like a silent thing that no one said but they both just knew. So the name didn’t surprise him. Actually in the midst of all this craziness (and how his whole world had just seemed to be flipped in a matter of 5 seconds) he was clinging to the familiarity of the pet name.

He nodded, his eyes glazing over as he tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Y/n waved her wrist, everything that had dropped seeming to come to life again and be put back into their rightful places. Harry stared in amazement. Seeing it for the second time really drove the nail into the coffin that holy shit this is really happening…

They sat down side by side on the bench where they normally did but Y/n didn’t put her leg over his like they had grown used to. She missed the contact but figured a little space while she explained everything would be best for her Flame. Harry didn’t agree and tugged her closer to him. She didn’t fight it.

“Ok,” She sighed, cracking her knuckles as she took a deep breath, “Harry… my darling Harry. I need you to keep an open mind while I tell you all of this ok? It’s gonna be a lot for you to take in and I don’t want you to get a headache.” He nodded, and she took his hands in her own, running her thumb over his palm and channeling positive energy between the two of them. She saw Harry relax a little, letting her know it worked. He was ready (as ready as he could be) to hear what she had to say.

“Love, I’m a witch.” She says, letting it sink in for a moment. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. Y/n wonders if he’s even breathing. The strong pulse thumping in his wrist is a steady reminder that he’s ok, just shocked. (Very, very shocked).

“I come from a very long line of very powerful witches. I have magic, kind of like you see in movies and tv shows except I don’t worship the devil or eat children. None of us do. We’re usually very gentle creatures, unless we’re put in danger. Witches don’t use magic to hurt others, quite the opposite actually.”

“So… you cast spells and stuff?” He asks quietly. She breathes a laugh through her nose, nodding her head, continuing to channel him by rubbing her thumbs over his palms.

“I do, that’s what you saw me doing at the counter. I was actually strengthening the anti-anxiety jar I gave you a few weeks ago, because you told me you had a big project coming up and I didn’t want you to get too stressed out.” The girl said.

Harry couldn’t really focus on one thing for too long, letting his gaze flit around the kitchen area. He felt oddly… calm.

“Why do I feel so calm right now? I feel like I should be freaking out a little bit more than I am…” He voiced, finally looking into her eyes.

“I’m channeling you… look.” She said, pointing her gaze to their hands. He sees her thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his palms and looks back into her eyes.

“You’re casting a spell on me right now?” Harry wonders out loud.

“Channeling isn’t necessarily a spell, I’m just focusing and directing positive energy onto you right now, to help keep you calm. Like I said, I don’t want you to get a headache or pass out on me. I can stop if you want me to though!” She added quickly at the end but he shook his head.

“No, don’t stop…” He almost cried, pulling her closer to him.

“Ok, I won’t. It’s ok!” She shushed him, letting one of her hands float to his cheek, brushing over his cheek bone and pushing a fallen curl out of his eyes, before her hand found his again.

“Was it a spell that made me want to come in here that first day?”

“No baby, that’s actually a little different. This might be a little much so you gotta bear with me ok?” She explained and he nodded, heaving out a heavy breath.

A beat of silence passes and Y/n lets her eyes lock with his.

“We’re Twin Flames… or what you would know as Soulmates. We were fated to be together. That’s why you felt a pull to come in here. We were… destined… to meet each other.”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Y/n feels like her heart is about to beat out of her chest. She knew he was going to find out someday, but really didn’t expect that day to be this one. This crazy long day where everything had seemed to just bubble over and explode. She should have known something was going to happen when this morning, the flame on the candle she had lit for Harry on her altar was taller than it ever had been. She had written it off to him just thinking about her or something (if this was the case, it would be to the ceiling all day everyday because he never stops thinking about her), but she should have known. And now, here she was, terrified that Harry was going to walk away from her. She would understand if he did, it’s a lot to take in, and having your whole world flipped on its head is a bit much.

It would still break her heart though.

“So… this is normal?” Harry broke his silence.

“Is what normal?”

“That I want to be around you all the time? That I think about you all the time? What I’m feeling is normal?”

Y/n’s face softens. He’s so cute, she thinks. She could just wrap him up in a little bow and keep him all to herself for the rest of time.

“Yes, baby. It’s normal! I’ve been feeling the same things as you ever since we first met!” Harry’s mind is a little clearer now, so he picks up on the new pet name. Baby. He likes it, he decides.

“You feel this way too?” He looks like a little puppy right now, Y/n could just cry. She nodded her head, scooting impossibly closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. It seemed now that he was even calmer than he had been before, even without her channeling. She stopped for a second to test his reaction and he was ok. He didn’t tense up, eyes didn’t well in tears, didn’t lose consciousness. So she moved her hands to cup his cheeks now, feeling him lean into her touch.

“You’ve been the only thing on my mind since before you even walked through the door that first day. You’re in my dreams every night, I see you every time I close my eyes, I’m completely taken with everything you do.” Y/n confesses, feeling a weight lift off her chest.

“I know it seems fast to you, as a mortal. Your kind usually takes this kind of thing slowly, really learns a person before you become vulnerable. Out of fear for being judged or whatever it might be, but I would never judge you. I want you to know it’s ok to let your guard down with me. Whatever you're comfortable with! I don’t want to overwhelm you in any way, and I know all of this is so so much to take in. I just want what’s best for you, my Love.”

It’s not lost on Harry that she adds my before Love. He feels his heart flutter.

“I’m taken with everything you do too. Absolutely everything.” He whispers, if he speaks too loudly the moment might be lost.

They stare into each other's eyes, feeling the energy in the room grow. Flames from the lit candles around the room grow tenfold, reflecting the rising energy. Harry has half a mind to break his gaze from the girl before him, seeing the tall flames before bringing his eyes back to hers. He sees her gaze drop to his lips repeatedly. He doesn’t think she even realizes that she’s leaning in to him, but he’s not going to stop her.

When she’s so close he can feel her breath fanning over his face, she pauses, looking back up to his eyes, silently asking for permission. With her hands still cupping his cheeks gently, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips delicately to his. Harry places his hands in two places: her waist and her neck. He pulls her in closer, pressing their lips together more firmly. A wildfire spreads from head to toe on both of them. It seems as though time has paused for this very moment, and again the earth shifts. A piece of the universe has just been restored, two halves of a soul reunited.

Harry’s fingertips send sparks flowing down her spine, she hums against his lips. The kiss is simple, just two people getting to know each other, learning the other's body, but it’s long. It’s not just one peck. Harry presses his lips against hers multiple times, slotting her bottom between both of his.

When Y/n pulls back to catch her breath, Harry chases after her, not ready to end this moment yet. She chuckles and grants him a few more kisses until she really is about to pass out because she needs to breathe. Pushing him gently, she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his, keeping her eyes closed.

She so badly wants to let the three words sitting on the tip of her tongue go, but doesn’t want to overwhelm him with too much all at once.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, pulling her to sit astride his lap. She moves pliantly, letting him take control of the situation.

The air feels charged, thick, like it should be hard to breath but it flows, smooth as water, into their lungs.

Y/n’s head feels heavy, like she’s high on every drug there ever was, her mind fuzzy, unable to think outside of this moment. Outside of this little wrinkle in time where Harry is the only other thing that exists.

“Yeah,” She whispers back, reconnecting their lips, slotting them together over and over until their lips are puffy and red. Harry slides his hands around her waist, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, not even a slip of paper would fit.

Pulling away, Harry heaves in a deep breath, squeezing Y/n’s hips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long…” He says, nudging his nose against hers. She smiles, letting his affections wash over her, warming her eternal soul.

“This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Oh, I’m so freaked out but I'm kind of just going with it, living in the ambiguity and all that shit.” He heaves a laugh through his nose, pressing kisses to her cheek and down her neck, smoothing his hands up and down her back.

This was the best possible outcome of the situation, if Y/n had to be honest. It could have gone so many ways. Harry being freaked out but rolling with it… she’ll take it.

“How about we make dinner and you can ask me any questions you have?” She suggested and he nodded.

So they did just that. But Y/n closed the shop early and they went back to her place. Hand in hand they walked the few blocks, side glaces of reassurance and little squeezes of the hand, letting the other know they were there, and they weren’t going anywhere, with Thea in her little travel backpack (that she was absolutely in love with surprisingly).

They came upon an unsuspecting alleyway. Harry thought they were just passing through as a shortcut but Y/n stopped walking in the middle of a blank brick wall and muttered a few words she didn’t understand while waving her hands. He started to realize maybe this wasn’t just a shortcut.

Before his eyes, a door appeared. His brows shot up in surprise (he’s gonna get worry lines on his forehead if he doesn’t stop doing that, he realizes). Y/n looked over her shoulder at him, trying to hide a smirk but the look on his face was too good.

“Pretty wicked huh?” Harry didn't say anything, just chuckled and nodded, following her when she opened the door and a set of stairs appeared. Walking up the dimly lit hallway, they come to another door with the cheeky The Witch Is In sign.

“Cute.” Harry smirks at her and she laughs, opening it and letting him walk through first.

“Make yourself at home! I’ve got records on the shelf over there, you can pick one if you want. I’m just gonna feed Thea and get her all settled and we can get to making dinner.” Y/n explained. Harry ventured off into her living room, seeing the shelf she was talking about and browsing through. There were many different artists from Fleetwood Mac to Taylor Swift to Weezer. He picks out Hozier's self-titled album and puts it on, the beginning of Take Me To Church crackling through the speakers.

“Good choice,” He hears from behind him and smiles, turning around to see the girl he was apparently destined to spend the rest of his life with standing before him.

“Jackie and Wilson has been stuck in my head the last few days so,” He said, sauntering over to her and snaking his arms around her waist.

Taking a look around, he sees many different trinkets and items similar to what was in the shop. A lot of jars filled with different things, candles of all different colors, crystals, a broom (he didn’t realize witches actually had brooms but ok), among other things that he didn’t know the purpose of.

“Wait… how are there windows in here? I didn’t see any outside.” He asked, pulling back from the hug and looking at her.

“Well, there aren’t any windows in the alley. But there’s also a glamour spell on this building so nobody can see my apartment. That’s why you can’t see the door until I do the little thing you saw me do.” She answered. A sheepish smile broke onto his face.

“Oh,” he said and she laughed from her chest, petting a few fallen curls back from his forehead. She could get used to this, she thinks as she stares into his eyes, green as the forest and wide with wonder at everything he’s discovered today.

Who knew the girl he was falling in love with would be a witch… with actual powers.

* .

. * .

“Wait so, if no one can see your front door… how do you get mail?” Harry asked, reaching around Y/n for the salt.

“At the shop,”

“Oh,” He says. She laughs, kissing his cheek and continuing on cutting up veggies for the salad they're making.

“Have you always been able to do magic or was it something you grew into?” Y/n thought back to when she was little, remembering how she struggled to harness her powers for a few years before she started getting the hang of things.

“I always had powers, but imagic isn’t something you just wake up and know how to do so it took a while for me to really settle into and control. Magic is a skill, same as reading and writing, so I had to be taught and I had to work on it. Does that make sense?” She pauses while she explains, looking into his eyes. Harry nods, but his light hearted curious expression turns into one of embarrassment and she doesn’t understand why.

A rosy red color surrounds him, telling her he was feeling… embarrassed? Why did he feel embarrassed?

“Baby? What’s going through your head?” She asks, wanting to help him feel better.

She doesn’t like when he’s feeling anything other than happy!

“I just… I feel like I’m asking you so many questions about all of this stuff and it’s just tough to wrap my head around I guess.” She puts the knife down and sets her hand on his wrist, stopping from what he’s doing. She places her other hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to face her.

“Harry, this is a lot to take in, yeah? It’s not something you can just find out and move on from. It’s gonna take time to process. You’re gonna feel a lot of emotions, and that’s ok! I would be worried if you weren’t feeling a little off, as much as I hate that you’re not feeling 100%.”

She places a series of gentle pecks on his lips, doing her best to soothe him in any way.

“Ask all the questions you want! You don’t have to worry about being judged or saying something wrong, you have a right to be curious.” She feels him relax in her hold which in turn makes her relax.

“Thank you for being patient with me,”

He’ll get used to this, he thinks. He’ll get used to the fact that real witches actually exist, he’ll start to understand the words she mutters when she waves her hands, he’ll get it eventually. But right now, he doesn’t really get it, he’s not really used to it. But she’s worth it. She’s worth more than everything.

“I think you’re the one thing I know how to be patient with,” Again, she wants to mutter those three words on the tip of her tongue, but he’s already been through so much today, she doesn’t want to overwhelm him any more than he already is. So she’ll wait, because one day (hopefully soon) he’ll be ready to hear them.

“Can you do a spell? I kind of want to see how they work…” Harry asks after a moment of them just enjoying the silence that only really comes when two people understand each other.

She chuckles and nods, telling him she will show him a few spells after dinner. He agrees and they go back to making their meal, dancing around each other and laughing just like they always did and it felt good. Felt like this would be ok. Y/n was still scared because he could still decide to leave, that this was too much for him. That she was too much for him.

But for right now, things were ok.

* .

. * .

“Amoris et lux sum ego ipse, et carorum beatum facere potest, per potentiam solem et lunam, ut superius, et inferius.”

(I am love and light, I bring happiness to myself and my loved ones, By the power of the sun and moon, as above, so below)

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything weirder in his life...and his college roommate freshman year was a conspiracy theorist.

As Y/n spoke the words, she stirred a brew of tea infused with different herbs clockwise. He watched from beside her as she did this, his hand placed on her thigh so that his energy could be used in the spell along with hers.

Before she said the spell, she told him to set an intention and he had no idea what that was so she did a little lesson after reassuring him that his question was valid. (He’s still feeling insecure about not understanding anything she was talking about.) She told him to “close your eyes, take a deep breath, and clear your mind. Think of something you want in life that isn’t material.”

His immediate thought was that he wanted to spread kindness and love in the world (Y/n did her best not to tear up at her Flame’s pure intentions) so she nodded, telling him to think about that and only that, and set her intentions to the same thing so the spell would work. Mixing lavender, rose petals, and chamomile in a large mug, she pours in hot water to steep the herbs and, as previously mentioned, stirs it clockwise (something about clockwise being for manifestation), , rubs her palms together and snaps her fingers, and snuffs out the candles she had lit.

When all is said and finished, Y/n pulls Harry into a sweet kiss, and then has him take a sip of the tea telling him be careful my Love, it’s still hot. He kisses her back, taking a sip of the tea (he’d never been one for lavender things but this was actually really good. He wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Y/n made it).

“So we just drink this and then what?” He asks, handing her the mug.

“We sacrifice an animal,” She says, not skipping a beat and taking her sip. Harry chokes on his spit, gasping for a breath of air before the girl bursts into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just kidding, baby. That’s it. That’s the whole spell. You just have to honestly believe it for it to work.” She says and he heaves a sigh of relief.

“Don’t joke like that!” He whines, more giggles escaping from Y/n’s throat.

“I’m sorry bub, I won’t do that anymore.” She says, still fighting off laughs. They continue to sip the tea, Y/n telling Harry about different things she did during the day.

Harry looked upon her as if she hung the moon just for him, and was telling him all about how she did it. Without even realizing it, he started to feel warmer and like a buzz was coursing through his veins.

“I feel weird…”

“What do you mean you mean you feel weird?” She voiced, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and then feeling his pulse. Both were normal.

“I feel warm and like I’m buzzing… Kind of like I’m high…” He explained and she nodded her head, a small sigh of relief escaping her.

“That’s the spell working baby. You’re ok!”

“Oh, ok. It just worried me a little,”

“You’re ok! I want you to tell me when something worries you or feels different or off.” She says, and places a hand on his thigh. Harry agrees and they continue with their conversation.

When they both took their last sips on the tea, they cuddled up on the couch, an incense stick and candle lit on the coffee table.

Y/n sat, manipulating the smoke and flame simultaneously while Harry watched with a wide eyed gaze. She had explained how this was something he would be able to learn if he wanted to, and that she had been practicing for years to be able to do both things at the same time.

“I started when I was… I want to say 5. It’s a simple skill that promotes concentration. You have to stay extremely focused to even manipulate one element at a time. It’s only been these last few years that I’ve been able to concentrate enough to do both.” She explained, taking a break. As much as she loved showing Harry all these different things, it took a lot of energy out of her and it had already been a dreadfully long day.

“How about we go to sleep and I’ll show you more tomorrow? I’m pooped!” Harry hums an agreement, lifting his head from her lap and letting her lead the way to her bedroom.

Light lavender walls adorned with shelves full of plants and different nicknacks, and a desk with more candles, herbs, and other eclectic items sat atop it.

“What is all of this?” He sifts through all the things on the desk, not touching as Y/n had explained to him at some point today, I know you don’t have any ill intent, but a lot of this stuff absorbs other people's energy which can mess up what I use it for, so look and don’t touch. If you want a closer look, I’ll pick it up. There are different colored stones of varied shapes and sizes and many candles. One in particular catches his eyes. A green one with a very tall flame with something carved into the side of it. “What’s up with this green candle?”

“This is my altar, and the green candle is the one I have lit for you. I’m assuming that because you’re here, it’s going a little crazy. Nothing to be afraid of! I’m actually going to put it out since you’re here with me.” She explained quickly, reaching towards the flame with her finger and snuffing it out.

“Wait, you had a candle lit for me?” His eyes rounded, a shy smile coming onto his lips. An identical smile graced her features as she turned to look at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had one lit for you since the day we met. I made a sigil and carved it into the side and keep it lit day and night as an extra layer of protection for you.” She explained. Harry felt his heart melt at this.

She couldn’t get any cuter, he thinks.

A candle lit for him… to keep him safe. That’s adorable.

He leans in and places a gentle kiss on her lips, brushing the little hairs away from her face.

Y/n led him further into her room where her ensuite bathroom was, giving him a tooth brush and letting him know he could shower if he wanted to. When he came back into the room after getting ready, Y/n laid out on the bed in a sports bra and shorts. He just wore his boxers.

Climbing into bed next to her, she cuddled up to him right away, his arm finding a home around her body and her head laid on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“Been dreaming about this moment my whole life,” Y/n mumbled, cheek smushed against his skin, making her look all cute and cuddly. Harry had to hold back a coo at the sentiment.

“Me too Moppet, me too,” He sighed, and they both drifted off into warm, fluffy, dream-like states, wrapped in the safety of each other's arms.

* .

. * .

Walking down the street at night isn’t the best idea for normal women, Y/n had learned over her 22 years of life. But Y/n is not a normal woman. She’s a witch.

And while most women carry their keys between their knuckles and have tasers or pepper spray or mace at the ready, Y/n didn’t really need that. This was one of the only instances where she would use her magic to harm anyone. Like she’d said before- only when she’s put in danger (or someone else around her is put in danger).

So when a prick who reeks of whiskey starts tailing her, she waits for him to take the first blow. Waits for him to get a little too close, so she can turn around and unleash her wrath on him. All the while making it seem like it’s not her doing. Like causing a brink to fall off the roof above her and hit him in the head. She wouldn’t actually do that but a witch could dream.

No, she’ll trip him up without turning around and if he still insists on gaining her attention, she’ll spin around quick, flick her wrist and send him into an unconscious daze and let him sleep off his inebriation on the lovely warmth of the concrete sidewalk.

That’s exactly what she does.

“Hey sweetheart, where you goin’?” He slurs, beginning his trek behind her. She’s unresponsive which leads him to believe she’s playing hard to get because his fragile little man ego can’t fathom that a woman would ignore his attention.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that!” He speeds up, already wobbling but this only serves to make him clumsier.

She does her thing, flicking her wrist in his direction (discreetly) so he trips, but this doesn’t stall him. He reaches out, effectively grabbing her arm. She whips around to face him, cheeks growing red hot with anger. Ripping her arm out of his grasp and twisting his arm around, she gets close to his face.

“Touch me again, I fucking dare you!” She snarls, doesn’t even realize her grip is burning into his flesh- her magic gets a little crazy when she’s mad. Releasing him (tossing his arm away from her in a rough manner), she flicks her wrist once again and mutters a quick “et obliviscere somnum*”, watching him fall to the ground, unconscious. She looked around to see if anyone was watching the scene go down but no one was sober enough to pay attention to some drunk bloke harassing a young woman.

*(forget and sleep)

She shakes off her frustration as she comes to a stop in front of an unfamiliar building. Where her Flame lives.

She had agreed to let him make her dinner at his house, so she packed an overnight back and made her way further into town. He had given her an address and while, yes she did use it, she also let their bond lead her to him. She just kind of knew where to go, it seemed. Harry had expressed that he felt something similar the first time he went into the shop, though he didn’t understand why he wanted to walk in- just felt like he had to.

Making her way up the stairs, she let’s Harry know she’s there, beginning to feel the familiar tingle rush down her spine. She hadn’t seen him for a week and a half since he's been busy with a project at work- a client wasn’t happy with all the work he and a coworker had done so they had to quickly re-do an entire proposal to meet the client's deadline. Needless to say- the little anti-anxiety jar she made him was coming in real handy lately. Y/n had also had him put citrine and amethyst points on his desk while he worked to help him focus and stay calm so he didn’t stress too badly.

She always had a little something to make his life easier, whether it be a stone, or a jar of different things (a spell jar, he’d learned), or whatever it may be- she always had something to help.

When she made it to his floor, he was standing there waiting for her with open arms. She ran to him, jumping into his arms and holding onto him tight.

“I missed you, my wild girl,” He muttered into her neck, spinning her around. Her face flushed without fail, her arms wrapping tighter around him.

“Missed you most,” She sighed, nuzzling into him.

“Don’t think that’s possible.”

She hummed in disagreement while he walked them inside, Y/n still wrapped around him like a koala bear. His house smelled of peach and mango. It’s sweet- just like him. The thought made her smile.

Giving him a big smacking kiss on the cheek, she pulls back to have a look at his face, seeing he’s smiling like an idiot. It warms her heart to see him smile, butterflies breaking out of their cocoons and fluttering about her tummy.

“What’re you smiling for?” She voices, giggling at him.

“M’ happy you’re here,” He sighed, “Don’t like not seeing you.”

“I don’t like not seeing you either,” She frowned, petting his wild curls back and placing little pecks all around his face.

His cheeks flushed at her affection.

Harry set Y/n down on the kitchen counter, standing in between her legs, hands resting on her hips. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers lightly, before slotting them together, fully indulging himself in his girl. She responds immediately, letting her hands rest around his neck.

She will never not be amazed by how soft his lips are. Kissing him feels like floating through clouds, like laying down in bed after a long day on your feet. Kissing him is like the first breath of warm summer air after the longest winter. Kissing him feels like coming home.

Y/n’s heartbeat picks up as the kiss becomes more needy, leaning into him further. Harry pulls her closer, his hands ghosting up the bare skin under her shirt and fiddling with the band of the bralette she’s wearing. A gasp escapes her lips when he pulled the fabric up, letting it snap back to her skin causing a smirk to grow on his face- struggling to keep up with her lips.

He kisses her breathless before pulling away, watching as her eyes flutter open and she heaves air into her lungs, her cheeks flushed and supple.

“Don’t want the food to burn,” He smirks again, hands falling away from her body, moving the pots and pans on the stove around to the counter so he could plate their dinner.

“Asshole,” He hears her mutter.

Harry could get used to this, having Y/n around. Being able to come home to her, make them dinner, make out in the kitchen, fall asleep together. He can’t believe he ever thought he loved anyone before she came along. There was just no way. Y/n came into his life and took over every aspect and now he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. He hopes to the Stars he doesn’t have to.

Yeah, she’s got him praying to the stars now.

[goldensstateofgrace]

HI BESTIE! could you possibly do #8 and #21 from the angst prompts but then #2 from the “i love you” prompts to give it a happy ending. I LOVE YOU! HAPPY WRITING!!! 💗💗💗

Lies.

Requests || Masterlist || Spencer Masterlist || 

Warnings: talk of not being enough, insecurity, lying, (lmk if there is anything else)

Word count: 2760

Pairing: Spencer x fem!reader

- I hope you like this! Happy reading!! - G

Spencer’s pov. 

This feeling never goes away does it? The feeling of not being enough, and feeling insecure in everything you do? I know, I know I'm not enough for her, and that she’s just passing time before she finds something better. 

When I first met her she was walking out of my favorite coffee shop, coffee in one hand and a book in the other, one that I came to know she’s read over and over again because it’s her favorite. I accidentally bumped into her, not watching where i was going and spilled her coffee all over the front of her lilac sweater. 

I remember her gasp when the hot liquid hit the skin of her hands and the look of shock on her face when she looked up at me. I was sure she was going to curse me out and any other hurtful words she could come up with, but she didn’t.

She looked up at me, the shock gone from her soft and beautiful features as she told me she's sorry. 

She told me she’s sorry. When it was clearly my fault. I was the one who hadn’t been paying attention, but yet she’s the one saying sorry for something that was completely out of her hands. 

So once the shock had worn off and I came back to my senses, I bought her another coffee and we talked. We talked, and it felt really good to talk to someone other than the team or the victims of the cases we go on. 

I knew she was out of my league, god was she out of my league.

When she asked for my number and to get coffee again sometime, the shock came back and I didn't know what to do. Why would she want to talk to me? The nerdy FBI profiler who can’t really read social queues or make conversation without correcting someone or stating random facts. 

But I gave it to her. Why? I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting her to call or text, I just thought she was being friendly. 

But a week later, I got a text asking to meet up for coffee as long as I promised to not spill it all over her that time. 

After that we met up for coffee often, eventually I worked up the nerve to ask her on a real date. She said yes immediately to my surprise. 

In the back of my mind, I knew I wasn't good enough for her, she needed someone that could be there for her, not me who was always away on cases or teaching. 

But now we've been together for a little over four months and I’m so happy with her, I just can’t help the lingering insecurity in the back of my mind that she’s not happy and I’m not good enough for her. 

-----

Y/n’s pov  

 Four months. 

You’ve been with Spencer for four months. He treats you right and is so attentive. You’ve never been happier. You never never thought getting coffee spilled on you would lead you to the happiest you've ever been. 

You never had to be worried that he would cheat or lie, he never gave you any of the red flags you used to overlook in your other relationships. He never lied to you. 

Until now. 

You understood when he called and had to cancel your date night for an emergency case, the same way you understood the three other times he had to do the same. 

You understood because people's lives depended on him and his team to catch the person responsible for causing so much chaos. They needed him more than you did in that moment. 

What you didn’t understand is why he was sitting in a bar with the whole team, laughing. You didn’t believe your eyes, he lied? Why would he lie? 

You didn’t know how to feel, you didn’t know the tears that started welling up in your eyes finally fell and he chose that moment to look your way. 

“Y/n,” he sighed, the shock clear on his face and in his wide chocolate eyes. 

Wiping your tears away, you stumble over your feet turning around and quickly making your way out of the bar and back to your apartment. 

You heard him pushing through the large group that walked in right behind you, calling your name but was too late. By the time he made it outside you had already flagged down a cab and drove off. 

Once you got home you undressed and curled up in a ball in bed. You stared at the wall for a while, your brain running over all the possibilities that could have happened. He and the team probably just wrapped up early and went out for a drink, he probably got caught up and forgot to text. 

Yeah, that’s what you told yourself. Ready to give him the benefit of the doubt and hear what he has to say. 

You didn’t realise but you fell asleep, waking up the next morning to the smell of coffee. Wait what? 

You sit up, hearing the cabinets opening and closing and the toaster popping up. Flinging your feet over the side of the bed, you stand making your way out of your bedroom and into your open kitchen/living room. 

You freeze, your eyes watching Spencer buttering the toast before he pours coffee in your favorite coffee cup. 

“What are you doing?” you mutter, voice filled with sleep. 

He stops what he’s doing, spinning around to look at you, a shy smile on his face, “I wanted to explain” he pauses, “If you’ll let me,” he says, looking down at his shoes, you can see a hint of the mix matched socks he chose for today. 

Pineapples and stars. 

You try to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. You always loved the mix matched socks he wore, ready to see what he chose for that particular day when you used to meet up for coffee. 

“You lied, is there really much to explain?” you tell him, your voice cold and almost detached. 

You aren’t one for lying, it's all your ex used to do and you’re so done with it. You’re done being pushed around and your partner picking and choosing what they get to tell you and leave you in the dark on. 

“Yes, there is. I didn’t lie, we wrapped up early and my phone was dead. I didn’t have a way to get in touch with you. Y/n I promise, I wanted to come straight to you when we landed, but the team hadn’t been out in awhile and they talked me into going for at least one drink.” he rambled all in one breath, only stopping when you sat at the counter. 

He placed toast and coffee in front of you, smiling slightly before he started again. 

“y/n please,” he started. 

You think it over, you had tried to call him and it went to his voicemail, he always answers, he has never once lied to you. Never given you a reason to think he was lying. 

Maybe you jumped to the conclusion, maybe he was telling the truth. You are so used to being hurt and lied to that that's the first thing your brain thought happened. 

You nod, “ok,” you say, your voice soft. 

“Ok?” he questioned. He rounded the counter, moving to your side, gently taking your face in his hands. 

You nod softly, “I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions. I’m not used to people not lying, I’m sorry,” you said, your eyes filling with tears. 

“No, I’m sorry. I should have just come to you,” he said, an emotion you can’t pinpoint filling his voice. It sounded like he was guilty, but he had nothing to be guilty about. 

---- 

Things after that day got better in a way, but something felt off and you couldn’t tell what it was. 

Spencer had to cancel another date, as he had a couple other times since that day, but he always called, telling you he landed and when they wrapped the case. 

This time he didn’t, but you didn’t freak out like last time, he did leave his charger at your apartment before he left for the case. 

You were going over to his place to clean it up a bit, do some of his laundry and make some prep meals he can take to work for lunch. You knew he was always so exhausted after cases and didn’t have the energy to clean and do laundry when he got back. 

Walking up the stairs of his apartment building you hummed the tune to a song stuck in your head, as you fiddled with your keyring looking for his key. Pausing as you found it before you unlocked his door. 

You were carrying a couple shopping bags of cleaning supplies and stuff for the meal prep you planned to do. You set those down next to the door, turning on the light and letting out a small scream. 

“Spencer?” you ask, your hand over your chest like it would stop the heaving beating of your heart. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rounding the couch he was on, he looked tired, in his lavender colored bathrobe and staring at the wall. 

“Why do you keep lying? Is this what you’ve been doing every time you cancel on me? Just staying here?” you ask, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

Your mind was running a million miles a minute trying to figure out what was happening, “Spencer answer me!” you cried. 

“Yes,” he muttered, finally. He looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers. 

Your heart dropped, he’s been lying the whole time. He’s no different from all your other ex’s, lying, lying, and lying some more while you were oblivious.  

Your heart feels like it broke in two, you thought he was different, he was supposed to be different. 

 “You broke me! You ruined everything we had and- for what? You yelled, tears streaming down your face, “You lied! You lied again and I fell for it!” 

“Were done Spencer, I-” you sob out a cry, “I can’t be with someone who lies, I can’t do it. You knew, you knew what happened in my last relationship and you did the same. How could you!” you cry. 

The whole time he just sat there playing with his fingers, not looking at you. 

You quickly gathered your stuff, about to walk out the door before you remembered. You quickly found his key, pulling it off your keyring, “I hope you have a good life Spencer, I don’t need this anymore,” you say looking at him one last time, tossing the key on the table next to his door. 

“Y/n wa-” you hear him call, but you were already out the door. Holding back the sobs until you got to your car and you broke. Letting out all of your hurt, sobbing and crying your eyes out. You never knew you could hurt this much, you were just starting to love him. 

-----

It’s been almost three months since you broke up with Spencer, all the hurt and betrayal you felt has slowly been fading and you're getting back into your routines and getting back out there. 

You were having a night in, watching a movie and drinking a glass of wine as you waited for your popcorn to pop. 

There’s a knock on the door, you set your glass down walking to the door and opening it slightly, shocked at who you saw standing there. 

“Spencer?” you mutter, pulling the door open a little more, “what are you doing here?” 

“I- I need to talk to you, please? I know you don’t want to see or talk to me but- please?” he sounds desperate, and he’s rocking back in forth on his toes. Something he does when he’s nervous, you remember. 

You nod, moving away from the door and letting him in, “uh, do you want water or something else?” you ask, moving back into the kitchen. 

He shakes his head, “no, thank you.” 

He stands there, playing with his fingers as he looks like he’s going over something in his head. 

“Spenc-” you start but are cut off. 

“I’m sorry” he blurts out, his hands stretched out in front of him, “I'm sorry about everything, I'm sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Y/n, but please just hear me out?” he asks. 

You nod, you have nothing to lose, and you always wondered what it was that made him lie. 

“Ok, uh, can we sit?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod, moving into the living room, sitting on one end of the couch as he takes the other. 

“I didn’t think I would get this far, if i’m being honest,” he smiles shyly. 

“Just start from the beginning, why did you lie?” you ask, turning to face him crossing your legs on the couch. 

“I- I was working through some stuff. I was trying to be better while my mind was telling me I wasn't enough, not for you, not for anyone. You deserved so much better than what I could ever give you, but I want to be better, I am better, because of you. I’m so sorry for treating you how I did, y/n, you didn’t deserve it.” he rambled, your mind trying to catch up with everything he just said. 

“I-” you pause, not knowing what to say. He is the right person for you, you had never been happier than you were with him.

“Were you going to break up with me?” you ask him, looking him in the eyes as you pull at your fingers. 

He shakes his head, looking away for a second before answering, “I’m not sure. I know this time apart has really helped me work through everything and made me realise how much i care and lo- like you,” he stutters, looking at you shyly. 

You smile, scooting closer to him. You grab his hand, squeezing softly, “I want you to know you could have told me what you were going through, I would have done everything in my power to show you how perfect you are, in general and for me.” you smile, looking at him softly. 

“I want you to know how sorry I am too. I shouldn’t have just walked out that day, I should have stayed and listened when you called after me. Spence, I am so sorry, I am. You’re the only thing that matters, to me, to my heart.” your eyes well up with tears as you smile at him. 

“I’m sorry,” you shrug, laughing lightly wiping away your tears before his hand comes up and his thumb wipes away a lone tear. 

“Y/n, I love you. God, that feels good to say,” he chuckles, wiping away another tear. His hands cupping your face, he leans his forehead on yours, breath fanning your lips. “I love you, and I don’t care if it’s too early to say that, I fell for you the moment I saw you.” he breathes out, his smile contagious. 

You can’t help the wide smile that breaks out on your face, you breathe out a laugh pulling back to look him in the eyes, “I love you, Spencer Reid. So. Fucking. Much.” you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him to you and kissing him hard. 

The kiss was full of love and unspoken words that only he could understand. 

“Y/n, will you take me back? I promise to do everything in my power to not let you down again.” he asks, shy and nervous. He pulls back, looking at you waiting for you to give him and answer. 

“Yes, I love you, Spence, so much. I promise to do everything in my power to not let you down and to hear what you have to say. Please come to me when your head gets too much, I’ll be here to reassure you how much I love you.” you tell him, smiling wide, happier than you have been in months. 

He goes in for a lingering kiss, only withdrawing to catch his breath, “I love you, y/n. A whole fucking lot.”

taglist (ask to be added or taken off) : @vividstyles23 @harrystylesandharrypotter @thesadstoryofme @shemarmooresfedora @spencersawkward

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Butterfly Wings In My Heart

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

Requested by @sapphicsarahpaulson “ “can i stay here tonight?” and “i love seeing you smile” for mina x reader? “

A/N: I’m so happy with how this piece turned out. I hope you’ll like it, too  ❤️️ As always, English isn’t my mother tongue, so expect a few weird sentences. x

Word count: ~ 4 500

You leaned forward to adjust the purple fairy lights you had just hung to the ceiling, and almost lost your balance and fell off the ladder.

“Careful,” Venable called.

You glanced down at her with a grin. “It’s so nice to know you care,” you sang.

Venable’s jaw tightened as she shot you a look. “I don’t. I’m not particularly eager to have you crash down into me.”

“Then don’t stand there,” you quipped. You leaned forward again, fidgeted with the lights until you were satisfied. “I’m done anyway.”

Clumsily you climbed down the ladder and planted yourself in front of Venable. You couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face as you met her eyes and she glared, squinting slightly at you, her right hand clutching the knob of her cane.

“Those are so pretty don’t you think?” you said, nodding at the string of purple lights. She glanced up at it.

“Mutt and Jeff asked for red lights,” she said in that deep, cold voice of hers.

You shrugged, looked down at the floor.”Too bad. I thought you’d like these better.”

You eagerly looked at her out of the corner of your eye to gauge her reaction; nothing. You were about to roll your eyes at her when the corner of her mouth twitched and stretched into a small, fond, almost shy smile – and your heart sang with joy.

She didn’t smile a lot, Ms Venable. There were the small, incredulous smiles when someone said or did something that scared her. There were the mean, condescending smiles, like a predator baring its teeth. Those smiles no one was eager to see, for they presaged bad things. Cruel things. They weren’t really smiles at all, you thought.

But once in a while she would smile a smile that was genuine and fond. Those were as rare as seeing the moment a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. What made them even more special was, she seemed to give them to you only. Your heart had stopped beating, actually stopped beating, the first time you had seen her face soften and her eyes light up and her mouth curl up. You had felt so grateful, and so honored, to be allowed to witness such a sight. Since that day you had been starving for it.

It was so beautiful, that smile. So you decided it was your own sacred duty to find what would conjure it every single day of the rest of your life.

Stupid jokes didn’t work. They would only make Venable glare at you condescendingly. One day you asked one of your coworkers to hit you in front of her, to see if it would make her laugh, as you knew that worked with babies. Venable gave you a look as if you had gone mad – maybe you had. Infatuations tended to turn your brain into mush.

You tried to compliment her – you only got a snarky comment or a contemptuous look in return. You tried to bring her gifts, a cup of coffee she didn’t ask for, a book you loved, a lavender scarf you had spotted in a shop window and which had reminded you of her – a polite, if slightly cold, thank you.

And then one Monday morning as you told her about your weekend while she made coffee, she glanced sideways at you and here it was – here it was, the sparkle in her eyes, the curling of her lips, the fondness and the beauty and the colorful butterfly wings that made your heart flutter.

Casual conversations. Just you and her, talking about nothing in particular. Not you goofing around, not you putting a gloss on your personality to try and please her. Just you being yourself. That’s what made her smile.

You had to run to the nearest bathroom like a fool, your chest bursting with emotion. With one hand on either side of the sink you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes wide and glassy, not quite daring to believe what had just happened. You could have burst into tears. Your head and your heart were full of her.

You tried again the day after, just to make sure you had not been dreaming. You walked to her office during your lunch break, leaned against the doorway, asked her a few questions about work. She looked up from her computer and locked eyes with you. She always listened to you with attention, never cutting you off, nodding to what you said, asking you for more details. It made you feel so special, so appreciated and understood. Most people always seemed bored with you. They would start talking to someone else even though you were in the middle of a sentence, or only hum and change the subject, or never raise their eyes from their phones while they had lunch with you. You had grown used to it, accepted it, thought it was okay and normal. No one liked having to spend time with boring people.

But Venable always listened to you. She seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. And she smiled – oh, she smiled, for no reason at all. As if the mere sound of your voice was the most beautiful, the most charming thing she had ever heard. And just as she liked hearing you talk, so did you: she was smart, sharp-witted and educated. You could listen to her speak for hours.

So today when you had offered to help decorating the room for the dance, and your gaze had fallen on the purple fairy lights tangled in a cardboard box, all you’d been able to think about had been Venable, and that maybe if the universe was kind enough she would be grateful, and maybe, just maybe, she would hold your hand, or stroke your cheek.

“I appreciate your intention, Y/N,” Venable said. “But as you already know I won’t be attending the dance, so who cares if I like the decoration.”

You pursed your lips to hide your annoyance and disappointment. “Are you sure about that?” you asked, assuming a causal expression, as if you were starting a conversation about the weather.

“Sure about what?”

“Not attending the dance. It means so much to Jeff and Mutt, and it’s not every day a company turns fifteen. Besides, you’ve done so much for Kineros, you should come and enjoy the fun.”

“Idiots prancing about all night long isn’t exactly my definition of fun,” Venable retorted.

“What if I asked you to go with me? As my date?”

What on Earth had made you bold enough to ask her that, you didn’t know. But she looked so damn beautiful under the fairy lights with that fiery red hair and those eyes and those cheekbones, you couldn’t hold your words and your admiration back. But maybe you should have, because now she looked mad.

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice laced with outrage.

You lowered your chin sheepishly, heat flooding your cheeks.”I mean… if you want to, of course.”

“I don’t,” she snapped.

Something in her voice, or maybe in the way her eyes widened slightly and her grip on her cane tightened, made you bold again.

“Are you sure?”you asked, taking one step towards her. She held her ground.

“I’m sure.”

You raised one hand, twisted a strand of your hair around your finger.

“Because I was thinking we could go together, and maybe dance together, and when we’re tired of all those ‘idiots’ I could drive you to my place and make you some dinner.”

Venable was glaring at you as if you had insulted her. But then, very slowly, part of her anger melted and her eyes seemed to veil over with an almost wistful look.

“Think about it,” you smiled.

Venable scoffed. “There’s nothing to think about. My decision is made.”

“Maybe so. But can you think about it?”

And before she had time to retort, you leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek, then fled the room before she could cane you.

**

“You’ve been staring at the same page for half an hour.” A hand, closing around your shoulder; red hair, tickling your neck. Venable leaned over your shoulder and whispered in your ear, “Do you think I hired you so you could waste your time daydreaming?”

You gulped, heat flooding your cheeks, and squirmed on your chair as your whole body tingled and suddenly came alive in her presence.

“I’m sorry, Ms Venable.” Your voice was raspy; you cleared your throat. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Venable hummed. She tapped one finger on your shoulder and blew hot air through her nose on the skin of your neck.

“You’re standing awfully close to me,” you rasped.

Venable smirked. “That’s rich, coming from someone who has no respect for personal space.”

Her fingers curled on your shoulder, nails raking the fabric of your shirt, and then she straightened and left, leaving you with your heart beating madly in your chest and heat pooling between your legs.

Before you left that day, you knocked on her office door. She looked up from her computer and smiled, before she remembered to school her features. Then she glared, and you couldn’t help but grin giddily at her.

“What do you want?” she snapped. “I’m busy.”

“I was just wondering if you had changed your mind about the dance tonight.”

She didn’t even bother to answer you and focused her attention back on her work. You waited for a few seconds, listening to the sound of her fingers tapping on the keyboard. Then you leaned against the wall and crossed your arms on your chest.

“Do you plan on going back home before it starts?” you asked. “I can pick you up at your place at 7, and then we can –“

“What part of ‘I am not coming’ does your feeble brain not understand?” Venable said, raising her head to look at you, her eyes cold and mean.

“Why not?”you retorted.

Anger flared in her eyes. “That is none of your business.”

You waited a few moments, and then said in a quiet, soothing voice, “I’d really love to dance with you.”  

Her fingers froze above the keyboard. She shot you a surprised look over the rim of her glasses, and you gave her a warm smile.

Something in her face softened. It almost looked – almost – as if some of her walls had crumbled down. For a moment you saw her as she must look like in the morning, relaxed and peaceful, eyes soft, limbs heavy with sleep. Your heart swelled and fluttered with affection. But then she reached for her cane and wrapped her fingers around the knob.

“I hate dancing,” she said sharply.

“That’s fine. We can still enjoy each other’s company.”

She squinted at you, jaw tightening. “I do not enjoy your company,” she mocked, imitating your intonation.    

You pretended that did not hurt. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other and tried to smile again, but it looked more like an ugly grimace. She noticed, and her expression softened.  

For a long moment there was only silence. Her eyes were scrutinizing you, dark and unreadable. Just as you were about to give up and leave, she tapped her cane on the floor, making you jump. “You can meet me here at 7:30,” she said. “Be prompt.”

**

Your hands were sweating. Your heart was beating madly in your chest, as if it wanted to free its way out of you. You smoothed your hands over your clothes, over and over again, as you made your way towards Venable’s office. You had changed into evening wear, nothing too fancy, sprayed perfume on your wrists and neck. The corridors were buzzing with the excited voices of your coworkers, happy, carefree for a night. It almost felt like prom night.

You stopped in front of Venable’s office door, swallowed, took a deep breath for courage, and knocked. The door opened immediately, startling you.

Venable was still in her work clothes, ponytail as neat as ever, face beautiful. You couldn’t help but gaze at her in awe.

“Hello,” you muttered after a while.

Venable shot you a disdainful look. She closed the door and said, “Let’s go. I want to get it over with.”

“Always a pleasure,” you muttered. She didn’t reply.

Side by side you walked to the room where the dance was to be held. It was already crowded with people, people calling each other and waving, people gathered around the buffet, people guffawing and laughing. You spotted Mutt and Jeff in the middle of the room, faces flushed with pride. Two huge pink and yellow balloons, in the shape of a 1 and a 5, hung from the ceiling.

You scanned the crowd, excitement and joy gradually seeping into you. You had always loved parties, always loved the feeling of belonging and of freedom, the heat of bodies all around you. It made you feel strong. You started bouncing on your toes, smiling at familiar faces, laughing as one of your coworkers made a face at you on his way back from the buffet. How you loved parties.

Venable, on the contrary, had tensed up the minute she had stepped into the room. She stood tall and proud, head held high, posture impeccable, but you noticed how tightly she was gripping her cane, and caught a glimpse of the fear in her eyes. Someone brushed past her too close for comfort and she almost recoiled. She was nervous, ill at ease. Her eyes darted from one face to another as if she were expecting a slap or a jeer from anyone.

“Come on,” you said, nodding to a table in a corner. “It’ll be quieter over there.”

As you reached the table, the music started; Blondie, Heart of Glass. Mutt threw his arms up in the air and gave a happy yell. Venable shot him a contemptuous look.

“Are you hungry?” you asked her. “Sit down, I’ll go get us something to eat.”

You threaded your way through the crowd to the buffet, grabbed two plates and piled food on them. You had no idea what Venable liked, so you chose a bit of everything: vegetables, meat, rice, a thick slice of bread. One of your coworkers came up to you and made a few jokes before her partner dragged her to the dance floor in the middle of the room. You watched them wistfully for a few seconds, then made your way back to Venable, holding the plates as close to your chest as you could to avoid they be knocked over by someone’s elbow.  

Venable looked even tenser than when you had left her. She was sitting very, very straight, eyes shooting daggers at no one in particular, one hand gripping her cane. You slowed down as you got close and watched her. She looked exactly like an animal, a predator, trapped in a cage surrounded by a curious crowd, baring its teeth every time someone tapped on the bars, trying to find a corner where to hide. She met your eyes, and visibly relaxed when you sat down at the table and handed her one of the plates.  

Things got easier from then on. You both ate your food in-between bits of conversation. You had to bend over the table to hear each other speak over the music, heads only a few inches apart. Lights danced across Venable’s face, shadows shifting, sparkles in her eyes. At one point you laughed, and her eyes flicked to your lips and lingered there a second or two. You bit your lower lip, shot her an amused look. She picked up her glass and hid her reddening cheeks behind it as she took a few sips.

Warmth was spreading inside you. You told yourself it was the food, or maybe the music, or maybe the party. You told yourself maybe it was the combination of those three things. But then Venable brought a hand up to her ear to play with her earring as she listened to you talk, her gaze fond and intense; her lips parted in a smile that made joy fizzle in your stomach.

It was her, without a doubt.  

You leaned closer and said giddily, “I love seeing you smile.”

She didn’t hear you. The music was too loud. So you said it again, almost a yell. She frowned, narrowed her eyes at you.

“It’s true,” you went on, grabbing your empty glass and pressing it against your mouth to hide behind it, just as Venable had done a few minutes before. “You have such a beautiful smile, but I guess you must hear that all the time.”

Venable opened her mouth, closed it again. There was a strange look in her eyes you could not quite identify. Her hand came up to play with her earring again, and then she raised her shoulders and jerked her head to the side like a child trying to hide the fact that they’re lying. “Thank you,” she said.”I do hear that all the time.”

A man who was waltzing drunkenly almost collided with your chair. You shoved him back into the arms of his friend, laughing. When you glanced at Venable, laughter still on your mouth, you caught a glimpse of her fond smile before she had time to compose her features. Your heart swelled. Beaming, you raised your glass, forgetting it was empty – “To Kineros’ fifteenth birthday!” – forgetting you didn’t even like the company, forgetting everything that wasn’t her.

The music changed. The quick tempo faded and was replaced by a slow melody, a piano and a violin, a deep, melancholy male voice. It soothed your heart and made it ache at the same time. All around the room couples found each other and pressed their bodies against each other and started slow dancing. You glanced sideways at Venable.

She was staring at the dancers with a sad look in her eyes, her thumb tapping distractedly on the knob of her cane. Her gaze fell on one of your coworkers’ face, happy and beaming as she twirled and twirled and laughed. Her partner wrapped one arm around her waist and dipped her. Venable’s grip on her cane tightened, knuckles turning white, and the sadness spilled from her eyes and spread across her face.

You cleared your throat to draw her attention.

“Shall we?” you said, gesturing towards the dancers.

Venable straightened her shoulders, raised her chin and shook her head. “I told you I don’t like dancing,” she said.

You hummed, studying her face. “Then why do you look so sad?”

She shot you a surprised look, eyes widening. You were expecting a mean retort, but instead she stared at the dancers again, and her lower lip trembled.

And then it finally dawned on you. The problem wasn’t that she hated dancing. The problem was that she couldn’t.

You swore you heard your heart break over the music. You had to dig your nails into your arm to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling her into a hug. For a moment you kept silent, and then as the violins swelled and the lights danced on Wilhemina’s face, you wrapped one hand around her wrist and pulled her up and towards the dance floor.

Her mouth opened in protest, but the words died in her throat when you laid one hand on the curve of her waist and used your other hand to guide hers to your shoulder. Her fingers stuttered over your skin, wide eyes meeting yours. You gave her a reassuring smile, brought your hand down and gently laced your fingers with hers around the knob of her cane.

And then you started to sway under the purple fairy lights.

Slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust, guiding her movements with your hand on her waist. Moving one foot, then the other. In rhythm with the lazy lament of the violins.

Wilhemina’s body slowly relaxed. She found her pace, her eyes never leaving yours, the lights making them glitter. You smiled, and gazed at her as her face softened with gratitude and something else that maybe, just maybe, looked like love. Her eyes lit up as she returned your smile and you swore – your heart was singing louder than the music.

You watched as the sadness melted and genuine happiness bloomed from her smile.

You pulled her closer and pressed your forehead against hers. You felt her breath hitch, saw her eyes flutter closed. So you allowed yourself to sink into her presence, sink into the music, sink into the moment.

And you prayed for the song never to end.

But it did, too soon, too abruptly. Another song started, upbeat and fierce. Wilhemina stopped moving and squared her shoulders. You took her hand, gave it a squeeze and led her back to your table.

She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t have to. The look in her eyes spoke plenty enough.

**

“Well then,” you said as you pulled up in front of Wilhemina’s house – small, white walls, perfectly mown lawn. You paused. You didn’t know what to add after that.

Wilhemina did not move. You glanced sideways at her, swallowing around the lump in your throat. Every nerve in your body was screaming for her to stay. Maybe you could take her on a drive, find a secluded spot, lie down in the grass and watch her as the stars slowly moved in the sky.

“That was nice,” you said after a while.

Wilhemina nodded. “Thank you for the lift,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” you smiled.

Still she did not move. Both her hands were wrapped around the knob of her cane, and she was staring straight ahead at the trees bordering the sidewalk. Her eyes shone faintly in the dark.

You cleared your throat. Your whole body was tingling with the need to touch her, to be near her, to feel her warmth again. You wondered if you would dare, if you would ever be bold enough. But you had been bold when you had invited her to the dance, and she had said yes; so you would be bold again.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” you asked.

She turned her head to look at you. A small, incredulous smile – afraid to be hurt.

“No you may n – “She cut herself off. Scrutinized your face. You waited, barely daring to breathe, your heart drumming in your ears. Wanting to be near her, now and always and forever.

“I can sleep on the couch,” you added quickly, averting your gaze. Your cheeks were starting to burn, and you were oh so grateful for the darkness.

Silence. Out of the corner of your eye you saw her reaching for the car door handle.

“I guess you can stay,” she said in an expressionless voice. “I don’t see any harm in that.”

**

“I have some clean pajamas you can borrow for the night,” Wilhemina said without looking at you.

“It’s okay,” you teased. “I can sleep naked.”

She shot you a look, then averted her gaze again and turned to rearrange a stack of papers on the coffee table, but you still saw it – the soft blush that bloomed in her cheeks. You sat back on the couch, grinning, and folded your hands behind your head.

“So,” you sang, “tonight wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, was it?”

She hummed. She was still pretending to rearrange the stack of papers, so you stood up and planted yourself in front of her.  

“Was it?” you repeated, fighting the giddy, smug grin that tugged at your lips. She straightened her shoulders, narrowed her eyes at you. You couldn’t quite decide whether she was amused or outraged by your behavior.

“What do you want me to say?” she retorted, her voice just a little bit raspier than usual. “That you were right?”

She was so close. You took her hand, laced your fingers with hers and kissed her knuckles. Her breath hitched. You grazed your lips on her skin, never breaking eye contact.

“I’d really like to dance with you again,” you whispered.

“But there’s no music,” Wilhemina answered in a breath.

You hummed, slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Who needs music to dance?”

She seemed to consider your words for a minute. Her eyes drifted to your lips. She inhaled shakily, then closed the space between you and pressed her chest against yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your body simultaneously tingled with life and combusted to ashes. Your eyes fell closed as you pressed your forehead against hers, just as you had at the dance, except this time it felt even more special. Maybe it was the privacy, or the silence, or how warm and firm her chest was against yours. Maybe it was the way she touched her nose to yours, or how, when she let out a breath, you felt it hot on your mouth and you had to stop yourself from capturing her lips in yours and kissing her senseless.

You didn’t even realize you had started slow dancing. You were too focused on her and on the way her body felt against yours to notice anything else. You wrapped both arms around her waist and held her tight, fingers digging into the fat on her hips. A moment passed, and then she, almost angrily, pushed her pelvis against yours.    

You stopped breathing entirely.

Every inch of you was burning. She had set you on fire, and you were melting, melting into her, core aching, head buzzing. So then you did the only thing that felt right. You tilted your head, crashed your mouth against hers and devoured her.

She whimpered, brought a hand up to your cheek, pressed herself even closer into you. You were pretty sure by now your insides had turned into molten lava. Her hand slid up to tangle in your hair, and you heard a clang as her cane fell to the ground, felt her other hand press on the small of your back, grip the fabric of your garment, boldly slide down to knead your ass.

“God, Wilhemina,” you whined into her mouth. She was going to be the end of you. She had cast a spell on you and now you’d die if you had to spend a single second away from her. You felt her smile, that beautiful, bewitching smile of hers that had started it all – and suddenly you needed to see it again, so you pulled away, eliciting an angry groan from her. You put one hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

She was breathing hard, cheeks flushed and lipstick smeared, eyes so dark and so predatory it sent shivers down your spine. You ran your thumb over her mouth, giggled when she nipped it. Her lips twitched, and your eyes widened in expectation, heart racing, heart singing – and then she smiled, that smile that softened her face and made her eyes light up, that smile she only ever smiled for you.

[mybunnyparadenme]

Ah wow so cool to have found you on Tumblr! I'm a big fan of your fic :) For the Bunny chart post, it would be so cool to see a Princess Kenny/Marjorine fic, maybe with Marj as her lady in waiting or something? ^-^

Hhhhhh thank you, I'm so flattered! /)///w///(\ Glad you found my blog too! Here's the fic, THANK YOU for requesting the girls!! I hope that you don't mind it's super angsty! ^^;

--

D2 - Marjorine/Princess Kenny

Princess Kenny had to be the most beautiful girl at the ball tonight.

Of course Kenny's always the most beautiful girl regardless, Marjorine thought to herself as she watched her dear friend dance with a dark haired prince from a far off kingdom. How couldn't she be? Her golden hair was done up in an intricate braid, exposing her slender neck and pale shoulders, and the lilac of her dress highlighted her gorgeous eyes, making her look like a goddess in human form. Marjorine felt pride color her cheeks, knowing that she'd had a hand in her appearance. She'd spent ages running a brush through that long hair until it gleamed in the light, plaiting it carefully so not a single strand fell out of place. And her hard work had definitely paid off, Kenny had been dancing all night and she still looked as immaculate as when they'd arrived.

At least until the awful foreign prince reached up and carelessly ran his fingers through her hair, tugging at her braid and leaving several strands loose in his wake. He looked smug as he curled her hair around his finger, and Marjorine was ready to stomp over there and tell him off for being so rough with her princess, but before she could even take the first step, Kenny had that same finger bent backwards and was whispering something into his ear. Something harsh, given the worry in the prince's pain-laced expression. The exchange only lasted for a moment, and then Kenny gave him a sweet smile as she curtsied goodbye. Almost immediately, she was in the arms of a new dance partner, the handsome Elf King of Zaron.

Marjorine let herself relax again. The elf was known for being well-mannered, no doubt he would treat Kenny with the respect she deserved. She watched the two of them dance with a smile on her face, though it quickly became strained when she saw Kenny throw her head back and laugh at something he'd said to her. They seemed to be hitting it off very nicely, and... and that was a good thing! They were at this ball to scope out potential suitors after all, the goal was to find someone she could not only get along with, but rule a kingdom with. This was a good thing, wasn't it? So why did the air suddenly feel like it was too heavy to breathe? She quickly turned from the dance floor and made her way over to the open balcony several feet away.

I could use some fresh air, she told herself. That was all she needed, and then everything would be fine.

The cool breeze felt good against her heated cheeks, a definite relief from the stuffy air in the ballroom. Marjorine tilted her head up to marvel at the beautiful moon overhead, so full and big it looked like she could reach up and touch it with her fingertips. But as she lifted her hand and clutched at empty space, she felt her heart sink at the realization that the distance between her and the moon was similar to the one between her and the princess she loved so much. Marjorine was proud to be Kenny's lady in waiting, her confidante, but that was all she would ever be. A selfish part of her was hoping that tonight would be a bust, that Kenny would turn her nose up at all the people vying for her attention, and it could just be the two of them for a little while longer... but Kenny had a whole country to think about, and what was one girl in the face of a kingdom? She would just have to be content with the hand she'd been given.

"There you are, Marji!" A soft, elegant voice called, moments before a pair of arms wrapped themselves around Marjorine's waist.

"Y-Your highness!" Marjorine cried, stiffening for a moment before her body relaxed in the familiar embrace. Her worries always melted away when Kenny was holding her. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you of course." Kenny whispered in her ear, her lips lingering just long enough to make Marjorine shiver. "It was getting so dull in there without you."

Marjorine shifted so that they were face to face, her arms coming up to loop behind Kenny's neck. It wasn't proper to show this much affection in such a public place, but after seeing so many pairs of hands around the girl she loved, Marjorine couldn't deny herself this moment of comfort between them. Still, duty demanded that she say, "We should head back inside, they'll notice you missing soon."

"I'd rather be out here with you, though." Kenny murmured. She knocked their foreheads together, looking into the other girl's eyes with an intensity that made Marjorine shiver. Her eyes were the color of lavender, but there was nothing calming about her gaze. "Can't we stay out here a little while longer, my dear?"

They both knew she couldn't deny her princess anything, especially not when she used such sweet endearments. She swallowed hard and nodded, trailing her hands over her shoulders (oh, they were so achingly smooth) and down her arms until their fingers were interlocked. "Of course, Kenny. Anything you want."

Seeing her smile was almost a punishment, so radiant it nearly left her blinded. "I want to dance with you, Marjorine."

And then they were swaying as soft music drifted out into the balcony, dreamy and beautiful and so perfect Marjorine had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up. They weren't dancing formally, the way Kenny had been taught all her life with steps to memorize and rules to follow. This was a dance they'd done hundreds of times, in the middle of the night when they weren't tired enough to sleep or after a boring meeting to let off some steam. It was a dance all their own, intimate and sacred and meant only for the two of them, Kenny taking the lead because that was what she was meant to do. Marjorine was the only one allowed to see this side of her, the girl who could rule a kingdom all on her own without a king by her side. But there were laws, and expectations being placed on those delicate shoulders, and they could only pretend for so long before they'd have to go back and face reality.

But they still had this moment, right now.

Kenny danced them into the far side of the balcony, out of view of the rest of the ball room. Marjorine could feel the cold stone wall against the fabric of her dress, but it didn't compare to the warmth coming from Kenny's body pressed flush against her own. Their lips were only inches apart, but she was distracted by the loose strand of hair that the awful prince had loosened from Kenny's braid. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, but Kenny caught her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her work-roughened knuckles.

Marjorine gasped and felt her cheeks burn. "Y-Your highness, you-"

"Kenny." She murmured into her skin, turning her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist. "Not 'your highness' or 'princess' when it's just the two of us. Use my name."

"Kenny." Marjorine breathed, shuddering as Kenny's lips trailed higher, until they were on her neck, her chin, her cheeks. "Kenny, my Kenny... m-my..."

"Just yours, Marji." Kenny whispered, and then their lips met and there were no more words spoken. If Kenny tasted the salt in their kiss, she didn't say, but her mouth worked feverishly against Marjorine's as if she could counter it with the sweetness of her tongue, and make up for the fact that moments like these would soon be fleeting at best.

And nonexistent at worst.

[fandom-eclectics]

hi i don't known you but i saw your shinsou idea in the tags and i really loved it?? it could be so cute and silly at the same time. i hope you'll write it if the motivation/inspiration is right! <3

Apologies if this didn’t live up to it’s potential. I tried though, I really did. Thank you so much though for the encouraging words!

|| "𝔻𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕠 𝕂𝕒𝕣𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥?" ||

Character: Shinso x reader

Status: Proofread- doesn’t mean it is free of typos tho

Type: Oneshot // Fluff; possibly the cringiest thing you’ll ever read

Summary: You and Shinsou are both crushing on each other. Still friends though, you go over to his place because he invited you to game. You thought he meant to play Minecraft, Mario Kart, and Super Mario Brothers. Boy, where you wrong.

Warnings: Some mild negative self talk. Nothing too extreme though. Shinsou might be ooc, idk, and….. Cringiness, cause it’s cringey

P.S.: Y/n’s internal dialogue is in italics

Word Count: 2, 202

A/n: Really, this feels SO cringey, like apologies in advance if this just sucks. I honestly just kinda hate this. Like the concepts cool but I hated how I did this.

Just do it, come on, it’s not that hard y/n. You mentally told yourself as you you our fist was raised, inches away from the door. Okay, I’ll, I’ll close my eyes, everythings always easier when you close your eyes, count to five, and then go for it, right? You shut your eyes tight, as tight as they could be shut, and you blocked all sound out from your ears. You were determined, you were focused, you were in a clear and confident state of mind. Alright, knocking in 5...4...3...2.. You knocked, letting all your energy and nervousness into your fist. It was like breathing in, and then finally breathing out after ages and ages. Finally, you knocked at the door.

Well, you thought you knocked at the door, until you heard a

“Y/n, y/n stop, the door’s open.” You heard your friend Shinsou say.

You opened your eyes, and saw your fist raised inches away from where his forehead was, you froze.

“I didn’t just…..” You trailed off

“Knock on my forehead, yeah, yeah you did.” He finished

“I’m such an idiot.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Well, would the idiot like to come in?” Shinsou asked

“Yeah, yeah I would.” You replied, walking across the threshold into his dorm room.

As he closed the door, you stared at him for just a moment. Big mistake, really really big mistake. His side profile was gorgeous, oh no, you were doing that thing again. The thing where you ramble on about how beautiful and amazing your friend is, digging yourself deeper into the hole. You scolded yourself, I don’t like him, he’s just regular old Hitoshi Shinsou, with nice lavender hair, and eyeliner that’s always done just right, and intriguing purple eyes, and…..crap, not the point.

Hope you guys have a good day/night!

“Y/n, are you okay?” Shinsou asks, going to sit down on one of the black bean bags that faced his tv.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You replied, following him and sitting down into the empty one beside him.

His dorm room looked really nice. He had the walls painted the standard cream color that all the other dorms were. Though, they were covered with all kinds of unique band posters. A few posters for certain video games that you couldn’t place hung on the walls as well. The curtains were a simple black that matched his bed spread. The tv sat in front of the window that showed it to be mid afternoon. The whole room smelled of vanilla and lavender, which now explained why Shinsou always smelled of that scent. It was a bit chilly, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“So, what do you want to play first?” He asked, turning to look at you.,

Okay, Y/n, you can do this, just answer the question like anyone else would. What do you want to play first…...what do you want to play first…..

“Why don’t you pick.” You propose, a soft smile gracing your face.

“Alright then.” Shinsou agrees, returning your smile. He walks over to pull a disc and insert it into his Xbox.

Xbox, last you remember Mario Kart was on the Nintendo. Huh, maybe you two were going to play Minecraft?

“Do you like racing games?” He asked, his attention mostly on the screen, switching through the different gameplay settings.

“Oh yeah, I love them. I’ve been told I’m quite the pro at them.” You say, a smirk forming on your face. Do you like racing games? Is that even a question? Mario Kart was your thing. You absolutely loved it.

‘We’ll see about that.” Shinsou says, turning to you, a smirk forming on his lips to match your’s.

“So what are we playing?” You asked, recalling the memory of him putting the disc in the Xbox, you were presuming Minecraft.

You were wrong. Shinsou said the name of a game that you had never heard of. It sounded all professional and scary. You couldn’t remember it even if you tried. In your head you gulped as he started up the game and passed you a controller. Oh no, what do these buttons do, how do I start my car? You saw the “READY, SET, GO” pass across the screen, and pressed the right joystick forward with your thumb as hard as you could.

“Y/n, why are you going in circles.” Shinsou asks, keeping his eyes focused on the screen.

“Turning in-” You look at your screen, apparently pressing the joystick forward does not make you go forward like it does in Minecraft, it makes you turn.

“Oh, yeah, I’m just, just not used to this controller.” You laugh nervously as you quickly think of a solution. What should I press, what should I press.

Shinsou chuckled at your confused expression and reached over quickly to place your thumb on the button that had a red capitalized B on it. You pressed harder on the button, switching to your pointer finger so you could use your thumb to steer with the joystick. You thought you were doing great, really, you thought you were crushing this whole new and fancy racing game. You only cut a few curbs, and it seemed there was only one fence that severely got in your way. Until, you crashed right into Shinsou.

He let out a frustrated sigh as the words “FINISHED” flashed across the screen.

“I’m sorry Shinsou, you almost had first place there.” You said/.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’s mine.” He replied, setting his controller aside.

“How so? I’m the one who crashed into you.” You asked, after all, you were right.

“I didn’t tell you that you were driving the wrong way.” He confessed, holding back what seemed to be laughter

“Hitoshi! Why didn’t you tell me! No wonder I saw everyone going a different way!” You exclaimed. Wow, I sound stupid you thought.

“I thought you’d catch on.” He insisted. “Plus, your confidence was cute.”

At that, you felt butterflies form in your stomach. Cute. I was going to have to do this driving the wrong way and acting like I own it thing more often.

“What if I told you I was just…..warming up?” You proposed.

“I’d say that I’m terrified if this is you just ‘warming up’” Shinsou retorted

“Ha-ha, very funny.” You rolled your eyes, setting your controller down in front of you.

“So, what do you want to play next?” He asks, getting up to take the disk of the game we just played out of the Xbox.

“I’ll let you pick again.” You answered, thinking of the pressure of actually having to pick a game yourself. What if he thought Mario or Minecraft was dumb? No, that’s not right, he’s a gamer, he must okay those games all the time.

“I get to pick two times in a row. I feel honored.” He says, fake surprise in his voice.

“Don’t get too flattered, I’m just indecisive.” You reply, and instantly regret it. Oh no, that’s a flaw, you just admitted a flaw to the guy you like. Great job Y/n, you're playing this crush thing really well.

“Do you want me to explain the rules of this one?” He asks, sitting back down and picking up his controller. You mimic his motion of picking up the controller, and nod, looking in his direction. He starts explaining all the rules of the game, but of course your small brain only caught onto two basic things. You have a gun, and if someone who’s not on your team walks up to you, shoot. Everything else was lost in a place that your brain didn’t let you see. You were also too busy thinking of Hitoshi.

You wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with him. Maybe he could teach you how to play that racing game you just completely failed at playing. You guys could spend hours and hours building castles and towns in Minecraft. You could both play Super Mario Brothers and beat the final boss level together, resulting in a passionate high-five and an even more passionate kiss. Your brain couldn’t get all these little scenarios out of it. All of them just kept flooding your thought process, keeping you from paying attention to Hitoshi’s explanation.

“Got it?” He asked you, turning to the screen, getting ready to start the game.

“Yeah.” You quickly said, realizing shortly after that you definitely didn’t have it.

“How do you shoot again?” You finally ask, feeling bad about sitting there for five minutes not being able to do anything but walk using the left joystick.

“Here.” Hitoshi says, setting down his controller and pulling your wrists so your hands holding the controller hover between both of you. He puts his hands over your’s, gently pressing your fingers on the buttons and explaining what does what in a soft and patient tone. It was a calming and peaceful moment that made you smile. Your face felt very hot because of the constant contact between you two. Eventually, when he finished explaining what does what, he went back to his controller and went back to playing.

You walked around, shooting people down for you and Hitoshi’s team, you actually felt like you had this. Your aim was awesome, spot on. You even surprised Shinsou with some shots. Earning a “Wow y/n” Or “That was an awesome shot Y/n”. Though, your streak only lasted a good three minutes before people started coming for you. Shooting at you from every direction. You were trying desperately to defend yourself, shooting many times at everyone around you. In your overwhelmed state, you didn’t notice Shinsou had come over in the game to help you, and ended up shooting him down in the process.

After you killed Shinsou by accident, your attempts to win the game just got more and more laughable. This was not at all what you were expecting this evening to go like. Eventually, Shinsou took pity on you and shut down the game.

“Y/n, no offense, but those were two of the most popular games..and well...you completely sucked at them. I thought you gamed.” Shinsou says, sitting down beside you after taking the disc out of the gaming console.

“I do.” You insisted

“Do you play any real games?” He asks, sighing and looking at you.

“Does Mario Kart count?” You ask shyly.

Shinsou busts up laughing, all his suspicions of you lying about gaming fading away. Mario Kart, you were asking about Mario Kart? How hilairous.

“Y/n, what were you expecting me to play?” He asked you, having genuine laughter in his voice.

“Hey, I was expecting Super Mario Bros, Minecraft, ya know, the hard core stuff!” You insisted.

That only got him to laugh even more. You were so concerned. He hates me, he thinks I’m completely lame. I just blew my shot, I just completely lost all hope of ever being with Hitoshi Shinsou. He’s never going to want to be my friend again. My, I’ll be surprised if he even wants to ever talk to me- your thoughts were interrupted by a previously wordless Hitoshi.

“Y/n, someday, you’ll have to show me how you play these “hard core” games of your’s.” He gets out, laughing at the “hard core” part.

“You can’t tell me you don��t know how to play Minecraft!” You exclaimed,

“Oh no, I know how to play it, but I think it would be even more fun with you.” He confessed.

“Well….I could always come over tomorrow evening and we can play together, maybe build something cool?” You offer.

“Perfect, it’s a date.” He says casually.

“A-a date?” You question the butterflies in your stomach going crazy at his words. You heard him right didn’t you? No, you must have heard it wrong, my word you’ll sound so stupid if he didn’t say anything about a date.

“Unless you don’t want to make it a date. It can just be us hanging out, I just thought, well never mind.” Shinsou says, all emotion draining from his voice.

“No, no, a date sounds awesome!” You reassure him.

“Really?” He asks

“Really.” You say

“I hope you're better at killing zombies than you are at driving cars.” He jokes, giving you that classic smirk that made your heart rate skyrocket.

“I’ll kill all the zombies you want if you’ll deal with the endermen.” You said.

“Deal.” He agreed.

Hope you guys have a good day/night!

You are so loved! <3