#only to realise IT WAS THAT STRANGE GUY ALL THOSE YEARS AGO

[rose-finches]

[ a memory from the city of flowers ]

I've seen some discussion on what if trein met lilia in his youth, only for him to see Lilia again decades later at NRC and I find it so funny

[heartlogan]

all coming back to me

✮— logan x f!reader (set in x-men days of future past)

✮— summary: logan didn’t realise you would be here in the past. all that follows.

✮— a/n: first time writing for logan / the xmen films, be gentle pls. also wrote this in like 20 mins at 1am so kindness pls. ok goodnight.

✮— warnings: character death, major character death, (mentioned mostly, not the most graphic depictions), logan’s relentless guilt, reader’s insensitive curiosity, muddled timeline maybe idk, mutant reader (unmentioned power) , kind of abrupt ending , lmk if there’s more!

MASTERLIST

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

When Logan had realised he was the only viable candidate to do this job, he had felt the immense weight on his shoulders, had known that he had no choice but to succeed. He had been prepared for that part, mostly. But even still, the plan was sudden, and he hadn’t thought most things through. After all, Logan was more of a fight now, think later type of guy.

So waking up in some random woman’s waterbed was unexpected, yes, but even more unexpected was the bone cutting through his skin when he had to face those goons. It had been so long since the adamantium had been melded to his skeleton, that he could almost forget it hadn’t always been that way. If it weren’t for the pain that still haunted his every nightmare, that was.

It was an adjustment, definitely, especially because it had been so long since he hadn’t felt completely indestructible — untouchable. There was no metal safety net, here.

Seeing Xavier’s school falling apart was certainly an adjustment, too.

He had known this school only in its prime, when Charles had already formed the X-Men, had already settled many kids into their new home. Logan couldn’t ever imagine this place being so devoid of life.

“Can I help you?” A young man asked, after a few silent moments of Logan waiting for the door to be answered. He sounded vaguely familiar.

“Uh… yeah, what happened to the school?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised as his eyes trailed over the vines crawling up the building, the dust coating the glass.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at Logan strangely before he decided to speak. “The school’s been shut for years. Are you a parent?”

Logan scoffed. “I sure as hell hope not. Who are you?”

“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now.”

He’s doing a great job at that, Logan thought to himself, surveying the damaged grounds, before he clocked on to what the man had introduced himself as. He squinted at the small stature of the guy, half hidden by the door he was pressing himself into the gap of.

“You’re Beast? Look at you,” Logan commented idly, “Guess you’re a late bloomer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank warned, features hardening instantly at the name he hadn’t heard for a long time. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man started closing the door in Logan’s face, not expecting him to shove himself against it, keeping it open. They strained, muscles tensing on both sides, before Logan inevitably won without Hank’s extra strength that accompanied his transformation.

“Where’s the professor?”

“There’s no professor here.” Hank responded, before Logan soon managed to shove the door open, flinging him back.

“Professor!” Logan yelled into the empty house, hearing his voice rebound off of the walls. The echoing made him uncomfortable, and seeing the house that had been destroyed so long ago in his time was odd. It was familiar, and yet so different. Logan wasn’t sure he could ever get used to the empty manor, despite his many complaints about the kids at the school.

The moment Logan began to ascend the stairs of the manor, Hank leapt at him, freshly transformed. Logan was momentarily shocked by the appearance of his blue fur, but he quickly got over it, defending himself from Hank’s admittedly rather weak attack. The Beast managed to stun him, tackling him onto a table in the middle of the foyer, while the blue man hung from the chandelier above.

“Hank?” A voice called out, confused and slightly concerned. “What’s going on here?” He asked, descending the stairs and squinting down at the vaguely familiar man on top of his table.

“Professor?” Logan asked, surprised, sitting up on the table to make sure he was seeing things right.

“He doesn’t like to be called that.” A new voice said, coming from Logan’s left, and he startled, head whipping towards where you were standing. You were leant against the doorway, arms folded across your chest as you watched the situation unfold with unhidden entertainment.

His heart practically stops.

He hadn’t seen you for almost three years. Three very long, very difficult years.

Logan didn’t even want to think about the last time he had seen you. It had been one of the worst days of his life to date, and he’d had a lot of bad days. And yet, here you were, alive. Trying to tamp down your amusement, though it was written clearly on your face, evident in the slight curve of a smile that he had missed.

“You know this guy?” Hank asked Charles, who made his way down the rest of the stairs while Logan only continued to stare at you.

Charles looked at Logan with a vague sense of recognition. “Yeah, he looks slightly familiar.” He commented distantly, already appearing completely checked out of the situation. “Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank.”

The sound of the glass above him clinking together brought Logan to his senses, reminded him that he had a job to do. And no matter how much he had missed you, your presence couldn’t get in the way of that.

“You can walk.” Logan stated, checking back into the conversation with shock still darting down his spine. He watched the Professor carefully, brows furrowed in thought.

“And you’re perceptive.” Charles replied dryly, “Which makes it slightly perplexing that you missed our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I’m going to have to ask him to ask you to leave.” He said, nodding towards Hank who stared between the two men as if watching some sort of tennis match. He looked uncomfortable with the confrontation occurring. “Or her, if you’re more inclined.”

You raised your brows.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Logan didn’t end up leaving, much to your surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to get Charles to do anything he didn’t want to do. Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had managed to speak to the man, save for you and Hank. He turned everybody away, never heard anyone out, no matter how desperate they sounded.

Instead, Charles seemed to accept the fact that this man was from the future. A future which sounded dire, by the way.

And if his glance towards you when he had spoken about watching good people, friends, die, told you anything, it was that you didn’t make it very far in the future. Which didn’t faze you all too much. It didn’t sound like much of a future for those who lived, anyway. But that knowledge had taught you something about this Logan. He had cared for you, some years from now.

It was as clear as day. He looked at you like he had been missing you, like he was greeting you at the airport after a long trip. He seemed to think he was being discreet about it, always glancing away when you turned to him, but you were observant.

You sidled up next to him while Hank went on the hunt for the phone book, and Charles wandered off to regret his decision.

“So, how’d I die?” You asked, feeling bad but also slightly amused when Logan practically choked on air.

“What? How did you—”

“Oh, please. It’s all over your face. I may not know you, but I can see that much.” You responded, cutting him off and watching the cogs turn in his head.

You had always had a strange way of reading him better than anyone else. Not that this version of you knew that, but Logan did. It made his chest ache all the more, feeling like you were so close to being in his grasp, and yet so far away from him. He had to remind himself that you didn’t know him, and he didn’t exactly know this version of you.

You seemed… not happier, exactly, but something was different. Perhaps you had suffered less at this point in your life. He had met you in one of the most difficult times you had ever been through, and it was strange to see you without the baggage that had followed you from that.

“I’m that transparent, huh?” He replied, going quiet soon after. He didn’t want to talk about this with you. With anyone. He didn’t want to relive that moment any more than he already did. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, every time the Sentinels had approached in the future.

“You are.” You paused. “So? What happened?”

“You don’t want to know about this, kid.” Logan stated, pointedly not looking at you. You were so young now, and he missed the lines on your face. This wasn’t the you that he knew or loved. He didn’t know this version of you. And you certainly didn’t know him.

Logan had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders, the fate of every mutant and human who had the decency to be kind towards them. Your fate. The fate of everyone else he had lost. He couldn’t get caught up in this, in seeing you here, as much as he wanted to soak in the sound of your voice, the colour of your eyes, the glow of your skin.

“Why not? We’re going to save the world anyway. It can’t hurt.” You said innocently, regretting the latter part of your statement the moment you realised how it came across, how Logan’s face creased.

He wanted to appreciate your optimism, mostly because he knew how much of it you had lost by the time you died, but you couldn’t understand. It did hurt. Logan had watched you die in front of his very eyes, his adamantium and courage powerless to stop it. He had been dragged back to the jet, forced to leave your body there to rot, or to be taken and experimented on. He didn’t know which was worse.

Even now, he could feel the pressure on his chest from Storm pushing against him, the pain of Magneto pulling at his skeleton, forcing him to leave you behind.

He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, eyes flickered across the room, never quite landing on you. It hurt him every day. He could feel the weight of your loss even now, knowing that if he failed to do this, you were lost. This version of you, the one who had so much suffering to come, would die at the hands of a Sentinel, and he would be powerless to stop it.

“Sorry,” You said, when the silence stretched on, Logan seemingly getting lost in his own thoughts. You could see the pain written across his face, could see him getting distant, reliving whatever had happened in the future. “That was insensitive. I was curious, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to save us all. And I’m here to help this time.”

He finally looked at you, and you could see the exhaustion on his face. Perhaps putting more pressure on him wasn’t the best idea.

“Okay, I’m messing this up,” You admittedly, fidgeting nervously now, eyes flickering between him and the door as if expecting Charles or Hank to walk in on you embarrassing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Logan paused, apparently trying to find his words. “You don’t need t’be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

You looked at him, seeing him more clearly then. You didn’t know his past, and you certainly didn’t know the future, but this man cared about you. That much was obvious. “It’s not yours either, you know.” You said, and the slight grimace he made didn’t escape you. He clearly didn’t agree. “However we know each other in the future, it can’t change the fact that I am an adult. I would never expect you to take responsibility for me dying. Or want you to! I take care of myself.”

He blinked at you. “We were meant to take care of each other.”

You faltered slightly at that, struggling to imagine yourself relying on someone that much, but then you understood.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? You’re here, fifty years into the past, trying to make things right. The war wasn’t your fault, Logan.”

Despite knowing that was true, it still didn’t quite dislodge the guilt that pulsed in his chest. He felt more vulnerable here, without his adamantium. With your prying eyes. Even now, it appeared that you saw him in a way nobody else ever could.

“You know what? This might be totally inappropriate, but…” You trailed off, and he had just opened his mouth to question you when suddenly you were wrapping your arms around his neck, squeezing him close in a way that finally let him breathe again.

His hands hung idly by his sides for a few moments, before finally wrapping around you, holding you tight. He seemed as though he may never let you go, but you could understand that. Logan was in pain, and it seemed that despite your slight uncertainty, this had been a good path to go down. Taking care of one another, or something like that, right?

A heavy sigh left his chest, and you squeezed him tighter, letting out a short breath into his neck. You only pulled away when you heard Hank’s footsteps creaking on the aged floorboards, heading your way. Logan let you go, with much reluctance, but you lingered. Your arm brushed against his jacket.

If Hank noticed anything, he didn’t say a word, simply holding up the phone book victoriously. You glanced at Logan, watching the creases slowly come back to his face as he was reminded of his burden once more. You leaned against him the slightest bit, and pretended not to notice him glance at you.

This would all work out, you were certain of it. And if it didn’t, well, at the very least there was something to look forward to in that bleak future. Logan seemed worth the pain.

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 4

A/N: This one took me a while, but I'm back! I've been to two comic cons in a row, and I've just been so busy with work as well, so my writing motivation was little to none. But here's part 4! English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

It was only a couple of minutes later when Butcher finally broke the dreading silence, but your mind had raced through a timespan of hours. “We need to get out. Get up, love.”

A tight grip fastened around your right upper arm, lifting you urgently but with slight care. Your eyes barely left the horror scene of several guts splashed against the walls in the hallway, body parts scattered around the floor, and in the back of your mind, you remembered the two decapitated bodies Ben had been the cause of.

The air felt electric, the smell of smoke burning through your nostrils and finding the dreaded way towards your throat. You could barely believe it was your doing, but there was no denying the destruction that lay in your wake.

Ben stood rooted to the spot near the door, his shield lowered but still gripped tightly. His eyes flicked toward you, and for the first time, the cold indifference you had become accustomed now labelled as fear. And it frightened you because, for a second, you got the feeling he would lash out like he did all those years ago.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“No,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

You could barely recall the moment you lost control, the power that had surged through you. But the aftermath was all too real. You stared at your trembling hands, electricity still sparking between your fingers, the residual energy crackling like a distant storm.

Ben didn’t respond. The tension between the men hung in the air like a ticking time bomb.

“Like I said, we need to move,” Butcher said, his voice gruff as he pushed away from the terminal. “We’re locked down for now, but Vought’ll be on our arses soon enough. Let’s get the fuck outta ‘ere.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The adrenaline from the fight was fading fast, replaced by a gnawing fear—of yourself, of the power you’d just unleashed. You could feel it, the wild storm inside of you. You had no idea what had triggered it or if you could control it again. And judging by the way Ben was looking at you, he wasn’t too sure either.

As the three of you moved out of the control room and into the hallway, the facility felt strangely empty, the echoes of your destruction trailing behind you like a shadow. But you knew better. Vought wouldn’t give up that easily.

Ben walked ahead, his broad frame cutting a path through the blood-splattered hallway, but his movements were more cautious now. The confidence and rage that usually simmered beneath his surface were subdued as if he was watching you closely, waiting for you to lose control again.

You didn’t blame him.

Everything was silent. Too silent.

You just wanted either of the men to scream at you- put you back in that cell as a result of their fears.

But none of it came.

Butcher, ever the pragmatist, kept his focus on the exit, but even he glanced at you from time to time, something unspoken in his gaze. He had seen supes use their powers before—hell, he’d fought against them—and while he wasn’t afraid, he certainly wasn’t going to let his guard down around you. Not anymore.

“Oi,” Butcher muttered as you approached the final set of doors that led to the outside. “You good? That little light show back there—gonna happen again?”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in your hands. “I don’t know.” you admitted, hating how uncertain your voice sounded. You didn’t want to make yourself weak.

But with the way you lashed out, you didn’t think either of the two would think you were weak.

Except maybe Ben.

Because he thought you were a lab rat.

Butcher raised an eyebrow. “Well, now’s not the time to go rogue on us, love. We still gotta make it outta ‘ere in one piece.”

You bit back a retort, knowing he was right. But his words only fuelled the fear already building inside you. You weren’t sure what this would mean for you.

Ben stopped at the door, glancing back at the two of you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary. “You sure you aren’t going to fucking kill us?” he asked, his voice gruff and unkind.

And you knew then. He didn’t think you were weak.

He thought you were a monster.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. “Fuck if I know.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the distant wail of sirens and alarms a constant reminder that your time was running out. Then Ben nodded, accepting your answer without further comment. He shoved the door open, leading the way into the cold night air outside the facility.

The wind hit your face like a slap, fresh air filling your lungs like the first glass of burning whiskey on a night out. You felt exhausted, nearly falling to your knees at the spot. You glanced up at the night sky, stars barely visible through the haze of city lights, and took a deep breath. For the first time in decades, you were free.

But freedom came with a cost.

And you weren’t sure you could pay it.

Ben and Butcher kept a steady pace as they made their way through the fallen snow, the white burning into your eyes like you’d just stared at the sun, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at you.

The facility was behind you, but Vought’s reach extended far beyond those walls. And as much as you wanted to believe the worst was over, you knew better.

This was only the beginning.

As the three of you approached the extraction point, the sound of distant helicopters filled the air, and you could already see the headlights of Vought’s vehicles in the distance, closing in fast. There would be no rest, no time to process what had happened. Not yet.

A black van stood in the dim light of the moon, right behind the final passage of your imprisonment. The two men ran towards it, making you realise this was their transport. You tried to bite through your exhaustion, your pain, but it was to no avail.

Right as you saw a figure leave the vehicle, you fell to your knees on the ice-cold ground- the joined snowflakes burning your knees through your pants.

But you could barely pay it any mind.

The figure from the van moved quickly, their boots crunching through the snow as they approached you. It soon took the shape of a scrawny-looking man, but he couldn’t have been much older than thirty. A slight stubble caressed the lower half of his face, and a few fluffed pieces of hair came from under his beanie.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, feeling the last of your adrenaline slipping away, the cold seeping into your bones. You could barely make out Butcher’s voice, barking orders at the newcomer, but it all sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears, the sounds of the helicopters. Even the weather couldn’t give you strength this time.

But amongst the sounds you could vaguely hear, Soldier Boy’s voice was not one of them.

“Stay with us,” the newest person said, their voice unsurprisingly gentle as they knelt beside you. A hand gripped your arm, steadying you. You tried to focus on them, but the edges of your vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the corners.

About two more people left the van, but you didn’t have any energy to analyse them.

A face appeared above yours, concern etched into their face. “You’re not dying on us,” they growled, and their care confused you. You didn’t even know them. “We need you to hold it together.”

And you tried. God, did you try.

You weren’t weak.

You weren’t pathetic.

And most of all, you weren’t going to make a fool of yourselves.

So, instead of succumbing to the darkness that had crept into your mind, you looked up at the broad figure and focused on his kind, but demanding eyes. Three men held you up, and you could vaguely make out the figure of your former companion getting into the back of the van without a word.

You were helped up into the vehicle, and for a moment you felt like the fool you were afraid to become. You were a supe. A soldier. There shouldn’t have been any need to get lifted into a van by three men.

Taking your place near the backdoor, you lifted up your legs and wrapped your arms around them to keep yourself warm. You tried to summon the power of the sun, the warmth of fire. But all you got was electricity. Cold, prickling electricity.

Looking out the back window, you tried everything not to make any eye contact with the people around you, as the last person stepped inside and closed the side door.

The air was thick with tension and a strange, almost hesitant feeling of understanding. You slumped further against the cold metal side, feeling the slight vibrations as the van roared to life and sped away from the facility. Every bump on the road sent jolts of pain through your body, but you bit down the groans that threatened to escape.

The scrawny man from earlier sat beside you, his gaze flitting between you and Soldier Boy, who sat in the far corner on the other side of the vehicle, keeping his eyes trained out the window as well. He didn’t acknowledge you, but his silence spoke volumes.

Butcher, sitting directly across from you, watched you carefully, his gaze flicking between the sparks still dancing faintly along your hands and your exhausted expression. He was assessing, weighing whether you were still a threat.

“Listen,” Butcher’s voice cut through the quiet, “I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re feelin’ sorry for yourself. We need you sharp if we’re gonna get through this alive. That means no more ‘accidents,’ got it?”

His tone was harsh, but beneath it was a sliver of something else—almost like concern. Or at least, as close to concern as Butcher could ever muster.

You managed a nod, barely meeting his eyes.

Part of you was angry.

Angry at yourself, angry at Butcher.

But most of all, angry at Ben.

Because how the fuck could he walk around, swinging that shield like it’s nothing, without a single memory of you lingering inside his mind?

You bore your memories. You were burdened with them.

But now, you bore his, too.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.” You decided to speak up, deciding to no longer make a fool of yourself. Truth was, you had no idea if you could keep the outburst from happening again. The power felt wild inside you, like a caged animal ready to break free the moment you lost your grip.

You turned away, focusing instead on the faint vibration of the van as it rumbled along a rough road. The cold had settled deep into your muscles, making you shiver uncontrollably. It felt like you’d never be warm again.

Butcher, noticing your discomfort, threw a blanket your way, which you caught with clumsy hands. “Don’t say I never do nothin’ for ya.” he muttered. There was no softness in his tone, but it wasn’t entirely unfriendly either. Maybe he didn’t hate you—yet.

He was the one who wanted to get you out of there, anyway.

For his own damn purposes, that is.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts. “What is this about?” you asked, not sure if the only thing they’ve done was lie to your face. “The truth, this time.”

Ben switched his gaze towards you instantly, sending you a look that was close to a death glare. And you were the stupid one who locked eyes with him at that moment.

And at that point, you missed his caring gaze. His words that only you had gotten in the past. The person he cared enough for to catch a bullet to the head.

Until he didn’t.

Butcher tilted his head, sending Ben a daring glare, which caused him to look away.

“Butcher’s got a thing for picking up strays.” Soldier boy spoke sternly, absently averting his gaze back outside, his eyes trembling as they followed their surroundings.

You broke your stare towards Ben, and you could sense the weight of his words passing towards you. You were just another stray to them. And you weren’t sure what that meant.

Butcher still didn’t answer. Either he didn’t have one, or he didn’t want you to know about it.

The silence inside the van thickened, each unspoken word a weight pressing down on you. Ben's brief outburst still echoed in your mind, the sharpness of it reminding you just how far you'd fallen from the fragile trust you thought you’d shared with him. He wouldn’t even look at you now, the distance between you as icy as the snow you’d collapsed into earlier.

Butcher leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. It was like he was weighing whether to trust you with more—or if it was safer to keep you in the dark.

Finally, he spoke up, his voice low. “We’ve got a little operation. Some resources, a few people who ain’t fond of being Vought’s lapdogs,” you noticed a slight tremble in his voice. One a regular person wouldn’t have noticed. “We just needed one more backup- someone who knows all about the company. You.”

You clearly felt like it was a lie.

A straight-up, fully thought-out lie.

Butcher’s words grated against your nerves, the blatant half-truth curling like smoke in the air between you. It was too clean, too practised. You could see the calculation behind his eyes—what he was willing to share and what he wasn't.

You raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably as you locked eyes with him. “Just needed backup, huh?” you echoed, your voice cutting through the tension in the van like a blade. “And it just so happened that your ‘backup’ was locked in one of Vought’s prisons?”

Butcher’s jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He didn’t like being called out, but he didn’t deny it, either. “Look, it’s more complicated than that,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. “Vought’s got their hands in everything. Any chance to screw with ‘em, we take it. You were there, we got you out. Simple as.”

Ben scoffed, turning his head toward you. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing. “Yeah, and it’s not like you’ve got anywhere better to be, do you?” His voice was harsher than you remembered as if all the warmth you once thought you saw in him had been stripped away, leaving only the bitterness behind. “Or would you rather be back in that cell?”

You clenched your hands into fists beneath the blanket, feeling the sparks crackle faintly against your skin. It was a good reminder that you were far from powerless, even if you felt lost. But you held the charge back, not wanting to give them any more reason to doubt you—or fear you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admitted quietly, and the honesty of the words stung. “But I know I don’t trust any of you. Not yet.”

Butcher gave a rough chuckle, but it lacked humour. “Yeah, well, join the club. We’re not here to make friends, love. Just keep your head down, and don’t fuckin’ lose it in the process.”

You looked away, your mind racing with the implications of this uneasy alliance. The cold seeped through the metal walls of the van, biting at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill in Ben’s gaze. He had been your ally once, your only friend in the darkness. Now, you couldn’t tell if he’d ever been on your side at all.

As the van bumped along the dark road, the tension between all of you settled into a heavy, uncomfortable silence. But despite everything, one thought gnawed at you, refusing to be silenced.

Whatever Butcher’s real reason was for pulling you from that cell, it was more than just needing an extra set of hands. And you would find out what it was—one way or another.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never @daisydark @mxltifxnd0m @lamentationsofalonelypotato

[missdirection26]

I saw this and spouted a couple of thousand words.

Summary: You’re the person in control of Jackson’s alcohol production and distribution.

You’ve been trying not to crush on Joel Miller, and having some time away to focus on producing some drinks for the winter dance in 2038 gives you some much needed time apart.

Until you see his beautifully outgrown hair…

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: Mature (just for swearing and drinking)

Tags: Jackson!Joel, Fluff, Angst with a happy ending, Romance, First Kiss

Chapter One (Chapter two - here)

Joel Miller’s hair was going to be the death of you.

As the person with control over the alcohol distribution in Jackson, you were one of the only people allowed in Joel’s small circle of trust. Years ago when he’d joined the community with his sort-of daughter, he sought you out. You, who’d grown up working in your families distillery Before. You who were strong-willed enough to manage the most popular non-essential resource in town, and the arguments that came along with it. Joel, however, was ever the Southern gentleman.

“Excuse me ma’am, sorry to bother ya, but my brother, Tommy…he said you’re the lady I need to come to to barter for more than my assigned ration of whiskey?”

Despite his size, he seemed small in that moment. Nervous. Perhaps even shy?

“Tommy knows better than to call me a lady, ain’t ever been one of those. But he’s right about how I got the hookup. I got a distillery system set up here, raided the Jackson Hole Still Works south of here a few years back for the equipment, but production is still limited. How much you looking for?”

He stood before you, rubbing the back of his neck and pointedly avoiding contact with your eyes. You figured out later that it was lucky on your end he did that, as your usually steely will had a kryptonite in his baby brown eyes.

“Double the ration amount ongoing? I ain’t got nothing physical to trade yet, but I’ll be a full-time patroller soon if ya need somethin’. Or I’m good with my hands”

You smirked and giggled at him then, secretly knowing what he meant (Tommy had been raving on around town about his brothers contracting skills the months he’d been gone in preparation for his return), but you loved messing with guys. And watching his sun-kissed cheeks redden slightly as he realised what he’d said sent a small thrill of power down your spine.

“I…I meant buildin’. Woodwork and shit, can figure my way around a pipe too if need be. I just…” he trailed off.

That was the moment you think it all started, this stupid schoolgirl crush on a 50 odd year old man. Seeing him try not to be vulnerable with a stranger, in a strange town, in a shit world. So you take pity on him.

“Glass bottles. People are suppose to return them, but accidents happen and we have less and less all the time. They’re also heavy so patrollers don’t like to carry them back, but thats usually the currency I have with the others. Lets say average one bottle a patrol, and I get you on retainer for repairs or building work I need, and you got a deal” you stated confidently, stepping closer and held a hand out to seal the deal. Little would you know, this moment would become your undoing.

For years, you two circled around each other, waltzing around the energy you emitted. He’d come to the small distillery you ran out of an old restaurant every week, with a few precious glass bottles, and had a small stilted conversation as you updated your logs with the exchange. You learned he had a dry sense of humour like yours, that you could make the corners of his lips turn upward with a bit of town gossip, and that he’d set up a woodworking room in his house when Ellie move out to the garage. The last one came along with the first of many gifts he started giving you. Tiny little creatures he���d began whittling after the endless downtime of town living had started grating on him. On the house he’d say every time you offered a bottle of beer in exchange, giving you lip on not understanding the concept of a gift.

For years, you danced. You knew Joel didn’t feel anything like that towards you, he’d been very clear about that. A couple of years back, Tommy set him up on a date with the lady who ran the greenhouse - Esther you think? She wasn’t one for drinking so you had no clue about her really - and Joel spent a good portion of your weekly chat groaning on about the upcoming thing. You bantered back like always, but tiny pinpricks hit your heart at how adamant he was about not needing a partner like that. And honestly, it’s not something you’d ever wanted either, especially after losing Talia sometime before Joel even joined Jackson. You thought you’d had your one love, and the pain of losing another had you bat off any attention with your wit and sass, sticking to harmless flirting. But Joel had somehow nudged his way in. You resolved to start building the walls back up.

It had been easier recently. With the winter being so harsh, socialising as a town had reduced, and the council were worried about morale. Ergo - The Winter Dance.

Social events were regular in Jackson, but the council were determined to go all out with this one, wanting to coax as many residents out and having fun as possible. So for the first time, they wanted a full open bar. Usually there was a limit to keep the town from running totally dry, but some sweet talking from Maria and a promise of another raid of Jackson Hole Still Works had you agreeing to overproduce for a month before the dance to create enough supply. This meaning you and a few trusted ‘employees’ were basically living at your makeshift distillery, no time for any sort-of flirting with a certain bearded Texan.

What this also meant was that after a whole month of not laying eyes on the man, you were not prepared for the fact that he’d somehow decided to grow his hair out a bit for the winter. So when you enter the Church where the dance is being held, and you see the man leaning against the makeshift bar, you’re not prepared at all, and with the exhaustion reducing your self control, the walls came tumbling down.

Thankfully, he didn’t spot you as you entered or you knew your face would have given you away, so focussed on something in the crowd. Your eyes followed what he was looking at, and a small smile upturned the corners of your lips. Out on the dance floor was your old lover's sister Dina (who you also thought of as a sister), with her arms around Joel's now grown kid, Ellie. You hadn’t spoken much to Dina recently, after her turning 18 and joining the full-time patrol team keeping her busy, but after her on-off with Jesse the past few years, you were just glad she seemed to be moving on.

You were so focussed on the young girls, you hadn’t realised you had company.

“So you are alive. Still not used to trustin’ people, so I’m mighty glad to see ya hear tonight to prove ‘em right”

Fuck. That stupid goddamn Texan drawl. You had enough self-restraint to not look over to him, knowing that either his baby brown eyes or the new hair growth so perfect for running your hands through would be your undoing.

“Well, the Council thought it would be good for the town if everyone could get white girl wasted, so who am I to deny that request?”

You heard him snort gently next to you. The next few seconds passed in agonising silence (for you at least) before the man consuming your soul made a sound.

“So does she partake in her own goods?”

You whip your head round to look at him, confusion masked on your face, forgetting about the incandescent curls you were about to see.

He’s attuned to your facial expressions by now.

“I mean, can I get you a drink?” he mumbles, gesturing weakly to the bar in the corner where all your hard work for the past month resides.

If you had to stand there any longer, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist grabbing those goddamn curls, so without warning, your legs took off, striding you fast and efficiently towards your goal - some fucking liquid courage.

Jeff - one of the bartenders who drew the short straw to work the dance - knew you well enough to have a double whiskey neat, ready for you to slam back the moment you were close enough.

“So you ain’t a nurse your drink kind of gal, good to know”

The fucking Texan drawl had followed you. Of course, he had longer (and so sexy and thick) legs that’d easily keep up with your small stature.

You shoved your glass back toward Jeff, before taking a deep breath and steeling your resolve as you looked back to Joel. Fuck he looks so fucking hot. You can do this, it’s just one night.

“I’ve just spent the past month pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into all this. Think I deserve to drink it however I please thank you!”

Phew. Not awful. Not as witty as you might usually be, but given the fucking hair situation, you were doing your goddamn best,

The heat emanating off him as he scooched closer to you wasn’t helping though.

“Well, I’m grateful for your effort ma’am, this is a mighty fine batch you made”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. With resources slimmer as the years go by, the quality of the alcohol you distilled varied. Joel was always an honest judge, something you’d grown to respect over the years. You knew his words were true, and fuck if it didn’t worsen your resolve.

But he wasn’t interested in you like that - in anyone. So you used the remainder of your self-control to change the subject.

“Didn’t peg you to be a community event attendee Miller, thought this was all a bunch of communist bullshit last I heard?”

He snorted a bit louder this time, somehow still ridiculously attractive.

“I was threatened from multiple angles. Ellie and Tommy together could arguably be more formidable than FEDRA when it comes to forcing me to do shit I don’t wanna do”

Inwardly, you sighed. It was nice that Joel had people who cared about him like this of course, but it just reminded you of what you didn’t have. Dina checked in occasionally, feeling a bit responsible for the woman her sister loved, and although you were friendly with most of Jackson given your role, no one cared enough about your wellbeing to force you to do something you didn’t want to do but would be good for you. Totally your fault of course, you didn’t let many people close enough for that. Still…it ached.

“Woah, hey there girlie, you with me? You started drinkin’ before you got here maybe?”

Fuck. SHIT. You got stuck in your head, and now your stupid hot crush was having to guide you gently out of the church as you slowly came back to your senses.

It was only once you’d turned a corner and were alone with him that you returned fully to your body - realising his large, calloused hand was gently gripping your upper arm.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Joel, that hasn’t happened in a really long time. I think I’m just tired, with all the extra work and all-”

He quickly interrupted you by turning to face you head on.

“Girlie, you don’t gotta apologise, it’s kinda nice to see you be a bit human for once”

And as you looked up at his face, you saw the softest and kindest expression you’d ever seen on the survivors face, some of his previously slicked back curls popping out in the cold, forming a slightly wild halo to frame him. He was the most beautiful creature you’d ever seen, and you physically couldn’t stop yourself from stepping into his space, and reaching up a hand to gently run through his curls.

Those baby brown eyes widened slightly in shock, but otherwise he didn’t move for what felt like eternity as your fingers were buried and surrounded by his brown and grey locks, pushing through them reverently.

Slowly, one of his hands found your waist and gently tugged you forward as his other hand found your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek. You were totally aware of your body, every feeling, but you no longer had control. And as his head tilted down to meet yours, his lips grazing on yours, you never wanted control of your body again if it meant depriving you of this feeling. You could feel him moving out of pure instinct like yourself, and despite it just being a kiss, you realised deep in your gut, that this was the start of something physically and spiritually breathtaking

[cloudyyflower]

Hidden love

Oscar piastri x norris!reader

Warning:none I

AN: This is where you’re Lando’s younger sister,you’re 18 at the moment and Oscar is 20(just for the sake of the plot) he’s your brother’s best friend, he has only seen you once four years ago when you were a little kid, when he saw you again it was like he had just ran into a wall…

_______________________________________________

You were walking through the corridor to find Lando when all of a sudden you bump into a tall figure . “Sorry, I should’ve looked where I was going,”you said softly. “Y/n?what on earth,”the strang man says ,in a familiar voice that makes your head shoot up , it’s Oscar Jack Piastri. Your brother’s best friend and teammate .

“Hi,Oscar…” you say softly .You notice how your heart rate picks up at the sight of him staring you up and down . “Hey…umm it’s been so long like what maybe three or four years?”,Oscar says flustered he couldn’t believe that this was once the fourteen year old girl who he teased all the time . He was in utter shock at how beautiful you’ve become,all grown up into a gorgeous woman. “Have you seen Lando anywhere I can’t find him ?”, you said wanting to change the strange tension between you two .

“Oh- umm I think he’s in his drivers room,I’m not sure”,He said sounding uncertain .You gave him a faint smile and nodded your head . You rushed to his drivers room feeling strange about this little interaction.

_______________________________________________

Lando was so excited to see you , he has only been able to see you over FaceTime because of your jobs.He told you all about the things he’s done over the years and how much he’s bonded with the drivers especially with Carlos . You had a great time catching up with up with your brother you lost track of time until, Oscar came knocking on the door wanting to speak with Lando . “Come in”,Lando said eager for you to meet him . “Hey pastry boy “,you say as Oscar enters the room,He immediately shoots you a look of surprise “Hey don’t call me that “,He said flustered by the nickname and the fact that you remembered it after all those years .

“Y/n ,you know that was a long time ago right when …”,Oscar says hoping you’ll remember the time where you had a crush on him “She had a crush on on you”’Lando blurted out making you have a pink tint forming on your cheeks . “Like Oscar said a long time ago”,you say feeling shy because somehow that crush never faded away it’s still there .

——————————————————————————

You were sitting on a bench watching the sun set ,it was so pretty the sky was a nice orange and pink colour.You felt calm and collected in that moment until you see a figure standing in your peripheral vision .He came closer sitting beside you not saying a word. You look to see who it was and it’s Oscar staring into the sky looking peaceful. “Oscar what are you doing here?”,you say breaking the peace that once lingered in the air .

“Y/n ,I know this is strange but you’re beautiful and gorgeous”,he says not realising what he just said .You were taken aback by the words . “ You think I’m gorgeous?”,you say nervously looking at him, in response he just nods .You can feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I think you’re handsome as well”,you say shyly hoping he’ll say something to break this tension between you two.

“What will happen if I just kissed you know ?”,he says out of pure instinct you give him a peck on the lips .He looks surprised by what you just did and he kissed you not wanting the moment to end .

——————————————————————————

AN:hey guys sorry that it’s not a max fic I just started writing last night and I came so far so I hope you understand that, and also I’m very bad at ending things so sorry for the bad ending I promise the next one will be better 😁 Hope you have a wonderful read !!!!

[sashaisready]

I'm Still Here - Chapter One

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: references to martial issues, pregnancy

Wordcount: 1.3k

Your hand absentmindedly stroked the gentle swell of your belly as you gazed out of the window to the pristine front yard ahead. You were lost in thought, only half aware of the soft splashes of suds and water as they swallowed your marigold gloves. This window was your little entryway to the outside, the door to the rest of the world, all so close yet so far.

You watched Mrs. Darby walk her elderly dog across the street, right on schedule. She walked him every day at the same time. Frankly, you were amazed the little guy was still alive but Snickers the dog would probably outlive all of us. He moved so slowly it was as if he was barely walking at all. Still, Mrs. Darby had all the time in the world – her housekeeper kept the home, her gardener attended to her azaleas, Mr. Darby spent his retirement fishing, tinkering with their many cars and generally keeping out of his wife’s way – so what was an hour to walk the dog halfway up the street?

She spotted you at your post, as she always did, and gave you a wave. You waved back, a strained smile and a nod of your head. Same old, same old. She then began gesturing wildly, pointing downwards and grinning. You stared back blankly, clueless, until you realised she was gesturing to the bump. You gave her a smile and a nod, exaggeratedly rubbing your belly in response. Baby! Baby, yes! That’s all the neighbourhood hens ever wanted to talk about with you, baby baby baby. ‘How are you feeling, dear?’ ‘Oh, I hope your ankles aren’t too swollen’. You’d wear your smile like warpaint and nod in the right places. They seemed relieved when you started showing. At least now they could understand something about you. This universal experience. They understood you; you were one of them, no longer the Sheriff’s strange wife they couldn’t chitchat with at potlucks, no, they spoke this language. You were bearing children like they all had, maybe you were like them after all.

But you weren’t. And you knew that. And he knew it too.

Mrs. Darby waved again as she wandered out of view, poor Snickers limping behind.

You heard him upstairs then, his feet heavy on the floor above you as he charged across the bedroom. You rolled your eyes, he never gave himself enough time, even though he’d done this shift a million times over.

The clumsy thudding moved from the bedroom, across the hallway and finally down the stairs. He breezed into the kitchen slightly breathlessly. Everything was a little more of an effort these days, the evidence of which peeked from the bulge of his midriff. He really needed new uniform, but that would mean admitting he was bigger. And he wouldn’t do that. But your sewing skills could only achieve so much.

“Morning, honey” came his low drawl and he sat down.

You turned to face him as you pulled off your gloves, mindlessly picking up the plate of eggs and the steaming mug of coffee and placing them on the table.

“Morning” you replied.

You looked at him as he smiled weakly at you and thanked you for the breakfast. You didn’t look at him properly much at the moment, but you did then. You could see a glimpse of the Lee you loved so dearly, the sparkle of his crystal blue eyes, the line of his broad shoulders, the suggestion of his strong jawline – a little more hidden these days, but that was okay. He was still that wide eyed deputy you had fallen for all those years ago.

Even if that girl would be horrified by the life you lived now.

“I’m runnin’ late” he mumbled as he shovelled the eggs into his mouth. “Gotta meet with the deputies, then we gotta drive out to McGlade’s farm to talk him down – he keeps starting trouble with Denton about property lines. Always a delicate conversation when farmers are partial to having heated discussions while holding their shotguns…”

You nodded but knew this was a lie. He always included too many details about his day when he was lying. Not that he knew you’d picked up on this little tell of his, so you just smiled along like the dutiful wife. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

No doubt he’d be off doing something illegal, something corrupt or unsavoury on the side that he seemed to think you didn’t know about. Like he’d forgotten who you were, and where you came from.

“Mmm. Good luck” you replied as you wiped down the sink.

“And what are your plans?” he asked as he pushed the final breakfast remnants into his mouth.

“Gotta go to the market. Pick up some stuff for dinner. And the pantry needs restocking”.

“Call Denton and ask him to send a bag boy round” Lee said gruffly. “They can deliver”.

You rolled your eyes. “I can go to the market, Lee. I’m pregnant, not dying”.

“Honey…” he said warningly.

You turned to look at him. “Lee…I’m serious”.

“And so am I…”

You sighed and he stood up, putting his plate by the sink.

“My seven months pregnant wife shouldn’t be bustin’ her ass hauling heavy cans from the market” he cautioned, raising a finger to you. That was his signal that he wasn’t playing around.

You sighed, slumping against the counter. Part of you was tempted to carrying on provoking him as an argument would be the most the two of you had interacted in weeks…but you were tired. And as fun as it would be to make him explode before 9am, you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You shot him a hint of a smirk, a glimpse of the inner you, and he raised an eyebrow, almost daring you to continue.

“Fine” you huffed as you crossed your arms. “I’ll call them”.

He nodded and reached for his hat. “Good girl” he said quietly as he affixed it to his head.

You swallowed and almost felt the heat rise to your cheeks at that. It had been a while since he used that particular moniker. Back in the day he used to-

“Well…I’ll be goin’” his voice cut through your haze.

You nodded as your hand rubbed your bump. He looked at you and reached out. For a second you thought he was going to touch your stomach. He hadn’t really done that, not since it had started looking like a baby bump, anyway. You felt your breath hitch as you froze, too scared to move in case it stopped him.

His hand reached towards you, but he suddenly clamped it into a fist, withdrawing it quickly and shoving it into his pocket. He cleared his throat, the discomfort evident on his face.

You wanted to grab his hand and place it on your belly, hold him close and tell him it was okay. You can feel the baby. You can feel me. That’s your baby too. That’s little Bodecker. You wanted to kiss him and embrace him and tell him how much you missed him. That even though you slept inches away from him every night the gulf between you felt insurmountable and endless. Ask him when exactly the two of you become roommates. Strangers. Why did the baby change everything? Yeah, he cared. He said all the right things, but it felt he was going through the motions. Doing his duty in life just as he did at work. You didn’t want to end up like Mr and Mrs Darby, cordial and pleasant but sleeping in separate single beds. You wanted to scream that even though you weren’t actually fighting, you might as well be. That you barely felt like husband and wife, and you wanted him back. You wanted your Lee back. Deputy Lee who-

But then you heard the front door, and he was gone.

You sighed, sinking into a chair.

“Just you and me, little one” you told your bump gently. “Whatever happens, it’s you and me”.

[max-the-many]

Start here:

('body a day' #12: six)

#2

So I reached for the phone again. It literally was flooded with messages of all sorts of guys. But I scrolled for others. Didnt take long until a guy caught my attention, sporting a pretty chill selfie, probably at the gym.

I went for it a little lower this time, still pumping from the storm before and he seemed to vibe on the same boat. Still I invited him to come over. Again, he replied to be at my place pretty immediate.

I welcomed him rather moderate, throanging over a bathrobe when the door rang. The tingle was pretty evident, when our eyes met, but I gently pulled him into the hallway with a warm smile, stated my pleasure for him coming over.

His smile really was adorable, giving this slight hint of shiness in a quite moment standing infront of one another.

And I stepped closer, feeling his presence, lifting my hand to cup the back of his head, still just looking into his eyes, coming closer and closer until our lips met.

It was such a desirable change of pace, while soon enough my longing for this alien sensation grew stronger yet again, injoying him nothing less as we just stood in the hallway, kissing, feeling eachother, his hands not even sliding under my robe.

So gentle, so slow yet loaded with attraction, my head drivting towards that spot in my chest ever so often, more and more feeling a kind of gentle pulse towards him.

"Come in" I sounded eventually, leading him into the bedroom where we continued, slowly starting to get under covers, injoying us, injoying the simple sensation of touch, loosing all sense of time, drifting into bliss while I found into laying ontop of him, uniting in waves of motion until I realised the pulse inside my chest had gotten more and more substential, even hugging our pleasures, tongling to be released in any moment. And I swayed on and on, feeling his hands on my back his gentle, longing kisses, his purring moans, bursting in anticipation, covering each other with pure bliss in a hightening moment of shared satisfaction.

But other than that my chest remained the same.

We stayed besides for quite a while, hardly speaking a word, injoying the company, little kisses, skin on skin, bodies interlocking until he left with another long kiss.

And I was left questioning again. Was I closer ? Was it even real? The possibility of doing it myself? And again, those questions felt so unreal. Just days before I wouldn't have ever thought that something like this would be possible in the slightest.

I took the phone again. Maybe for distraction, scrolled through the pages, the message, without really paying much attention.

All those guys, porentially available at a whim. Not only for adventures like I just had but for experiences way beyond. If I only could figure out how, if even really possible.

What if I was stuck in my neighbours body? I mean it wouldn't be the worst, but the tjought of switching back and forth all just as I wished for it... just felt so right! So tempting, so exceptionally perfect. And I already changed from that dude at the beach into my neighbour! There must be a way!

But for today I was exhausted.

"Wanna hang?"

A message caught my eye. It was a lean, hazel eyes guy, a boyish smile under dark brown curls. Yeah, hang, chill, just injoying company. This was just what I needed...

#3

"Sure"

We met some blocks away from the flat. I really needed some air. He greeded me with this captivating smile even sweeter now than on his pics.

It was a midly chill evening, dark and cozy in a way while we wandered through the streets, having a chat. It was quite strange at times to catch myself forgetting, that I was inhabiting the body of my neighbour, that I was him! Or at least had his looks which effected my behavior quite a bit.

Soon we ended up in his flat again, the flat of my neighbour.

"Tee? Sure"

Chatting on I felt really drawn to him. He was so calm, so... here. His looks, his ways. We were drawn to eachother without any hesitation.

"It's really nice to have you here" I eventually stated, laying my hand on his cheeks vbefore I kissed him.

But other than that, we just got closer, leaned into eachother, eventually laying on the couch, injoying the feeling of eachother, undressing to just our underwear, feeling the warmth of our skin, eventually falling asleep under a simple blanked.

---

He was still asleep as I opened my eyes in the early morning. What a day it was. And what an encounter at the end.

I got up, heading for some tea. As I returned I just marveled for a moment on the sight of him, sleeping on the sofa just wearing those simple, cute briefs.

I sat besides him on the floor, leaning on the couch, sipping on the steaming cup, thinking of the past days. Eventually my thoughts ended up on my chest again, breathing, searching, focusing on the movements of that gorgeous body, its blood flowing, gentle twitches of those well-tended muscles, that chest going in and out deeper with every breath.

I got calm, my head got lighter, my thoughts more free than they were for a good while now. And without pressure I noticed a glow in my chest, a pulse, like a soft force, growing ever so gentle while my mind felt the presence of...

My hand lifted up to my chest without me really leading it yet it was my will that controlled it until I felt that same feeling of crossing the surface of my chest like it happened at the beach.

And there it was, that glow growing in my hand, pulled out of my chest, the chest of my neighbour, his body twisting towards that gentle soul laying behind me before everything went black...

---

It was the smell of home that I noticed first, coarse fabric against my nose, a slight chill on my naked body. I opened my eyes, seeing the dark brown of the corner I was turning to, stiring my body gently, feeling soft fabric arounf my hips.

I turned around. And there he was. My neighbour, leaning against the couch with closed eyes.

I stood up feeling a mixture of sleepyness and confusion. And it just slowly poured into my mind as I headed towards the mirror, that I found myself inhabiting the body of that sweet, hazle-eyed soul.

I just stood infront of the mirror for quite a while. It worked! It really worked! Or at least, it felt like beeing not only the force of some detatched energy, pulling me in and out without me having any control of it.

The sound of heavy moans got me out of my thoughts again. As I looked to my neighbour, he seemed to wake up and as I remembered the irritated reaction of that dude from the beach I figured, it would be best to leave before he was fully aware of things again, however it really was for him.

So I grabbed the cloth of my new host and left, not without another good glimpse of that stunning body of my neighbour, those muscles, that chisled fase and the prominent bulge in loose boxershorts.

I almost could feel the sensation of it growing as I hastily put on my new cloth in the hallway before I left. Maybe this wasn't the last visit here...

[phantomss-pain]

New fic out now https://archiveofourown.org/works/56404393

Read it there or down below.

Cassandra "Cassie" Ramirez wasn’t exactly the type of person to be hateful or angry that often. It was just in her DNA to be as polite as possible to everyone around her. So naturally whenever something would come up that made her angry she would try her best to ignore the bubbling rage inside of her and carry on with her day.

But of course there were times when that rage would come out and today was one of those days. Today Cassie's mother Marla had invited some people over for a party and due to Cassie being what would call a social butterfly she was eager to talk to everyone that Marla had invited. That was until the night before when Cassie heard her mother having sex with her (what Cassie would consider to be) new boyfriend Lamar. Normally this shouldn't be a big deal but for Cassie it was.

Just over a year ago Cassie's Father was killed in a car accident. This had crushed the fifteen year old as she thought the world of her father. He meant everything to her. She had thought the same was true for her mother but to her surprise Marla had move on quickly. Before Cassie knew it Marla had Lamar over constantly. Every day when Cassie got home from school she would see Lamar hanging around her mother. It made her sick to her stomach knowing that her mother had moved on from the man she said she loved for over twenty years so quickly for this new guy.

So hearing them just having sex made her angry. So before the guests had arrived Cassie and her mother got into a heated shouting match which resulted in Cassie going to her room while the party happened down below. Cassie didn't blame Marla for sending her up to her room but it didn't mean she liked it.

As she heard the hustle downstairs Cassie couldn't help but feel even more angry at her mother. All of her resentment towards Lamar was the only thing she could think about. She hated everything about Lamar. He wasn’t like her father at all. He wasn’t funny or as kind hearted as him. Lamar was just...everything that her father wasn't.

Maybe it wasn't fair for her to compare Lamar to her father but Cassie didn't care. If he was to be her step father with the way he and Marla were going then she had a right to criticise him. Even then she held resentment to Marla for falling in love with him. Sure Cassie knew that Lamar and Marla had known each other since they were kids which was longer than Marla and her father but still. What her mother saw in Lamar was a mystery to the teenage girl.

As Cassie sulked in her room she was unaware of the footsteps that were getting increasingly louder until there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Cassie asked, sounding way more agressive than normal.

"Uh hey Cass it's me Gregory." The voice replied sheepishly.

Realising who it was Cassie leaped from her bed and opened up her door to see her best friend standing in the doorway twiddling his thumbs. Gregory had been her best friend from birth with the two of them being inseparable which was to be expected seeing how tight of a friendship their mothers had. Yet despite knowing Gregory for all her life she had never seen him nervous about anything.

Gregory was normally a very confident kid. He was always on top of everything, quips, timing, you name it he was always on top of it. Though he was never nervous. Well that's a lie he would be nervous but only if he caused big enough trouble for his parents to tell him off and punish him. So seeing him standing in the hallway looking as though he had done something wrong was strange.

"Hi there Gregory." Cassie replied. "What are you doing up here?"

"I wanted to see you." Gregory answered quickly. "The party isn't that fun if you aren't down there."

Cassie snorted. "Isn't your cousin and sister down there? Surely you can bother them?"

With that cold reply Gregory's nervous look vaporised in an instant instead turning into the normal scowling face he had.

"Well Vanessa brought her boyfriend and Millie did the same bringing her girlfriend here and I don't exactly want to see them snogging do I?"

Cassie opened her mouth to make fun of her friend for being so against seeing his family making out with someone they loved but she held her tounge realising how hypocritical it would be. Instead she chose a different angle.

"Snogging?" She teased. "Did your Dad teach you that one?"

She giggled to herself slightly while Gregory rolled his eyes. There was one thing that Cassie could tease Gregory over and that was his usage of British terms that he got from his father. It was funny to hear Gregory use these foreign terms that no one else used. It was even funnier when they were kids and Gregory would misspell certain words for their British spellings.

"Yeah yeah yeah." Gregory huffed. "I know it's a funny British term doesn't matter, why are you in your room and not downstairs?"

With that Cassie's brief bit of happiness came to end and returned to her reality.

"I got...into an argument with Mom." She explained coldy. "And she sent me up here for the things I said."

"You got into an argument with your Mum?" Gregory asked, a small smirk forming on his face. "Since when did you get into arguments with your Mum?"

"It was about him." Cassie replied, venom dripping from her words especially when refering to Lamar.

"Him?"

"The asshole who I live with Gregory." Cassie angrily answered. "Lamar."

Gregory's smirk disappeared after the name being dropped. "Oh I see."

"Come on in and I'll tell you about it."

The two friends went into Cassie's room with Cassie shutting her door to make sure no one would over hear them. Sitting on the bed Cassie let out a long sigh before explaining what happened.

"So last night I got up to get a drink because I couldn't sleep and I uh... heard Mom and Lamar doing it?" Cassie started.

"Doing it?" Gregory asked. "As in sex?"

Cassie nodded. "I got into an argument with Mom about it an hour an a half ago now."

"Is that it seriously?" Gregory chuckled. "You got upset at your Mom having sex?"

"Not just that idiot." Cassie snapped. "It was the fact she did it with Lamar. She's like full on in love with him now and I hate it. With the way things are going he's going to be my step father by October."

"That's like three months away Cass."

"Exactly my point."

Gregory paused to think about what his friend was talking about. "Is it bad I don’t see an issue with that?"

"Yes." Cassie exclaimed. "I don’t want my step dad to be Lamar."

"Why not?" Gregory asked. "I don’t see an issue with him."

Cassie felt herself getting more and more heated at Gregory's ignorance. "He's not my Dad, Greg!" She shouted. "Mom's trying to replace him for this stupid guy who's nothing like him. How would you like it if Charlie married a new guy after Michael died and replaced him? Would that be fun for you?!"

Gregory flinched at Cassie's out burst before trying to compose himself.

"Cass I-"

"It doesn’t matter." Cassie interrupted, turning her back towards her friend. "Just go downstairs and leave me be since you like him."

There was a moment of silence until Cassie heard Gregory finally begin moving. It wasn’t until he got to the door did he reply.

"You know my Dad isn't actually my Dad right?" He croaked out.

It took a moment for Cassie to process what he had said but once she did she turned around to look at him.

"What?"

"Dad isn't my biological father." Gregory explained. "He's...actually my step father so I know how you feel... kinda."

Cassie felt her jaw drop. "What? But he's been with you since you were born... how-"

"Mum remarried." Gregory continued. "She had a previous marriage with a man that didn’t go great."

He paused before snorting at his explanation. "That's an understatement." He said to himself but Cassie heard it.

"She had a marriage before Uncle Michael?"

Gregory nodded. "Dad told me recently about it. The marriage wasn’t good. My father...the man she married was nasty and really abusive to her. Shortly after I was born, Mum ran away from him bringing me and Mill with her and well, Dad was there for her and one thing led to another.

Cassie just sat in silence. "You aren't lying are you?"

"I'm not." He answered. "Dad and Mill would back me up. Mum wouldn't as she doesn't want to talk about him ever. Can't say I blame her."

"So you don't know your actual Dad then?"

Gregory shook his head. "No and honestly I don’t want to. My step Dad is the only Dad I need in my life."

"But they lied to you!" Cassie exclaimed. "Aren't you angry that you've lived a lie. You've thought that Uncle Michael was your father but he wasn't. They took your dad away from you-"

"Didn't you hear me." Gregory snapped back. "I don’t need my biological Dad."

"But surely you're mad at them right?"

"No." Gregory replied. "Mum's happier with Dad than she would be with that prick. I would much rather have Mum be happy than know my biological father."

Cassie fidgeted in her bed. She understood Gregory's point and she knew what he was trying to do. He could read her friend like a open book and she didn’t like what he was trying to do. "So how does this relate to me and my Mom?"

"I'm just saying that if Lamar makes Aunt Marla happy then you shouldn't be mad at her for it." He explained. "He's not a bad guy. You just don't like him for not being your Dad."

"She's trying to replace him of course I'm not happy." Cassie huffed.

"I don’t think so." Gregory replied. "If anything she feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

Gregory looked around the hallway checking he wasn't being listened to before closing the door.

"So your Mum has come over to mine a few times when you're out doing stuff and I've heard her talk to my Mum about this." Gregory said. "She's been guilty about this and how she hates herself for it."

"As she should." Cassie replied.

"No she shouldn't Cass." Gregory quickly said back. "Aunt Marla doesn't want to replace your Dad but Lamar makes her feel happy and she wants to feel happy. She wants to move on but it doesn't mean she didn't love your Dad, she did and still does but he's gone and she just... needs someone else to fill that hole."

Cassie paused as she thought long and hard about Gregory's words. If that was really the case then why hadn't her mom talk to her about it? Unless if she was still thinking about how to talk to her about it. The more Cassie thought about it the more she began to feel guilty about her argument towards her mother.

"Crap..." Cassie blurted out when the realisation hit her. "I've been a bitch."

"I wouldn't say that." Gregory replied. "I would say you've been a dickhead."

"Oh aren't you funny." Cassie grumbled before smiling at Gregory's tease. "Though I've got to go talk to Mom about this now."

Jumping out off her bed Cassie sprinted towards the doorway and zoomed past Gregory reaching the stairs in an instant. However she paused before rushing back to Gregory and grabbed his face and gave her friend a quick peak on the lips leaving him stunned.

"Thanks for this Gregory." She smiled before rushing back to the stairs and running down them at a tremendous pace.

While Cassie did that Gregory remained in the same spot. His cheeks blushing like mad as he tried procesing what just happened. Before he could successfully do that his older sister Millie walked up the stairs and saw her little brother standing completely still flushed beyond belief.

"So what happened here?" Millie asked, smirking.

"No-nothing Mill." Gregory spluttered before rushing past her down the stairs. "Nothing at all."

Gregory rushed down the stairs leaving his sister to just smirk to herself.

[thenervousmedic]

Here's another quick Cyberpunk oneshot

Back on my bullshit.

Only just under 1k words, just a lil snippet.

'Just existing'

(In which my V (Hoodie/Hound) and Johnny chill out on the couch during a rainstorm.)

fluffy and comfortable with just the barest hint of angst.

==========================

The lack of words is probably the best part. No conversation, no act to keep up, just... existing.

Johnny was sat lazily slouched back on the couch, one foot up on the coffee table, guitar in hand, and no thoughts in his head. Just the subtle roaring of the rainstorm outside beating on the window and the mindless notes coming out of the instrument; a slightly slower tempo of Black Dog. He knows that’s their favourite, he knows a lot of Hoodie’s favourite things thanks to what ended up being nearly an entire year stuck in the kid's brain. Well, he says Kid… but he’s not even sure how old the guy is. Imagine that. Knowing your roommate's innermost thoughts but not how old they even are.

It was easy to forget Hoodie was even there despite their continued neural link, he hadn't heard a peep out of them for the past hour. No moving, no nothing . They lay draped over the other end of the couch with their chin on their folded arm while the other dangled off the cushion. It was... nice. So nice . Maybe the best both of them had felt in years. The vibes were perfect like the world didn't even exist outside his apartment. Only the scruffy couch fabric, the slight smell of Johnny’s cigarette smoke and Hoodie’s scattered mounds of old clothes, what little of the light from distant neon signs manages to reach through the rain leaving the room in a dim orange and blue glow.

The rockerboy had only got his body back a month ago, and already it sang every tune he played with it. No more delays between Hoodie’s senses and the relic processing it. He didn’t miss that in the slightest, though in a strange kind of way, there was something oddly empty about not hearing Hoodie’s rather satirical inner commentary for him to match wits with. He hadn’t realised that his hands had stopped moving until a small almost inaudible honk of acknowledgement hums out of his former host’s nose as they pick up on the sudden pause in sound. Cracking an eye lazily open to spy on him and see if he's good before closing it again. "Y'allright?" His voice had that 'I'm barely awake and not putting effort into staying that way' raspiness to it, as if saying one word was a lot of effort that Hoodie didn't care to expend.

For a little while there was no response, only Johnny’s long relaxed inhale that ended in a grunt-like sigh as he let his head flop onto the backboard of the sofa, the guitar sliding down to lay flat on his lap as chrome fingers idly tapped at the wood. "...Yeah.”

That nervous energy that seemed to plague his body, no, his mind, wanted to crawl its way back up his spine. Digging claws into skin and hooking an uncomfortable sensation through his gut like a jealous lover trying to keep his Attention. But it couldn't. And for some dumbfuck reason that felt… wrong in its own way. He'd been that way for so long, that being without it felt almost dissociative. Derealising. As if he'd wake up any minute back in Hoodie's head again as an engram and have the weight of knowing he's draining their life away on his shoulders.

There wasn't another word. The 'yeah' had been true, he was alright. That's… what made him uncomfortable. He was fine. Hoodie was fine. This room was fine, fuck there wasn't even any traffic.

A warmth on his lap dragged his attention forcefully back to the present, grounding him like a tether line, rolling his head a little on the cushion to glance down. He hadn't heard them moving, probably because he'd spaced out so hard, but Hoodie had turned around and was now partially obscured from view by the guitar. His head and one arm slack on the rocker's legs like some kind of mutt.

All that time, all those shared words and memories, and yet even now Johnny couldn't figure out how this gonk of a man knew when someone needed something like that. Something as simple as that, a nearly meaningless gesture, some kind of confirmation that he was really here… god it would break him if he didn't have a million snide comments he could make at this very moment.

"I'm not petting you." He grumbles, his cybernetic hand making its way back to the neck of the guitar as he picks back up where he'd drifted off. Only barely overshadowing the soft and effortless chuckle that made Hoodie's chest jostle a little on the couch cushion. The gentle drumming of rainfall on their window, pitter-patter, consistent white noise.

"Mhm, you're welcome."

[jonnylovers-in-neverland]

Chris Martin’s NME playlist

“With competitiveness and professional jealousy, I feel very lucky that it very quickly alchemises into just being inspired by someone and then being a fan of them,” Martin told NME, before giving us the lowdown on his fandom love of The Verve, R.E.M., and Missy Elliot in his genre-smashing choices. Check out what tracks he selected and why here…

‘It Makes You Forget (Itgehane)’ – Peggy Gou

Chris Martin: “Peggy Gou is a genius, as far as I am concerned. Her grooves are wonderful. Some people are still in the age of social media and everyone knowing everything, while some people just have ‘cool’ about them. Nick Cave has cool about him, Jay Z is effortlessly cool, and I think Peggy Gou is like that. Of course she has ‘Nanana’, which was brilliant, but I heard ‘If It Makes You Forget’ a few years ago, and every time I do I’m like, ‘How does she do that?’ It’s so clever. When talking about people who make you want to be on top of your game, and she’s one of them.”

‘Bittersweet Symphony’ – The Verve

“Any list of songs that I like has to include this because it’s still the most important song in my life. In a strange way, if you put together all of our songs, they’re all essentially saying that same thing: ‘It’s a bittersweet symphony’ – focussing more on the sweet, but always aware of the bitter. I was at that perfect age for that song; it was just seismic.

“When we were late-teenagers in the mid-90s, the big five of British bands were The Verve, Oasis, Blur, Supergrass, Radiohead. While I still love all five of those bands equally and for different reasons, if I had to take one song from that period, it would have to be ‘Bittersweet Symphony’. It only just beats ‘Airbag’ [Radiohead], ‘It’s Too Late’ [Supergrass], ‘Song 2’ [Blur] and the whole of ‘Different Class’ [Pulp]. ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ must always win.”

‘Independent Women, Pt. 1’ – Destiny’s Child

“This is the blessing of being in our band is you’re allowed to like all kinds of different things because you never have to worry about being cool! Now of course, liking Beyoncé is super cool. The first time we played Top Of The Pops, we were walking up the stage looking like what we were (which was students who’d just been given a bit of money).

“We didn’t look very good, but coming down the stairs were this group of goddesses. I hadn’t heard of them yet, but it was Destiny’s Child. We’d just done our performance of ‘Yellow’ or whatever, and ‘Independent Woman’ was around that time. I was like, ‘Oh my God, there’s a whole other level beyond grime-y bars and indie cool’. To this day, Beyoncé is someone who I’m always inspired by and in awe of. That was the first song that made me understand how good she is.”

‘In The Wee Small Hours’ – Frank Sinatra

“There definitely comes a time in life when you realise, to paraphrase Spinal Tap, no one has loved and lost like Frank. ‘In The Wee Small Hours’ and ‘Only The Lonely’ – those two records that were made in the ‘50s and arranged by a guy called Nelson Riddle who also did a lot of Ella Fitzgerald’s records. His arrangements are compositions and geniusly put-together. There’s a warmth, a sadness and a beauty in those albums that just really hits me now. I feel the same way about Chopin. These are all things that put me firmly in my place.”

‘Feeling Good’ – Nina Simone

“To me, she’s a real paradigm for one of the key philosophies of our band: look at what’s missing as an opportunity, look at what’s broken as the crack where the light comes in (that’s a Leonard Cohen line). Whatever’s happening to you is supposed to be happening to you and is for its highest good. Her story is that she was rejected from a classical conservatoire because of her colour, so she went and became Nina Simone. That’s alchemising trauma in such an incredible way. I hold her in the pantheon of great humans.

“I first heard this song being covered by Muse, every night when we opened for them back in 2000. I was like, ‘Oh this band are really good and that Nina Simone song is amazing.”

‘Nightswimming’ – R.E.M.

“R.E.M. are in the first group of big inspirers. After James, plus ‘Bad’ by Michael Jackson, Aha, and a band called Five Star, they were my first influences. Then came the first real wave of indie and shoegaze – some of it I really liked but some I just pretended to be into to impress the older boys.

“My introduction to R.E.M. was ‘Losing My Religion’, but then ‘Nightswimming’ was when I really fell in love with that band. I realised you could be a great band without any virtuosos if you’ve got the gift of songs and you really care about what you’re doing. R.E.M. gave me that lesson, and ‘Nightswimming’ still blows my mind every time I hear it.”

‘Starburster’ – Fontaines D.C.

“Will [Champion, Coldplay drummer] actually told me about Fontaines right at the beginning with ‘Big’. I listened to it and I got insanely jealous, which is my highest compliment. It was the same thing I felt when I saw The Flaming Lips for the first time or heard Nicki Minaj’s verse on ‘Monster’ by Kanye West. ‘Oh my god, how do you get this good?’ With ‘Big’ I thought, ‘This is unbelievable’. Then ‘Boys In The Better Land’ did the same and my son got really into Fontaines D.C. a few years ago. I thought ‘Skinty Fia’ was a masterpiece and I was eager to hear ‘Romance’ and ‘Starburster’.

“It shows how you become a brilliant band over a long period of time. It’s brave, it’s forward-thinking, it’s got soul, the lyrics are incredible, the melodies are incredible, the production is incredible, it keeps every other band on their toes. You can play it last in a set when no one even knows it and it will hold up. It’s perfect. That deep inhale is the best anti-sing-along too, it’s a breathe-along!”

‘Die Fledermaus: Overture’ – Johann Strauss II

“I saw this the other day at The Hollywood Bowl. My friend is a conductor and he was conducting it. It’s a waltz. Classical music was pop music at the time, and it really hit me the other night. I went right to the back of The Hollywood Bowl behind everybody and watched from way back. I felt like a fan and intimidated by how good the piece was. It was so full of life and colour.

“If this came out tomorrow, it would still be a hit in its way. Even the barrier between ‘classical’ and ‘modern’ music are being erased now. Things are either great or they’re not. This is really, truly wonderful.”

‘The Spark That Bled’ – The Flaming Lips

“When I was 19 and Coldplay was forming, you can hear in our early stuff that my main two influences at that time were Jeff Buckley and Radiohead. Jeff because I could sing in the same range. Before that, I didn’t think we stood a chance because I couldn’t sing like Liam Gallagher, we didn’t have the energy of Supergrass, I can’t observe like Jarvis Cocker could with Sheffield, I’m in trouble. Forget about trip-hop and hip-hop; that seemed so far away. Then Jeff Buckley seemed to sing like I sing but much better, and Radiohead at that time were from a similar socio-economic part of the country and were brilliant. They made me feel like it was possible to be in a band.”

“For a while, you can hear their influence, but then in 1999 we played Reading Festival at the bottom of the bill in the new band’s tent. At the top of the bill was The Flaming Lips, about whom I’d read in the NME and Melody Maker, because they were all into ‘The Soft Bulletin’ and saying it was the best album ever. I had to check them out.

‘The Spark That Bled’ was the first time I’d heard them when I saw them live, and it changed my entire world. It made me realise, ‘Oh, what our band needs to be is just ourselves’. As the internet grew and we travelled further and wider, we found too many influences to name. At the centre of any artist, should just be the freedom and bravery to be yourself – regardless of what anybody says.

“As a human too; as long as you’re not trying to hurt anybody, then the biggest thing you can be is yourself. Wayne Coyne was the first person I saw in the flesh, being really himself. It changed my life.”

‘Work It’ – Missy Elliott

“I remember that video being brilliant. I was probably watching that in the studio, thinking ‘Where has this come from?’ We hadn’t been to America yet or anything, and this was another thing that felt a million miles away but now doesn’t. It’s another perfect song.”

[link to that playlist on Spotify]

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing ‘Mealtime’ Contest 2024, Submission by Sauhitya

The Tale of Poseidon’s Curse

Long ago there lived two siblings, Aspen and Frost. Aspen, the older sister, was a clever girl with a quick wit, always armed with a joke to keep things lively. Frost, her younger counterpart, had a knack for words and sparkling eyes that hinted at her imagination at work.

Together, they were an unstoppable duo. The only thing that would tear them apart was their disagreement over each other’s tastes. But they were both very friendly girls who would always find a shared love and spend quality time together, which they called ‘a Scott Sister Situation’.

One summer day, the terrific twosome took a stroll to the park for a picnic.

“Are we ever going to eat?!” shouted Frost, for about the hundredth time. “I hope Mum packed something that actually tastes nice!”

“She did; something delicious, very delicious!” Aspen replied, with a twinkle in her dark brown eyes.

The two siblings took a seat in a nice, sunny spot and Frost opened the basket, looked up at her sister and let out a sigh.

“I should have known mum packed something you like,” Frost complained, with a frown growing on her face, “and just ‘cos you’re a year older than me. It’s just not fair!”

“Firstly, I am a year and A DAY older than you, plus it isn’t that – I just woke up earlier than you and asked Mum to make us tomato pasta!” Aspen retorted, her hand diving into the basket. “But then it felt selfish so I asked for mango lassi, an Indian beverage made of yoghurt and juicy sweet mangoes, too!”

“You did that ‘cos you felt bad for me?”

“Well, yes. And have you tasted mum’s mango lassi? It’s delicious!” Aspen said with a wink, handing Frost a serving in her special straw cup. “I know it is your favourite, ScottBot!”

“Thanks Aspen! You are the best big sister anyone could ever wish for!” Frost smiled.

The two sisters continued to converse over their shared love of mango lassi until they had finished the contents of the jug. After completing their lunch, the siblings headed for the play area, Frost running for the zip line, Aspen close to follow. Frost pushed herself off the raised platform but Aspen could not see her bounce back at the other end, where could she have gone?

“Frost! Frost!” she screamed in horror, concerned she had just lost her sister!

She too rode the zip-wire across to where she had last seen her sister, but tumbled into her fate just like Frost.

“Aspen help! Aspen! Aspen! Aspe– argh!” Frost screamed as her sister fell on top of her.

The pair did not realise that they were no longer in the park until they awoke from their concussion. Instead, they were surrounded by some kind of blue smoke.

“Aspen, I’m scared. I am seeing thing – a cyclops and a really scary looking Poseidon-type guy,” Frost said, staring into the coloured mist.

“There is no need to get scared; all you need to do is get that crazy imagination of yours under control.” Aspen comforted her little sister, suddenly noticing it wasn’t Frost’s imagination. “I am sorry I ever doubted you!”

“Now can I be scared!” Frost replied, shivering as she was hit by tiny water droplets.

“No, still there is nothing to be scared of – just think of it as one of those 4K experiences,” Aspen started dramatically, “‘Poseidon and the lost cyclops!’ Only in Cinemas this August.”

“Once upon a time, before humans existed,” sounded a mysterious voice, “a group of young merfolk found themselves playing with a beach ball awfully close to King Poseidon’s Palace and it accidentally fell over the fortified wall and landed on…”

“What do you think happens next?” Aspen questioned, turning her gaze to her sister.

“I think that the ball will come alive and declare war with the king’s heir!” Frost replied, her eyes twinkling in the darkness.

Suddenly, the brave pair were swirled into a sparkling whirlpool. They could see strange, blurry figures appear before them. Creatures that looked like they came out of Frost’s stories. Then they could hear mysterious songs, almost putting them to sleep.

A rather small seahorse made his way to the royal mermaid’s abode. “Miss, two human children have washed up on the edge of the kingdom!” he spluttered, out of breath.

“Thank you for informing me – bring them here immediately Cadet Bubble,” a young voice commanded.

The training officer swam back, worrying if he would reach the border in time. He carefully placed the two drowsy youngsters into a carriage and pulled it back to his mistress.

“Good job, Cadet Bubble. I am sorry for working you so hard; you may rest now,” the mermaid said, her voice now softer.

Later, the two siblings awoke sitting at a highly decorated dining table. It had seashells and the occasional pearl around the border, intricately carved fish and pieces of seaweed dangling every here and there.

“Hello Frost, Aspen, my name is Coral and I need your help. I know you have come a long way, so before you assist us here in our secret underwater kingdom, please help yourself to our seaweed buffet while we perform to you ‘The Tale of Poseidon’s Curse’,” spoke a familiar voice.

The Scott Sisters were not fans of seaweed, but their heads were filled with so many questions that they didn’t pay much attention to what they were eating. Why can’t anyone else help them? Do our parents know that we are here? Were you the narrator in the snippet of the film we saw? How do we know that you are on our side?

Before the roleplay began, the siblings helped themselves to some salad. To their amazement, it tasted brilliant; it was creamy and tasted just like spinach. They served themselves another helping, but then a thought popped into Aspen’s mind – were they poisoning her and her sister? She calmed at the sight of everyone enjoying the hearty meal.

“Today our cast is, drumroll please, Cadet Bubble as King Poseidon, my younger brother Triton as the cyclops and Ocean an Aqua as the young merfolk!” Coral began. “Forgive our slow speed, but our cast have not eaten yet, so will be taking short breaks in between! Now, let us continue from where we left off; the youngster’s ball fell over the wall and landed on King Poseidon’s head.”

There was a short pause as the performers acted it out and the audience let out a gasp.

“The ball hit his head at such an angle that a wig that he was wearing was pushed off and fell to the floor! The youngsters followed the wall around to retrieve their lost item, but when they saw a bald Poseidon they couldn’t help but laugh!”

The siblings were now trying to stop themselves from laughing. No wonder the merfolk couldn’t control the laughter.

“I curse you that in 100 years a giant cyclops will take over this kingdom!” the cadet started.

“You mean this isn’t your whole kingdom?” Aspen asked after spooning some soup into her mouth.

“Nope, it is way bigger!” Triton said out of role.

“The only way for this curse to be undone is for two human siblings, who were born on two consecutive winter solstices, to take the Sceptre of the Sea and read the incantation inscribed on the staff together. Then your kind shall return to living in prosperity!” Cadet Bubble finished.

“I am an evil cyclops! I have come to take over your kingdom!” Triton shouted, jumping onto the table and knocking everything over.

“Honestly, I don’t know why we gave him the part!” Coral said in frustration.

“So, you need us to defeat the cyclops?” Frost questioned, pointing at her sister. “Because we were born on two consecutive Winter solstices!”

“But how are we to defeat him when we are just kids?” Aspen asked. “Can someone else help us?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you knew martial arts, but the only help that I can send is Nemo, my friend fish!” Coral said, with a fish the size of her palm appearing next to her.

“Good luck!” Cadet Bubble wished. “You can do it.”

With a click of Coral’s fingers, they were transported to what looked like a history museum. The site around it was in ruins.

“I guess we should go in – wait, no, we should plan first. How can we defeat a giant evil cyclops?” Aspen asked, fear growing in her eyes.

“The cyclops has limited vision due to his single eye and even that was worse than the eye of a rhino!” Nemo interrupted, feeling it was important, “So he had to get an Enhanced Spectrum Implant from the cheapest opticians around!”

“So, if one of us distracts the cyclops, the other can sneak behind him and steal the Sceptre of the Sea. But we need a proper distraction for that to work!” Aspen replied, starting to lose belief.

“You can tell some of your hilarious jokes. He will surely crack up and ask for another one, while I sneak behind him, find where he has hidden the pole and meet you outside! Perfect, let’s do it!” Frost explained, it was all clear to her now.

Aspen entered the building through the large double-doors, gulped and shouted, “Hello Mr Cyclops, I have a joke for you. Why did the diver cross the ocean?”

“I don’t know why – tell me?” a deep voice spoke.

“To get to the other tide!”

“Another one!”

“What did the ocean say to the shore?” Aspen signalled at Frost. “Nothing, it just waved!”

This time, as the gigantic creature chortled, the siblings became aware of the location of the staff, dangling on a rusted metal wire above a rock-climbing wall. Frost was afraid of heights, but she knew she had to climb this wall to save the underwater realm. She took a deep breath and stretched for a hold above her head. Frost was nearly at the top, but then she looked down, her leg slipped and she was now hanging on by her left hand.

“What can you hold in your left hand but can’t in your right?�� Aspen asked, guiding her sister.

“Your right hand,” Frost whispered, swinging her hand up just grasping the hold.

Frost had done it – she bravely jumped up to the sceptre, inspecting how to disconnect the cord, but it began to pull her down like a harness. She was 10 metres in the air when the rust got in the way of the mechanism. The wire was slipping off the rod.

“Aspen!” Frost screamed.

Aspen averted her gaze from the cyclops to her sister and ran towards her. Tick! Tick! Tick! It was only a matter of seconds before Frost would have fallen to the floor, but Aspen had caught her!

Aspen took Frost outside in her arms. Together they chanted:

“I was born on a Winter Solstice and she was born on the next,

We read these words from our heart; the words mean more than the text,

She was born on a Winter Solstice and I was born on the next,

We read these words from our heart; the words mean more than the text!”

Instantly the cyclops disappeared and the kingdom returned to prosperity. Coral brought them back to the palace.

“I don’t know how we could ever thank you!” Coral explained. “I know we’ve asked a lot already, but make sure you don’t tell anyone about this kingdom! Don’t worry, the tide is fast here so no-one will know you are gone. Bye!”

Another portal appeared and the two Scotts jumped into it. They arrived at their doorstep. Frost looked surprised, as she had the basket in her hand.

Their father opened the door and asked, “How was your picnic? Anything interesting?”

“Nope, nothing out of the ordinary,” Frost replied, giggling.

[neon-junkie]

Why can’t this be Love? - Chpt.1

Summary: You've never really fit in, despite trying, despite being on the cheerleading team, despite awkwardly socialising with the popular crowd. It's not for you - these people aren't for you. Yet, you don't know how to escape! Do you continue following a dead end? Or finally break away?

The answer is made for you after your 'date,' a boy on the basketball team, bails on you, and uninvites you from some stupid basketball after party. Whatever, that's fine. But what's not fine is the agonisingly long walk home. Oh, in the dark, late at night!

However, your saviour finds you, and not only does he save you from walking home alone, but the conflicting feelings that you've spent the last few years with.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Cheerleader Reader

Reader Description: Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns. Not much detail is given about her appearance, other than she wears heavy eyeliner, and is clearly an outcast that is trying to fit in.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow burn, Awkward flirting, Drinking, Angst, Comfort, Generic High School Bullying, Denial of feelings, Feelings realisation.

[Chapter 2]  [Read on AO3]

Notes: oh my gooddddd. EDDIE!!! AHHHHHH!!!! hes so fucking cute!!!!!!!! this man has brought me out of my writers block that i've been suffering with for MONTHS.

I haven't written anything for ST before, so sorry if anything is out of character. I also have no fucking clue how American schools work, so I'm going to avoid mentioning it at all costs. The schooling system in the UK is waaaay different!!

This is set a good couple of months before S4 starts. Fic title is inspired by a Van Halen song hehe.

Anyway, enjoy. This is gonna be a series. IDK how long it'll be, but we'll see where this freak takes us!

Chapter 1 - Curbside Collection

Boys.

Stupid boys.

Stupid boys, or specifically, a singular boy, that has bailed on you after tonight's first-of-the-year basketball game.

Really, what did you expect?

"I want to spend tonight with the guys," your date had said. "You can get a ride home with Misty, right?" he asked, referring to your friend - your friend that hadn't even come to tonight's game, considering she isn't into the sport, let alone in with the 'popular crowd.'

Not that you are, either.

Cheerleading is something that your parents pushed on you, back in Middle school, back when they thought their "darling little girl" was somewhat ordinary. Back when you hadn't discovered rock music, Lord of the Rings, and skinny jeans.

But, oh god, you would never show those things to your parents! To them, you're their perfect high grade daughter, who's excelling in her classes, and attends cheerleading training twice a week.

If only they knew.

If only they knew that you were the 'weirdo' of the bunch, the strange girl that is always shoved into the heaviest point of the cheer pyramid, carrying everyone's weight, whilst those on top get all the praise for their "fantastic tricks!"

Regardless, despite your heavy eyeliner and brooding expression, you somehow managed to catch the attention of a boy on the basketball team. It was probably a dare, which would explain why he's bailing on you now, leaving you to walk a few miles home, alone, in the dark...

Fuck!

After zipping up your jacket, you begin your soon-to-be exhausting walk home - a walk that would have been far quicker in your 'dates' car. At least it's not cold tonight; there's a slight chill to the September air, but you'll soon warm up once you get moving, and maybe when you crack open one of the few ciders in your backpack. The ciders that were meant to be saved for tonight's after party, but it seems you're uninvited...

A bottle of cider is pulled from your backpack, and once the chilled bottle comes to rest in the palm of your hand, you suddenly realise that you don't have anything to open it with. Fuck. Can God give you a break already?!

Your mind trails back to a trick you saw a few months ago, where one of the basketball lads opened a bottle using the side of the curb. You wander another street onwards before deciding to attempt that trick, wanting to be out of view of the school, and your classmates, who thankfully live in the opposite direction to you.

One knee meets the gravelled road as you crouch down, bringing the bottle of cider into position. You let out an uneasy sigh as you remember how that guy did it; he used the heel of his hand to crack the cap against the curb, and after a few attempts, the cap popped right off. Of course, he called it "easy," but after your first few attempts, the cap is definitely not budging, and your hand is slowly starting to throb with every hit.

"For fuck’s sake," you curse as you hit it one more time, desperate for the taste of lukewarm cider, a stranger that'll keep you company on your painful walk home.

One more hit, and you let out a grumble as you give up. Your head rolls back to the sky, and whilst still in cheerleader uniform, you let out a soft, "fuck," cursing God (or whatever is up there) for not letting you have a drink on the walk home.

That's when a chuckle catches your attention, and you lock sights with the last person you'd ever expect to interact with.

"Are you trying to open it? Is that what you're trying to do?" Eddie Munson asks with a cheeky smile on his lips. He's leaning against a lamp post, mere meters away from you. His arms are crossed, with one hand fiddling with the ends of his curly hair, almost as if he's nervous, but covering it up.

Eddie is, from what you've seen, a strange guy. And you don't just mean because he likes rock music, and plays D&D. Oh, no, there's something about this man that isn't quite right. Trauma? Perhaps? Shit, maybe you two have something in common.

You've never interacted, minus a brief interaction a few days ago. Your 'date' had shot him a degrading comment after passing him in the halls, and Eddie had responded with a laugh, and a comment that had you almost in tears.

"Your jeans are always so tight, Munson. No wonder your dick's so small, it must be suffocating in there," your date had sneered. A weak comment, but whatever, you just wanted to get to your next lesson, but someone was eager for a fight. It must have been his hormones acting up, or just boys being boys.

Eddie, despite being on his own, a lone wolf without the company of his misfits, had chuckled as he chalked up his reply. "Oh, he's just fine. He's a little sore right now," Eddie replied.

Your date raised his brow, and Eddie continued his comeback. "I mean, fucking your mom is a tiring chore, but someone has to do it, right? Which is why I'm able to fit in these tight jeans."

You couldn't help but laugh. A 'your mom' joke? Classic.

Your date shot you a disgusted glance, and hey, maybe that's the reason why he ditched you tonight. Maybe it's been sitting on his mind this whole time - his beloved cheerleader had giggled at a joke that the freak Munson has cast. How sensitive!

Coming back to the present, you let out a defeated, "yeah."

Eddie chuckles once more, although you know he's not laughing at you, but rather, with you. "I'm surprised your boyfriend isn't here to thirst your quench," Eddie comments with a shrug.

"Boyfriend," you scoff under your breath. "He's never been my boyfriend, especially not now."

Eddie looks genuinely sympathetic, and bridges the space between you two with a few lanky strides. "I take it you really need that drink then, huh?"

A nod is all you need. No puppy dog eyes, no heart-warming story. Eddie takes the bottle from your grasp, and pops the cap off by using one of his chunky rings, rather than the curb. He smiles as you take a large gulp, instantly feeling a buzz throughout your body, despite it being no more than 4% alcohol.

Placing the bottle down on the curb, you swing your backpack over your shoulder once more, and say, "here," as you pull out another cider, and offer it to Eddie.

"Are you sure?" Eddie questions, only to be taken back as you shove the cider into his hands.

He pops the cap off his own cider, and grins before taking a gulp. "Here," Eddie repeats as he offers you his hand, pulling you up from your awkward gremlin pose, now with an open bottle of cider in your hand. Your backpack is slung over your shoulders, and a small gust of wind follows the movement, dancing along the hemline of your skirt - a minor movement, but you're certain Eddie's eyes trailed down there before meeting yours.

"So..." Eddie groans. "Do I dare ask where your 'not boyfriend' is?"

"Probably at the after party. I dunno," you shrug.

Eddie's thumb reassuringly rubs over the back of your knuckles, and only then do both of you realise that your hand is still in his. You both break away, begrudgingly, but hey, maybe it's for the best? The freak holding hands with the weirdo cheerleader is a rumour that'd spread like hot fire around the school, and you don't fancy dealing with the backlash.

"Woah, hang on," Eddie nervously laughs as he raises his spare hand. "You mean, you've been uninvited to the after party? Or are you refusing to attend?"

"Your first assumption was right," you shrug, and take a swig from your drink. "Well, I think I was?"

Eddie remains quiet, but raises both brows with a gesture that silently reads, 'go on.'

After grumbling, you begin explaining. "I don't know what happened. Tonight was normal, or as normal as it can be. I was cheering, and he was playing basketball, but as soon as the game was over, he approached me, and said that he wanted to spend tonight with his friends..."

Eddie nods softly, listening to you ramble, using him like a therapist, still standing on your lonesome on the side of the road.

"...His friends were in the background, and they were... laughing. I just accepted it and left. When I went to change out of my uniform, the other girls were also laughing, so I didn't bother changing. I just grabbed my bag and left."

Your eyes focus on the floor as you let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as disappointment takes over, and there's faint tears brewing in the corner of your eyes. Despite not being able to see Eddie's expression, you can feel sympathy radiating from him, and in a wild daydream, you'd throw yourself into his arms in hopes of finding comfort.

Little do you know, Eddie would happily comfort you.

"So..." Eddie heavily exhales, bringing your attention back to him. "Let me walk you home, then."

Your expression softens, no longer casting an imaginary scowl at your ex-not-boyfriend. Eddie Munson, the freak, has not only helped you open your cider, and listened to your therapy worthy rant, but also wants to walk you home?!

Obviously, you're going to accept his kind gesture. Being a woman has waaaaay too many flaws, and walking home alone is one of the main ones. Having Eddie there almost eliminates that target, even if Eddie is lanky, and only fights using the roll of a dice.

However, what is going to come of this if someone sees you two? A cheerleader and a freak, walking home together, joint ciders in hand. Fuck, both of you are going to get it in the neck, and probably from the same bunch of people. Social circles aren't meant to cross, especially opposite ones, but you've never really fit into the 'popular' squad.

"You're more than welcome to say 'no,'" Eddie sheepishly comments, his eyes trailing from yours to focus on his cider instead.

Shit. You moron! You haven't even responded!

"No. I mean, yes! I'd love for you to walk me home, but do you live this way? I don't want you going out of your way to-"

"-Yeah," Eddie cuts you off. "Sure, I live this way," he shrugs.

Ugh, he's lying!! However, you don't fancy rejecting his offer - not only is it a bonus to walk home with someone, but he's also so... interesting. Entreating. Perhaps even... cute? With that curly, untamed hair, and his lanky frame that reminds you of a baby deer attempting to walk for the first time.

"Come on, Princess," Eddie says with a light laugh as he takes a few strides forwards, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Let's get you home!"

Taglist: @bubblegumcat229​, @buckys2thicc​

If you would like to join the taglist, then please drop me a message!!

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

tasm!Peter Parker x reader

Silent

A/N: as promised, a oneshot based on the pic below. Credit to @writing-prompt-s for the prompt!

The research I did for this..

Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel

Let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my writing!

Synopsis: reader has befriended both Peter Parker and Spider-Man without realising they’re the same person. When both of them suddenly stop talking, reader draws more than one important conclusion.

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries

You knew something was up the moment your friend showed up to school wearing a thick scarf in late April.

You snuck up on him and bumped your shoulder into his arm. You could feel his startled jump more than you saw it, and were surprised because of it. Peter had never been easily startled, and even less so as of lately.

“Everything alright?” you asked, looking up at him.

You saw him open his mouth, reconsider, and eventually just nod. Which was even weirder, because as long as you had been friends with Peter, he had rarely passed up an opportunity to talk.

“You sure?” you pressed.

He nodded again, this time smiling at you. It wasn’t at all convincing.

By lunchtime, you were certain something was wrong with Peter. He wasn’t in all your classes, but in the ones he was in, you hadn’t once seen him take off his scarf.

And as you sat across from him to eat, he didn’t even greet you. He just gave you that same tight-lipped smile as that morning and waved for a second.

“Okay, what is going on?” you asked. “And don’t give me that look! You haven’t said a word all day, and you’re wearing a wool scarf inside.”

He stared at you for a long few seconds, that same exasperated look you had gotten a lot throughout all your years of friendship. Then he sighed, another thing he did a lot of whilst being friends with you, and pointed at his throat.

“You… lost your voice?” you guessed, perfectly used to not needing words to understand each other.

Peter nodded. When you opened your mouth, he quickly held up a finger and reached for his backpack to pull out a pen and his notebook.

You waited patiently while he scribbled something down. Once he was done, he turned the notebook around and pushed it towards you.

You couldn’t suppress a smile at his messy handwriting as you read the words strep throat.

“Sucks, my friend,” you commented, reaching across the table to pat his arm. “At least it’ll be over in a few days.”

He smiled ruefully, cheeks red as he pulled the notebook back towards him and writing something else.

Yeah. I hope so. Don’t like not being able to talk.

His words sent a strange shiver down your spine. They sounded like he wasn’t sure of himself, and you hated that.

You had always loved your best friend exactly the way he was, but even you would admit that he could be incredibly insecure at times. But a month or two ago, it had seemed like Peter had finally found his confidence. He became more talkative, and seemed to enjoy holding a conversation more than before. You could imagine it was painful for him to lose something that helped him be so confident.

“Should you even be at school right now?” you asked, trying to shake that weird feeling.

He rolled his eyes and scribbled something down again.

It’s nothing. My throat’s just too sore to talk.

Which was fair. Peter was one of those people who actually enjoyed school, and it wouldn’t be strange for him to come to school sick.

You only realised hours later that you didn’t hear him cough once.

Something you would never get used to, was New York’s new vigilante showing up on your fire escape.

The first time it happened, he had a stab wound in his leg. He just showed up on the fire escape, scaring you half to death because no one had a clue who Spider-Man was at the time. He was just an idiot fighting crime in flimsy spandex. Not a beloved hero of the city. The guy had joked his way through you disinfecting the wound. You had merely told him that unless he wanted to bleed out, he should leave the knife in next time.

Since then, he had shown up a couple more times. Sometimes with injuries that needed to be taken care off, sometimes just to see how you were. He started referring to you as his guardian angel, and you called him bug boy -much to his annoyance.

Though, you figured as you opened your window to let him in once again, he couldn’t hate it that much if he kept showing up.

“What’s up, bug boy?” you asked, stepping aside as he let himself in. “Haven’t seen you since you got your ass kicked by a mutated lizard in a sewer.”

Spider-Man didn’t respond. He merely flopped down in the fluffy armchair by the window and stared at his city.

You frowned. “Is everything okay?”

You saw him tilt his head towards you, and nod, but he still didn’t respond.

“Are you hurt?”

This time, he shook his head.

“Okay… Then why aren’t you talking? You’re never quiet.”

You were pretty sure that beneath the mask, he was looking offended.

“Hey, it’s true!”

He shrugged, and maybe you were imagining things, but you thought it looked a bit listless.

You sat down in the window seat so you were facing him. “Okay, come on. What’s the problem? Whatever it is, I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He stared at you for a moment, then buried his face in his hands. Or at least, that’s what you thought until he raised his head and you noticed a familiar mop of brown hair. You let your eyes wander down to an equally familiar face, wearing an equally familiar sheepish smile.

For a few seconds, you were speechless. You watched silently as Peter’s smile turned even more sheepish when he did some variation of jazz hands.

Then you smacked his arm. “Peter Parker, you are so dead! I’m actually going to throw you out the wind-“

You stopped abruptly in your scolding when you saw the purple-black bruises that wrapped around his neck. Suddenly you understood why Peter hadn’t been talking but had obviously not been sick.

“Jesus, Peter, what happened?”

“So-“ He scraped his throat and tried again, though his voice remained just as scratchy. “Some tenta-cled assho-le.”

“God, please just shut up,” you muttered. “My throat actually hurt when you talked just now.”

Peter smiled at you, and you suddenly felt warm all over. Hastily, you got up.

“I’m going to get some ice for those bruises, and something for you to write with, and then you’re going to explain everything.”

Before you could dart past him, he grabbed your wrist. When you glanced down at him, he mouthed thank you.

You read the words over and over again.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Didn’t want you to get pulled into this, to get hurt. I care too much about you. Uncle Ben got hurt because of me. I didn’t want the same thing happening to you.

Peter was carefully avoiding looking at you while your eyes darted over the page, but from the way he was drumming his fingers on his leg you knew he was anxious to hear your response.

“I get why you didn’t tell me,” you said softly, remembering his grief over Ben. Grief he was still dealing with. “I’d probably have done the same. Am I the only one who-“

He nodded. “I wasn’t-“

“Peter, I’m begging you, just write it down. It’s literally painful to hear.”

You pushed the notebook back into his hands and waited as he scribbled something down with one hand, the other pressing ice to the worst of his bruises.

Wasn’t planning on telling anyone, but you deserve to know. The first time I got hurt, I didn’t know where else to go. Aunt May had enough to deal with already.

You laughed. “I threw a lamp at your head.”

You never told me what you told your parents about that.

“Said I knocked it over when I saw a spider.”

Peter laughed. It sounded painful.

I knew I had to tell you at some point. And I thought you’d figure it out today, with me not talking.

“I almost did, but then I thought that there was no way it could be you. That you would’ve told me.”

Sorry.

“It’s alright.” You leaned forward and put a hand over his. “I’m not mad. You went through a lot in the past few months. More than I even knew of. But I just- you know I’m always here for you, right?”

Rather than responding, Peter leaned forward to hug you. His hair tickled your neck, and you brought up your hand to slowly brush your fingers through it.

“I know,” he whispered, and you tried not to wince at his hoarse voice.

You leaned back to look him in the eyes. “How many times are you gonna make me tell you to shut up?”

“You’ll h-have to shu-ut me up yourself,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

You were pretty sure you knew what he was getting at, but you weren’t used to your best friend being so straightforward. Spider-Man flirted with you all the time, and you were more than happy to return that. You just weren’t quite used to Peter and Spider-Man being the same person.

Well. One way to find out if you were right.

You leaned in to kiss him, and you immediately felt him tilt his head to lean into the kiss. You moved from the window seat to his lap, and his hand immediately slipped under your shirt, his skin warm against your back.

A rattling sound startled both of you out of the kiss.

When you both looked over, you saw the bag of ice cubes Peter had been pressing against his throat on the floor. Laughing, you buried your face in his neck.

“So much for having a moment,” you giggled, and you felt Peter’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Peter tapped your arm and pointed to a newly added phrase in the notebook.

Guess we’ll have to redo this sometime.

[snackleggg]

Okay, we're doing this.

Reincarnated King AU

As the name suggests, Danny is the reincarnation of a previous ghost king.

Reincarnation is a rare thing that usually only happens under circumstance of planned fate or curse.

Danny's previous life (who is just known as The King because he was around a long time ago and his name was forgotten over time but his legend wasnt) was a really virtuous ghost king. He united the infinite realms like never before, establishing rules and laws that still stand even hundreds of years later.

He was actually the ghost king that preceded Pariah Dark.

When Pariah Dark became a known conqueror with an army of the raised corpses of those he defeated he eventually came face to face with the ghost king himself because he was threatening to throw the infinite realms into chaos. Of course he wasn't the ghost king for nothing and Pariah couldn't beat him, instead he conscripted a sorcerer to put a powerful curse on The King but the sorcerer was like "his power will usually deflect any curses or magic and if it does get passed his power it will probably be altered in some way that we wont know about until later" but Pariah insisted so the sorcerer cursed The King to die the next time he won a battle.

The curse worked! It landed! But not without that catch of getting altered by The King's powers if it did get past them. It accidently turned it into a reincarnation curse, that The King would return in another body, another life once the infinite realms needed him to win battles once again.

Then poof! Hundreds of years after The King's defeat and Pariah Dark taking the throne, a little human was born, got turned into a half ghost and won the fight against Pariah Dark after he escaped the sarcophagus.

Pariah Dark kinda saw the resemblance between Danny and The King but he brushed it off at first, but then he was getting pushed back into the sarcophagus and he looked at Danny but instead it was like he was seeing The King again and he realised "oh fuck, that was the catch" right before being locked away again.

Anyway!

Word about Danny defeating Pariah Dark spreads and some ghosts from a kingdom not far from the Far Frozen kinda recognise the description of the ghost and then they look at the painting of their long gone beloved king that a sorcerer had cursed to die. Then they are all like "wait a minute..."

Now Danny has to deal with suddenly getting kidnapped/dragged away to this kingdom he is pretty sure he has never been to before (even though all the land marks are strangely familiar and he can navigate the streets and halls of the castle like second nature, like had done it a thousand times before) and being told that he is the reincarnation of their king??? It's not like reincarnation is even possible though right? (even though there is a lot of evidence and the team has basically all accepted that Tucker is a reincarnation of that Pharoah guy)

Then he looks at painting of the guy and "oh, that's me but I dont remember ever posing for that painting to be painted" (maybe once a long time ago he had a dream where a young painter ghost had insisted to be the one to paint his royal portrait to be hanged in the hall with all the paintings of the previous kings)

And they show him around the castle and Danny is getting very uncomfortable because he keeps on knowing things about this place he has never been too that he shouldn't know (like how the gardens used to have daisies but he- The King had gotten rid of them when he found out that one of the cleaners had an allergy to daisies in life and was still uneasy around them even though ghosts didnt have allergies, or how the kitchen staff always kept the cookies and any sugary ectoplasmic snacks hidden because he would always swipe them as a young prince-)

Let's just say that by the end of the day Danny manages to get home but not without a little bit of an existential crisis brewing (of course Sam, Jazz and especially Tucker are there to help him)

If I do ever write something with this AU it would probably be Danny getting stuck in his old body and needing to live his old life for a day (or maybe a little longer) while barely remembering it

[deedeekpop]

© deedeekpop - all rights reserved. I don’t allow translation or reposting of my content on any platforms without my consent  

Summary After being stranded in the middle of nowhere, famous rapper Yangyang’s only hope is the one person who hates him more than anyone.

Word Count 5k

Genres Fluff, crack, angst, enemies to lovers

Pairing(s) recluse!reader x rapper!Yangyang   (gn reader)

Warnings swearing, allusions to sex, Yangyang is an entitled asshole

A/N Trying to be more active. Pretty happy with this. Let me know what you think :)

Masterlist  

It’s always strange how the most opposite of people end up in the most similar of situations. You and Yangyang couldn’t be more different as people, yet the world seemed to force the two of you together. Almost like fate itself wanted to see how the story would unfold.

At the time, Yangyang was doing incredibly well for himself. In the past two years he had fought from the shadows, only to emerge as one of the most successful rappers of his generation. In those years he released two exceptionally successful albums, in which all singles had reached number one on the billboard top 100. He had just come off a rambunctious world tour in which he had partied in places regular people could only dream about, so to put it bluntly, it had all gone to his head a little.

What used to be a hard-working humble guy, indebted to those who had supported him when he could barely pay his rent, was now a boastful asshole who liked to belittle other people for fun. He spent most of his free time buying flashy items to show off on social media and wooing a large spread of people.

In fact, that was currently where he was going. A couple of nights ago, Yangyang had met a pretty irresistible woman and had a wonderful night of fun with her. That morning she left with his number, and had invited him over to hers for a repeat of that night. The only problem was, she lived on the other side of the country, in a town without an airport.

So, doing what any sane man would do, he got into one of his several flashy sports cars and began driving to her house. He passed through the bustling city of Seoul, with its skyscrapers and lights, to an ambling and deserted countryside. For what seemed like miles, there was only grass, and then it turned to forest. It was a good thing that he wasn’t stopping here because he would definitely get lost.

Except that was exactly what was about to happen. Averting his gaze from the view to the inside of his car, he realised that he was low on diesel. He could only hope to power through, and somehow reach a petrol station, but if not he would definitely need to call someone. Then again, could he really give them directions when he had no idea where he actually was?

He carried on driving until the car slowed till it stopped, sputtering in disbelief. He swore he had filled up the tank this morning, but then again he couldn’t be so sure, he had been in a hurry. He pulled out his phone, no signal. Opening the door, and locking it behind him, he began waving it around in the air, hoping for anything, but was only left with the cold breeze wrapping around his ankles.

With no other way, he began walking down the road, with any luck he could hitchhike a ride to the nearest city, but if that wasn’t an option, he needed to find some other signs of life. It took him two hours of walking to get to the small cottage where you resided, and he wasn’t about to get a warm welcome.

Your life had always been a stark contrast to the rappers, whilst he thrived in the attention of others, you struggled. It wasn’t that you didn’t like people (well not some people), you would just rather spend your time alone. It was much more productive that way, and you did meet up with your friends and family a couple of times a month. In reality, you had become somewhat of a recluse.

That was why it was such a surprise when a knock sounded at your door, after all, living in the middle of nowhere was built for you to get no disturbances. Sure, every so often you had some lost foreigners, or maybe someone in need of directions, but that was often few and far between. Also, they usually weren’t this persistent, the banging on the door was almost desperate.

You let out a huff, before storming to the door and ripping it open, leaving the man puzzled mid-knock.

“Can I help you?” You weren’t being helpful, there was pure frustration dripping from the question.

“Order me a tow truck.” He demanded.

“I’m sorry,” You say, slightly stunned that he would be this rude when asking for help.

“Don’t you know who I am? I have better places to be than here. If you can’t call a tow truck, you’ll be fixing it yourself.” The entitlement poured out of him.

Now that he had mentioned it, he did look familiar, like a rapper that you liked, but you weren’t going to let him know that. Especially if it was going to stroke his already massive ego.

“I have no idea who you are, and if you’re going to talk to me like that, I’m not helping you at all.”

“Do you live under a rock, or do you lack good taste? Either way, if you don’t help me now, you’ll be in a lot of legal trouble later.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going to work? How are you going to contact anyone without my help?” You smirked, going to close your door, before his foot in it. His eyes were wild, suddenly realising that you were his only hope.

“Look… I do really need to call someone. It would cause a lot of publicity if I went missing.”

You sigh, he wasn’t wrong, people could think he had been kidnapped or something else out of pocket. Still, you didn’t want this entitled brat to think he deserved any of your respect. So you were doing this the hard way.

“If you want any of my help, you better shut the fuck up and listen. If there is, even so, much of a complaint that comes out of that mouth, there is no chance I will help you. Understood.” You say sternly.

“Understood.” He says, recovering from the shock.

“Good. Now show me where this car is.”

Seeing that eyesore of a sportscar did not brighten your mood whatsoever, it was completely drained of fuel. Luckily for you, you placed orders for your fuel, mainly because the nearest petrol station would actually use all your fuel to get there. Despite his promise to stay quiet, Yanyang hadn’t stopped whinging, claiming that the fact that people lived like this was insane.

“It might be insane to you, because you have a phone addiction. You’ve checked it ten times since you’ve entered my house.”

“It’s not my fault you live like you’re still in the 1920s. I bet you don’t even have a phone, I won’t even be able to charge mine.” He sulked.

“I have a phone, I just don’t feel the need to use it every second.”

“I need to get home.”

“And with no signal, you have no way to contact anybody. You’re lucky I’m letting you stay here until the fuel delivery comes.” You weren’t a monster, despite the fact that you were moments away from pushing him out of your second-story window.

“I could do with some relaxation.”

You scoffed, he thought he’d be relaxing. “There’ll be no relaxing if you’re staying here. You’ll be earning your keep.” After all, living as a recluse meant that you were self-sustainable, only ordering some freezable food every month.

You essentially had a little farm, with some sheep and cows, and a modest garden. That meant it needed upkeep, and whilst you did treat yourself to a lie-in during the weekend, you were up at 7 am every weekday.

“What?” Once again, he seemed shocked that he had to do anything he didn’t want to.

“You’ll be up bright and early, helping me keep this place running. It’s either this or you try and hitchhike your way to the next town with a signal, and I’m sorry to break it to you but that’s unlikely. And it’s a ten-hour walk alternatively.

He was quiet for a second, seemingly weighing up his options, until he finally came to an unfortunate conclusion. “Alright, I’ll do it. It can’t be too hard. Better than dying trying to escape.” Seems like he was also overdramatic. Great. This wasn’t going to be annoying at all.

At least you’d have some extra help, right?

Right.

The next morning, you wake up and begin your chores, you bang on the guest room door and urge Yangyang to get up as well. One hour later, there is still no noise or sounds of movement coming from the room. You sigh, looks like you were going to do this yourself.

After doing your morning’s worth of chores, you sit in the kitchen indulging in your lunch. Only then, does Yangyang walk in, rubbing his eyes and with terrible bed hair. He doesn’t acknowledge you, beelining towards a chair where he then proceeds to try and access his phone. He curses at the lack of signal.

“What’s for lunch?” He asks, without looking up from his phone.

Ignoring his question, you get straight to the point. “Where were you this morning? I told you that you’d have to work if you stay here, I’m not a  bed and breakfast.”

He chuckles to himself, almost in disbelief, “I didn’t think you were being serious, I don’t do this sort of thing. I have people to do this for me.” His voice dripped with entitlement.

“I am not your ‘people.’ I am spending money looking after you here. I am giving you free petrol, which costs quite a lot nowadays. The least you could do is help around the place.”

“If you need money, I’ll give you money at the end. It’s not like I’m short of it.”

“That’s not the point, Yangyang. The point is that you said you’d help, and then lied to me.”

“Oh, get over it. So what, you can’t just kick me out, and I’m not going to work for you for free.”

You let out a bout of sarcastic laughter. “So you’re happy to take what you want from me, but then you’ll give nothing else in return. How selfish can you fucking be?”

“I don’t really care about your opinion, you’re some freak who lives in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah and this freak offered you their home, free of charge.”

He just shrugs, opening your cupboards and rummaging through them for food. That was the last straw. You charged upstairs, entering the guest room where Yangyang’s suitcase remained unpacked. You pick it up, before storming downstairs and throwing it out the door.

Having heard the commotion, Yanyang follows you outside. “Are you fucking insane?

“Leave. I don’t want you here anymore, you’re not worth the stress. I live alone to relax.”

“You can’t just kick me out!”

“Try me. Don’t come back until you’ve sorted out your attitude.”

And with that, you slam your door behind you, bolting it shut.

It takes a while for you to get to sleep that night, with you stewing with rage in your room for hours before you finally dropped off. However, you weren’t the person up the latest that night, Yangyang’s car (no matter how expensive it was) was not a good substitute for a bed. The fact that it had been pushed into your drive made it all more taunting for him.

However, for what felt like years, he was finally alone. With the rapid rising success of his career, he hadn’t really had much time to sit and think about his actions. He went to bed thinking about music, and woke up thinking about music. To put it simply, this was one of the first times his mind had wandered away from that topic in two years.

This was mainly why he had gotten so entitled, this distance had also meant he’d hardly really thought of his family, and in connection, the values his family taught him. The long he led in his car, the more his mind wandered, until it fell onto one topic. You.

You were infuriating. You didn’t seem to care about his fame at all, you seemed to want to work him to the bone, and just needed a pawn to do it. But when he stripped all that away, he realised that you had been quite selfless, lending help free of charge, and somewhere to sleep. Even the fact that you didn’t know who he was, was no longer an issue. Now that he thought about it, it had been quite refreshing being surrounded by a person who didn’t constantly kiss his ass. It really gave him something to think about.

The more he looked back on his actions, the guiltier he felt, realising how much distress he had put you under, especially when you didn’t have to help him. He wondered how he could apologise, but it wasn’t like you would care about a signed album. Except there was one thing you cared about, getting all your work done.

The lights were off, you were asleep. Was there a chance that he could possibly sneak in? Exiting his car, he looks for a spare key and eventually finds it under a plant pot. Looks like he was going to do some of your chores until he fell asleep, it’s not like he was going to anyway. Luckily for him, you were quite a heavy sleeper, so he had all the time in the world to get it done.

The next morning you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling downstairs. You were worried and confused, had you forgotten to turn off the stove last night? But then the aroma of food frying quickly told you that there was someone else in the house. Yangyang. How had he gotten in? Had he found your spare key? You didn’t know why you kept it out there anyway.

Trudging downstairs, you were ready for a barrage of demands, but instead, you were greeted with a cheery ‘good morning’. You were startled.

“Who are you?” You half-joke, genuinely confused as to why he was acting this way.

“I’m sorry. I had some time to think, and I realised that I’ve been really shitty. I promise to come at this from a different attitude. Please just don’t make me sleep in that car.” He pleaded, “I made food.” He shoves a bowl of stir-fried rice in front of you.

Seeing that he put so much effort in, you had to admit that there was some sense that he was serious about this. You relented.

“Fine, but if you suddenly change this attitude, there are no more chances. Now let’s see how you cope with these chores.”

The next week is bliss (if you call slaving all-day together bliss), and soon it’s only five days before the petrol arrives. You got so much stuff done, you could focus on some of your books (your tbr being embarrassingly long), and even managed to get around to doing some of your renovating. Your storage room finally getting painted.

Beneath all the entitlement that covered him before, Yangyang was just a cute guy with a goofy sense of humour and a penchant for trouble. He was deceptively quite a hard worker, which made sense granted his career in music. You didn’t really expect him to be this way, then again you hadn’t really known him before.

“We’re down to our last tub of paint,” Yangyang grunted, hauling in the heavy tub. You had chosen a light cream colour and had taped tarpaulin over the floor. So far it had been quite a messy occasion.

“Just be careful when you’re pouring it onto the tray. It’s heavy and I don’t want you to spill it all over the floor.”

“Yes, boss!” He salutes you mockingly.

“Don’t act like you aren’t super clumsy. You’ve dropped and broken three plates since you’ve been here.” You playfully chastise him.

“It’s not my fault that they don’t like me.” He pouts.

“The plates aren’t people, Yang.”

“How do you know that?”

“Doesn’t it make it more sadistic, of they are? You essentially killed them with your logic.”

“Okay, I take it back. I’m too young to be a murderer.”

You eyed him as he poured the paint into the tray, you could see his grip slipping as he struggled to hold on with his clammy hands. Three. Two. One. SMASH! The tub clattered into the tray, springing it up and essentially all over you. You spluttered in surprise.

“Sorry,” Yangyang calls apologetically, before turning and seeing your grumpy expression and cracking up.

“You don’t seem so sorry.”

“You just look like a grumpy reverse-dalmatian.”

You raised your eyebrow at him.

“What it’s a compliment, dalmatians are cute.”

You blush at the mention of that word. It seemed innocent enough, but you couldn’t help but think that it was too sweet to be an offhanded compliment. You were probably just confused, you hadn’t really spent an extended time period with a man in months, obviously, that was the only reason you were attracted to him. It’s not like it would lead to anything anyway, he was leaving in five days.

This was just some silly phase, you’d get over him soon enough.

It’s the final night before Yangyang leaves, and for the first time in your life, you were sad that a visitor was leaving. Despite your rocky start, Yangyang could be a really nice guy when he wanted to be, and honestly, you’d miss the company. It’s been a while since you’d hung around with someone, and maybe this was a sign to hang around with your friends more often. This didn’t mean that you didn’t enjoy your solitude, however, it was less complicated.

To celebrate his last night, you had brought out two bottles of wine, that you hadn’t drank for over a year, ready to let loose for the first time in a while. Yangyang wasn’t much of a wine drinker but he wasn’t the type of guy to say no to free alcohol either, so there the two of you were giggling like teenagers having drunk a full bottle of wine.

Now onto the second one, you were getting a little more than tipsy.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You started, taking a long sip of your newly poured glass.

“Uhh… Okay. Just let me think of something.” His face twists into a thoughtful gaze, and you internally squeal at the cuteness. “Uhm, I actually play the violin, that’s something you don’t know.”

“Wait, like are you good?” You were extremely blunt when drunk.

He chuckled, “I’d like to think so, I have been playing for quite a while. Though not very recently.”

“You should start doing it again, it’d be cool to hear violin in some of your music.”

“I thought you’d never heard any of my music.” Shit. You were busted.

“Well, I might not have told you the entire truth. I may have… listened to both of your albums.” You admit, bashfully.

“Wait you’re a fan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, when I met you, your ego wasn’t the smallest. Didn’t want to add to that.”

“What’s your favourite song of mine?” He was getting a little giddy (it was probably the wine).

“Oh, undoubtedly Leonidas. You did a really good job with it.”

“Not what I was expecting… but thank you.”

“I imagine that’s what you’re going to be doing, once you get out. Writing your music.”

“Well, this whole experience has given me a lot to write about.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to write about me, does it?”

“Well, maybe, you’re a pretty unforgettable person, Y/N.”

“Oh.” You went quiet, you weren’t expecting that. Tension had risen, so thick that you could cut it with a knife. There was only one thing you could do to break it, so you downed your full glass of wine for courage. Then you kissed him.

It was short, just a peck, and you immediately regretted it. Pulling back and covering your face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” You ramble, “I should have asked you. You probably don’t even like me, that was an awful mistake-.”

“Y/N.” He interrupts the long-winded paragraph you were about to say. You turn to him, he gently cups your face and kisses you. His lips were gentle against yours, his fingers playing with your hands and lacing them together.

Finally pulling away, you grinned, slightly flustered.

“I like you too.” He grinned back.

You both leaned in again, the alcohol fuelling your interaction. Soon you were straddling his waist, the wine long forgotten. Your fingers threaded through his hair (which was surprisingly soft given how much he dyed it). The kisses had gotten a lot deeper, and soon Yanyang’s hands begin fiddling with the buttons on your top. You both momentarily stop.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Very sure.” You say, pulling off your shirt.

Soon the two of you are pulling off various articles of clothing, before disappearing into your room, only to be seen the next morning.

Yangyang woke up before you, at around 6 am, to a knocking on the door. You were fast asleep, clinging onto him from behind. He smiled, before untangling from you and putting on some shorts to answer the door. Being a heavy sleeper, you merely grumbled before falling back asleep.

Answering the door, it was a man delivering the petrol, Yangyang signed for it and placed it in the hallway. He needed something to drink. Making his way into the kitchen, Yanyang got himself a glass of water before sitting down at the table. Then it hit him, what the hell had he done?

He had slept with you, that wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to leave and never see you again, after getting his petrol. He couldn’t be in a relationship, what about his career? Why did you have to be so wonderful? Why couldn’t he just resist you for a little bit longer?

So he stuck to his plan, he took the canister of petrol, poured it into his car, grabbed his bags, and drove off not looking back. It was about three hours before he finally got service, immediately called his manager.

“Yangyang, how’s my main man! How was your week, eventful?” Yangyang could practically hear him smirking.

“It was fine. I’m coming back now. Working on my new music.”

“Sounds great, we’ll be rolling in the big bucks as soon as you get back.”

Then he realised what he was doing. He was driving back to a group of kiss-asses that used him for money, and leaving a person who grounded him and cared about him behind. What had he been thinking, sure he loved his music, but it was stressful working with them. He could make music anywhere.

He thought back to the song you mentioned, it was the only song he had sole credits on, that couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? He had to go back to you, he had to know the answers, he had to know what you could be. But he didn’t know it would be too late.

You woke up an hour before he returned, feeling the emptiness beside you. You had an awful hangover, and it wasn’t made easier by Yangyang’s departure. To put it simply, you were crushed. One of the only men you’d opened up to in a while, only to run away as soon as you become intimate. You felt used.

You had heard stories, of him sleeping around. But you didn’t know the lengths he would take, was all of this just an act to get with you before going? All you knew was that he wanted nothing to do with you, so you wanted nothing to do with him. So you got on with your day, repressing the disappointment as though nothing happened.

You get a knock on the door, an hour later. It was him.

“What do you want, Yangyang?” You were immediately hostile.

“I’m sorry I left, I shouldn’t have.”

“I think you made your choice when you packed up all your stuff whilst I was asleep. I can’t believe I trusted you. I’m such an idiot.”

“Y/N, can we please just talk? I can explain everything.”

“What is there to explain? You slept with me and then ran off. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. Just go. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Y/N, please, just listen to me.”

Without giving him a word, you slam and bolt your door. There was no way he was getting in, you had your spare key. You didn’t want to talk to him now. In fact, you couldn’t think of a time when you wanted to talk to him. You were better off without him.

Yangyang had almost given up, but he knew you wouldn’t warm up to him all of a sudden. So he devised his time thinking of ways to get you back. So far, he had deemed them all failures, with flowers and money not seeming like the right way to persuade you that he regretted his actions. All he had to do, was convince you that the night you shared together meant something important to him too. Except how was he supposed to convince you?

He spent days thinking about it, until he finally realises what he should be doing. He still hadn’t released a new single, wallowing in self-pity, and you were a fan of his music. You were a fan of his music, surely, even if you were mad at him, you would still listen to his new releases. So he knew what he had to do, he had to write a song about you.

It wasn’t hard, to write lyrics about you. It came easily to him, and he finished the lyrics within an hour. When it came to composing the song, it took longer, but he made sure to include the violins that you had mentioned, eventually creating a chill r&b rap song all about you. He was proud of it, the second song he had made all by himself.

Once it had been refined he released it, hoping that you’d hear it and give him some sort of sign, any sign that you’d be open to forgiving him. That you’d realise how much you truly meant to him and welcome him back into your life.

You hesitated for a few days before listening to the song. Part of you wanted to forget him entirely, but you finally gave in and decided to listen. Maybe this song was the push you needed to get over him. Boy were you wrong.

By the end of the song, you were in tears. It wasn’t the pretty cinematic kind either, it was full-on, puffy eyes, snot running down your face tears. You didn’t know what to think. You were happy, that he had written about you, with obvious references to wine, and the inclusion of the violin. But there was also this more cynical part to you, that believed that he was just teasing you, and that this song wasn’t necessarily about you. He doesn’t mention you by name. So you leave it. He would forget that his visit ever happened in a few months, anyway.

Yangyang waits a month to give him some sort of sign, any sort of hint that you understand. But it’s radio silence. The song does incredibly well, charting number one on most platforms and having records for the number of streams within the first week of release. Yet he couldn’t care less about that, all he could care about was your reaction to it. And so was the rest of the world, every tabloid was raving about the mysterious individual who inspired the song. Everyone wanted to know who you were.

After two weeks, he became impatient. So he did the most irrational thing he could think of, he drove all the way to your house in the middle of nowhere again. In fact, it was such a spontaneous decision that he forgot to fill up his petrol tank, and when he arrived, he realised that he didn’t have enough petrol to get back to the city. He hoped you forgave him, because if not, he was in for a long week.

Clambering out of his car, his hands began to clam up as he reached the front door. But he couldn’t give up now, not when he had driven all this way. Hesitating a little, he finally knocked.

You were surprised to see him, when you answered, your eyes widening a little when you saw him. You no longer looked angry, just a little sad. He hoped this meant that you could be easily persuaded.

“Hello, Yangyang.” You sighed softly.

“I wrote a song about you. Did you listen to it?” He was upfront, he could have you turning him away again.

“I did, though I wasn’t sure if it was about me or not.” You admitted quietly.

“Who else could it be about? All I could think about when I went home was you.”

You sighed again, deeply. “Yanyyang, you should just stop. Even if I took you back, do you really think that this relationship would work? I live in the middle of nowhere, it’s not like we can see each other often.”

“So what? I drove here easily enough. I can do it again. I’m not going to let something as stupid as distance end us.”

“I’m being realistic, Yangyang.”

“So don’t be. Being realistic is boring, can we not just enjoy our time together? I like spending time with you, it makes me feel a lot freer than when I’m at home.”

You buckled under his sweet words, maybe he was being sincere. And if he was willing to give it a shot, why should you? So what if it was against the odds, you needed some spice in your life.

“Ok, you’ve got one last chance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me all you like, I’m going to ignore it. You’re worth travelling the distance.”

@crazywittysassy​ @yoontaedotin​

Enjoyed this fic and want to see more? Join my tag list.    

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.