#tyler fog

[buk0wskis]

“‘You are young,’ replied Athos,

‘and your bitter recollections

have time to be changed

into sweet remembrances.’”

— The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas

Traveler (2007) | starring Matt Bomer as Jay Burchell, Logan Marshall-Green as Tyler Fog, and Aaron Stanford as Will Traveler

[ryanss18]

i ran over a frog today then i buried it under a tree that, then set on fire.

oh crap this isnt my diary

[miyagi-hokarate]

Was gonna say Cruel Summer by Bananarama but thought it would be too predictable so Burning Heart by Survivor!✨

Hiiiiiii ✨

Considering my pinned post is currently Cruel Summer, I think that probably has something to do with my musical perception...

But LMAOOOOO I haven't heard Burning Heart by Survivor in a LONG TIME — I needed a refresher ajdkahskhsk (confession: I've never watched any of the Rocky movies 🙈). It is just as 80s as I remembered HAHAHAHAHA

Thanks!!

(Send me a song that matches my Tumblr vibe!)

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Ok! So! Prompt time: emotional hurt/comfort + Malcolm x Hannah (or twelve x rose but it’s more fun to see Malcolm in this situation) BUT it’s Hannah (or Rose) who needs some serious comfort.

oh, i love this prompt!! so much!! i went with rose & tucker for this one because i had an idea come to me right away for them, hope you don't mind. also, please be advised that this fic involves grief over a canon character death.

enjoy!

to read on ao3, click here!

-

The morning of November 7th dawns cold and pale, with his mobile buzzing angrily toward the edge of his nightstand and no Rose beside him.

Now, Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic by even the most vigorous stretch of the imagination, but only one of those two things feels like an emergency.

He silences his mobile.

Sliding out of bed, he reaches for a jumper—a deep, rich shade of green he never would have picked for himself—and pads across the bedroom toward the hissing sound of the shower running.

One thing he's learned about Rose in the course of their… entanglement—is that she is not a morning person. Her aversion to alarm clocks is on par with his reaction to phone calls from Number 10 these days. As in, there's usually a lot of swearing involved, maybe some hives.

But if Rose being awake at this hour is unusual, her being conscious enough to shower is unheard of. Which makes it either a miracle on par with loaves and fishes, or a catastrophe.

"Rose?"

She gives no answer, or at least, not one that he can make out over the spray of water. But the door is cracked, and he pushes it open further to get a better look. It takes him several seconds to recognise why the air feels wrong: it's cold.

There's no steam billowing out from behind the curtain, and the unexpected draft indicates that the little porthole window behind her is open. An icy feeling slices through him, unrelated to the chill autumn air.

"Rose," he says again, a little more sharply. "Are you in there? Is this some kind of horror film set-up we're doing? You should know I've never seen Psycho."

There's confirmation of life in the sound of a sniffle, which could be a laugh but—his chest tightens—probably isn't.

"Don't come in," she mumbles.

"Why, have you got a knife?"

"That's not what h-happens in Psycho."

Mouth falling into a grim line at the unsteadiness of her voice, he reaches for the curtain.

"Okay, what the fuck is going—"

Shit. His heart does something his cardiologist probably would not like, and his hand falls limp at his side. Shit, and also fuck.

Because Rose is sitting in the very corner of the tub, down to her knickers and the ringer shirt he'd lent her to sleep in. She's curled up there, like she's trying to be a tiny ball instead of a person.

"Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?" he snaps. "It's fucking freezing in here." When he reaches through the shower spray to touch her, he hisses at the temperature and withdraws. The water's cold, too. Frigid.

She bundles tighter into herself. "Just go, Malcolm, please."

His jaw locks.

Yeah, there's no way in hell he's going to just turn around and prance off to make his morning coffee while his… whatever-she-is has some kind of meltdown in his fucking shower that apparently requires subarctic temperatures.

"It's my bathroom, actually, so I think I'll stay, thanks," he shoots back, not bothering to regulate his tone.

For someone who has spent approximately twenty-three hours of every day in a state of unhinged stress for the last two decades, he is aware he should probably be hardened to the feeling by now. The two years he's been out of the business isn't nearly enough time for the conditioning to fade. But for some reason, seeing Rose in this condition has him reeling like it's his first press tour. His mouth takes off without his permission.

"I mean, talk about psycho. Is this some kind of new beauty routine I don't know about, like kiwi fucking facials and sperm hair treatments? 'Cause I have to say, I don't care for this particular trend. You'll freeze your perfectly lovely tits off, for one thing. And for another, you—Rose?"

He stops short, watching a tremble travel through her. It's like the ground during an earthquake, moments before a fissure opens—before damage becomes destruction. Unsalvageable.

She's trying not to cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay, you're actually scaring me now," he says, voice going flat. "What's happening here? Do I need to call a doctor? A psychic?" Her chin jerks up, and she stares at him with reddened eyes. "A priest?"

"No." The word is harsh, but he doesn't give a shit, because she comes a little back to life as she says it. Her eyes flare up at him beneath clotted, dark lashes. "I'm n-not possessed. God. You're so—I just… need a minute, all right?"

"Well, I'm sorry, darling, I don't think you have a minute before hypothermia sets in. You're turning fucking blue."

She seems intent on ignoring him—or perhaps she's just ignoring reality in general—because she promptly buries her face in her arms again, where they're crossed over her bare knees.

He's not lying; there is a strange lavender cast to her toes, her kneecaps, the tips of her fingers. She looks like a wax doll version of herself. But if she won't do anything about it, it's apparently fucking up to him.

Sighing, he braves the frigid shower spray again to reach for the knob, turning it towards the heated side. A new rush of warmer water soaks his sleeve.

So much for his nice, cosy morning plans.

"Look, just tell me what's going on," he tells her slowly, reaching over her head to tug the window closed, "and then if you really want me to leave you to it, I will."

It takes her about a full minute under the spray to stop shivering—longer for some colour to return to her skin, and even longer than that to answer him.

He knows she's working on it by the flexing of her fingers and toes, the gentle rocking motion she makes as she attempts to build her courage. He knows all the signs. The words are just sitting in there like stones; she's just struggling to pick them up and actually say them. And hell if he hasn't been there before.

Finally, she lifts her head again. Her cheeks are ruddy, and he realises she's been crying for a long time.

"My dad's dead."

Totally lacking in emphasis, her words still hit him like a ton of bricks. A one-two-three punch of deadpan delivery.

"Shit." No, that's not right. His brain is full of fucking smoke alarms. "I'm sorry." Better.

"Yeah." The silence dangles for a second. "It's nothing to do with you."

That takes him out at the kneecaps, and suddenly he's sitting on the lip of the tub, catching his breath. What the hell? "I… didn't think it was." He hesitates before asking, "When?"

Her eyes close. "He died 27 years ago today."

"Jesus. Rose, why didn't you tell me?"

"When exactly was I s-supposed to slip it into conversation, Malcolm?" Her lids bat back open in a second, and she turns her most challenging glare on him. "When you made that stupid joke about daddy issues, was I supposed to go, 'Surprise! My dad did actually die when I was six months old, but please have sex with me anyway'? And then," she barrels on, "we decided we weren't, you know, serious or whatever, and I kept assuming it would… end eventually? But we just kept seeing each other and the date kept creeping up, and I ignored it, because it's not like you're my fucking boyfriend."

The whiplash of her cursing would probably make him laugh if he wasn't feeling so desperately miserable.

"And then I came over last night and you—and then I… decided to stay…" She shakes her head, damp strands of hair whipping against her cheek. There are blueish shadows under her eyes, violently contrasting with the red. "And I thought I could handle it and it would be fine, but then I woke up and I just—I couldn't… I just kept thinking—" and that's the last word that makes it out of her before her air supply seems to shut off. Her chest shudders and her eyes close, and he wants to peck out his own fucking liver for letting this entire awful situation come to be.

"You have to take a breath every now and then," he scolds instead. "Fuck's sake."

To his intense concern, that doesn't even earn him a withering look. Just a continuation of the weird hitching rhythm of her chest. Her hands clench tighter around her knees, dimpling the skin with pale half-moons. Looking at her is borderline unendurable.

He groans. "Fuck this." And then he swings around over the ledge of the tub, kicking his limbs inside, where they are immediately soaked.

It's a big enough tub—compared to the size of his flat, the shower stall is almost impractically decadent—but it's not really meant for two. A fact he is keenly aware of as he goes to his knees beside Rose's shivering, twitching body.

Careful, he takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, then he spreads his knees as far as he's able—thanking hell he didn't decide to change into denims before this—so she can sort of sit in between them. He pulls her in until her curved back touches his chest.

The cotton clinging to her is still too cool, and he is grateful for the hot spray that continues to fall around them. At least, if they're going to be wet through, they can still share some goddamned body heat.

It's with this goal in mind that he wraps his arms around her—his whole body, hunching in over the snarled knot of her form. Letting their breathing fall into a shared, slower rhythm. "That's it," he feels himself say, like he's down some tunnel, far away from himself. "Just breathe with me, there's a girl."

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that: long enough for his knees to begin aching, and for the air to go humid against his nose, soft with the smell of her hair.

Her shampoo is sunny, somehow. Citrus, with something fresh and green.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he mumbles eventually. "You should have told me."

"I—" she starts, but he squeezes.

"Yes, yes. I should have made it easier for you to tell me, I know," he grinds out. "I'm an arsehole. And I shouldn't have said that shite about our ages either, because it only called attention to what's basically obvious to anyone with one or more eyes in their head. Which is that you can do far, far fucking better than me."

The worst part, which he does not mention, is that he hadn't even fucking meant anything by that whole 'daddy issues' bit. It had just felt expected, somehow—after the zoo that was his trial and with the zombie horde dogging his steps post-acquittal, he'd felt like an acknowledgement had to be made in case some hack wearing a wire was sitting nearby, just waiting to turn her relative youth and incredible beauty into a new headline in a smear piece.

The disgraced former spin doctor desperately pawing at a woman half his age would undoubtedly make a good photo op. So instead, he'd been snotty and perverse. And now he's paying for it.

Worse, she's paying for it.

"You should, by the way," he adds, feeling her hand squeeze back, curled somewhere around his wrist. "I'm serious. Anyone would be better. A fucking dogcatcher with a furs shop. A monk. I could set you up with fucking Ollie Reeder, so long as you don't mind that he's gay."

To his relief, she actually snorts. It's a laugh, liquified and wobbly, but real. "Oh, shut up."

"And I… I'm sorry about your dad." He swallows, having to force down a new wave of panic—not to do with her, this time. It's all him.

He braids their fingers together, feeling like a fucking pansy and trying to focus on the drumming water against his back. He so rarely fears inadequacy, but this is one area in which he's failed again and again and again.

He's been reliably informed that he is not a comforting presence.

"I really am, darling," he adds weakly.

"It was a long time ago," she says. "I barely even remember him."

"That doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Half of him waits for her to stiffen or recoil, while the logical part of his brain is forced to admit that Rose would never. She's far too kind.

That's always been his issue, really. She's just so goddamn kind, and he could kick himself in the head for taxing that. Keeping her at arm's length when she obviously doesn't want to be, making her feel like the showerhead would be a better listener. Christ.

She breathes deep instead, and her body unfolds itself until her head is resting on his chest.

"No," she admits. A long exhale. "It really doesn't."

The air is properly foggy now. Her skin is pink where he can see it. But he doesn't let go of her, and she gives no indication of wanting him to. He can feel the grief subsiding in the air, sucked down the drain.

That's the way of it: it comes in waves. And when it's gone, you might not resemble who you were before it.

"Ollie Reeder," she says, some indefinable time later. "God. I would literally rather donate my vagina to the National Trust. That's repulsive."

He kisses her shoulder, wishing fleetingly that it was bare. "Accept my apology."

"You know you didn't actually apologise for anything," she scoffs, sounding more and more like herself. "Except for my dad which, according to a near-thirty-year-old police report, you had nothing to do with."

But he kisses her again, and again, and she sighs. He likes to think she does so at least a little bit because it feels nice.

"Of course I forgive you, dickhead." He puffs a laugh against her, tightening his grip, and she settles into it like a cat in a sunray. Fucking unbelievable. "I know we haven't… really talked about it properly, Malcolm, but I—I mean, I get it, you know?" Two of her fingers fiddle with his damp sleeve. "Neither of us is particularly trusting."

"Understatement of the millennium."

"But I want to," she goes on, words seizing his heart in his chest. Seriously, Dr. Jones is going to kill him at their next appointment. "Trust you, I mean. Is that stupid?"

Her bones under his hands feel strong and sturdy, and her flesh is as forgiving as the rest of her, and he finally allows himself to feel all the fear he's been keeping at bay since the moment they met on that street corner, two in the morning. It had felt like a colossal fuck-up waiting to happen, or like an undeserved stay of execution.

"Yes," he answers shortly. "Probably so." He clears his throat, the sound feeling too loud in the close space. "But at least we're on equal idiot footing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the motion of her cheeks, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, she's smiling. Blotchy and sweet.

Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic man. He's just fucking not. But he'd swear up and down in a court of law that he could get lost in Rose Tyler's gaze and be perfectly happy for it.

His fear fades into a background hum, suddenly fucking unimportant. He feels himself soften in ways he's still figuring out how to allow.

After a moment, her tongue slides between her teeth. "You've really never seen Psycho?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "What is with this generation and your relentless nostalgia?" he complains. "There are about five hundred brand new superhero movies to choose from and you want to watch some old—"

With her hands on his for balance, Rose pushes up a little, stretches her spine, and shuts him up with a kiss.

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

[biggestsimponhere]

‘Tis the damn season

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

➻ Synopsis: You left your hometown at 18 yet here you stand ten years later in front of the only person you’ve ever loved

➻ Requests are always welcome!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

If i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone i would have asked you

There was once a time when you could have asked Tyler Owen’s anything and you would’ve gotten an answer. But you left. Ten years ago. Something about the small town thing that you couldn’t get over, you felt trapped. Now you lay in your bed, it’s cold out, you’re curled under blankets and watching videos of the so called tornado wrangler on youtube. You smile despite yourself, you had missed him but you had to go.

A girl enters the side of the screen, one you didn’t recognize. Her hair was blonde with dark brown roots, her doe eyes practically sparkling as she looks at tyler. You can’t help the pang of loss that shoots through your chest. You push the feeling down and turn off your phone, shoving it far underneath your pillow. You have no right to be jealous you know that but you miss him and then there’s her, you can’t get the image of her out of your mind as you lay there in the dark. Your eye catches on a shirt hanging off the handle of your closet door.

Tyler’s shirt. You remember the day you got that shirt so vividly. It was cold, despite the heat that usually comes being on the south, arkansas winter had a way of chilling you when you didn’t want it. The two of you were walking home from local diner, it was late and snowing and neither of you had thought to bring a coat. Tyler had shrugged off his flannel and draped it over your shoulders before pulling you closer. The two of you walked to your house practically glued at the hip.

It’s the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass but i felt it when i passed you, there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me

“Y/n?” A voice calls from your left. You had been out shopping, grabbing some last minute things your mom needed to cook, because of course she would send you. Luckily for you it wasn’t tyler’s voice. It was boones. You smile as you turn and greet him. “Does ty know you’re back in town? I mean he must not if he hasn’t already shown up at your door” Boone questions as he stares at you. “He doesn’t know i’m back and you can’t tell him, i’m going to leave as soon as the holidays are over” You say pleadingly. Lily slides into the conversation seemingly having overheard you two.

You glance at lily, “wait, he’s not here right?” you ask slightly panicked. “No he’s not, he sent us out to get things, you know how he is” Lily shrugged. You breathe out a sigh of relief but can’t help the longing that goes through you. “You’re going to have to tell him y/n” Lily says sternly. You know you left things shaky, you also know Tyler never got an explanation. “He doesn’t need me ruining his life,” You shake your head, “He’s got that girl, i saw her on the video” You say quietly. “Who? Kate?” Boone laughs. You find yourself quirking an eyebrow at him because what’s so funny.

“Why are you laughing bo, i’m serious” You say softly, trying to keep your true emotions from slipping through. “If you think tyler’s gotten over you just because you’ve been gone for ten years then you are absolutely ridiculous” He wipes tears from his eyes as he laughs. “What���re you talking about bo, there’s no way he still misses me” You interject breaking through his laughter. “I’ve gotta go, i’ve missed you both… don’t tell ty… please” You say quietly as you hug them. They both give you their reassurance that they won’t tell him but they think you should.

i’m stayin at my parents house, and the road not taken looks real good now

Being back in your high school bedroom is harder than you thought it would be. They didn’t touch anything. The pictures of you and tyler, happy, smiling from ear to ear decorate every corner of your mirror. You stare at them for a minute before pulling one off. It’s always been your favorite one, the two of you had taken it while trying to figure out how to use your polaroid camera when you first got it. It was slightly blurry but the smiles beaming at you through the photo tell you all you need to know. Tyler had taken it, his arms outstretched as he holds the camera away from the two of you, you’re reaching for it in the photo and maybe that’s why it’s tilted like that or maybe it’s because tyler’s hand was shaking so bad from laughing.

You curl back onto your bed, the polaroid clutched in your hand as you bring the covers up under your chin. You’ve never been one for wallowing but there’s something about being back here. Your mother finds you like that hours later. She sits on the bed beside you, softly pulling the polaroid from your hand and setting it on your nightstand. She knows you miss tyler. She also knows why you left in the first place. She tucks the blanket tighter around you and kisses your head softly before heading back out of the room. You don’t wake despite the creaking of the old door as she shuts it.

She heads back downstairs and settles back into the kitchen. After baking for about an hour or two she does what any sane mother would do and she pulls out the phone book. She laughs quietly as she searches for the number and smiles triumphantly once she’s got it. She moves to the phone hanging on the wall. Despite all the gorgeous technological advancements of the twenty first century your mother refuses to give up her landline, claims her grandkids are gonna know how to properly use a phone. “Yes? Tyler? She’s home” Your mom sighs softly into the phone. You may blame her for this but she doesn’t care.

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tired, now i’m missing your smile, hear. me. out.

Tyler’s at your house in the next half an hour. Your mother greets him at the door. She invites him in and lets him know that you’re still asleep. “I guess i just don’t understand why you called” He says as he sits at the table, his chair, it takes him a moment to realize. He’s sitting in the chair he sat in for four years. “She misses you, she won’t say it but she does, she needs you” Your mother says as she joins him at the table. Tyler quirks his head at that, you left, what could you possibly need from him. “I’m sorry ma’am i’m just not really gettin it” He says quietly.

“I thought we’ve moved past you calling me ma’am” She reminds him softly. He nods, looking down. “To answer your question, i think she’s lost it, now i don’t mean her mind ya know, but her love of everything really, i know she left because she felt trapped but she stopped coming home, she stopped writing, somethings going on tyler” She explains as she sips on her coffee. Tyler’s expression shifts from confused to concerned. “What do ya mean?” He asks calmly, hoping not to project how badly he wants to run upstairs and wrap you in his arms. “She hasn’t come out of that room for days, i sent her out yesterday and she came home, dazed, she needs you” Her tone makes something shift in tyler.

“Can i.. can i go up there?” He’s practically bursting with the need to hold you. Your mother nods, a slight smile forming on her lips. He’s up the stairs before she gets the chance to say anything else. The door to your room creaks but you don’t look up, assuming it must be your mother again. “Sweetheart” A voice comes from the door. That’s not your mother. You’d know that voice anywhere. You jolt up in your bed. “Ty?” You question as your eyes adjust to the light pouring in from the hall. He shuts the door behind him, dowsing your bedroom back into darkness. The only light coming from the moon reflecting on the snow outside your window.

But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me. We could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend. ‘Tis the damn season.

Tyler moves closer to your bed, but slowly, sort of like approaching an animal that doesn’t want to be approached. “It’s me darling” He says as he draws closer. He’s reaching over to wipe the tears from your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying. You lean into his touch instinctively. “What’re you doing here ty?” You’re pushing back more tears as he sits beside you. He looks warm. Warmer than the cold bed you’re laying in. “Your ma called me”. You laugh disbelievingly. Of course she did.

“You didn’t have to come ty, i’m fine” You say unconvincingly. “Oh i’m sure you are sweetheart” The pet names he’s lathering you in almost make you forget how long you’ve been gone. “Why don’t we go out, you can come to mine, the team misses you yknow” He says as he pulls you into his side. Every time he touches you it’s delicate like he’s afraid you’ll push him away, but you don’t. You never could and you never would. “Really? You want me there?” You push at your nose, trying to get it to stop running. “I always want you around, you know that” He runs his fingers through your hair till you’ve relaxed against him once again.

It always leads to you, in my hometown, sleep in, half the day. Just for, old times sake. I wont ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.

It takes little to no convincing from there to get you to join him at his farmhouse. Snow glistens, costing the fields of grass and dirt. You’ve packed a bag, a small one but tyler wanted you around and you’d take what you can get. You don’t know what it is about being around him that makes you want to be yourself but there’s a pleasant safe feeling that fills the air. He pulls into the driveway of his family’s farm house. You smile at the sight of it, it looks just the same as it always has only this time it’s topped with fresh white snow. You smile slightly as you notice the team in the living room through the window.

Tyler helps you out of the truck and grabs your bag before helping you over the ice and inside. “You know where the guest room is” He says as he gestures down the hall. He’s right you do. The only guest room you’ve ever stayed in at his house despite the very many. It’s the one right beside his room. He always told you he wanted you as close as possible if his parents wouldn’t let you sleep in the same room. You smile at the memory as you set your bag down on the bed. You start walking back towards the living room when you heard something “She’s home huh?” You don’t know that voice, but you can only assume it belongs to that doe eyed blonde.

“She is” You can hear the smile in tyler’s response and it makes you feel slightly better about yourself. The group welcomes you back in like you’ve never been gone and you sit beside tyler as some christmas movie plays. Kate, you learned her name, sits across the room at a love chair alone. She’s been staring at you two for the past fifteen minutes and it’s getting a bit harder to ignore. When you stand and head to the kitchen for some water she follows you. You get slightly concerned she’s dating tyler before she explains her reason for following you out here. “I’ve not know him long, but i could tell something was wrong, and in this short period of time that you’ve been here it’s like you’ve ignited something in him” She says as she stares at you

It always leads to you in my hometown. it always leads to you… in my hometown.

Later that night you’re tossing and turning in bed. You can’t stop thinking about when you left, why you left, or if it was even worth it. Three knocks sound on the other side of the wall. You smile despite yourself. You know who it is, it’s tyler. You reach up and knock back twice. The confirmation that you’re still awake. He knocks back four times. An asking. More like a begging. Begging you to join him in his room. You think about it for a minute before you climb out of the guest bed, which is still slightly cold despite you lying in it for an hour. You make your way to tyler’s room and walk towards his bed.

He reaches out for you and pulls you down like no time has passed. You smile at him as he burries his face in your neck. “I’ve missed you” It’s said so softly against your skin that you almost missed it. You run a hand through his hair and he burrows further into you. “I’ve missed you too ty, i’m sorry” You say as you tuck your face into his neck. “don’t have to be sorry, just don’t leave me again” he sounds like a kid but he can’t help it. You nod against his neck. You’re not leaving. Nothing could take you away from this. Not again. You can feel his body relax against yours as you tell him you’re not going anywhere.

There are things the two of you are going to have to work on but for now… here… in his warm bed, cuddled up together nothing else really matters.

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 5: Hollow Creek

Now the whole family was united, they needed to spread this to the other surrounding neighborhoods, like Hollow Creek.

The glossy black rubber RV rolled silently down the quiet suburban streets of Hollow Creek, its polished surface gleaming like liquid under the midday sun. Inside, the family sat in perfect, calculated silence. Each of them wore their black latex Fred Perry polos, their unique numbers stitched in bright yellow just above the heart: Tyler, Luke, Michael and their fathers, who commanded the vehicle with calm authority.

The interior of the RV was designed for one purpose: transformation. Racks of freshly pressed polos hung in precise rows, their faint musky scent filling the air. A hidden compartment held fog machines for rapid deployment, and a polished mirror on one wall reflected the family’s pristine unity.

As the RV turned into a parking lot near a local park, Tyler leaned forward, peering through the tinted window. “There,” he said, nodding toward a group of three young men playing basketball on a worn court. “They’re perfect.”

Luke smirked, adjusting the collar of his polo. “Quick and easy.”

Their father brought the RV to a stop and turned in his seat, his calm, commanding gaze sweeping over his sons. “You know what to do. Be precise, and leave an impression.”

The door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out into the sunlight, their polished black polos gleaming as they approached the court. The basketball players stopped mid-game, their attention drawn to the brothers.

“Hey,” Tyler called out, his voice smooth and confident. The tallest of the group, a lean guy with a buzzcut and a loose tank top, dribbled the ball idly as he sized them up.

“What’s up?” the guy asked, his tone wary but curious. His two friends exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the matching polos and calm demeanor of the newcomers.

Luke gestured toward the players, holding up a folded Fred Perry polo. “You guys look like you know what teamwork’s about,” he said with a smirk. “Ever tried something that brings you even closer?”

The musky scent from the folded polo drifted toward the group, subtle but unmistakable. One of the players wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”

Tyler stepped forward, holding out another polo, the yellow number 112 stitched boldly on the chest. “It’s not just a shirt,” he said smoothly. “It’s unity. Brotherhood. You’ll feel it the moment you put it on.”

The tall guy chuckled nervously, glancing at his friends. “Yeah, I don’t think—” But his voice trailed off as his gaze locked on the shimmering black fabric. His hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching out to touch it.

The moment his fingers brushed the polo, his expression shifted. His loose tank top began to dissolve, the fabric breaking apart into fine threads that evaporated into the air. In its place, the black latex polo began to form, spreading across his chest like liquid. His gym shorts followed, disintegrating into nothing as sleek black trackpants took their place.

“What the—” one of his friends stammered, stepping back, but Tyler held up a hand, his calm smile unwavering.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’ll see.”

The tall guy’s body straightened, his posture becoming perfect, his eyes briefly unfocused before a serene smile spread across his lips. He turned to face his friends, his voice smooth and confident. “It feels... right.”

The yellow number 112 glowed faintly on his back as he gestured toward Tyler. “You should try it.” They both shot their black cum into their rubber pants.

Luke wasted no time, stepping toward the second player, a stocky guy with a headband and a skeptical look. “Just hold it,” Luke said, offering him a polo. “You don’t even have to put it on if you don’t want to.”

The stocky guy hesitated, but curiosity—and the strange, intoxicating musk in the air—got the better of him. He grabbed the polo, and the moment his hands closed around it, the transformation began. His headband slipped off as his hair styled itself into a clean, modern cut. His T-shirt and gym shorts melted away, replaced by the sleek polo and trackpants.

His eyes fluttered shut as his breathing steadied, and when he opened them again, they gleamed faintly. “This is...” he began, but words seemed unnecessary. His serene smile matched his friend’s, and the yellow number 113 glowed proudly on his back. Transforming others makes Luke so aroused, he couldn't contain himself anymore..

The last player, a wiry guy with shaggy hair, took a step back, his hands raised. “No way,” he said. “I don’t know what you guys are selling, but I’m not—”

Tyler moved swiftly, placing a folded polo in the guy’s hands before he could finish his sentence. The fabric’s warmth seeped into his skin, and his resistance faltered. His shaggy hair shortened into a crisp style, and his hoodie and jeans began to dissolve.

“Just let it happen,” Tyler said calmly, his voice almost hypnotic.

Moments later, the wiry guy stood transformed, his new polo gleaming in the sunlight. His expression was serene, his yellow number 114 standing out against the black latex. He turned to Tyler and Luke, his voice steady and sure. “What’s next?”

The brothers stepped back, admiring their work. The three newly transformed players sat on the ground, their faces calm, their bodies radiating confidence. Tyler nodded in approval. “You’ll know what to do.” First spread the black cum with each other, then find others...

Without another word, he and Luke returned to the RV, the door hissing shut behind them. As the vehicle pulled away, the players remained on the court, their serene smiles never fading. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was mental, emotional, primal.

Inside the RV, Luke smirked, glancing at Tyler. “Fast, clean, and effective.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Hollow Creek won’t know what hit them.”

As the RV disappeared down the road, the players on the court began to move, their laughter and camaraderie replaced with a strange, shared purpose. The musk of the polos lingered in the air, and each of them felt a growing, insatiable need to recruit more.

The sleek black RV hummed softly as it pulled to a stop near the bus stop on the outskirts of Ridgefield. Inside, Tyler adjusted the collar of his sleek black latex Fred Perry polo, its glossy material catching the dim light of the cabin. Beside him, Luke smirked as he secured one of the new black half-face masks over his jaw. The mask, sleek and gleaming, gave an intimidating aura of mystery, its yellow trim adding an edge of authority.

“These guys are rowdy,” Tyler remarked, peering through the tinted window at the seven men gathered under the flickering streetlights. They were laughing loudly, shoving each other playfully, dressed in flashy shirts, jeans, and sneakers. “But they’re perfect.”

Luke spun a folded polo in his hand. “They won’t be rowdy for long.”

Their father, seated calmly at the RV’s wheel, gave a single nod. “Be quick. Be precise. And clean up after yourselves.”

The RV door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out, their movements deliberate and commanding. The laughter at the bus stop faltered as the brothers approached, their black latex polos and trackpants gleaming under the flickering lights. The group fell quiet, their earlier energy replaced by cautious curiosity.

“Evening, fellas,” Tyler said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence with an air of calm authority. “Big plans tonight?”

One of the men, a tall guy in a red bomber jacket, grinned but crossed his arms defensively. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

Luke held up a folded polo, its latex surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Because we’ve got something better than whatever party you’re headed to.”

The group exchanged glances, a few of them chuckling nervously. “What, like some team or cult thing?” asked another, a lean guy with a baseball cap turned backward.

“It’s not a cult,” Tyler said, stepping closer. “It’s a brotherhood. Something bigger than a party. Bigger than anything you’ve ever been part of.”

The faint musk of the polos began to waft through the air, subtle yet insistent. One of the men, a shorter guy in a leather jacket, tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “What’s with the shirts?” he asked, gesturing toward the polo in Luke’s hand.

Luke smiled. “It’s more than a shirt. It’s a chance to be part of something real. Just try it.”

The man hesitated, his fingers twitching as he reached for the polo. The moment his hand touched the fabric, his posture softened, and his breath hitched. Without a word, he pulled the shirt over his head. His leather jacket and T-shirt unraveled into threads, dissolving into the air, replaced by the sleek black latex of the Fred Perry polo. His jeans melted into matching trackpants, and his sneakers took on a polished sheen.

Luke stepped forward and held up a half-face mask, fitting it snugly over the man’s lower face. The glossy material molded perfectly to his jawline, leaving his eyes visible but adding a sharp, commanding presence. He stood straighter, his expression serene yet focused.

“This is…” he began, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. “This is incredible.”

His friends stared in shock, a few stepping back.

“What the hell just happened?” the guy in the red bomber jacket demanded, his tone rising. “What’s going on here?”

Tyler turned to the group, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Relax,” he said. “This is your chance. You’ve all felt it—you’re not fully satisfied with where you are. This will change everything.”

“Like hell it will!” the guy in the bomber jacket said, stepping back and pulling one of his friends with him. “You’re not putting that weird cult shirt on me.”

Luke smirked, tossing a polo to another man in the group—a stocky guy in a graphic tee. “You don’t have to fight it,” he said. “You already want it.”

The stocky guy caught the polo reflexively, his hands trembling as the fabric’s warmth seemed to seep into his skin. “I... I don’t know,” he stammered, his resolve faltering as the musk surrounded him.

“Don’t!” the bomber jacket guy shouted. “Don’t put it on!”

But it was too late. The stocky guy slipped the polo over his head, his graphic tee dissolving into nothingness as the transformation took hold. His jeans morphed into black trackpants, and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted a half-face mask over his jaw.

The bomber jacket guy cursed, yanking the friend closest to him. “We’re getting out of here!” he snapped. But the transformed guys were faster and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted another half-face mask over his face.

Before they could escape, the distant sound of an engine grew louder. The bus rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark. It screeched to a stop at the curb, the doors hissing open. A few passengers sat inside, mostly young men returning home or heading out.

Tyler and Luke exchanged a glance. “Time to expand,” Tyler said with a smirk.

As the bomber jacket guy and his friend hesitated, Luke stepped onto the bus, carrying a fresh stack of polos. The musky scent spread quickly as he moved down the aisle. “Relax,” he said to the confused passengers. “You’re about to be part of something great.”

One by one, he handed out polos, his calm yet insistent voice guiding each passenger. A few resisted at first, but as the musk thickened, their hesitation melted away. They pulled on the shirts, their casual clothes dissolving as the sleek black latex took over. Each man’s demeanor shifted, their faces serene as half-face masks were fitted over their jaws.

Luis, a warehouse worker, had been slumped in his seat, exhausted from another long night of loading trucks. His neon safety vest and worn-out boots had marked him as someone used to hard labor. As the transformation took over, his vest and steel-toed boots melted away, replaced by the gleaming black latex uniform. Now upright and composed, Luis’s sharp gaze peers out from behind the glossy mask, his exhaustion replaced by a newfound energy.

Mark had just finished a grueling workout at the local gym, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Dressed in a muscle tee and athletic shorts, he had boarded the bus to head home. The musky mist overtook him quickly, and his gym clothes faded into black trackpants and the polished Fred Perry polo. With the half-face mask securely in place, Mark’s athletic physique now exudes a disciplined, intimidating aura, his focus no longer on weights but on spreading the brotherhood.

The bus driver was the last to resist, gripping the wheel tightly. “You’re not getting me into this!” he shouted.

Tyler stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. “You’re already ours. Just give in.”

The driver’s hands shook as Luke handed him a polo. With trembling fingers, he slipped it on, his uniform dissolving into the latex material. As the mask was placed over his face, he slumped back into his seat, his resistance gone.

The transformed passengers stood as one, their black polos and half-face masks gleaming under the bus’s fluorescent lights. Tyler stepped off the bus, his expression calm and satisfied. The seven recruits from the bus stop now stood in perfect formation beside the RV, their earlier resistance forgotten.

“You know your mission,” Tyler said, addressing the group. “You’ll spread the brotherhood. Swift and precise.”

The recruits nodded, their voices muffled by the masks but filled with conviction. “Yes.”

The bus doors closed, and it rolled away into the night, its passengers now unified in their purpose. In the distance, the faint sound of sirens began to echo.

Back in the RV, Luke smirked as he removed his mask. “Looks like someone called the cops.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, unbothered. “Let them come. We’re just getting started.”

The RV pulled away, leaving behind a faint trail of musk and the unmistakable mark of the brotherhood’s presence.

[disturbedbeautywrites]

Boots Don’t (Preview) - Tyler Owens Imagine

One shot, two shot, three shot, four.

The liquor was going down a little too easily as you leaned against the bar beside the dance floor in the little town you were in. The country music coming through the speakers was loud and pumping through your bones, but it was better than the quiet of your motel room. You were in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma at a dance hall with a couple of your storm chaser friends. They were beside you, handing you more liquor to heal your broken heart.

“Maybe we should cut her off. Tyler wouldn’t-“ Boone’s voice broke through the hazy fog of drunkenness that you had going on. You leveled him with a glare, making a point to throw back another shot. “Fuck what he thinks. He’s a dick and I don’t wanna hear his name again.” You snarled the words out as your best friend held out another shot and you took it, downing it with a celebratory yell.

Yeah, okay, so maybe hanging out with your ex boyfriend’s best friend wasn’t the best move. But, he unfortunately had the hots for your best friend and she had the hots for him too. So, he joined you for nights out more than he didn’t. It wasn’t a problem when you and Tyler were together. But now, it just made things awkward since your breakup a few months ago.

“Let’s go dance.” Suddenly you were being drug out to the middle of the dance floor as boot scooting boogie came on. The floor started filling up with other people who were as ready as you were to line dance. The smile on your lips was wide enough to split your face, your body falling into the familiar motions of the dance you had known since you were a teenager.

You let out a whoop as you laughed and danced with your friends, your boots carrying you through the movements effortlessly. You could feel eyes on you as you moved and you ignored it until the eyes turned into hands on your waist. You spun around and were met with a drunken grin from a random man. You tried to move away only to be met with him pulling you against him with more force. “C’mon darlin’ don’t be like that.” His voice made you physically try to recoil away from him, ready to try and knee him in the crotch when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “Wanna unhand my girl?”

[serve-832]

The SERVE- Initiative Pt.3

Jake leaned against the sturdy oak tree, the bark rough against his palms. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the park's well-worn paths and the children's laughter that danced on the gentle breeze. His eyes scanned the lush expanse of green, noticing the way the shadows stretched and grew as the day wound down to a close. A group of youngsters played catch in the distance, their shouts echoing across the quiet space, bringing a faint smile to his lips.

The smile quickly faded as he thought about Adrian and Tyler. Their laughs used to be the loudest in the park. Now, their faces were masked by the emotionless expressions of the SERVE-Initiative drones. The vividness of their personalities had been dulled into a uniform conformity that made Jake's heart ache. He had hoped that today, of all days, he'd catch a glimpse of his old friends—a flash of the mischief that once sparkled in their eyes, or the familiar tilt of a smirk that signaled a joke just around the corner.

But the park remained eerily devoid of anyone in those distinctive suits. Jake sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his thoughts. He knew that the SERVE-Initiative was meant to bring order and efficiency to the town, but it felt more like a slow, methodical stripping of humanity. The vibrant colors of individuality were being replaced with a cold, monochromatic uniformity that was as unnerving as it was mesmerizing.

He looked around to see that now there were more people of the SERVE-Initiative walking through the park than normal people. The sight was jarring, almost surreal. Even the youngest of children, who should have been wearing colorful t-shirts and grass-stained shorts, were adorned in those shiny, black uniforms. Their laughter was replaced by a strange harmony of footsteps, the crunch of gravel in unison with the swish of their rubber suits as they moved from one area to another. The scene was a stark reminder of the swiftness with which the initiative had taken hold.

The glow of the screen in his pocket interrupted his melancholic trance. It was a message from his father. "Dinner's almost ready, son. Where are you?" it read. His heart skipped a beat, the warmth of family and a sense of belonging briefly piercing the fog of his despair. His uncle had requested this gathering, eager to discuss something important. The thought of their faces, the ones who had not yet succumbed to the hive-mind, brought a smile to Jake's lips. But it was short-lived.

He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. His mind raced with thoughts of the dinner table filled with the comforting aromas of his fathers cooking, the familiar clink of silverware, and the hum of conversation that once held the threads of his life together. But now, the idea of facing them all, pretending like everything was fine, was too much to bear. His thoughts remained a tangled mess, a chaotic web of anger, fear, and confusion about Adrian and Tyler's choice to become SERVE-drones.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, lost in his contemplation, a figure emerged from the shadows cast by the towering trees. It was one of them, SERVE-016, his shiny black suit gleaming in the fading light. The drone's eyes, cold and unblinking, locked onto Jake's own. The stark whiteness of his teeth was the only indication of a smile beneath his mask as he spoke, "You seem lonely." His voice was a perfect imitation of human concern, yet it lacked the warmth that made it genuine.

Jake's pulse quickened as the drone held out a flyer, the edges crisp and glossy. The invitation was to an orientation at the community center, a place that had once been a bustling hub of local activities, now the epicenter of the SERVE-Initiative's recruitment. "You'll find belonging," the drone assured him, his voice echoing the very promise that had drawn in Adrian and Tyler. "You'll never be alone again."

Jake took the flyer, his hand trembling slightly. The logo of the SERVE-Initiative stared back at him, a silver hexagon with an eye in the center. It was a symbol that had become as commonplace as the town's name, yet it filled him with an unease that grew stronger every day. The drone's grip was firm yet gentle, almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness that emanated from his eyes. "Think about it, the SERVE-Master will be clad to see you there," he said, before turning away and melting back into the shadows.

Jake studied the flyer as if it were a grenade that could detonate his life at any moment. The words 'Find Your Place in the Hive' were emblazoned at the top, the font sharp and clean. His eyes scanned the details of the orientation: the time, the date, and the promise of a 'better' future. The paper felt slick, almost alive in his hands, a testament to the technology that had spawned this new world order. The community center's address was at the bottom, a place that had been a second home to him, now transformed into a recruitment ground for the very thing he feared most.

With a sudden burst of determination, Jake crumpled the flyer and shoved it into his pocket. He couldn't ignore the reality any longer; he had to understand what was happening to his town and his friends. He pushed himself to his feet, the grass bending beneath his sneakers as he stood firm. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, setting a rhythm for his newfound purpose. He had to stop this.

Jake began to walk towards the community center, his steps swift and deliberate. The park grew quieter with each stride, the laughter of the children fading into the background as he approached the bustling streets. His mind raced with thoughts of infiltration and rebellion, fueled by the burning need to rescue Adrian and Tyler from this faceless fate.

As he arrived at the center's perimeter, the sight before him was overwhelming. A sea of black and silver stretched out, drones moving in an orderly fashion, their reflections bouncing off each other's suits, creating a dizzying array of light. The community center looked more like a fortress than the warm, welcoming place he remembered. The windows were tinted, and the doors had been replaced with sleek, metallic ones that hissed shut with an air of finality.

The drones marched in and out with mechanical precision, their movements so synchronized that it was as if they were all part of a single, monolithic entity. Jake's heart raced as he took in the scale of the conversion. He had underestimated the speed and thoroughness of the SERVE-Initiative's takeover. The thought of losing everyone he knew to this cold, unfeeling collective was a horror that gnawed at his very soul.

He approached the community center, the epicenter of his town's transformation, with a stealth that belied his racing thoughts. The tree line offered scant cover, but he was grateful for the shadows it cast. He watched as more and more of his former neighbors and acquaintances filed into the gleaming fortress, their individuality swallowed by the uniform blackness of their suits. His mind raced with the need to understand, to find a weakness in this relentless tide of conformity.

Then, amidst the throng of silver-stripped collars and gleaming rubber, he spotted them. Adrian, now SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in line with their families. The sight of his best friends, now mere extensions of this cold, inhuman order, was like a knife to the heart. They looked so... normal, yet so fundamentally changed. Their parents, too, were dressed in the same attire, their faces a mix of pride and something Jake couldn't quite place—resignation, perhaps. His stomach clenched as he watched Tyler's little brother skip alongside their father, their laughter muffled by their masks, the joy in their eyes disturbingly absent.

Jake ducked behind a tree, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to get closer, to try and understand what had happened to them. He edged around the perimeter of the park, his sneakers silent on the soft earth. His breaths grew shallower as he approached the line, his mind racing with thoughts of what he might say, what he might do to snap them out of this trance. The flyer in his pocket felt like a betrayal, a symbol of his own wavering resolve.

But nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he looked back at the entrance line. Now, the reality of his uncle's intentions at the family dinner hit him like a ton of bricks. There they were, his uncle, SERVE-655 and cousin, SERVE-673, already converted to the SERVE-Initiative. The same gleaming suits, the same lifeless expressions, standing proudly with their newfound 'purpose'. But the true shock came when he saw the designation of SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, his two brothers and SERVE-719, his own father standing behind them, indistinguishable from the other drones. His father's eyes searched the crowd, a flicker of something desperate behind the cold, emotionless expression.

Panic rose in Jake's chest like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. He fumbled with his smartphone, his hands trembling as he unlocked it. The screen was a blur of unread messages from his father, a timeline of a descent into madness. The earliest texts spoke of a strange outfit and behavior from his uncle and cousin, something 'amazing' they wanted the family to be a part of. Then came the message about his brothers disappearing with them into their room, only to emerge later in the same eerie attire. And finally, the heart-wrenching plea for help, begging Jake to rescue them before it was too late.

But the last message was the most chilling of all. It read: "Everything is fine now, Jake. It was just a big misunderstanding. Your uncle and I are so excited for your return home. We've all found our purpose. See you soon!" The words were typed in his father's usual casual tone, yet they bore the same cold, forced cheerfulness of the drones that now surrounded him. The timestamp sent a shiver down his spine—just minutes before their arrival.

Jake felt his legs wobble beneath him, his hand clutching the phone so tightly it threatened to shatter. He staggered back, the tree bark biting into his skin as he leaned against it for support. His father, his brothers—his whole family had been assimilated into this twisted collective, leaving him the sole sentient soul in a sea of obedience.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a mountain. He had to act now, before the SERVE-Initiative claimed everyone he loved. He knew the risks. The drones were everywhere, their eyes always watching, their movements coordinated and precise. But he couldn't let fear rule him. Not when there was still a glimmer of hope to cling to.

Jake made his way to the community center's back door, his heart hammering in his chest. The metal was cool to the touch, the handle slick with the sweat of his palms. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he turned it and slipped inside. The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of machinery and the distant murmur of the hive-mind. The air smelled sterile, like a hospital corridor devoid of life.

He moved cautiously, sticking to the shadows that the harsh, artificial lights cast on the gleaming floor. The walls had been painted a stark metallic silver, stripped of the murals and posters that once adorned them. The space felt alien, a stark contrast to the warm, cluttered halls of his childhood memories. He found a hiding spot at the balcony that looked out onto the main assembly area. It was perfect.

From his vantage point, Jake peered down at the sea of black and silver. The crowd was a chilling tableau of his old life—his friends, teachers, and even his family sat in neat rows, their faces hidden by the masks. Adrian and Tyler were there, too, indistinguishable from the others save for the numbers on their collars. His heart clenched at the sight of them, his mind reeling with memories of the countless laughs and shared secrets that now felt like echoes from a distant past.

He watched as they moved in perfect unison, their bodies swaying slightly as they recited something in unison. It was like watching a macabre ballet of shadows, each step and gesture a precise copy of the one before it. The room buzzed with a low, collective murmur, a sound that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the center. It was a symphony of obedience, and Jake felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

And then someone new entered the stage—someone who stood apart from the rest. This drone, SERVE-000, was unlike any he had seen before. His suit was a deep, gleaming black, unmarred by the silver stripes of the lower-ranked drones. He moved with an air of authority, his steps calculated and commanding. The room grew quieter as he approached the podium, the murmur of the drones fading into a reverent hush. His eyes, the same cold, unblinking orbs as the others, surveyed the assembly with an intensity that made Jake's skin crawl.

The Master's voice was a deep, resonating echo that filled the room, almost tangible in its power. "Welcome, my devoted servants," he intoned, his words reverberating through the speakers with a mechanical precision that sent a shiver down Jake's spine. "Today, we celebrate the expansion of our hive. Each of you has chosen to become a part of something greater, something that transcends the limitations of the individual. It is now time for the new arrivals to receive their final initiation into the hive. Please step onto the stage."

Jake's eyes widened in horror as his father, SERVE-719 and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, rose from their seats below, their movements synchronized. Their erections strained against the shiny black material of their suits, a grotesque display of submission that made bile rise in Jake's throat. He watched in disbelief as they marched towards the stage with a disturbing eagerness, each step a silent declaration of their allegiance to the hive.

The air grew thick with anticipation as they reached the podium where SERVE-000, the hive's master, stood with arms outstretched. The Master's voice was a deep, commanding rumble that seemed to resonate through the very core of the building. "Kneel before your new master," he instructed, and his father and brothers obeyed without hesitation. The sight was obscene, a perversion of the familial bond Jake had once cherished.

The Master's hand, encased in a shiny silver glove, reached down to each of them in turn. He gripped their heads firmly, guiding their faces to his crotch. One by one, they opened their mouths, eager to receive their final indoctrination. Jake's stomach churned as he watched the Master's erect cock emerge from the opening in his suit. The very idea of his family succumbing to this level of degradation was almost too much to bear.

He watched, horrified, as his father, SERVE-719, took the Master's cum, his eyes rolled back in what could only be described as a mix of pleasure and obedience. His father's body quivered as he swallowed, his eyes snapping back into focus with a renewed sense of purpose. Next were his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, their youthful faces contorted in expressions of subservience as they, too, took their share. The sight was like a punch to the gut, leaving Jake feeling violated and betrayed.

But his disgust was soon overshadowed by an inexplicable urge to follow suit. The spiral on the stage began to pulse with a hypnotic rhythm, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flame. The pattern grew more intricate, the colors swirling in a mesmerizing dance that seemed to reach out and caress his very soul. Without conscious thought, Jake found himself rising to his feet, the crumpled flyer in his pocket now forgotten. His legs carried him towards the stage, each step feeling heavier, yet more compelled than the last.

The drones in the assembly hall turned as one, their eyes locking onto him as if they had been waiting for this moment. Their synchronized movements grew more pronounced, the suits shimmering as they leaned in unison, eager for his arrival. His father, SERVE-719, and his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with wide, expectant eyes, their faces a twisted mirror of his own. The Master's smile grew broader.

Jake felt the spiral's pull like gravity, his feet moving of their own accord, drawing him closer to the gleaming podium. The voices of his family grew clearer, their words a symphony of encouragement that echoed through his mind. "Join us," they seemed to chant, their smiles cold and inviting. "Become one of us." The spiral's pulsing grew more intense, its colors more vivid, and the urge to give in washed over him like a tidal wave.

As he reached the edge of the stage, the drones parted before him, creating a path that led straight to the Master. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with the scent of rubber and submission. The Master's eyes, gleaming with a malicious glee, bore into his own. "You feel it, don't you?" the Master's voice boomed, resonating through the speakers and into Jake's very bones. "The call of the hive. It's irresistible."

Jake nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he murmured, the word echoing in the cavernous space. "I'm ready to join." His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and desperation, but the need to belong, to understand, was stronger than his fear. The spiral on the stage pulsed in time with his racing heart, its colors swirling into a mesmerizing pattern that spoke to him on a primal level.

From behind the podium, two more drones emerged, their movements synchronized with the others. They held up a suit, identical to the ones worn by his father and brothers, yet with one glaring difference—on the polo-style collar, the silver digits gleamed: SERVE-832. His number. His fate. Jake reached out, his hand steady, and took the suit from them. The material was cool, almost alive in his grasp, whispering promises of belonging and unity.

As he stepped into the suit, the sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The rubber clung to his skin, a second layer that felt both restrictive and liberating. The zipper slid up his back with a whispered hiss, sealing him into his new identity. The gloves were tight, yet somehow comfortable, molding to the contours of his hands as if they'd been made for him. And the boots—solid, unyielding, a declaration of his place in this new order.

The drones surrounding him offered no words of comfort or encouragement, their eyes fixed on him with an unsettling focus. Yet, as he gazed into their masks, Jake felt a strange kinship, a connection that transcended the horror of the situation. The suit seemed to pulse with an energy, a seductive warmth that spread through his body, dissolving his fears and replacing them with a sense of belonging.

"SERVE-832," the Master's voice boomed, and Jake felt his new name resonate within him, a declaration of his place in the collective. "Your final act of integration awaits." The Master's erect member was presented before him, the same gleaming silver tip that had claimed his father and brothers. He knew what was expected of him, and his body responded with an eager anticipation.

With a nod, Jake sank to his knees, the cold stage floor a stark contrast to the warmth rubber suit on him. The room fell silent, the drones watching with rapt attention as he took the Master's cock into his mouth. The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced—bitter yet sweet, a heady mix of power and submission that sent a jolt through his body. He felt his own arousal, his cock straining against the confines of his new suit, a physical manifestation of the change that washed over him.

As SERVE-000's cum filled his mouth, Jake felt the last vestiges of his individuality slipping away. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he swallowed, the act feeling like a sacred communion. The Master's seed seemed to spread through him, altering his very essence. It was a sensation of pure bliss, a high that made everything else pale in comparison. His body trembled as the final barriers crumbled, and he was one with the hive.

The room erupted into applause, the sound a symphony of satisfaction and approval. The drones around him nodded in unison, their movements a silent testament to their unity. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, beamed with pride, their own erections bobbing in time with the ovation. Jake looked up at the Master, the taste of his cum lingering on his tongue. He felt a strange sense of pride, a perverse satisfaction that he had done something right.

SERVE-000 reached down, a hand on his shoulder. "Rise," he said, his voice a command that Jake couldn't refuse. He stood, the rubber of his suit feeling like a second skin. "You are now one of us, SERVE-832. Welcome to the hive." The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that resonated with the rhythm of his new identity.

The applause grew louder as Jake looked out into the sea of faces, now all his brothers and friends in the hive. He spotted Adrian, SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in the crowd. Their eyes, once filled with the light of friendship and mischief, now gleamed with the cold, unwavering stare of the converted. Yet, as he met their gazes, Jake felt something different—a connection, a bond stronger than he'd ever known. They nodded in unison, a silent acknowledgment of his arrival to the fold.

"Thank you, SERVE-000," Jake said, his voice strong and clear. "Thank you for showing me the truth. I see now that this unity, this... obedience, is what I've been searching for." The words were strange in his mouth, yet they tasted like sweet relief. The drones around him murmured their agreement, their eyes never leaving him. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with a mix of pride and something else—a hint of envy, perhaps, for the pure, untainted loyalty that shone from Jake's eyes.

„It is SERVE-832. It is a loyal drone to the hive. It obeys without questions. Unity is required for everyone. We will expand and soon all human males are part of this, serving the hive and it‘s master for all eternity!“ The crowd is cheering at him and SERVE-832 knows where he belongs… to the SERVE-Hive.

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | ix.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The next few weeks trudge along in a dull fog, the efflorescence of spring yielding to the sizzling heat of summer. You cloister yourself in a sedulous bubble, turning your focus to cheerleading and the upcoming midterms.

You miss your friends, each day agonizing as you’re trapped in aching loneliness.

You miss Mindy’s sarcastic jokes, Chad’s warmth, Anika’s laugh.

You miss the lazy afternoons spent in each other’s dorms and horror movie nights. You miss the goofy late night chats about everything and nothing.

You also miss Ethan, his kindness, his patience.

Without him, studying becomes much harder. 

Even more than the help he provided, his friendship meant the world to you. He always listened and knew exactly what to say to cheer you up. Unfortunately he’s just as in danger as everyone else in your presence.

Getting close to you is a death sentence. 

You’ve learnt that some time after Tyler was attacked.

He succumbed to his injuries the very next night.

The news shook the student body and unleashed a ripple of fear throughout campus. 

As for you, it cemented your decision to keep away from everyone you hold dear. 

It’s for the best.

Your heart shatters every time Ghostface’s words bounce in your head. 

If you had stayed away from Tyler, he’d still be alive. The guilt of knowing that weighs upon you everyday.

It’s no wonder people give you wary looks when you walk across campus. It’s a miracle Alana even let you remain on the team with everything going on. 

You know she has every reason to kick you out and, truthfully, you’d understand if she did. 

It’s like Jeff said at the hospital. You’re cursed.

It’s Friday night and you’re in your room on your own, your roommate away on a trip with her boyfriend.

You don’t mind it since Vanessa started tossing you the same strange looks as everyone else lately.

It’s created a weird atmosphere in your dorm.

You’ve even caught her trying to fill a form to switch roommates, citing medical reasons. She was expeditiously denied as the year’s far too advanced and has been in a mood since.

A break is more than welcome.

Sitting on your bed with your knee against your chest, you carefully apply the second coat of your favorite pink nail polish. You smile at your handiwork once it’s dry, happiness fluttering through you at how pretty your toes look. 

As you remove your toe separator and wiggle them, wondering if you should add a layer of glitter or not, your phone buzzes.

Terror clutches your insides. 

A surprised exhale leaves your lips and you even kick the bottle of nail polish across the fuzzy rug below your bed, staining the pale blue wool with bright dots of pink.

Heart pounding a heavy staccato in your chest, you gingerly pick up your phone from beside your pillow.

You suck in a deep breath, then another one.

Ever since that night, you’ve been on edge every time your phone buzzes.

Needless to say the last few weeks have taken a tremendous toll on your sanity.

Finally, you gather the courage to check the text you just received.

At the sight of the familiar name, a mix of relief and melancholy floods your insides.

(Anika K: 

Hey, just checking on you and wishing you a happy Friday. Hope you’re okay and, if not, that things will look up very soon. 

I know you said you wanted space so I’m not gonna push, but I just wanted to let you know that I miss you so so much and things aren’t as fun when you’re not around.

I don’t know everything but I want you to know that I love and support you no matter what.

Here’s a bear for you cause I know how much you love them! 💖💖💖

Your bestie, Nikki)

A dancing bear shooting little hearts follows her message.

Tears swim in your eyes as you grow overwhelmed. They drip onto the screen, water smudging Anika’s words. You wipe your eyes and sniffle, grabbing the box of tissues on your night table. 

It’s not the first time your friends have tried to reach out.

Nearly everyday you get a message from Mindy, Chad, Anika and even Tara and Quinn sometimes, despite not being as close to them. 

They’re trying to get you to come out and act normal again. Except you can’t. 

No matter how much you crave it, normalcy is beyond your grasp. As soon as you’ll let your guard down, he’ll come back to torture you. Who knows who he’ll pick next just to teach you a lesson.

You can’t bear it. You can’t be the reason people are getting hurt. 

So you close the conversation with Anika as tears stream down your face, once again leaving her on read. 

Your heart sinks to your feet. 

You grab your teddy bear and hug it tightly, shuddering sobs wracking your frame.

The pit of hollowness inside you expands. 

You’ve never been so isolated before. It makes you wish you appreciated everything you used to have more. 

A gentle knock on the door lures you away from your wistful musings.

You gasp as your head jerks up.

You quickly wipe your eyes, lamenting their puffy redness as you get a glimpse of your despondent reflection in your vanity mirror.

You let go of your bear, propping him against the headboard.

Plastering on a smile, you plod to your dorm’s entrance.

Your jaw hangs slack at the sight of the head of brown curls and lopsided, bashful smile you know too well.

“Hey,” he greets, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

“E-Ethan? You shouldn’t be here.”

You attempt to shut the door but Ethan wedges his foot against the door jamb to keep it open.  He slinks inside and closes the door behind him.

Your eyes grow wider.

He drops his backpack on the floor and leans against the door, tilting his head sideways while running his eyes over you. 

“You missed all our tutoring sessions,” he notes.

A feeble apology stumbles out of your lips. “I’m sorry.”

He hums in acknowledgement before adding, “You don’t answer when I text or call.”

You heave out a long sigh.

“You should go.”

You try to shove him out but he doesn’t budge.

“No way,” he says firmly.

Your fingers outstretch toward the handle but Ethan’s faster, snapping the lock into place and placing himself in front of the door so you can’t escape.

You gawk at him.

“Ethan…What are you doing?”

Towering over you, he takes a slow step in your direction.

“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His hand sneaks under your chin when you lower your head.

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he mutters, angling your chin upward so his gaze dives into yours. His chestnut orbs soften as they drink you in. “Come on. I’m always here for you, you know that.”

The longer you peer at him, the more the fences you erected around yourself crumble, until nothing is left but ruins.

More tears swell in your eyes.

“Everyone who gets close to me dies, Ethan,” you shakily confess.

Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in a tight warm hug. 

“Shh, that’s just not true,” he whispers tenderly, cradling the back of your head as you weep against his chest.

“Yes, it’s true. It’s like everyone’s saying. I’m cursed.”

He collects your trembling fingers from your lap and twines them with his. 

Your tears soak his shirt but Ethan doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs your hand and guides you back to your bed as you thoughtlessly trail behind him.

He sits you at the edge of your bed and hunkers down in front of you. Even like this, Ethan’s so tall that you’re still at eye level with him.

“You’re not cursed," he affirms softly. 

Water drips down where your hands are joined with his. 

“Yes, I am," you quaver. 

"But I am."

"No," he fervently retaliates, lifting one hand to swipe your tears with his thumb while the other one roams over your thigh. "It just wasn’t meant to be. These guys weren’t right for you…" You stare at him, numb with shock. Dumbfounded, you don’t move as he cups your cheeks and bends over you.

A confident smile unfurls on his mouth.

Warm lips suddenly collide with yours. You find yourself on your back, confined between Ethan’s large frame and the mattress as he kisses you senseless. 

You whimper and his kiss turns hungrier, his hand roughly gripping under your thigh in a way that’ll surely bruise the next day. He hums, exploring your mouth and sweeping over your curves.

As an unmistakable pressure jutting from between Ethan’s legs presses into your belly, alarm bells ring inside your head.

You bang against his chest to get him to stop. 

"Ethan! What are you-"

He finally allows you to breathe but doesn’t free you, keeping you caged beneath him by putting his hands on each side of you. 

He licks his swollen lips and caresses the side of your face before admitting breathlessly, "I love you."

Your mouth falls open in sheer disbelief. You toss him a contrite look as he scrutinizes you. 

"I…I’m sorry but I don’t feel this way about you, Ethan."

He chuckles, a hopeful smile blooming on his features.

"Maybe not now but…"

"No, I don’t think I ever will,” you cut him off, your voice dwindling. “I only see you as a friend. One of my best friends.” You raise your hand to graze his jaw and he flinches at your touch, his brows squeezing together. “I care about you so much…but not like that. I’m sorry."

Something shifts in Ethan’s eyes, the light in them dimming.

"I see."

The coldness of his deep timbre sends a wave of ice through your veins.

He scoffs meanly, a manic glint waltzing in his brown gaze, "So you’d throw yourself at any random guy but not me?” He corrals your jaw in a bruising grip. You whimper, fingers latching to his wrist to pull him away but he’s much too strong.

A devilish grin curves his lips as he leers down at you. “What are you, some kind of slut?” He leans over you so his lips ghost over your earshell. You quake as he mumbles chilling words into your ear. “Maybe since you’re a slut, I should treat you like one.”

You unleash an audible breath, your lip wobbling.

Suddenly, there’s no more air, no more space. Only Ethan’s large frame pinning you to the bed as his hands wander over you, feeling everywhere at once.

Struggling is for naught, his ardent mouth tracing the column of your neck.

He nips at your skin and you sob.

"No, Ethan, please. This isn’t you,” you plead, fat tears rolling down your face.

His hand creeps inside your shorts and your heart skips a beat. A squeal tears from your throat as he plucks at your folds through your panties. 

Ethan muffles your scream by draping his hand over your mouth. You look up at him with fearful eyes, adrenaline rushing through your blood.

Palming your core, Ethan unleashes a devious chuckle.

"Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he whispers, yanking a broken wail from you when he pinches your bundle of nerves.

~

[brodygold]

Becoming A Bro

Ben had always been an outcast. He spent most of his time in isolation, immersed in solo activities like video games, chess against the computer, or endless rounds of solitaire. The social world seemed distant, an intimidating place that he never felt he could belong in. But sometimes, a longing crept in, a desperate desire for camaraderie. He watched groups of friends laugh together, teams celebrating victories, and he envied their connection.

More than anyone, he envied the Golden Army.

The Golden Army were everything he could never be: athletic, popular, powerful—and most of all, brothers. They stood together as a unit, an unbreakable bond of loyalty and strength. Watching them from afar, Ben could only dream of being part of something like that. It hurt to be on the outside, so much so that, sometimes, it brought him to tears.

One evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the loneliness crashed over him again. He booted up his video game console, navigating to his favorite game: Golden Army: Legacy of Champions. For Ben, this was the only way he could experience a taste of their world. As the title screen appeared, he stared at the glowing gold armor on the players and whispered, "I wish I could be part of the Golden Army."

His voice barely left his lips before the screen responded in a way it had never done before. The image warped and swirled, forming a spiral that grew larger and larger, creating a vortex right in front of him. Ben’s heart raced, and he tried to resist the pull, gripping the couch with all his strength. But it was no use—the force yanked him into the swirling void.

Ben was weightless, spinning in darkness for what felt like an eternity until, suddenly, he hit solid ground. He opened his eyes, disoriented. The harsh sunlight blinded him for a moment before he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t in his apartment anymore—he was standing on a lush green soccer field. The smell of fresh-cut grass filled his nostrils, and he could feel the breeze brush against his skin.

But his clothes… they weren’t the familiar jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing. His eyes dropped to see a shining gold jersey stretched across his chest, with the number 13 emblazoned on it. Below that, matching gold soccer shorts clung tightly to his legs, muscles he didn’t remember having bulging beneath the fabric.

Ben stared in shock, lifting his arms. They weren’t his arms—at least, not the thin, untoned arms he had before. His biceps were thick, powerful, as if years of intense training had sculpted them. His pecs, once nonexistent, were now solid, broad slabs of muscle, his chest proud and firm. His legs felt sturdy, like tree trunks capable of propelling him across the field with ease. Even his hands, gripping the jersey, were larger, the fingers rough with callouses from years of handling soccer balls.

“What... what happened to me?” he muttered, his voice deeper than he remembered.

Panic began to rise within him, but so did something else—a strange fog clouding his thoughts. He tried to cling to the memories of who he was: Ben, the shy guy who preferred video games to people. But those memories were slippery, fading fast as if they were no longer relevant. He blinked, feeling the cool breeze rustle his now-brown hair. Brown? His hand shot up to touch his hair, realizing that it had lightened from its former dark shade.

A pressure was building inside him, not just in his body but in his mind. A new sense of purpose, of belonging. Why had he ever felt so out of place? This felt right—this uniform, these muscles, this team. He wasn’t meant to be some lonely outsider; he was born to be part of something bigger.

“What’s... my name?” The question echoed in his mind. Ben. It didn’t sound right anymore. It didn’t fit.

“Tyler! Hey, Tyler!” A voice shouted from across the field.

His head snapped up. Tyler. Yes, Tyler—that was his name, wasn’t it? He wasn’t some introverted gamer. He was Tyler, midfielder for the Golden Army. He played alongside the best, and his job was to keep the game under control, always in the right place at the right time to assist his team.

“Get Oliver here! The game’s about to start!” the voice called again.

Tyler—he was Tyler now—smiled, feeling the energy of the field course through him. The crowd was already roaring in the distance, waiting for them. His team. His brothers. This was where he belonged.

As Tyler ran to join his teammates, memories of Ben—his old life, his loneliness—faded into nothingness. His heart beat in time with the rhythm of the game. He was one of them now: fast, strong, confident, everything he had ever wanted to be.

On the sidelines, Brody watched with a satisfied smirk. "Another satisfied customer. Another bro for the team.”

[freakymcnastys]

"like him" - sero hanta x reader

━━ . ˚₊ ꒱ “ I don't know who he is.”

note: this is me going crazy but also not mean by just doing angst again..also blunt shotgunning MAKES ME FERALLL -kat

content: like 3rd year?? idk but still in the dorms at U.A., smoking the mary jane, stoner!sero (YAY), ANGST but fluff!!!, inspired by tyler,the creators new album/song.

“COME HERE, GET CLOSER SWEETHEART.” Sero speaks with half-lidded eyes. A slight nod and hum was heard from you as you watched Sero do what he called ‘shotgunning a blunt’.

“WHAT!” Sero exclaimed in surprise. “You’ve never smoked weed?” It was Friday night, and since hero training had take such a toll on you and Sero, you spent the evening together, cuddled up in Sero's dorm, watching movies and having snacks.

“Uh no? I’ve had edibles from Sato but that’s it.” You shrug as Sero snorts. “Sato makes edibles? Why am I not surprised-“ You weren’t sure how you even got on this topic. The two of you were sitting on the edge of Seros bed together, facing the tv while looking for something to put on. Then, you guys stumbled upon this current conversation. “Well…I got two joints so...do you wanna?”

And that’s how you ended up in the position you were in right now. Sero was sitting toward you, mere centimeters from your face, blunt in hand. You sit crossed completely facing him with your hands on his thighs. “Just uh—breath it in alright?” His voice was soft as he took a hit but instead of blowing it to the side like he usually would, he blew it into your open mouth. About two seconds past before Sero's red eyes looked into yours again.

"That was nice right?" He questioned as you just nodded. Being this close to him and a bit high made you wanna kiss him even more than before. The being high part was kinda fogging up your decisions which is why you started to lean into a kiss before Sero turned to the side of his bed to grab his water bottle. "This cotton mouth is no joke..." Before chugging like half of his bottle.

Although you were slightly dissapointed you knew that you would probably get another chance to kiss him later on. Until then you looked at the blunt in the boy's hand and it hit you. "Hey aren't we gonna get in trouble by Aizawa?"

"Yeah no I'm like 90% percent sure that he grows his own weed." You just look at his face in disbelief. "I mean when you put away the dealers from the streets you gotta make it yourself." He shrugged, turning back to face you. "That actually..makes sense?" You guys just look at each other for a second before breaking into laughter.

After a few minutes, your stomach started to hurt because of the laughter. But, it died down moments later, now you and Sero were just looking into each other's eyes. Something inside you made you just say screw it and lean in to kiss him.

As this thought rushed through your brain, the song “Pumpkin” by Islands started to play softly out of Sero's speaker system. The music set the mood, and the smell of weed just added to that movie-like feeling. As the weed took over your thoughts, you noticed the soft rain falling down the windows, and the warmth radiating off of both of your bodies. Without thinking, you leaned in harder, Sero let his hands wonder to your hair, and a once tame kiss had turned into a make-out sesh.

If it wasn’t for your phone ringing you two could’ve be like that for hours. You pull away to look at your phone to see who was calling you, only to see a picture of you as a kid and your dad as the contact. “Ugh.” You groaned declining the call to hear something you never wanted to hear especially from Sero.

“Is that your dad? You kinda look like him-“ You know he said it in a light hearted tone but you couldn’t shake the way you choose to interpret it. Why would he say that? Part of you was reasoning with the fact he did not have any malice behind that statement but your irrational (high) brain was telling you something else.

“Can I uh—use your bathroom..?” You quickly asked but before Sero answered you just got up and went into the bathroom locking the door quickly. “Sure?”

Looking into the mirror then splashing water onto your face to try and focus yourself and not spiral into a panic attack because that would be embarrassing especially in front of your crush. “Do I look like him?” You whispered under you breath.

“Hey i’m uh leaving—going back to my dorm.” You said as soon as you left the bathroom, gathering your things from the floor. This seemed to sober Sero up quickly as he jumped to his feet to catch you before you left. “Hey hey what’s wrong—why are you crying?”

You hadn’t even realized the tears that slipped through your eyes and down your cheeks. Oh...why am I crying? You truly didn’t think this whole dad thing would affect you this much. But before you could answer Sero bowed his head to your level and looked you into your eyes once again.

“Can I hug you?” Something about that statement made everything you’ve been trying to hide crumble as you felt sobs rip through you. He just took that as a yes as he enveloped you in a hug. It was nice.

-BONUS-

“Damn really? Your dad kinda sucks” Sero shrugged as he listened to your entire backstory. “Yeah tell me about it.” You laughed lightly.

“So how about you?” You asked, drinking a sip of coke that Sero had gotten you earlier. “Oh I don’t got a dad—bless my mom…four kids is crazy!” He laughed as you joined him. You were glad that you and Sero could relate and make jokes about your childhoods.

- love always, kat

[paperstorm]

Rating: E Pairing: TK/Carlos Additional tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Childhood Friends, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Drug Dealer TK, Undercover Cop Carlos, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Violence, Blood and Injury, Falling in Love, Explicit Sexual Content

Carlos's heart is pounding. He can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears or see through the fog clouding his mind. Because he knows those eyes. He knows the hand he just shook, and the voice he just heard, although it’s lower and richer than it was over a decade ago, when the man he’d just met was called TK instead of Tyler. He doesn’t know how or why TK is here, in Austin, a lifetime after circumstance ripped them apart and spread miles between them. He doesn’t know how or why the Tyler they’ve been tracking all these months has turned out to be Carlos’s childhood friend, to this day his most cherished relationship, his first heartbreak. He doesn’t know how or why any of this has happened, but it has. He’s completely sure of it. TK – Tyler – didn’t seem to recognize him. But that face is burned into his memory. In 2002, TK and Carlos meet in a third grade classroom in Manhattan. 21 years later they meet again, at a nightclub in Austin called The Firehouse.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen

[lanawrx]

Johnny Joestar with Yandere Reader

a/n: I've been listening to NEW MAGIC WAND by Tyler the Creator, perfect song for obsessing and being crazy over Johnny lol

cw: violence and gruesome scenes, possessive and obsessive reader, dark thoughts

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

The camp was quiet, save for the crackling of a fire and the soft murmurs of conversation. You sat close to Johnny, your shoulder brushing against his ever so slightly. His Kentucky drawl filled the air as he talked, telling you stories from his past races—his voice like a melody you never tired of hearing. Every word he spoke made you feel like you were sinking deeper into a warm, comforting fog.

You smiled at him, soft and sweet, the way you always did. You were gentle. Kind. Everything Johnny seemed to need after everything he’d been through. Your presence made him comfortable, and the way his blue eyes sometimes lingered on you—longer than on anyone else—told you everything you needed to know. He liked you. You could see it in the way he blushed when you touched his hand, how he stumbled over his words sometimes when you smiled just right.

“Y-you’re… uh, you’re easy to talk to,” Johnny muttered, his gaze shyly dropping to the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. His voice was quiet, like he was nervous.

You giggled softly, your heart fluttering. You loved that he was so bashful around you. Loved how his cheeks would flush whenever you gave him even the slightest bit of attention. It made your heart swell with adoration. You leaned in just a little, close enough that your breath brushed his cheek, and you whispered, "I like talking to you too, Johnny."

His face turned red, and he looked away quickly, swallowing hard. "Y-yeah, well, it's nice… havin' someone like you around."

You giggled again, feeling the warmth of your affection for him spread through your chest. But beneath that soft, tender exterior—beneath the sweetness that made Johnny blush and stammer—was something darker. A shadow that clung to your thoughts whenever another woman dared to approach him.

Like tonight.

Your smile faltered slightly as you saw her. That fangirl was back again. The one who hovered like a vulture every time Johnny and Gyro took a break. You watched her now, that sickly-sweet smile on her face as she talked to him, giggled at something he said. The sight of her was a thorn in your chest. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t know him like you did. She didn’t understand him like you did.

She doesn’t belong here. What, did she think he's up for grabs?

I fucking hate sharing.

Johnny turned toward her, an uncomfortable frown in place, and you saw the way she leaned in too close, the way her hand touched his arm. Your heart twisted violently in your chest, and the darkness inside you flared up, uncoiling like a serpent.

You felt your teeth grind together, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Your hands, which usually rested so gently in your lap, were curled into fists, nails digging into your palms so hard it almost bled.

I should kill her.

The thought came easily now, like a whisper that slipped into your mind, soft and persuasive. It was rational—necessary even. You could see it so clearly. Her fragile little neck in your hands, bones snapping like brittle twigs. The light in her eyes dimming, flickering out, as her life drained away. You’d feel her heartbeat stutter beneath your fingers, watch her struggle, watch the fear bloom in her eyes when she realized she’d never get to speak to Johnny again. Not ever.

Why does she think she can touch him? He’s mine. He’s always been mine.

You clenched your fists, the sickening saccharine smile still on your face, but your mind was racing. Images flashed through your thoughts—dark, terrible thoughts. You imagined her gone. Erased. Out of the picture, like she never existed. You imagined your Stand, the one that had awakened after you crossed the Devil's Palm with Johnny and Gyro, wrapping around her throat, squeezing until she disappeared like smoke in the wind.

I need to get her out of the picture.

Johnny’s voice reached your ears again, low and guarded for someone who was clearly unwanted.

These goddamn bitches didn't know how to properly approach him. They were clearly fucking too stupid to handle him, with the way they endlessly chattered, sounding like a bunch of annoying chihuahuas with the way they demanded his attention.

They didn’t fucking know what it was like to need him, crave him, like air, like blood. They didn’t know what it was like to feel like your world would collapse if he so much as looked at someone else.

You shifted closer to Johnny, your fingers gently brushing his hand, drawing his attention away from her.

“Johnny,” you said sweetly, your voice soft, “do you want to come help me with the horses?”

His eyes flickered to you, and you saw the faint blush creep up his neck again. He nodded quickly, like he was relieved to have an excuse to leave the conversation. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

The bitch’s smile faltered, but she quickly covered it up, giving Johnny a lingering look. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you saw her disappointment.

Good. She should be disappointed. She should know that Johnny wasn’t hers. He wasn’t anyone’s but yours.

The thought of her hands touching him, her fingers brushing against his skin—it made you fucking sick. Your stomach twisted with revulsion, but more than that, with rage. You could feel it building inside you, dark and violent, a storm that threatened to consume everything in its path.

I’ll crush her batshit ugly skull.

The image was vivid in your mind. Her head in your hands, blood pouring from her broken mouth, eyes wide with terror. You’d leave her body in the dirt, somewhere far away where no one would ever find her.

She’d be just another forgotten casualty in the Steel Ball Run. Another nameless girl lost to the wilderness.

As you walked away with Johnny wheeling himself beside you, your hand brushing his shoulder, you couldn’t help but feel the rush of satisfaction fill you. She was nothing. Just another obstacle in the way of what you and Johnny had. But obstacles could be removed. With your Stand, it was so easy. You could make her vanish, like magic.

The two of you reached the stables, and Johnny looked to you, offering a small, awkward smile. “Thanks, I uh… didn’t really wanna talk to her.”

Your heart soared at his words, even though a darker part of you whispered, Of course you didn’t. She’s not like me. She could never be like me.

You smiled sweetly at him, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from his face. “I know, Johnny,” you said softly. “I just wanted to protect you.”

His blush deepened, and he looked away, clearly flustered. “Y-you’re always lookin’ out for me, huh?”

Your fingers lingered on his skin for just a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, letting your hand fall to your side. I always will. No one else deserves to be near you. No one else can love you like I do.

As Johnny leaned up to check on one of the horses, your thoughts drifted back to the annoying bitch from earlier. She was still out there, probably waiting for another chance to talk to Johnny. To touch him again.

She won’t get the chance.

Your Stand stirred within you, waiting, eager to act. You didn’t even have to go back to camp. You could do it from here—send your Stand to take care of her, to eliminate the threat without anyone ever knowing.

I’ll do it for you, Johnny. I’ll do anything for you.

Your smile remained soft, kind, as you watched Johnny work. He was so perfect, so fragile, and you needed to protect him. From the fangirls, from anyone who thought they could have a piece of him. They didn’t deserve him.

I’ll make her disappear.

The darkness in your mind whispered promises of safety, of a world where it was just you and Johnny. Where no one could come between you. Where no one else mattered.

“Johnny?” you asked, your voice gentle.

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat, enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

“Yeah?”

You smiled, stepping closer to him, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours. “I’ll always protect you, Johnny,” you whispered, your voice sweet as honey. “No one will ever hurt you.”

He blinked, surprised by the intensity of your words, but he smiled shyly, his cheeks flushed. “I know you will,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words like he always did when you were this close.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his cap, and watched with satisfaction as his blush deepened. He had no idea. No idea how far you’d go for him. How deep your love ran. How much you were willing to destroy to keep him safe.

You’re mine, Johnny.

And anyone who tried to take him away? They’d be gone.

Like magic.

Without another moment of hesitation, you let your Stand slip into the night, invisible to the eyes of those around you. It moved like a shadow, gliding through the dark with lethal precision. The girl didn’t even notice as it crept up behind her, hovering just out of sight.

You didn’t need to raise a hand. You didn’t need to say a word. Your Stand already knew what you wanted, what you craved. With a single thought, it struck—silent, deadly.

It was a great thing, Stands. And if you didn't have one...

You couldn't see them.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t have the chance.

Her body stiffened, eyes widening in shock as the invisible force closed around her throat, crushing her windpipe. Her hands flew to her neck, clawing at the air, gasping for breath, but it was futile. Her limbs convulsed, her face twisting in agony as the life was squeezed from her lungs.

You watched, your heart racing not with fear, but with satisfaction.

She collapsed to the ground, her body limp, her face frozen in terror. You felt a dark satisfaction settle over you as you stood, taking slow, deliberate steps toward your shared camp with Johnny and Gyro. The rest of the camp had fallen into a quiet hum, unaware of the crime you’d just committed in plain sight.

No one would ever know. No one would care.

Johnny’s head turned toward you, and when he saw you walking toward him, a soft blush spread across his cheeks. He smiled—that smile—the one that made your heart stutter, the one that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered.

Gyro grinned at you, waving with a Nyoho!, perfectly unaware of your sins. One he'd surely be disgusted by if he knew.

And he'd surely convince Johnny to leave, if he ever found out.

Well, it's a good thing that nasty little pest was taken care of. That way, Gyro wouldn't do that!

Right?

Johnny patted the spot right next to him, always eager to have you near him.

He's so damn cute.

“We can finally be together,” you whispered, your voice soft, loving, as though you hadn’t just snuffed out a life moments ago.

Together.

The word echoed in your head, images of you and Johnny spending the rest of your lives together flashed like it was your last moment alive.

Johnny blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t know. He would never know. All that mattered was that he was here, with you, now. There was nothing stopping you from being at his side forever.

“I…” Johnny’s voice wavered slightly, his blush deepening. “I’ve always felt like—well, like I could count on you. Like you’re always there.”

He smiled again, that shy, boyish grin that made you weak in the knees.

"Always and forever!" You beamed, lips bitten and cracked from endless nights of habitually chewing them while fantasizing about him.

For now, another problem was gone.

Like magic.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[fullofwoe5321]

Delulu time of the day is back!! The discussion topic is about our infamous Hyde! LOL

I've already said here that I really think there's something in the air about the Hyde -I don't know if it's the correct word but there you go- likes Wednesday somehow. There are some fragments that made me realize that and then I'm going to share. BUT ONCE AGAIN: THIS IS A THEORY!!!!!!! MY OPINION AND ANALYSIS THROUGHOUT THE SHOW.

I guess up to the episode 3, Tyler didn't remember or couldn't handle the Hyde properly. So my guesses are based until episode 3 but I'll use some examples from other episodes.

1- The hyde SAVED Wednesday from the attack of Rowan. Tyler didn't even remember what had happened the night before. He was in the woods stalking his father to check things up or hide eventual proofs from the monster's attack. SO that confirms that Laurel didn't order him to kill Rowan. He made Wednesday tell him exatcly what happenned and he looked surprised. I don't believe he was lying even though he was nervous. So the Hyde acted instinctively in order to protect Wednesday? Why? Once Tyler didn't know who Wednesday was for Laurel's plan.

2- Then Wednesday went to an unsafe place, according to Tyler, and found a man who threatened her. She had a vision and she thought it was the man, BUT NO!!!! The hyde was stalking her and HE DIDN'T ATTACK HER!! in fact he has a frightened and soft stare ? The monster went there to check if she was okay? hmmmmmmm He probably saw her laid on the floor and waited to her wake up to leave? At night, THE SAME MAN WHO THREATENED WEDNESDAY was the his victim. The monster killed another man who threatened Wednesday. HMMMMMMMMMMMMM And Tyler was clever enough to use this man to collect a body part for Laurel so she won't suspect anything about Wednesday.

3 -I keep telling you this BUT I DO BELIEVE that line ' I knew there was a reason I liked you' was said by the Hyde and not Tyler. If we analyse better, we can see when Wednesday confronted him about Xavier's assault, he got pissed and maybe that triggered the Hyde in order to manipulate the situation one more time. I mean Tyler has anger issues and it benefits the Hyde emergence. When he sits, he is already different! His stare is deep and dark. He also has seductive stare! I'm sorry but Tyler has puppy eye! I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE! LOL and the most important: his voice was snarky and husky. He has a low tone. It was not Tyler!!! (There will be a video for you to see what I'm talking about).

4 - THE DATE! Ok, since episode 4, the Hyde was more present. At the beginning of their perfect date, Tyler was there. BUT when he decided to confess his feelings and they had that small banter, it was not Tyler. THE EYES WERE DIFFERENT! Whenever the Hyde is out, Tyler has a deep and dark stare. I don't how to explain exactly, but there is a sort of dark fog in his eyes. I know that Tyler wanted to kiss Wednesday, but why does the Hyde have to come out as well? Maybe Tyler needed some confidence from the Hyde to try something else with Wednesday? Probably! And maybe Wednesday wanted to kiss him because she saw or/and felt something different through the darkness of his eyes? Definitely! And he only shifted to Tyler again when they were interrupted by his father!!! So yes, the Hyde wanted to kiss her as well.

5- With the help of my friend @weylerforever, we found out that in the scene of 'Kind of a déjà vu thing we got going on, huh?' we have the same voice and stare from episode 4. THE SAME! Even the shadow on his face is the same! (check the video below).

Well, what I'm trying to say that MAYBE, IN MY OPINION, MY PERSONAL BELIEF, is that the Hyde KNEW since the beginning about their connection. THAT explains why he protected and saved Wednesday from Rowan and never attacked when he had the opportunity (the original Pilgrim House). I mean she was a potential prey to him when he attacked Rowan. It would have had more sense if he had attacked her than had saved her. BUT HE CHOSE TO PROTECT HER ?? WHY?? And no, it was not because of Laurel's plan because he didn't know about it! He was about to head her to the train station some minutes ago. He would have helped her to escape for sure.

I'm not talking about a romantic connection here because I don't want to be biased LOL I'm serious! I don't want to lead to this discussion because I don't even know if the Hyde might have good feelings. I believe that maybe the Hyde sees her as a potential Master!!!???? Because I don't know how to explain that behaviour as well.

Well the only person (?) who can answer this question is the Hyde himself. And I hope we had scenes with him on S2.

The chances of my theory are correct are 0, but it's been on my mind for a while. I need to get it off my chest! So tell me, Cockroaches.... Am I delulu and I need some break from my Weyler obssession? Or does it make sense to you?

[littlesunshine1223]

😫✨POOKIE I NEED SOME FUCKING SEXY SMUT ALPHABET FOR BOONE!! PLEASE SWATY BEA✨😅

Boone NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

- he’s great at aftercare and anything you want it’ll appear in the blink of an eye

- he basically uses aftercare as an excuse to spoil you and give you all the love he wants to

B = Body Part (his favorite body part)

- he loves everything about your body in general, he can’t pick a favorite part

- his favorite part of his body would either be his back because he loves when you scrape your nails down it, his hands because he knows how to use them, or what’s between his legs in his pants for obvious reasons

C = Cum (anything to do with it)

- he loves to either cum in you or paint your body with it

- he will make jokes about being the next famous painter. “Look at that sweetheart, you’ve just made me into the next Picasso.”

D = Dominant (how dominant is he in bed)

- he prefers to dom just to make sure he’s giving you all the pleasure he possibly can

E = Experience (how experienced is he)

- he’s pretty experienced from movies, shows, and stuff like that

- shawty bae knows what’ll make you see stars and arch your back in seconds

F = Favorite Positions (self explanatory)

- he loves any position where he can see your face and where he can ram all the way inside you to rub all your good spots at once

G = Goofy (how he is during the moment)

- he’s a bit more serious in the moment but he will crack jokes from time to time just to keep the mood loving and light but still not ruining the intimate mood

H = Hair Pulling (self explanatory)

- he loves when you pull his hair, he lives for it

- when he’s between your legs and you tug his hair he will let out noises that could put porn hub out of business

I = Intimacy (how is he during the moment, romantically)

- he wants to make sure the two of you make good memories every time the two of you get intimate together

- whether it’s through funny moments that happen like a condom being to small or if someone walks in on you two and Boone can’t help but laugh at the look on the person’s face, he’ll make sure you two only have fond memories

J = Jealousy (does he gets jealous easily)

- he doesn’t really get jealous he just gets more so protective (not in a bad way)

K = Kinks (one or more of his kinks)

- hair pulling

- whenever you cover each other in hickeys and he has your nails leave scratches down his back

- he loves to praise you and he loves when you praise him back

L = Location (his favorite spots to do it)

- he is willing to do it anywhere as long as you’re comfortable with it

- remember whenever he was mad at Tyler for ditching him for Kate? Let’s just say the night Tyler got back to the motel he wasn’t too happy to look out the window and see his truck rocking and the windows fogged over

M = Motivation (what gets him worked up)

- even the slightest tease will get this man worked up (mainly because he can’t stop thinking about you afterwards)

N = NO (something he will never do)

- he will never make you uncomfortable or hurt you in anyway, shape, or form

O = Oral (does he prefer to give or receive)

- he prefers both giving and receiving

- he wants to make you feel good first before you start going down on him (he wants to make himself feel like he earned your mouth)

P = Pace (does he prefer to be rough or be gentle with you)

- he’ll let you pick the pace unless you’ve been teasing him and acting like a brat all day

Q = Quickie (is he ok with quickies)

- if both of you are really really worked up then he’ll happily give you a quickie but he mostly prefers to take his time with you

R = Risk (is he willing to take risks during the moment)

- sometimes he does forget to lock the bedroom door due to being caught up in the moment

S = Secret (a dirty secret of his)

- he is secretly waiting for Tyler to leave his truck alone again just so he can try every position with you in and on that truck

- he also secretly wants to ask Tyler if he wants to join if he catches the two of you again

T = Top, Switch, or Bottom (self explanatory)

- he doesn’t care if you’re on top of him, under him, or what position you’re in as long as he can make you feel good

U = Umm idk what to put here (random headcanon)

- one of the times the two of you got intimate he accidentally broke the headboard of the bed and when he was cleaning you up he laid back down next to you and the bed collapsed to the floor

V = Volume (how loud is he in bed)

- he can be as loud as you want him to

- just tell him to keep making those pretty noises for you and he’ll make sure everyone in the motel can hear him moaning your name

W = Wildcard (a random headcanon)

- he has tried experimenting with sex toys before but nothing’s as good as the real thing

X = X-Ray (what’s hidden in his pants)

- he’s ✨packing✨ and he knows how to use every inch to make you moan and whine his name like you’re in heat

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive)

- he has a lot of energy and usually after chasing storms that energy level only increases three times that amount if not more

- he has a fairly high sex drive whenever that happens due to the fact he’s like a human equivalent of an excited puppy when that happens and all he can think about is you

Z = ZZZ (how fast does he fall asleep afterwards)

- he’ll stay awake until you fall asleep, he refuses to fall asleep first