#watched some owl house last night

[moonfurthetemmie]

oh they’re called palismans bc they’re talismans but also pals

like. very literally they are Pals. Bonded for life? Besties for life

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: there's some tension on your picnic date with ellie.

warning(s): sexual tension, making out (?), fluff, ellie being ellie, thigh touching, illusions to smut, not proof-read.

note: i'm basically edging y'all....

Light-clouded skies turn to nightshade. A canvas devoid of any signs of activity except minuscule speckles of stars; something that’s only noticeable if you squint your eyes hard enough that you’d feel some sort of aching pressure behind your sockets.

The discomfort of the action hits you when your hands lift to rub at the tight skin around your irises, lifting each leg slightly to direct yourself onward into the abyss. Shuffling through high, unkempt grass, the smile that graces your lips is subtle as it tickles the flesh of your shins in a flurry. It’s a prickly sensation; one that signals gooseflesh to appear, the hairs on your arms to rise, and the fabric of your dress to shift against the upper half of your thighs.

A gentle breeze sends the thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders to fly backward slightly, waving as you flex your warm fingers; aiming to clutch it tightly across yourself as you shiver.. You had underestimated how cold it’d be, and so it had caused you to under-dress for the occasion of a nightly stroll beyond the fortified walls you’d surely get in trouble for crossing past patrol hours. 

 There’s a small pinch that appears on the right side of your jaw from its tautness, an overwhelming sense of insecurity threatening to creep up on you in the form of warm cheeks and a slight frown as you rub the material of the blanket between your thumb and pointer, relishing in the roughness of the texture to distract yourself from another shiver wracking your body. This time was a little more violent than the last.

“It’s a little darker than I thought it’d be.” Ellie’s nervous laughter reaches your ears beyond the aggressive push of the wind and the constant hoots of owls hidden deep within the thick brush of tree branches; small thumps made by the creatures of the night on pillowed greenery littered with small twigs.

Glancing down at the laces of her tearing sneakers, she narrows her eyes, suddenly aware of just how rock-ridden this particular path is. Almost immediately she’s cursing herself for how inconsiderate it might seem that she’s making you trudge through the wilderness – as if this isn’t a daily occurrence to you both. 

“Watch your step.” It’s a mumble that makes its way past her lips before she can help it.

Nodding, you survey the surrounding area, taking notice of an extensive log just a couple of feet ahead, not too far away from dim lights decorating the roof trimmings of withering houses littering the streets of Jackson. Raising your arm, you point to said log, the material of your dress lifting a couple of inches. “What about over there?”

Ellie couldn’t help but take notice of it, unashamedly scanning her forest-green irises across your bare legs in the sliver of the moon, stopping right at the inner corner of your thigh.  “Okay, yeah, that’s a good spot.” 

Turning to face her, you eye the beat-up picnic basket in her left hand; her knuckles white as she adjusts her grip. Raising your eyebrows, a twinge of curiosity suddenly piques within you.

“What’d you bring in that basket?”

Her newfound expression contorts every muscle resting underneath the surface of her freckled skin as she shrugs her shoulders. The corners of her warm, plump lips twinge, failing to hide the smile that appears a second later. 

You had no idea why she was grinning ear to ear; although it wasn’t something foreign to you - just an action that had become rare as of late considering the circumstances she’d been struggling to deal with.

“I made us a couple of sandwiches. Thought we could sit here and watch the stars.” Ellie’s words falter as she lifts her unoccupied hand to tug at the already loose tie on her neck, suddenly aware of how tight it was. Tilting her head back, she sighs through her teeth, internally cursing at the clear sky’s lack of sight-seeing features.

All her efforts had gone to complete waste, well, at least in the crevices of her mind. “This isn’t going well so far.”

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you shiver, removing the blanket around your bare shoulders. Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you set it on the ground, lowering yourself to crawl across the pattered fabric with purpose – smoothing it out as best you could.

“You’re already giving up on our little date? Didn’t peg you for a quitter.” 

You were pushing her buttons; playfully, she had come to realize when you purse your lips together, attempting to suppress your laughter at her offended expression. 

“Am not.” She scoffs, averting her gaze from your hunched figure.

 “Y’know what?” Ellie scratches the back of her ear before joining, left knee knocking against yours, leaving little to no space between. “We’re gonna eat these sandwiches and we’re gonna find…something to look at while we do.” 

Humming in amusement, you nod your head, as she fishes through the basket; pulling out two square-shaped tin-foil-covered sandwiches. 

Ellie can’t help the sudden blush that coats her cheeks when your fingers brush against the lapped skin of her knuckles. She wills herself to listen to the chirps of crickets and the rustle of grass when the wind sweeps through once more.

This time, it’s a little bone-chilling, and she tries not to let her teeth clack together as a shiver makes its way up her spine through the thinness of her shirt. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to do all of this, y’know.” 

“Do what?” Taking a small nibble of her sandwich, Ellie avoids looking in your direction, though she can see the skin on your face contort into an expression of playful annoyance. You poke her left shoulder with your finger, watching as she sways the opposite way.

A small smile graces your lips. “I’m serious. Thank you. I’ve never had someone go out of their way to take me on a picnic date.”

She raises a brow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The small glimmer of moonlight peaking through trees casts a halo around her face, making her tresses look dark, angelic features rivaling those you’d see in dusted books when on patrols. 

The sight makes you bite down on the soft, pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, a lustful glint in your eyes as you drink her in like the wine you’d have on get-together nights back in town. Your eyes cautiously wander to her lips, imagining them in between your thighs, on your neck, the valley of your breasts. 

Anywhere. 

Anywhere but on that damn bread, she seems so interested in. 

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

Ellie’s hearty laugh is enough to pull you out of the pool of arousal you’d almost drowned yourself in. 

“I asked you if you wanted anything to drink.” 

As she turns her head away from you, the skin near her mouth wrinkles, a grin decorating her face once again as she pulls out a small flask and hands it to you without twisting to face you, ‘Yeah, sorry, I was just spaced out.” You take the flask from her graciously, making sure that yet again your fingers are lingering atop hers just a bit longer than necessary. You can feel cubes of ice sloshing within the liquid as you uncap it at the neck, lifting it to your lips and guzzling down a couple of sips. 

Water. It was supposed to be cooling, but it somehow could not quell the burning desire that vibrated your bones as you breathed in deeply, tearing your gaze away from her to stare at the nothingness surrounding you.

You can feel her irises on your face now, analyzing the same way you did her, not a minute before. The crunch of foil reaches your ears, signifying she’s done with her meal, meanwhile, yours is still sitting beside you. 

She does not ask why you haven’t touched it. She knows why. 

She makes you just as nervous as you make her, even if your lips are nowhere near her skin like she so desperately wants them to be. You’ve kissed her before.

 Numerous times. But somehow this seemed different, and Ellie wasn’t sure if that was a realization that should strike her with fear, or numb her fingers with desire. It was true that you both decided not to label whatever you both had going on, everyone knew that it was her bed that you’d seek at the end of the night, and it brought her a swell of pride.

No one else but her smelled the scent of woodsmoke and citrus when the sun shone through her window. It was too strong, lingering like the sensation of the scarred bumps poking from beneath the ink of her tattoo. It was pleasant; a gaping wound that she’d rub salt into just to feel a delicious ache.

You were so close in distance but yet, so far from reach that it frustrated her to no end. Ellie wholeheartedly wants you in the same way you want her. So much so, that her heart thrums erratically against her chest, lips parted to intake the air you breathe.

Fuck. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” It comes out in a breathless whisper. 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, trying to keep the knot of anxiety coiling within your stomach at bay. “Is there someone else?”

An idiot. You were an idiot. The wide-eyed, frowning, and almost… disappointed look you give her solidifies that.

You lift a hand as if waving off your words. “Forget I even said anything.”

She grabs said hand, palms as warm as a lit fire, holding it to her chest, just an inch away from her heart. You can tell that you’ve left her speechless, and not for the reason that’s stitching itself in your brain. A reason she is quick to deny. 

“What?” A chuckle tunnels from her throat. One full of pain and complete disbelief that you’d automatically assume the worst of her. “No, I care about you more than I do myself.”

Her admission sends a jolt of guilt coursing through you, the left leg crossing over the right as you stare at her hand clutched in yours, “It’s just…” 

You trail off as she brings your hand up to her lips, warm breath fanning your skin before she presses a chaste kiss to the back of it. 

She doesn’t stop there, plump flesh peppering small pecks up your arm. She hums against your shoulder blade, urging you to go on. The hairs on your arms raise.

“We never really talk about — oh…”

Warmth makes its way up your neck, her lips not relenting in their assault on your skin as she sucks and licks below your pulse point. It’s hot and wet, and — oh god, you cannot think of anything else.

“It’s kinda funny.” She says between kisses, her now free hand rubbing circles on the bone of your ankle before agonizingly finding its way up.

“Mhm. What is?” Your eyes are screwed shut, your very being growing giddy at the feel of her nails digging into the flesh of your inner thigh. 

Ellie feels the heat pooling between your legs on her wandering fingers, as she grips the fat of your leg in the palm of her hand. This elicits a hiss of pleasure from you, so deep, so delectable, that she’d swallow it hole if her mouth was not already occupied.

“How you think I can feel anything for anyone else.” The ridges of her teeth skim across your jaw, and before you know it, she’s devouring you. 

The force of her kiss knocks you off balance, sending you sprawled on your back, legs parting as she makes her way in between them, never once disconnecting your lips from a kiss so passionate and raw, that it makes your insides quiver with anticipation. 

“I told you to forget about it.” It’s a quick response you manage to get out the second her lips detach from yours, a hand finding its way into her scalp, pulling her hair at the roots.

She stares down at you, eyes swimming with a certain need to see you — hear you writhing beneath her in pleasure.

 “I intend to make sure we both do.”

[sungbeam]

nonidol!jung sungchan x f!reader

at some point beneath the glittering summer sun and along evening tides, you and sungchan tripped over the line drawn in the sand.

▷ genre, warnings. brother's best friend!au, friends-ish 2 lovers, family vacay + sungchan lol, swearing, kissing, fluff, humor, sungchan does go shirtless (it's a beach), mentions of food, mentions of alcohol; lee jeno, sohee, and anton r ur brothers! (so u have the lee last name but u "look more like ur mom"); barely proofread, also im sorry if this is boring my head has not been in the game for Months

▷ word count. 10.0k

DISCLAIMER: i DO NOT actively write for or stan riize; this is literally just a birthday present T-T so if dynamics/personalities aren't right, i literally don't know these guys 💀

a/n: happiest birthday to my beloved soulmate and wife @justalildumpling :')) i hope u like it <3

OFTEN when you came back home from work, your joints and muscles ached to the point you could barely stand, your hair felt gross on your head, and your eyes stung from dehydration and sleep deprivation. That was the toll of working closing shift at the restaurant you worked at, and had been working at, for the past several years. 

It wasn't out of the ordinary to see the lights in the house still warm and bright when you got home either. Your family was a handful of night owls, not discounting yourself. They had witnessed you in this particular rat-nest dump of a state time and time again, which was why you didn't worry about looking like Death Incarnate. 

“Hey.”

Your soul left your body. 

Sitting on your living room couch was not a family member. Though, he might as well have been a part of it from how much you had been seeing him lately. Jung Sungchan was your older brother Jeno's best friend, but Sungchan was in your year rather than Jeno's. The two met via the high school soccer team and had been good friends since. 

Years later, he was sitting on the living room couch, nearing one in the morning, his hair damp from a recent shower, T-shirt sleeves rolled up his shoulders, and his phone paused from the game he was playing. Your brain was too tired to even register the amount of muscle packed onto his arms (what the fuck—). 

“Sorry, did I scare you?” He chuckled sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair, grown out slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” You blurted instead. Exhaustion meant that conventional politeness was completely defenestrated. It was one in the morning on a summer night… usually your older brother was out clubbing or drinking (not that you were any different, but you worked quite a bit more nights lately). 

Sungchan's eyes danced up and down your form. “Jeno and I decided we're gonna pull an all-nighter for the road trip in—” He glanced over at his phone, “—seven hours and just knock out in the car. How was work?”

Road trip? Car ride? If you could just make it to the shower… “It was fine. Tiring,” you said with a sigh. You trudged over to the far side of the room, behind Sungchan, into the kitchen. You grabbed a cup to fill with water, then drained it down your throat just as fast as it had been filled. 

With water in your body, your systems were finally coming back online. Road trip. Car ride. Your eyes widened. “Oh my god. I have to pack.”

“You haven't packed yet?” He queried, tone light and teasing as he watched the progression of your panic with amusement. “Even Jeno's packed.”

You sputtered back at him, “Quiet, you!”

Sungchan's warm laugh followed you out into the hallway and all the way to your room. You couldn't understand why your face felt so hot; you should have been too preoccupied to be embarrassed, after all. 

You slammed your bedroom door shut, dragging a hand down your face. You couldn't believe Sungchan just saw your I-just-worked-for-eight-hours-in-customer-service face. Not even some of your closest friends had seen the aftermath of your night shifts at work yet. 

Crazy. 

It wasn't every family vacation where a plus-one was invited. Your family tried to set aside time for these trips just for the six of you, but this time was an exception. Somehow—you weren't a part of the delegations—Sungchan was invited on this summer's trip to the coast. Your mom mentioned offhandedly it was because Sungchan “was a nice boy,” or something to that effect. Your family rented out a cabin right along the beach for a week, and the lot of you were going to be stuck in the family minivan for a good eight hours together. 

And if Sungchan was tagging along, that meant you were going to have to fight for the middle row seat or—

“Yn—you’re in the back with Sohee and Anton.”

You came to a screeching halt on your way out of the house, a bucket hat shielding your puffy eyes from the waking world, your duffle strapped over your shoulder. It was seven hours later—an ungodly eight in the morning. “What? Nuh-uh; I don't think so.”

Jeno stood only a few meters ahead of you by the door of the minivan, his hands primed on either side of his hips as if he was the self-proclaimed guardian of the car seating chart. “Well, I said so. Sungchan has longer legs than you—”

“Why don't you sit in the back then?” You shot back with a saccharine sweet smile. You were too tired for this shit. 

Sungchan scratched the side of his head as he walked out of the house to stand by you and join the argument, his flip flops thwacking against the ground. “Uhh, I can sit in the back middle seat. It's cool, dude.”

“Sungchan's too tall for the middle seat,” your dad interjected. He took yours and Sungchan's bags to add to the trunk. “Yn's in the back. Sorry, hon.”

“Dad,” you groaned. 

“You can switch with Jeno half way.”

“Dad!” Jeno squawked this time. 

Your father gave a tired sigh, saying more than he would ever say aloud. “Everyone in the car. Can't you two be like Sohee and Anton? At least they're knocked out.”

“They know they'll be sent to the back without question,” you pointed out as you made your way to the minivan. As you passed by your brother, you sent him a very potent stink eye, then clambered into the back row. 

Like your father had said, your younger brothers, Sohee and Anton, were already dead asleep. Their mouths hung open wide enough to catch any wayward fly with their heads angled back against their neck pillows. You snorted and snapped a photo of them to add to your collection of brotherly blackmail. 

Your mom was settled into the front passenger seat already queuing up driving directions to get to the coast. From your perch in the middle, you had a clear view of her phone screen—seven hours and two minutes. Yay. 

You supposed there wasn't anything too terrible about the middle seat; you were out like a light as soon as the car pulled out of the driveway. 

When you woke up, it was about four hours later, and your parents were having a hushed discussion amongst themselves and Sungchan. A baseball cap had materialized on top of Sungchan's head at some point when you were asleep, and the sleeves of his T-shirt were once again rolled up to expose his muscled shoulders. Did this guy not have a tank top?

“...I like it, at least—well, I don't mind all the extra requirements, and I know it'll help me reach my ultimate end goal, so.”

Your mom let out a hum of approval. “Ah, that's good that you like it. You'll be busy as a nurse.”

Right, Sungchan was in the nursing program. Your brother wasa kinesiology major, and you were going into law. It made for quite the diverse pool in the car. 

You opened your mouth in a yawn and fumbled your hand around your lap for where your earbud had fallen out of your ear, carefully so that you didn't shake off Anton's head on your shoulder. (Oh no, was he drooling?)

“Yn-ah, good morning,” your mother teased quietly. 

You glanced up, eyes going wide when you realized both your mom and Sungchan were now peering back at you. “Morning,” you murmured. Your fingers enclosed around your fallen earbud to tuck it into the case left in the bag at your feet. 

“Sleep well?” Sungchan piped up. There was that twinkle in his eyes, the same one from last night. It made your stomach twist in a way that was more pleasant than not. 

You cleared your throat, unconsciously reaching up to adjust the placement of your bucket hat and praying you didn't look like a sewer rat. “For the most part,” you replied. “How about you?”

He shrugged. “I had a decent power nap. Your mom says you're going into law. That's really cool.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Thanks. And you're in nursing, right? That's cool, too—super admirable.”

Sungchan's mouth widened into a small grin. “Thanks. It's only our first year, but it feels like so much work already.”

“Right? Tell me about it…”

Less than fifteen minutes later, the family van pulled into the parking lot of a diner off the interstate, exactly halfway through your journey. The seven of you, weary and hungry, filed out of the vehicle and into the establishment. You and your parents slid into one booth, while your brothers and Sungchan occupied the one behind you. 

There was a low-spun fan swirling above your heads, an 80s song you vaguely recognized wafting through the air at a dull decibel. Your phone was stashed away in the bag tucked into your end of the booth seat while you idly sipped on your glass of iced water. 

You jolted at the feeling of something light hitting the back of your head. 

A gasp from behind you. 

You rolled your eyes, twisting around in your seat while picking the wadded up straw wrapper from your hair. “Who did it?” You deadpanned. 

The boys table was filled with sheepish expressions, to their credit. Your younger brothers, who were sitting on the far side facing you, thrusted their fingers in each other's faces in a torrent of blame and accusation. 

“Aish, never mind. I don't care who did it,” you dismissed. Your eyes caught onto Sungchan's. He sat just diagonally to your left and for some reason, his eyes on you made you feel warm. 

You flicked the wrapper back; it hit Anton square in the forehead. Jeno barked out a laugh. 

“Nice shot,” Sungchan nodded, extending his fist to you. 

You couldn't suppress the smile from coming onto your face as you bumped his fist with yours. 

Food arrived swiftly afterward, and it was demolished as quickly as it came. In the sway of a palm tree frond, the seven of you were back in the confines of the family minivan. 

The remainder of the car ride carried over quickly. Though Jeno unhappily sat his ass down in your previous spot with you claiming his from before, he and your other brothers snored away five minutes in. You didn't go back to sleep despite having a full belly and less than five hours of sleep under your belt; you watched the world pass by outside the window in a blur. 

Urban skylines melted into rolling emerald mountains and pastures, sank into palm trees and sandy shores that met a blue horizon as far as the eye could see. 

The beach house your family rented this year was a two story cottage-type. It was small, with only one bedroom and bathroom upstairs, a bathroom downstairs, and a living room and kitchen. The rest was all beach. It was determined that you and your mom would be given the honors of the upstairs bedroom and bathroom, while all the boys piled into the living room. 

Once everyone was settled in, there was little else to do but go make use of your new backyard for the next week. 

“Yn! Come on, slowpoke!” Sohee shouted at you from the shoreline with cupped hands. You saw his bare back as he splashed into the waves after Anton, who was already only a speck in your vision. 

Your bare feet sank into the sand, and you wiggled your toes between the warm grains. Sunshine, glorious and concentrated above the distant horizon, soaked into your skin. Ah, this was the life.

Just as you reached for the hem of your shirt to reveal your bathing suit, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Jeno and Sungchan were coming onto the beach from the front of the house, a disassembled volleyball net hanging between them. 

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head at the sight of Sungchan's back—

Before Jeno or any of your other brothers or Sungchan could catch you ogling, you gave yourself a nice, mental slap to the face. No more. You needed to stop this. When did you ever look at Sungchan like this?

(You could still remember when he was the gangly kid with the growth spurt trying out for the high school soccer team. He was paired with Jeno to test his potential, and the rest was history.)

Sungchan was the first to spot you as he and Jeno determined a place to set up the net. He beamed boyishly, his chin inclining toward you. “Hey, wanna play?”

Your eyes flickered to the corded necklace hanging from his collar and between his—Yn, shut the fuck up. “Sure,” you said simply, feigning nonchalance. 

If he noticed your wandering eyes, he didn't comment. Instead, he nodded back at you. “Sick.”

You both turned back to your original tasks. Your hands went back to the bottom hem of your shirt to tug it up and off your body. (Maybe you weren't the only one with wandering eyes, though.)

You draped your clothes over the back porch railing and began making your way down to the shoreline. “I'm gonna take a dip and then come back up!” You said to Jeno and Sungchan. 

“Oh, okay—ow!” 

You didn't see nor hear what happened, but when you glanced back, Sungchan had his back turned to you as he furiously rubbed the back of his head, while Jeno smiled innocently. 

Your older brother waved you along. “Carry on!” He said. 

Walking backward for a couple steps, you shot him an incredulous look, then turned around to meet your little brothers in the ocean. Whatever. 

You had been staring at the wooden ceiling above your head for the past forty-five minutes. Your mom's even breathing and the ocean waves rolling outside the window failed to rock you into unconsciousness. You'd figured the sunlight from this afternoon would have made you tired, or perhaps all the food you ate for dinner, but your eyes continued to stay wide open. 

A quiet sigh fell from your mouth as you rolled over onto your side and gently peeled the covers off. With near silent footsteps across the oak floors, you slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs. 

The cacophony of combined snoring from all the men in the living room was comparable to the volume of the waves just outside. 

You barely contained your snort of amusement. You didn't worry about waking any of them up as you crossed the living room, full of a smorgasbord of limbs and bodies draped across the large couch sectional and blankets on the floor. 

The back door was left unlatched when you reached its threshold. Outside, moonlight dappled across the calm sea like a sprinkling of diamonds. You slowly pried the door open, freezing. 

You and Sungchan made eye contact from across the back porch. He was perched on the top step, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. A loose breeze wafted through the strands of his hair. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, moving to retreat back into the house. 

“Oh, no—please.” He patted the empty space next to him on the porch step. 

You blinked, at odds. He was clearly out here for a reason and you'd figured he wanted some space, but if he was inviting you, then… 

You closed the back door behind you and settled beside him, with a comfortable amount of negative space between your bodies. You folded your arms over the tops of your knees and stared out at the midnight horizon. It smelled of salt and sea spray, and the light wind was a refreshing crispiness against the humid evening air. 

“Couldn't sleep?” He murmured, glancing over at you. 

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response. 

“I'm not surprised,” you said. The corners of your lips curled upward. “I wouldn't be able to sleep amongst my brothers either. Their snoring could wake a bear.”

Sungchan sputtered out a laugh as his eyes crinkled upward and he pressed the back of his knuckles against his mouth. “I wasn't gonna say it, but…”

You shared a grin with him. “I will happily say it for you, dude.” 

His eyes were stunning in this lighting. The moonlight hit his irises at an angle that made them shimmer like a shade of molten copper. He licked his lips, and you saw his eyes dart from your eyes, down a few inches, then further down to the beer bottle in his hands. 

“Oh, uh,” he stammered, tipping the bottle nose in your direction, “want some? I thought the alcohol would help me sleep, but it's not looking awfully promising.”

For a split second, your heart leapt at the thought—your mouth pressed against the place his mouth had been, tasting the place he'd drunk from. 

You dashed the thought from your mind. It couldn't have been so significant as your brain was making it out to be. You were probably just sleep deprived. 

“Thanks,” you said while reaching across the gap to accept it from him. Judging by the weight, it was just about half full, and you took a light swig. 

A drop of liquid dribbled out of the corner of your lips, and you swiped it with the pad of your thumb, sticking the finger into your mouth to suck it off. You passed the bottle back over to him, catching his eyes not looking at yours. 

(The organ in your chest was no longer in your chest. Was it normal for your heart to make a home in your throat instead? Why did he look at you like that?)

“Any reason for not being able to sleep?” You asked him to break the silence. “I mean, besides the symphony my brothers and dad are conducting, of course.”

His eyes shuddered, as if breaking out of a trance. “Oh, uhm—nothing in particular, I guess. Maybe it's just from all the excitement. I think it's usually hard for me to sleep in new places.”

You bobbed your head in understanding. “No, I get that. It takes me a little to get used to new environments, too. I don't know how I would have survived if I was living in the dorms at uni and not at home.” The university you attended was a decent commute from your house, so living on campus was never something you gave much thought to. The idea of living independently appealed to you sometimes, but in general, you didn't have a ton of qualms against your circumstances now. 

“For sure,” Sungchan whistled lowly. He contemplated the opening of his beer bottle, then took a gentle sip of its contents. “Have you made a lot of friends? I feel like it's a lot harder than people make it seem.”

You passed him a curious glance this time. “Some, but it's definitely not as easy as high school. You haven't made a lot of friends?”

“The soccer team, mainly,” he chuckled. “The occasional ally in my classes.”

You let out a bright laugh that made his smile widen. “'Ally?’” You parroted. “What a fun word to call classmates.”

“It's true!” He insisted, chuckling. “Some of these professors are evil, man. Competitive grades? Not a chance,” He scoffed. “We're all in this together, even if the curve is against us.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud, but the rolling waves likely covered your noise plenty. Your family were deep sleepers. 

“I just figured that you meet lots of people,” you offered when your mirth died down to a giggle. You toed a pile of sand sitting on the last step of the porch. “Your socials are pretty active,” you said, “but I guess I shouldn't judge a book by its cover.”

“I could say the same about you, Miss Party Girl,” he smirked. “When are you gonna drag me to a rave?”

Heat raced up to your cheeks. “I've only been to one,” you said, rolling your eyes. He'd seen that post? First, the post-work daze, and now, the turnt raver? “I haven't gone to a party in a few weeks 'cause of finals anyway.” 

Now that you thought about it, you'd been so busy as of late, you couldn't even count the amount of outings you'd declined on your two hands. 

“Trust me, I get it.” He raised his hands in an act of surrender, his knees angling toward you. The negative space was suddenly a lot less negative. 

Another tip of his beer bottle; it swapped hands once, twice more. The liquid dribbled smooth down your throat just as Sungchan knocked the rest back. The empty glass made a dull thunk sound as it hit the wooden porch to Sungchan's right. 

“So what I'm getting,” you drawled, mimicking his position by angling your knees toward his. You felt your legs brush—the stimulus sent a jolt down your nerves that warned of addiction and tasted like the forbidden. “Is that you've never been to a rave before?”

Sungchan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I have.”

You mocked his shrug. “Maybe you have.”

“Or maybe it's just that I haven't gone with you yet.”

Even the waves seemed to quiet for a second. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, and you tied down the nervous laugh ready to bubble out of your mouth. You bit your lip and found yourself nodding. “We'd paint the town red, Jung Sungchan,” you murmured. 

There it was again—that flicker of his gaze to some place you both knew crossed a line. It was the beer, was what you were telling yourself. It was the beer. 

Seagulls surfed the ever-blue sky. Eternal summer could be thought of as a filter of golden, glittery gauze across one's already rose-colored glasses. But summer, truly, was the shade of Jung Sungchan's tank top peeling off his body as he sprinted down the sandbank after your brother, Anton. 

You watched the fabric whip around in the salt breeze before settling into a heap where his footprint melted into the mineral grains. You were giving Sohee the sunscreen spritz-down up on the covered porch, while Jeno barreled down the bank after his friend and brother. 

From behind you came the scratch of the back door sliding open. You and Sohee peered back to where your mom poked her head out. 

She just barely caught her sunglasses in time as they slipped off her head. “Hey, your dad and I are heading out. Watch each other, okay?”

“Got it!” You and Sohee chirped. 

One more nod from your mom, and then she was gone. Your parents were going to take a date into town, just the two of them. That left you and the boys here with the surf and sand—definitely not a terrible compromise. If you wanted, you could probably have the whole house to yourself, anyway. These guys could entertain themselves. 

“Yn! Sohee!” 

Jeno arced one arm up into the sky to beckon you down to the sea, only to get dragged underwater by his two comrades. You and Sohee harked out twin laughs as you watched Jeno fight for his life with limbs flailing and foam flying into the sky. 

You patted Sohee's shoulder as you set the can of sunscreen onto the porch step. “Alrighty, you're good to go, bro.”

“Thanks—race you down!”

“Hey!” Your laughter echoed as you bolted down the sand after him to join the fun. 

As your feet dug into the wet embankment, your palms made purchase against Sohee's shoulders to shove him into the water. A yelp leapt into the air, and you turned away to avoid getting hit in the face with the consequence of your prank. 

“I'm so gonna get you for that!” Sohee spat water out of his mouth, a wicked grin pulling onto his lips. 

“No, you're not, actually!” 

You bolted—well, stomped, your way through the knee-deep water, furiously trying to get away from karma. Water yanked down on your limbs in a forceful coax to give into your punishment, but you were determined. 

You could hear your brothers’ hollers of encouragement: “Get her, Sohee!” and “RUN, YN, RUN!”

Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you pushed your legs harder. 

“I got her!” Wait, was that Sungchan?—

You suddenly felt a pair of hands on either side of your waist—you swore as your legs came out of the water and your world twisted. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” You squawked, squirming wildly in Sungchan's arms as he scooped you into his hold like a bride. (NO. NOT LIKE A BRIDE. WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE A BRIDE?—) One arm cradled your back and the other under your knees, and he laughed—he chuckled—as you attempted to flip yourself out of his grasp. 

“You're not getting out of this, party girl,” he said close to your ear. 

For a heartbeat, you lost your breath at the rasp behind his words and the grin on his face. But a heartbeat was all he needed. 

There was free fall, and then all sound muffled as cold water engulfed your body. You plugged your nose and screwed your eyes shut. You felt your ass hit the sand at the bottom in slow motion, before the air in your lungs began to lift you back up to the surface of the water. 

You broke out with a gasp, hair flipping back as you furiously swiped your hands down your face to get the water out of your eyes. They stung like a bitch, but you could feel the rush of blood in your ears; it was thrilling. 

A hand in your vision enclosed around yours.

“You asshole!” You scowled up at Sungchan from where you knelt, though it was half-hearted. 

He beamed back at you boyishly with damp hair hanging in his eyes and water running down the crevices of his stomach like a goddamn system of canals. “You're a good sport, Yn.”

“I'm really not.”

You had the distinct pleasure of seeing the smile slip off his face before you used his grip on you to yank him into the water. You swallowed a good half pint of saltwater, but the revenge couldn't have been sweeter. 

When Sungchan's head broke the surface, it was followed by a dog-like shake of his head. You laughed to turn away from the spray of water; Sungchan delighted at the sound. 

Amusement still lingered on your lips as your eyes snagged on the piece of seaweed that made its home on his head. You didn't think twice about it before leaning closer to reach it. 

You stepped forward, and—oh boy, was that a mistake. 

You had a front row seat view of a droplet of water slipping down the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the cliff of his chin. You wrestled down a swallow, and pulled the seaweed off his head, flinging it into the water. 

“You had, uhm, a little…”

“Right, thanks—”

You both flinched apart as a man-made wave of water crashed into your sides. “AMBUSH!” Your three brothers declared, springing up out of the water and parading a full-blown attack with all weapons firing. 

You and Sungchan were swift to launch your own counterattack. 

Merriment filled the summer air as much as saltwater embedded into your skin and eyes and mouth. You almost made the mistake of thinking your racing heart was just from the determination to beat your brothers, and not from the guy on your side of the war. The heat was getting to you and the sun was getting to him.  

It was about an hour later that you found yourself lazing upon the slick and smooth plane of a surfboard. The ocean rocked you gently from beneath the board; it had been surprisingly calm all of today. 

At some point, you and the boys established a truce in the Great Water War, mainly because your brothers were hungry and there was a big, juicy watermelon just begging to be cut open and devoured in the house. 

Suffice to say, you let your brothers figure it out. 

Your consciousness faded into the foreground of your mind as a distant sound of splashing neared. You peaked one eye open, lifting the rim of the hat up to see who dared to encroach upon your isle. 

You could recognize Sungchan's mop of hair from a mile away, at this point. You couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing, but why did it have to be either?

He cropped up right beside you, pushing back his hair to keep the water out of his eyes. “Hi.”

A smile curled onto your lips, teasing. “Hi. Good swim?”

“Good nap?”

“As good as one can be on the open ocean,” you said, shifting the hat up so you could see him better, but keeping your face shaded. “I don't know how dolphins sleep with half their brain on.”

Sungchan's brows rocketed toward his hairline. “They sleep with half their brain on? Crazy.”

“I know. I can't even stay awake with half my brain on.”

You and he shared a laugh, and he set a palm on the board next to your body. “Aw, no,” he assured. “If you've got less than half a brain on at all times, then I've got one brain cell.”

“Joke's on you, half my brain is half a brain cell.”

He wrinkled his nose at you. Cute. “Sweetheart, hate to break it to you, but that's not how brain cells work.”

You nearly fell off the board. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, do tell.”

“I'm not about to talk about neurons on my vacation.”

You challenged him with a look. “Overruled, counselor. Answer the question.”

His mouth fell open in a stunned daze, and his reaction made you break face for a moment to laugh. He blinked. “I have to be really honest with you…” Sungchan carded a hand through his hair, then pressed his knuckles to his mouth. “That was really hot.”

Was it suddenly five degrees warmer out here? 

If blood rushing in your ears was akin to the sound of waves crashing, there must have been one hell of a tsunami in your veins right now. 

You sputtered a laugh. “You need to get out of the sun—”

“I'm sorry I said that aloud,” he grimaced sheepishly. 

“Nurse? Nurse!—” You feigned raising your head up to look around for an imaginary nurse in the middle of the ocean. “Oh, right. You are the nurse.”

He groaned, tilting his head back and playfully punching your shoulder. “You're so—”

“Hot?”

You howled at the sight of his cheekbones blooming the color of ripe watermelon. “I'm kidding; I'm teasing!”

He sighed, smiling despite the pain etched onto his gorgeous features. “Never living that down, am I?”

You shifted your position to laying on your stomach now, your arms folded beneath your chin. Sungchan carefully turned the surfboard so the tip faced him, and you were trapped in his gaze, head-on. “It was cute,” you consoled. 

“So you think I'm cute?” He cocked a brow. 

“And you think I'm hot.”

He flicked water at you. “Aaand, there it is!” 

You laughed again, delighted at the red lingering on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. God, he was fucking gorgeous. 

A beat passed for a second. Something settled between the two of you, a thing you couldn't yet put a name on, but it had been there since last night. Or maybe it had been there longer, festering in the negative space between you until said space could become something of a memory. 

You weren't sure why he was here—why he'd swum out here to meet you when his best friend was back at the beach house, gorging on watermelon and getting his ass handed to him in Mario Kart by his siblings; why he all of a sudden occupied a part of your mind like the tide creeping up the embankment at four in the afternoon. At first, he was far enough for you to settle into a false sense of security; until all of a sudden, there he was, the foamy waves lapping at your feet and his smile the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes. 

His tongue swiped over his lips and he cleared his throat. “So, uh, watermelon?” That was his original reason for coming out here. (He did volunteer, after all.)

You perked up. “Right, sure. Watermelon.”

“Great.” He broke into a smile, but the corners of it were softer, fonder. You could get used to the look of it. 

There was this saying—the elephant in the room—but here in the cabin living room, it was definitely more of a blue whale. Just completely out of the water, weighing about thirteen tons, the size of twelve school buses… yeah, that sounded about right. 

“GO FISH!” Anton flung his finger across the circle at Jeno with the glee of a kid on Christmas morning. “Suck it!”

Your mom sent an express glare his way. “Anton.”

Your youngest shrunk down sheepishly. “Sorry, eomma.”

The seven of you were settled in the living space this fine evening with a deck of cards. Your parents were on the couches watching the movie on screen and the game before them, while you, your brothers, and Sungchan huddled around the coffee table playing said game. Sunsoaked and weary, it only took one hearty and filling dinner to perk the lot of you right back up like a field of sunflowers.

“This is a stupid game,” Jeno sulked as he examined his hand of cards. 

“You only say that because you're losing,” you pointed out. “Anyways, Jeno, can I have that three?”

Jeno cut you a glare as the rest of the table rolled into fits of laughter. Your smile was cheeky, reaching out to snatch the three Jeno revealed he had during his turn. 

“That's cold,” Sohee snorted. 

Your eyes darted over to Sungchan opposite you. His eyes were glimmering. “Yeah, I didn't know you had so much ruthlessness in you, Yn.”

“Why do you think she's going into law?” Jeno grunted. Though one card less, it meant that he had one less pair in his finished pile. At this rate, you might win and end up with the most pairs. 

“Guys, it's literally just how you play the game.” You nodded over at Sohee. “Sohee, do you have a jack?”

Your younger brother handed it over without ceremony. “Unfortunately.”

“Anton, do you have an ace?”

He shook his head. “Go fish, noona.”

“See?” You said to the rest of the table, but your eyes went to Sungchan's. “The nature of the game.”

They let you off the hook because you didn't plunder everyone of their cards this round. It continued on with Sohee, then Anton, before landing on Sungchan. 

He made a show of considering his cards, a furrow between his brows. He glanced up at you over the rim of his hand and gestured with a curl of his fingers. “I'd like that ace, Yn.”

“Oooh,” Anton giggled. 

Jeno grinned as you extended the ace across the table to Sungchan. “Karma.”

“Thank you—” his fingers grazed against yours as he plucked the card from your grasp, “—very much.”

You pressed your lips into a small smile, nose wrinkling up at him. You had a few cards left to rid yourself of. 

Your dad cleared his throat as he stood up from the couch to bring his empty bowl to the sink. “By the way, are you kids still going into town tomorrow?”

The five of you exchanged brief eye contact with one another. “Yep.”

The idea had come up during dinner after your parents came back. They'd mentioned a variety of activities and little shops to visit that might be fun for you to see, including a hand churned ice cream shop and a port side arcade building. It would just be the five of you going, while your parents would walk down to the beach trails about a mile from the cabin to go hiking. 

In the morning, you and everyone else in the house took your time getting up and ready for the day. Breakfast was taken together at the table before you split off into your separate parties. 

Jeno took the wheel with Sungchan riding shotgun, and you sat in the middle row with Sohee, while Anton occupied the back. You rolled down your window to rest your chin on the fold of your elbow, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you watched the scenery pass by. 

Right in front of you, Sungchan also had his window rolled down with his arm propped on the lowered sill. He chatted animatedly with Jeno about whatever game he and all three of your brothers were playing this morning, but you could feel his gaze go to his side view mirror more than once. 

The ride was an easy, breezy one. 

The main town center bustled with locals and visitors alike in the late morning. Jeno found free parking about a block away, and the five of you walked over as one big group. 

“Ice cream first!” Anton declared with one arm raised toward the sky. 

“I concur,” you chimed in. You lifted your sunglasses up slightly so you could read the town directory easier. “Seems like we're close by.”

Anton nodded in approval. “Onwards, then.”

You and your youngest brother led the way. The idea of ice cream made your mouth water, especially since you could already feel a bead of sweat dribble down your spine. Why was it so goddamn hot?

The shop was a cute, little building with a pink and white striped awning and a large window in the front that gave visitors a front row view into the ice cream churning experience. You snorted as Anton pressed his nose up against the glass, a wide grin splitting his face. 

“You're scaring the workers, dude,” you jested, tugging your brother along. 

Anton scrunched his nose up at you. “You scare me every morning.”

“Just because you're a wimp when I put toner pads on—hey! Do you want ice cream or not?” You cackled as he attempted to flick you square in the forehead. 

Jeno groaned. “Guys, can we please act normal for once?” He asked as he swung the door open for everyone. 

Sungchan beat you to the punchline, slapping his friend on the back while he ducked inside. “That's rich coming from you, man.”

“Hey!” 

The squabble was swiftly swept out of your mind when you stepped foot into the shop. You were nearly knocked over from the potency of the sugary waffle cone scent that occupied the room. At the sight of tubs upon tubs of frozen treats kept within the display case, your entire face lit up, eyes going glassy with wonder. “Oh no, too many to choose from,” you gasped, cupping the lower half of your face. 

Sungchan chuckled beside you as he crossed his arms and assessed the dozen options before you. “I didn't know you were such an ice cream fanatic, party girl,” he mused. He glanced over at you with a fond sort of gleam in his eye. 

“Don't even get her started,” Sohee groaned. “She and Anton have a sweet tooth to rival Willy Wonka.”

Anton flagged down one of the workers, having already found his targets to try. He was in here for less than two minutes and was already rattling off the entire menu to the poor girl behind the counter. 

“Tiramisu sounds really good,” you muttered. Your eyes moved slowly from tub to tub. Another gasp flew from your lips, and you clasped a hand on Sungchan's shoulder. “Wait—but strawberry shortcake—hhhhh.” You wrinkled your brows together, lips pressed into a taut line. 

This was not good. 

“You could always get a double scoop,” Sungchan suggested. 

You bobbed your head. “That's true, but I'm just worried I won't be able to finish, y'know.”

“Well, maybe I'll get one of the flavors you want and we can split.” His shrug was all too casual. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, biting his lip through a smile. 

The organ in your chest gave a hop, skip, and a leap. You weren't sure if it was at the thought of it all working out alright or if it was because of Sungchan's generous gesture. You were telling yourself it was the former, but you could be persuaded it was the latter if given a light shove in that direction. 

When everyone's scoops were paid for, you fell into a loose formation to stroll around town while you finished your treats. 

You and Sungchan were glued to each other's sides out of necessity since you were sharing flavors. Jeno walked on his other side, however, lapping at his cotton candy blue scoop seated upon a throne of waffle cone. The two youngest walked in front, leading you all to wherever they wished to go. 

The town itself was rather quaint when you finally soaked it in. It seemed like the kind of place everyone knew everyone, and if you were new or only visiting, the locals were just as friendly and welcoming. The town center was stocked with anything a resident might need—a small grocer down the street, clothing stores and restaurants lining the boulevard, a newspaper stand at the corner, a laundromat, a hardware store, and more places you were certain you wouldn't be able to see in just one walk. 

As you scooped a bite out of some of the last bits of tiramisu in Sungchan's cup, Jeno was summoned up to his brothers who were debating over which way they should turn next. You and Sungchan lingered behind to finish off the ice cream in your respective cups. 

Just as you slurped up the melted shortcake ice cream at the bottom of yours, your eyes caught onto a storefront behind Sungchan. It was decked out in cliché boho-chic, with braided nets, shells, and sand dollars in the window and over the door frame. The souvenir shop seemed to embody the quintessential tourist trap, and you didn't mind falling into it. 

“—guys, we're gonna go to the arcade now!” Jeno said, beckoning you and Sungchan over. They must have decided on a route then. 

You made your decision. “You guys can go ahead! I'm gonna pop into this place for a second. I promised I'd get my friend Minjeong something.” Minjeong was one of the few close friends you made at university, and though you didn't promise to her face you'd get her something, you were determined to get her a little trinket as a token of your affection. 

“You're gonna go alone?” 

You blinked. “Yeah, I'll just meet you guys at the arcade.” 

Sohee piped up, “But mom said buddy system.” Okay, you should probably honor that, but it wasn't as if the four of you always followed that rule. 

“I'll go with you.”

All eyes went to Sungchan who tossed his empty cup and spoon into the nearby trash can. He gave a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “I wanted to get my mom something anyway.”

You tilted your head to the side curiously as Jeno narrowed his eyes at Sungchan, like they were communicating telepathically. Odd. 

In fact, you didn't really know what to think about being alone with Sungchan. There was a difference between coincidentally ending up on the porch together or conversing in the ocean away from everyone else, to purposefully breaking off from the group to spend time with each other. 

Then again, he said he was getting something for his mom. That gave a different implication to him volunteering to accompany you. The goal was capitalism, not something forbidden.

Maybe you were thinking about this too much. 

“Okay, fine,” Jeno relented. “We'll meet you at the arcade, but don't take too long or we'll leave without you.”

“Aye-aye,” you teased, raising a hand to wave goodbye to your brothers. “C'mon, Sungchan.”

You dumped your empty ice cream cup and spoon into the trash before slipping inside the souvenir shop with Sungchan following right after you. You lifted your sunglasses up on top of your head, skin prickling with gooseflesh from the draft of air conditioning wafting overhead. A soft-toned acoustic played in the background, accompanied by the cheery greeting of a staff member from behind the register. 

You and Sungchan lifted your hands in warm reply, then disappeared into the aisles to explore. 

Your fingers grazed along the racks of clothes branded with the beach town's name and minimalist artwork; your eyes roamed over the ships displayed in bottles on the walls, the not-for-sale surfboard hung for decor. Like many souvenir shops, there were several turning displays that boasted rows upon rows of themed keychains with specific names engraved into them. 

“I will never find my name amongst these,” Sungchan mused quietly from beside you as the two of you rifled through the surfboards and seashells and sharks. “And yet, I look for the S names all the time.”

“Valid,” you nodded. “Sometimes I can't find my name either, but it's the hope that gets you.”

“And fails you,” he pointed out.

“Touché.” 

Near the keychain displays stood a tower of hats and head accessories galore. There were crocheted bonnets, straw hats, ball caps, and even headbands. Your expression glittered as you plucked up a headband with twin sunflowers on the top like a pair of antennas. 

After hanging your shades on your shirt color, you donned the headpiece, twirling around to show Sungchan. “Thoughts?” You asked, failing to sweep your grin away. 

Sungchan beamed back at you. “Oh, you're too cute.”

You ignored the heat creeping up the back of your neck to reach for another headband—this time, one topped with red crab claws. Sungchan graciously bowed his head for you to crown him with the piece. 

“Fabulous,” you declared with your hands on your hips. 

He peered into the small mirror to the side of the hat rack. “You think?”

“Of course.” So much so, that you pulled out your phone to snap a picture. You tilted your head toward his to fit both of your faces and headbands in the frame. 

Sungchan peered over your shoulder to take a glimpse at the photos. His tongue was jammed into his cheek, and you could feel his breath along the shell of your ear. “Send me those?”

“I'd need your number first.”

He grinned boyishly, roughing a hand through his hair before taking your phone from you. “You don't even have to ask.”

As he saved his contact information into your phone, you attempted to calm the giddy butterflies in your stomach by peering back into the mirror at the headband on your head. You squished the plush sunflower heads with your fingers, humming thoughtfully. “I low-key wanna buy this.”

He glanced up from your phone before handing it back to you. “If you buy that one, I'll buy this one,” he replied, pointing up at the crab claws on his head. 

“You're such an enabler,” you jested. A beat passed. “Okay, but only if you get it with me.”

“That is what I said,” he chuckled, eyebrows arched. 

The remainder of the time you and Sungchan spent in the shop was mainly to figure out what you would purchase for Minjeong and what Sungchan would buy for his mom. (Mainly, implying that there was still room for shenanigans.) It took a little more than half an hour, but you both emerged from the souvenir shop with a gift bag each, containing your headbands and the baubles bought. 

The arcade was only about a ten minute's walk from your location, so you and Sungchan took your sweet time getting there. As the two of you walked—the backs of your hands grazing against one another, shoulders bumping—you nearly forgot that Sungchan was your brother's good friend. Jeno had never made it a point that you and his friends should never mix, and you knew he could care less about your love life, but this was different. (Was it?) It felt like something that shouldn't happen, and yet, why were you starting to want it so badly?

The outside of the arcade was a cream colored building, much like the others in town, but with large posters on the outside beckoning guests to come in and try their hand. Your brothers texted you to let you know they were in a game of laser tag right now, so that gave you and Sungchan a little more time to yourselves within the arcade. 

“I have an idea!” Sungchan grabbed your free hand and hauled you off toward something in the distance. 

The feeling of your fingers slotting with his had more than just your steps skipping. “Hey, man—you and your long legs need to chill!” You hollered at him through a laugh. 

He sent you a look over his shoulder before stopping at one corner of the arcade. With jazz hands, he presented his marvelous idea. “Ta-da!”

Before you was an all-time classic: Dance Dance Revolution. 

Your eyes widened just as your smile did. “It's like you read my mind,” you marveled. 

The machine was just like the movies with a multicolored screen of bright blues and purples, a platform with two sets of arrows in the floor, and two arched rails at the back for each player to hold onto as they danced the night away. 

Sungchan marched up onto the platform and fished a wadded up paper bill out from his wallet. “Have you played before?”

When the machine devoured his money, the screen leapt to life and blasted its opening music to announce that somebody was willing to step up to the challenge. 

You set your gift bag down at the foot of the platform and climbed up to join him. “I've only seen it done before, but I've always wanted to try it.”

You and he locked eyes, and you were sure the twinkle in his was a reflection of just how excited you were. 

“Well, today is your lucky day, party girl,” he chirped. “Let's see what you've got.”

It didn't take long for you to figure out that “what you've got” was a lot less than whatever Sungchan had. 

You grappled onto the railing behind you tightly as you stomped your feet against the coordinating arrows that flashed on-screen. How long had it been since that fateful first round? Ten minutes? Two days? It was all mashing together. 

“This is unfair; you have longer limbs,” you groaned after missing a few arrows in a row. Why were you so out of breath?

A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of Sungchan's head. It was almost comical how serious you were both taking this game. “I have practice,” he corrected cheekily. 

“Same difference!”

“A master never blames his tools.”

You huffed. “Bullshit.”

At this point, your losses were becoming ridiculous. Desperate times called for desperate measures. 

For a sequence you knew you were going to miss, you leaned over and pinched his side. Sungchan jolted—it did the trick, and he missed the steps. His head whipped over to you, an impish gleam in his irises. 

“Oh ho ho… you wanna play that game?”

You placed your hand on your hip as the round ended. “If I'm gonna lose, might as well go out with a bang.”

His tongue swiped over his lip. “You're on.”

The next round commenced, and adrenaline spiked through you like a spear, more powerful than before. You knew to expect Sungchan's revenge, but you struck first. 

A poke at his side resulted in a tickle at your waist. You returned his parry with a blind poke at his stomach. 

Anticipating his response, you spotted his arm incoming out of your periphery and moved to step out of his reach. Instead of solid platform, however, your breath hitched at the feeling of half your sandal slipping off the edge. 

Sungchan's eyes went wide and his arm instead curled around your waist and hauled you to him. “Shit,” he muttered, “are you okay? Sorry, that was totally my fault.”

Your palms had landed on his chest, your heart rate slowing but not fast enough. All of the excitement in your veins was likely more so from the game itself, and not from almost falling off the platform… and perhaps, another part of it was you realizing just how close you and Sungchan were now. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I'm completely fine; don't even worry about it. And it wasn't your fault—I miscalculated my step and I started it anyway.”

He pressed his lips together. “Still.”

“Nice catch, by the way,” you said quietly. 

You saw his eyes leave your gaze, and this time, you followed in his movements. He ducked his head, almost shyly. “I guess so,” he chuckled. “I'm glad I caught you.”

If anything, your heartbeat was gaining speed again. The hand pressed into your waist was a little more addicting than you would have liked, and his mouth was closer than you thought it had been. 

In the neon glow of the Dance Dance Revolution screen, you and Sungchan leaned toward one another with one aim, and one aim only. 

“Hey guys!” 

You leapt off the dance platform at the same time that Sungchan zipped to his side, gripping the railing with an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights. 

You pressed a hand against your palpitating heart and turned to find all three of your brothers bounding over to where you and Sungchan were. 

“Oh my god,” Anton gasped, “is that DDR?”

It seemed that Anton and Sohee were more focused on the game than yours and Sungchan's compromising position. But Jeno… you noted the suspicious narrowing of his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest…

You swore you and Sungchan swallowed at the same time. 

“Did we interrupt something?” Jeno drawled. 

“Nope!” 

You and Sungchan looked at each other at your simultaneous answer. Great. That definitely wasn't even more conspicuous or anything. 

Jeno pressed his lips together. “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “Well, Mom and Dad texted and asked for us to meet them at the house, so we've gotta go.” He lifted the screen of his phone up for you to see. Dear god, you hadn't even realized they'd texted the group chat.

You cleared your throat. “Right.” 

You picked up your gift bag, and your younger brothers immediately flanked you on either side to gush about the game of laser tag they had just partaken in. Though you nodded and engaged in their conversation, your mind was elsewhere. 

Plus, it was hard not to be hyper aware of the fact that Sungchan was now alone to face Jeno somewhere behind you. You were not looking forward to the car ride back.

There were always some, unspoken fine lines that should not be crossed—at least, purposefully. In retrospect, you knew Jeno didn't care about who you chose to spend your time with, as long as they treated you right. In the same vein, you didn't care much about what he thought when it came to your own decisions, and yet, you found yourself caring a little more because this was one of his friends. Not yours. 

But feelings were feelings… and you were slowly coming to terms with yours. 

It was like déjà vu when you crept down the stairs in the dead of night for the second time this vacation. You simply could not bear staring at that wooden ceiling any longer with your mind reeling from this afternoon's events. 

The living room was yet again a cacophony of light snoring, and you crossed the room toward the back door once more. 

You paused again, the sight of Sungchan's back a familiar one. Instead of sitting on the porch steps, though, he leaned against the railing, gazing out at the dark waves. It was yet another calm night out on the embankment, but the moon tonight was hidden away behind a few wisps of cirrus clouds. 

He glanced over his shoulder at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you greeted softly, gently closing the door behind you so you could join him at the railing. It was funny how you both were on the same wavelength. Fate had a funny way of encouraging you.

You and he hadn't properly spoken since the arcade, and Jeno hadn't said a word about it to you either. Dinner had gone on normally enough, so you were unsure of where this all stood. 

“I wanted,” Sungchan began, “to talk to you about something.”

You glanced over at him and found his eyes already on you. “Sure, of course.”

He straightened, gesturing to the sandy beach beyond. “Walk with me?”

You nodded and followed him down the porch steps. Your feet met the cool grains of sand, and a sense of calm seeped into your bones from the bottom up. 

A hand outstretched in your vision, uncertain. You clasped your hand in his palm, and the pair of you began to walk. You couldn't recall whether you began to adore the feeling of your hand wrapped up in his earlier or just now. 

“So…” you trailed off. 

“So,” he picked up. “About earlier today. I wanted to, uhm, make sure we were on the same page about something.” 

He stopped you both when you were a good distance from the house, where the waves slipped along the sand louder than the snores. 

“I had a really fun time with you today,” he said. 

You nodded your head in earnest. “I had a great time with you, too.”

He smiled then, hand letting go of yours to drag over his face. “I'm—I’m happy to hear that,” he replied, and you were sure he was trying to hide his growing giddiness. 

You reached over and gently pried his hands away from his face. “Did Jeno talk to you about today? Did he say anything?” Before he could reply, you added, “Because I know he means well, but who I choose to spend my time with is my decision. If he can't handle us together, then he'll have to learn to suck it up.”

“He did say something to me about it,” Sungchan admitted, “but it was just to make sure I wasn't playing around.” With his hands locked in yours, he gave your palms a reassuring squeeze. “And Yn, I'd like to take you out sometime—properly. No playing around.”

No more toeing the line in the sand. 

Your heart rattled violently in your chest. “I'd really like that.”

His expression melted into something tender, like the dark swirls of molten chocolate in the scoop of tiramisu ice cream. His thumb grazed over the back of your hand. “Okay,” he murmured, barely audible over the soft laps of the waves, “good.”

He considered you for a moment longer, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I also—I did intend on kissing you earlier today, and I probably should have prefaced it, but—mmmh!”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled his mouth over to yours. He sank into your hold with a content hum, his hands slipping around your waist to tug you closer to him. You'd never really thought about what kissing Jung Sungchan would be like, but you knew that your imagination couldn't have been better than this. 

When you broke apart with your foreheads pressed against each other and sharing breathing air, you let out a small laugh. The sound coaxed a warm chuckle out of your counterpart. 

“Sorry,” you breathed against his lips, “I probably should have asked first.”

He smiled against you. “You can apologize by kissing me again.”

He most certainly didn't have to tell you twice.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! (idek if that was good, im off my Game and off my Rocker dkfnrj)

m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @meosjinn @fluorescentloves @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @kflixnet

[unstable-samurai]

Until You're Mine (Jealous Girlfriend) - smut

Momo x Male Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags: toxic relationship, jealous girlfriend, non-linear story, possessive girlfriend, first sex, penetration, boobjob, facial

She was awake when he arrived. She heard the door latch turn twice as it was unlocked. There were always two turns, fast and firm. Y/N saw her lying on the couch, watching another animated movie. It was the kind of movie she looked for when she really needed to be distracted, her escape valve or something, so seeing her there in front of the TV close to midnight (it was much later than that, but he had no idea), turned on an emergency light in his mind.

Normally he was the owl of that house.

“Hey baby, why’re you still awake?” he asked. “I said you didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I just felt like watching a Studio Ghibli film. Only that.” She explained without looking at him.

No fucking way it was just that. She was frowning. One of those moments where Momo turned into a bomb and it was up to Y/N to disarm it without it exploding. The problem was that this was an impossible task to do, any wire he cut would result in an explosion. And that was the last thing he wanted. His head was already a battlefield in itself. That damn company party had exhausted his social battery, which wasn’t much anyway. Y/N didn’t have the courage to provoke an aerial bombardment that night.

He sat on the left end of the sofa, Momo didn't mind moving his legs so he could have more space.

"OK. Is the film already close to the end? I can watch it with you.”

“Did you have fun there?” she asked.

"Yes. Was cool."

“You’re watching the movie, I don’t want to disturb you. In the morning I’ll tell you everything.”

"Just that?

"Yes..."

"No details?" she questioned him quite insistently.

Y/N had his head focused on the bath he was going to take in a while and how he was going to sink his head into the pillow. No more plastic masks, fake laughs, shallow people, please.

She paused the movie.

“What a ridiculous excuse. It sounds like you were trying to hide the things that happened at the party.”

“No, it doesn’t sound…” He was almost sure of it.

“Yes it does, you bastard.”

“It wasn’t even a party. We were all among work colleagues.”

“I've been to enough parties to know that it was YES a party. Loud music, drinks, pool, snacks. The complete package.”

“It’s a damn modern company, okay? They please the employees and pretend to be cool so that we forget the slavery we are subjected to on a daily basis. You kids had fun on Saturday and you’ll work overtime on Monday, okay?”

“Wait, I made a mistake. In fact: VIP package. They even hired prostitutes. Five star service.”

“Are you high or what?”

He was too tired to read the signs.

“I saw the way she kept touching you. The giggles... As if you were the funniest clown on the planet and she was a fucking hyena.”

Y/N abruptly stood up from the couch. He had finally understood everything. The last spark of his neurons, probably.

“There were no prostitutes. And I wasn't chatting up with any girls.”

"Oh, really?" She stood up too. “Let me refresh your memory, dear: short black hair, horse smile, lilac dress, can't stand alone unless she's supported by a man, small tits... Seriously, I don't know why she decided to wear that dress with cleavage if there was nothing there to show. Someone should tell her the truth. So, does this remind you of anyone, my love?”

The fucking bomb exploded in his hand.

“That was Rachel, a friend from work. How the hell did you know what was going on at the party?”

Momo laughed sadistically. Her wickedly beautiful eyes looked at him with intensity as she asked:

“Are you afraid?”

"No. I didn't do anything wrong to get scared. Did someone record me at the party?”

"Yes. And it wasn't just that. I also watch the stories of those who were at the party and you appeared in some of them in the corners. I saw everything.”

‡

Here's a little overview of this relationship: A year and a half of dating. They met through mutual friends and the first deep contact was delayed, but when it happened it ended up becoming a path of no return. Y/N avoided her as much as he could, not in a way that would be noticeable and make him seem rude. But we were talking about an incredibly beautiful woman, aware of her attractiveness and unfettered by modesty. She was with a group of eight other beautiful and popular girls. Yes, she was elite. High caliber, my friend. Well, he was... quiet, an avid reader, calm and sometimes melancholic, but he loved being with his friends and enjoying them on the weekends, respecting his limits, of course. When he saw Momo for the first time he cowardly ignored her. She looks stunning in front of his eyes, wearing a short denim skirt, a baby tee that leaves her sculpted abs on display and her hair flowing in the wind as she dances. There was no way to predict that the plan would backfire; by not noticing her, Y/N became one of the few guys who didn't try to flirt with her. Apathetic guy, but handsome enough to take risks, the little boy who only swims in the shallow end, a plastic armor he forced himself to wear.

The reason? Momo didn't know, but she wanted to find out.

On one of the many night outs where they bumped into each other, Momo skillfully simulated an intimacy that clearly didn't exist between them, talking to Y/N closely, fake accidental touches, and killer eye contact. Abruptly, intimacy between them was forged and evolved in a short space of time. After a while it was no longer strange when they were among friends and Momo sat on his lap, or when she felt tired and rested her head on his shoulder. And Y/N could play hard to get, but he loved the attention he got from Momo, the controversial “bad bitch” (as some girls who didn't like Momo called her), the most attractive girl he knew was always glued to him, and the sexual chemistry that grew over time intoxicated his ego. Being with her made him feel good and more confident and also… shit, she was more than a superficial person or 'just another one of those teasing girls' like a lot of guys used to think. She had a unique way, attitude and things to say too.

‡

“Were you acting like a stalker all night? Seriously, watching stories of other people trying to see me from the corners is a fucking weird thing.”

“And you've been acting like you don't have a girlfriend all night? I almost called Jihyo to drive me to this party to say a few things to that bitch. But I’m not that kind of girlfriend.”

“What is the reason we are arguing? This shit doesn't make sense. I'm exhausted..."

“Have you forgotten your promise? You told me you would arrive early...”

“I didn’t look at the time when I was there. I thought it was still early when I was leaving the party.”

A cynical laugh escaped Momo's mouth.

“You didn't even bother to look at your fucking cellphone to check the time. What is your problem?"

Y/N sighed. He should have already known that going to this party wouldn't be a good idea.

“You know I only went to the party to establish some contacts with the other branch. The damn job forces me to maintain a good relationship with everyone.”

"Poor boy! Does it also force you to talk to sluts?”

"This again?!”

“A little bird told me you were too close to each other on the couch.”

“Who was this damn person?”

“Why blow the heroine’s cover? Maybe she’ll be there again at the next parties.”

“Would you like it if I hired someone to follow you around?”

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide, because I have consideration and respect for you, asshole!”

“According to you, I cheated you just by sitting on a couch talking to a co-worker. A colleague who can help me move up in the company as she has just been promoted.”

“Apparently it’s not just at work where she likes to be promoted.”

"What do you want from me?" he asked, feeling defeated.

"You know what I want."

“Honestly, I don't know. God must be punishing me for some sin I committed, that’s the only explanation.”

“Make me your girlfriend or your tormentor. You decide." She took a step forward. “You know I could be with anyone. But I'm with you ‘cause I love you, idiot.”

If only there wasn't something genuine about it all.

‡

Being alone with her knocking down topic after topic like dominoes was so fucking enjoyable, the way she laughed, the way she listened to him (Momo didn't interrupt him even during the long pauses he took when he needed to organize his line of reasoning, a mere peculiarity of his but which never went under her radar), the way she could be incredibly silly at times and, even without sharing many common interests, Momo liked having him explain things that were previously uninteresting to her. This attention he received was blinding and addictive. Growing up in a harmful and neglectful home, neediness was his compass and his weakness. But he never showed signs. Y/N was good at disguising it... He thought so.

Their first sex was an unforgettable moment, a path of no return, in the same way that a criminal remembers the moment of the crime that sentenced him to prison. It occurred when they were on a camping trip, good friends gathered, each to their own tent, campfire, marshmallows, snacks, stupid horror stories, and wine. One of the few moments where he felt slightly intimidated around her, as he felt Momo watching him like a predator, and after each glass of wine she became more and more intoxicated, grabbing Y/N from behind and wrapping her arms around him. “It’s very cold here” she whispered in his ear. And Y/N couldn't tell if it was the wind or Momo's velvety voice so close to him that made him shiver.

The hours passed incredibly quickly, eventually everyone retreated to their tents, and eventually there was a slow cessation of the noises of people, finally leaving only the cold whistle of the wind, the rustle of leaves in the trees that surrounded the hill where they were camped and the symphony of insects orchestrated by crickets and cicadas.

He heard sneaky footsteps. It was certainly someone who needed to take a piss and didn't want to wake the others. But the footsteps got louder and louder until he noticed that someone was actually coming to his tent, stopping in front of the entrance. The flash on his cell phone was on (he was reading a book and the damn camp lamp was emitting a horrible orange light), so he pointed the light at the entrance of the tent and saw a very familiar silhouette.

“It’s me, Momo. Let me in!" she whispered. "Quickly!"

Y/N lowered the zipper, opening the way for her.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

“I was sleepless so I decided to come and check on you.”

"I am well thanks."

She was wearing comfortable clothes. Striped pajama pants, a sweatshirt that was too big on her and her hair loose and messy. Y/N noticed that Momo had removed her makeup. It was the first time he had seen her like that.

"What are you reading?" Momo asked as she sat down.

“Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller.”

"Cool! What is it about?!"

How the hell was he going to explain this?

“About a guy living in Paris.”

"It seems good. Read a chapter to me.”

"How old are you?"

“Don’t be annoying. Let's do it like this: I point the cell phone's flash at the book and you hold it while you read to me. This way we can read lying down.”

Hard to refuse, hard to say 'no' to her.

‡

“You know I love you too, Momori.” he said

Momo was wearing his long-sleeved shirt, she loved that shirt and, truth be told, it looked incredibly good on her. The legs so sensually exposed... Was that still a discussion?

“Sometimes you make me doubt this love, baby. Do you like making me look crazy? I swear to God you love seeing me jealous. When I get like this, does it make you horny?”

“No” he lied to one of the questions.

“You know how I am, Y/N.” One more step forward. She could touch him if she wanted. “And I only ask one thing: don’t talk to other girls. We establish a limit and then cross it, what is the purpose?”

Now closer he could smell her, her body that was warmed by the blanket. Nipples hardened through the fabric of her clothing.

“You look so beautiful...” he blurted out of her mouth.

“But I don’t think I’m beautiful enough for you since you try to be with other girls when I’m not around.”

"Is not true. I only have eyes for you, Momori.”

With a decisive gesture she grabbed Y/N by the collar of his social shirt. A noise escaped his mouth. Slowly she ordered:

“Say you are mine. Say you belong to me.”

‡

He felt her head moving on his chest, he thought she was just looking for a comfortable position, until he was surprised by a kiss on the neck. And another one. And another, and they were getting more and more intense.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he lowered the book, the air escaping from her mouth.

“This book is really interesting and even put me in the mood to do something more fun.”

"What are you talking about?"

He had his hands pressed into Momo's arms, but he made no real effort to push her away.

“I know what you think about me. I know what you want from me. Don’t try to hide it now.” Her voice breathy and wavering. “I want to fuck you so bad, fuck!”

"Here?"

"Now!”

Y/N turned Momo around, placing her back on the floor and then getting on top of her.

“Momo…” His head was a hurricane. Was this really happening? “I've imagined the two of us doing this, but I never thought it could actually happen.”

There was a pause that was filled by a kiss.

“I don’t think you know how hot you are. Other girls were also eyeing you, so I decided to act quickly.”

Y/N lifted Momo's sweatshirt, and was able to appreciate and touch her abs for the first time. Kissing her abdomen was like an achievement, she knew how beautiful it was, that's why she never made a point of hiding it. The soft, slightly sweaty skin met his lips in a mix of sensations.

He lifted her sweatshirt a little more, exposing her juicy boobs. They were big, he knew that, but the first glimpse paralyzed him for an instant, he was amazed, and his hand filled with desire wasted no time in grabbing one of the tits while his mouth sucked the other..

“Oh, Y/N” she moaned.

The cell phone's flashlight went out as they rolled from side to side in the camping tent. Surrounded by the weak orange light of the camp lantern, the senses now seemed more heightened, the touches more intense and brazen, the breathing more labored and an uncontrollable lust, noticeable in several ways, such as Momo's pussy that wet his fingers when he touched her down there.

‡

“I belong to you” he declared. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I am only yours, Momori.”

She smiled satisfied.

"Sit down!" she exclaimed harshly, and pushed him onto the couch. Momo certainly knew how to impose herself when she wanted, the mechanism of submitting him to her will through horny never failed. Sitting on his lap, she said: “You like to make me suffer, you know that? You like having your girlfriend mad so she can have hard sex with you and get you back on track. So depraved, baby!”

It was partly true, although he wasn't consciously acting to make her jealous. The problem was that this wasn't a difficult task, the girl was possessive as hell, so the options fluctuated between becoming a puppy on a leash or floating on the waves of a tide that could occasionally get... Aggressive.

"Do not say that. I don’t like making you feel bad.”

Momo kissed him, she felt Y/N getting excited down there.

“And yet you hurt me.”

He couldn't refute it, so her tongue had another use; warm and wet, she played with Momo's tongue. She sighed when he lightly bit her lower lip, slowly removing the pressure, enjoying her taste like a professional taster.

“It was never my intention,” he said. “Your jealousy is sick.”

“Living with you is hell, you know that?” she revealed. “But you always make me feel so surrendered." Momo slowly touched her nose to Y/N's. She whispered: "It’s a fucking hell, baby.”

Instead of responding, he decided to dedicate a series of kisses to her neck. Momo loved it, it was her weakness. She smiled while letting out small moans of satisfaction.

Momo stroked his dick and under the fabric of his underwear and pants he was already completely hard, waiting for her. She rubbed her hand on his dick eagerly while he felt her breasts and left hickey marks on her neck.

“Oh baby, I want your cock in my pussy so bad!”

‡

He covered her mouth with his hand while he penetrated her deeply. The friends' camping tents were close to Y/N's, and Momo was moaning loudly, so it wouldn't be difficult to hear her in the silence of the night.

“Shhh! You can’t make noise like that!” he said breathlessly.

“It’s fucking hard. Your dick is really big.”

At one point she crossed her legs around Y/N's waist and he could feel her pussy getting tighter and wetter. Immediately Y/N laid his body under hers, penetrating her with force, feeling her pussy swallow his cock eager for pleasure. She moaned loudly, Y/N sucked on her tongue in an attempt to suppress some of the noise, Momo's eyes rolling back in pleasure as her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, as if she could never have him inside enough. Each thrust was an explosion of raw sensation, her insides wetting his cock urgently as he fucked her with wild love, each movement driven by desire that had been postponed for too long.

“Lie on your side!” Y/N asked.

He watched her with burning lust, his eyes fixed on her pert ass, eager to possess her in a different way. With one quick movement, he positioned himself behind her, his cock pulsing with anticipation as he slid in, feeling enveloped by the warm wetness of her wet pussy. He gripped Momo tightly, his hands marking her skin as he fucked her sideways, each thrust sending waves of electric pleasure throughout her body. Momo's moans filled the air, soft and sweet, mixing with the sounds of the wet friction his dick made as it slid inside her. All the touches, the intimate conversations, the looks that met and lost each other when they were in the circle of friends, the jealousy they hid from each other when one of them was talking to someone else, all these things led them to this moment , and now they assumed this feeling… making love.

Momo showed some of her talent when she rode his dick with her back to him, Y/N's body rippling with desire as she rode him with full force. Her hips moved with an erotic cadence, his cock disappearing inside her with each thrust as if he were plunging into a warm ocean. He squeezed Momo's fat ass, guiding her movements as she gave herself over to the frenzy of sex, her moans intensifying with each thrust – fuck if anyone would hear. The tension between them was palpable, the air in the tent stifling as they neared their climax. And then, finally, Momo squirted, her body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm, as Y/N watched her in wonder in the light of the camp lantern, her silhouette writhing with pleasure, so perfect, so sensual that he could fill her of cum at that moment.

Something he didn't do.

Things happened so fast that Y/N didn't have time to put on a condom. Well, truth be told, he DID NOT have a condom in his tent (not the kind of thing you think about taking on a camping trip with friends when you're a single guy).

“Cum for me, baby” she asked, her voice full of lust. “Where do you want to cum?”

“On your tits.”

It was one of Y/N's fantasies, it usually came to his mind when he saw Momo with cleavage. Now it all seemed so intentional...

Y/N stood on top of Momo, his desire burning so strong he could barely think straight. With shaking hands, he grabbed Momo's massive boobs, feeling his hard-on grow as he squeezed them tightly. Y/N wanted to feel every inch of that soft flesh surrounding his thick cock, he wanted to sink into that delicious sensation until he lost his mind. And then, without further hesitation, he began to move frantically, sliding his hard cock between Momo's breasts with great desire. Loud moans echoed through the tent as he gave in to the pleasure of that sensation, losing himself in the sensation of heat and pressure.

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” she asked between moans, making a point of maintaining latent eye contact while smiling naughty.

“Yeah, I'm gonna cum for you, baby! You're gonna make me cum, Momo.”

“please please, cum for me!! Yeah! Cum for your naughty babygirl...” she begged, hot as fuck, while biting her lower lip like a horny bitch.

And when Y/N finally reached the edge he let out a primal groan, his orgasm exploding in a hot shot over Momo's boobs and face. She looked so beautiful like that in the light of the camp lamp. Y/N brushed her face with his dick, making a nice mess on that adorable little face, and she smiled while this happened, Momo smiled until he finished his art, she finished the job by licking what was left on the head of his dick.

Uninhibited from any shyness, thanks to the endorphins his brain had released, he smiled at her, finding her the most beautiful woman in the world, and into Momo's precious eyes, Y/N confessed: 'I wanna love you.’

‡

It's common to look for culprits in a dysfunctional relationship, who manipulates who, the prisoner and the jailer and all that old story. It's hard to admit that sometimes there is a dark pleasure in predicting events, returning to the same place that is your refuge and your sentence. Most people shoot at "emotional dependence", but few dare to target "connivance". Y/N felt like he was part of the second option. Repeat the fucking pattern, see the wheel spin in the same direction, the same trip as before. It's your pit of lies and acceptance, man, you smell the stench and yet you insist on moving forward, it's not much different than a dog licking its own vomit. At the end of the day, no one will tell you that you deserve better.

If you really deserve it.

"I remember what you said to me that night in the camping tent." She whispered, lying under his chest. "When we had sex for the first time. 'I wanna love you'. That's what you said. Your voice was so sweet and calm. I think that's when I realized that my feelings for you were really special."

The two were snuggled in bed, protected from the cold by the blankets, completely naked after having sex. This was always how fights ended, and the question that arose was: what's the next thing, now? An apology? Unfounded promises about how to improve as a person? Affectionate words to dissolve what was said during the fight? It was a mystery box.

"Those were the words? I honestly don't remember the exact words clearly."

"That's exactly what you told me. I slept with you in the camping tent feeling very happy."

"I was happy to be with you too."

"But at that time I didn't realize that you were actually still trying to fall in love with me. You wanted to love me, but you didn't really love me yet."

"I was a little confused at that time."

"What now? Are you still trying to love me?"

"I love you, Momori. but at the same time... I don't think we work together.”

"We agreed to it then. And honestly, does it matter?"

"I don't know. I feel like it doesn't matter anymore."

"Yeah! And look, we're not the only couple to go through problems like this. We're not alone in this, baby. Forget that Hollywood bullshit about perfect couples. It's not real. It's okay for me to stay like this, as long as we stay together."

"We always fix things."

"Making love is a great way to solve problems. That's our formula."

"Come here, my love" he said.

A/N: sorry for any grammar errors 🖖

[aurorasgate]

my grandmother passed away last night. im feeling a little lost & incredibly heart broken but i think more than anything, she’d want me to be happy about all of the time we got together

so i think i just wanted to share one of my favorite memories of her, no need to read it but i thought it might be nice to type out & try to smile as i do

like me, my grandma was such a night owl (i think most of my family is thanks to her haha) you could call at 1 in the morning & she’d pick up, watching mash or some kind of british show. & in the house i grew up in we had this deep green land line phone in the basement & when my parents moved my bedroom down there i would call my grandma like nearly every night after everyone went to bed

she never scolded me for it & she’d talk to me about anything & everything until it would get super late & she’d tell me i better go before i get in trouble with my parents for being up late on the phone on a school night & would tell me ‘goodnight angel’

i wish i could call her one more time on that phone & hear her laugh when she’d say my name & ask what i was doing up so late like i didn’t call her all the time

the last time i got to see her prior to last night she hugged me so tight & for so long & told me she loved me so much & that i was her sweetest grandchild & was her favorite to drive with (i always drove slow & easy with her in the car - she’s precious cargo). it really made me smile & ill never forget how warm she was 🩷

[macfrog]

wish you were here | one shot

thank you lovely anon for this gorgeous request which felt like a huge mug of hot chocolate and a pair of socks fresh from the dryer to write. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time. (not that kind you filthy animals it’s the HOLIDAYS)

warnings: fluff lmao, thirty-year age gap and u can stay mad, set around the holidays but no mention of christmas etc, nothing but love and two hints of sex. that's all. oh and no guitars were harmed in the making of this - joel canonically goes and gets the guitar after the fic ends. dw.

word count: 1.9k 

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤎

Jackson is alive with a thrumming heartbeat. Pulsing through the air, bumping gently against the quick-lying snow and filling the otherwise silent night. A steady, rhythmic heartbeat.  

A heartbeat which sounds a lot like Blue Monday, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

The holiday party is in full swing down in the Tipsy Bison. Seven o’clock ‘til late! on flyers plastered all over the commune for the last month. Tommy had tried relentlessly to convince Joel this morning on patrol – It’ll be a good night; You oughta come along, show face at least. At the same time, Maria was on your back about it in the stables.

Y’all hardly come to anything fun, she’d argued.

We come to stuff.

When’s the last time you came to anythin’?

We were – we were at Mike’s birthday dinner.

What – five months ago?

We like alone time.

Alone time? You’re never apart from one another.

Alone time – together.

Neither attempt had been successful. Tommy and Maria had exchanged a disheartened glance as the two brothers passed their horses to you on their return. Joel clipped your cheek, took his gloves off and fixed them onto your frozen hands before making off for home, a proud grin on his face. You’d held your own as well as he had: you two had a clear evening ahead.

He had lit and nurtured a fire, had made himself a coffee and heaped half a damn bag of tiny marshmallows into a hot chocolate for you, but when he’d come through to take his place on the couch, you were already stood out front.

It’s bitter out – a soft breeze, but a thick chill on its wings. The sky a washed gray, heavy clouds overhead. He slips outside, setting the mugs down on the table, and slings a blanket over your shoulders. Kisses the curve of your neck, scruff of his beard tickling your skin.

‘s freezing, pretty bird.

Then keep me warm, you whisper, turning into his arms. He steps back, settling into his chair, flicking his fingers for you to fall down into his wide lap.

You curl up against his torso, your head hooked beneath his jaw. Wonder how drunk Tommy is by now. What is it – nine?

His wrist lifts, moonlight gleaming in the reflection of his broken watch face. Just gone ten. I bet he’s on his ass already.

You giggle into his shirt, breathing in the scent of the pine trees, the smoke from stoking the fire inside, the bite of hot coffee. The echo of voices swelling in merry song turns your attention down the street – two figures hooked onto one another, stumbling through the powdered snow. Some slurred rendition of September melting into All Night Long before the smaller of the two tugs their partner off into a darkened house.

Joel laughs to himself, the bristle of his beard catching on your hair as he shakes his head.

You ask him softly, Will you play me something?

His breath soars, a cloud hot and pale white, past your temple and up into the pastel sky. Gets swallowed somewhere overhead by the wash of warmth from the porch light. He turns his mug until the owl faces the street, the bottom gnawing against the wooden armrest of his chair.

I’m serious.

What do you wanna hear?

That one you’re always practicin’. The plucking one.

Another rumble between your shoulder blades. His chest jolts with a solid laugh. The pluckin’ one.

You know the one.

I know the one.

Will you play it, if I go get the guitar?

Baby, his lungs nudge on your back as they fill, it’s late. We’ll wake the neighbors.

Everyone’s at the dance. C’mon.

And he can’t argue with that. The entire street lies dark, vacant. Yours is the only house with soft-glowing eyes, the muted orange of the fire flickering behind closed blinds. Two figures, tangled in a chair on the dim front porch; a hunting jacket around his shoulders, and his body around yours.

You tug on the blanket, wrapping it around your elbows as you stand. Just once. Play me it once.

Joel’s looking up at you, setting his mug down on the table. Play you it as many times as you want, pretty bird. Just – quietly.

There’s a spring in your step that drags another chuckle from Joel’s lips: the kind that drips like honey down your throat and warms the pit of your stomach – a sweet, comforting thing, a sound you swear was made purposefully for you. Divine and deliberate.

Like – all of him. Like the shape of your name in his mouth, the curl of his tongue as the sound surfs over it. Like the curve of his hand and the way yours so neatly molds into it.

The way it did the day he found you, crouched in the gray backroom of some butchers deep in the city, and took you all the way back to Jackson. Let you cling to him on the back of his horse; your weak arms around his waist, anchored by the heavy jacket he’d thrown over your back. Your ear between his shoulder blades. And that was that.

Fifty-six. One brown-turned-silver hair away from thirty years your senior. He still remembers before. Talks about movies, talks about computers. Talks about Sarah, when the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and he reckons he could see her standing right there, the soft shadow of her hair dark against the golden wall. When you make a joke and he laughs a ghostly sort of laugh, like he’s hearing the echo of her voice make the same quip three decades ago. He always says she would’ve loved you; you like to think he’s right.

He found you: a lonely little broken heart, and he pulled you to your feet with a rough palm against your own. Hands calloused only from years spent carving wood and pressing the hard strings of his guitar into the fretboard, and nothing else. No violence and no bloodshed; no survival or threat. Music, and patience, and kindness.

And maybe you found him, too, in the same sort of way: roughened up, awkward and messy stitches holding him together. Maybe the two of you nursed one another back to life; each brush of your hands in the dining hall and each meaningful glance while out on patrol sewing those wounds up a little tighter, a little safer.

He sits forward when you hold the instrument out, sweeping a broad palm down the slope of the body. Pinches the pegs one by one, twisting them while his thumb taps on each string.

Come here, he says, beckoning you forward with a flick of his chin. He taps on the seam of his jeans, widens his legs for you to curl up between them at his feet – the way you always do.

Your elbows hook over his thigh, ear pressed against the inside of his knee. Staring up, blinking slowly, eyes glazed with the cold and with the light and with love.

He plucks gently, slow at first. Letting the strings snap with a twang, vibrating enough that you feel the small rattle in your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, head rocking with the light tap of his heel on the porch. When you peer at him through your lashes, he’s watching the skilled movements of his fingers intently; as if he’s as much a spectator as you are – his body doing all of the thinking and working for him.

 So, he sings, and your stomach melts to a puddle, so you think you can tell –

Your eyes close again, the low rumble of his voice crisp in your ears. Like thunder, like the promise of something great and mighty. Something moving, something rolling and changing the landscape of your body, your mind and your soul. The lines between living and dying begin to blur, the seam tearing between this plain and the next.

Did they get you to trade – your lips parting to whisper the words with him – your heroes for ghosts?

His thumbnail dragging down the strings, his strong fingers flitting between chords. Like he was made to sit here, in the dead of night, and carve a space in the world for himself and his voice and for you – lain in the safe scope of his body, protected by his breadth and brawn and lulled by his sweet song.

His breadth and brawn – the parts of him which have kept him standing here. His skeleton, his muscle. But the thing that keeps you warm at night, buried side by side under a threadbare woolen sheet together, the thing that you link your arms around as he leads you home from the nights you dare to visit the Tipsy Bison: are his heart, his flesh, the gray-singed hair which falls in a featherlight wave over his forehead. The hair you sweep from his eyes when he’s on top of you, his hips cradled in yours, that all-encompassing feeling of every part of him filling every part of you.

It all feels that way. The warmth of him, the feeling of being wrapped around him. Hooked around his body, bones intertwined. Absorbing one another, his words breathing life into yours, slowly growing louder and braver with each pluck and strum of music.

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

Your makeups entangling, ribcages locking together, flesh meeting flesh and hair twisting until one day, Tommy will come looking for his brother and find the two of you here on your porch, your arms still draped over Joel’s thigh and his fingers still mid-song. Stuck, alone, together.

What have we found? Joel looks down to you as though asking the question – his eyebrows raised – and you reply, a dumb smile across your lips, The same old fears, and then, together –

Wish you were here.

He plays until his fingers must start to hurt, the way he clenches and loosens his fist. Setting the guitar against your chair, hands hooking under your arms to pull you back up to him.

That one your favorite? he asks, the cold tip of his nose circling yours.

You nod. Only when you sing it.

I like the way we sound together.

You smile, shrinking into his chest again, your fingers surfing back and forth on the worn shirt. I like the way we do a lot of things together.

His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, massaging your waist. He dots a trail of light, damp kisses along your forehead, dipping to your temple, the angle of your cheek until your jaw lifts and his lips are against yours, his tongue parting to lick purposefully at yours.

I love you, pretty bird, he whispers, the words falling sweet and fair on your tongue.

You take a moment to let them seep into your skin. ‘s the first time you’ve ever said that, you tell him.

Joel smiles. He knows. But you knew it already, he counters.

You know, too. Mhm.

Alright, he groans, slipping his hands under your thighs and hoisting you up to his height, bedtime.

It’s only ten, you complain, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he carries you inside. It’s too early to sleep – Joel.

Didn’t say we were goin’ to sleep, he mumbles, kicking the door shut.

[solivagant242]

silver boy and golden girl

pairing: sirius black x shy!reader

warnings: none, slight swearing?

this is honestly more of a drabble than anything else, it came to my head last night and i couldn't sleep till i wrote it down. i’m sorry it’s so long, but hope you enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

༊*·˚ everything about sirius is silver

༊*·˚ right down to his bright eyes and that quicksilver smile of his, there one moment and gone the next, right down to the rings he always wears on his pale-skinned hands 

༊*·˚ even his laughter sounds silver- the way it seems to ripple in the air like moonlight

༊*·˚ and then he meets you

༊*·˚ the first time he sees you is at the library at the end of first year (of course, that was the only time he’d set foot in the library at all till then- and that was to help peter set up a prank involving a box of centipedes for some unsuspecting ravenclaws)

༊*·˚  you were sitting at one of the little alcoves in the corner, knees drawn up under your skirt 

༊*·˚ you’d taken off your red tie and let it hang loosely around your neck, a contrast to your usual buttoned-up, neatly-pleated uniform 

༊*·˚  for that matter, your hair was down too- soft waves framed your face, free from the usual knot you pulled it back in when you studied or read 

༊*·˚ the setting sun behind you was casting a rich, golden, beautiful light across your profile that glimmered through your eyes and made them look even brighter 

༊*·˚ sirius swears his heart skips a beat at the sight 

༊*·˚ the box of (disgruntled) centipedes he’s carrying falls, unheeded, to the floor, much to the chagrin of madame pince, who descends upon him in a fury

༊*·˚ he couldn’t care less

༊*·˚ the next few weeks are spent feverishly trying to get closer to you

༊*·˚ he stalks looks for you in the hallways and tries to gauge where you sit in each classroom, just wanting to catch a glimpse of those pretty eyes again 

༊*·˚ when he finally catches up to you in the hallway (why do you have to walk so damn fast? it’s not like potions class is going anywhere), he pulls a bouquet of silver roses out from under his robes with a flourish 

༊*·˚ “for you”

༊*·˚ you stare at him, shocked, a blush spreading across your face 

༊*·˚ sure, you’re both in gryffindor, but you sure as hell don’t know each other

༊*·˚ fuck, you’ve never even talked to him at all- he’s on the other end of the social spectrum from you, an unashamed nerd whose idea of a fun night out is studying in the slytherin common room with hot chocolate to watch the giant squid 

༊*·˚ you’re the golden girl of gryffindor- straight-a’s, a perfect record of praise from professors, and a perfectly structured, organized life in your own little world

༊*·˚ and now sirius black, self-proclaimed nuisance/class clown/troublemaker extraordinaire is grinning at you?

༊*·˚ nope

༊*·˚ no way

༊*·˚ not happening

༊*·˚ you mumble the invisibility charm and are ‘round the corner and gone, trying to ignore sirius’ friends’ laughter 

༊*·˚ that doesn’t shut him down, though

༊*·˚ quite the opposite

༊*·˚ you have no fucking clue how he got your address when you went home for the summer, but suddenly an owl is bringing you a package every week

༊*·˚ first it’s your favorite chocolates, held in a silver paper bag

༊*·˚ then it’s a delicate silver bangle that perfectly fits your wrist

༊*·˚ (the exact color of sirius’ eyes, though you’d never admit how you know that)

༊*·˚ the next day a note comes

༊*·˚ you’re hesitant to open it, half-expecting a stream of silver glitter or something equally cartoonish to explode in your face- you’re all too familiar with the marauders’ pranks, having watched them afar (or maybe just sirius) for a long time

༊*·˚ it’s not, though

༊*·˚ it’s a card to a very nice restaurant, just a few miles from your house, and a handwritten note that says be my date?

༊*·˚ how can you say no to that?

༊*·˚ you tell yourself that it’s just because you’re curious as you do your hair, spend more time than you thought possible figuring out the right way to make it curl and puff

༊*·˚ that it’s just to see what he’s about, as you step into a beautiful, shimmery golden dress that had sat untouched in your closet since your sixteenth birthday

༊*·˚ are you lying to yourself at this point?

༊*·˚ yeah, probably 

༊*·˚ and when sirius shows up at the restaurant at seven p.m. sharp, you’re…kind of impressed 

༊*·˚ he looks good in a dress shirt, for fuck’s sake. the crisp white accentuates his broad shoulders and the raven of his hair, even bringing out the glints of his blue in his stormy-gray-

༊*·˚ the cocky bastard is grinning at you

༊*·˚ “like what you see?”

༊*·˚ you swear you’re about to turn into a puddle in the center of your dress and melt into the floor with embarrassment 

༊*·˚ but contrary to what you’d thought (and snippets of conversation you’ve heard from dorcas and marlene), sirius is a perfect gentleman to you

༊*·˚ pulls out your chair, pays for the meal, holds the door, walks you to your car

༊*·˚ and he’s a good conversationalist, too

༊*·˚ you hadn’t thought that he knew so much about the muggle world and the type of science that you’re into, but he is

༊*·˚ he actually takes the time to listen to you

༊*·˚ and for once, he’s someone who wants to spend time with you for you, not because he wants your help studying or your answers for a homework

༊*·˚ you begin going on more and more dates

༊*·˚ you don’t know why, but what you’re feeling for sirius has slowly grown to engulf you, like ivy covering a wall 

༊*·˚ that doesn’t change the fact that you’re scared. dead straight scared, of letting anyone in, showing any vulnerability whatsoever, any emotion

༊*·˚ (which, according to your preening parents, is the only reason you do so well academically, but you have no intention of telling them otherwise)

༊*·˚ sirius, ever the gentleman, doesn’t push it

༊*·˚ doesn’t push anything

༊*·˚ he leaves it all up to you, and you’re not used to being in control 

༊*·˚ it’s scary and new and exhilarating all at once

༊*·˚ which maybe is what prompts you to ride his flying motorbike with him for the first time in the middle of second year

༊*·˚ the thing terrifies you. like, flat-out terrifies you

༊*·˚ little by little, you get more comfortable on it (definitely not because it means you get to rest your head on his shoulder, the gold jewelry around your neck overshadowed by the silver rings on his big hands, encircling your fingers curled over his chest)

༊*·˚ and the first time you kiss him is when you’re both astride the motorbike, godric knows how far off the ground, with the stars glimmering gold and silver in your eyes

༊*·˚ sirius nearly crashes the damn thing into the lake at the sensation of your soft lips on his

༊*·˚ and after that, you’re official- silver boy and golden girl, a perfect balance

༊*·˚ the perfect pair of gryffindor

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

did you like it? feedback/comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[rhyrhy]

Fields of you 🍎

Chapter three: Late night

Farmhand/cowgirl Abby! X female reader

All chapters here

By the time the sun was setting, the barn was cleaned, the livestock were fed and Tucked in for the night. before heading into the house to wash up, you stopped by the driveway, wanting to see if Papaw’s truck looked any better.

The last thing you see was Abby’s yellow toolbox resting on the bumper, confirming she’d left for the day. Oddly, you enjoyed the sight. it was almost like she left behind a small part of her.

As Night fell you tried to get some rest, but unfortunately your thoughts went wandering back to the handywoman. You cursed yourself, so thinking about her so much.

The memory of her focused, knee deep in hood of the car was too stubborn to be ignored. Tossing and turning, every time your eyes closed, she would appear in your mind.

Ugh!

You eventually gave up on sleep, kicking off the tangled fuzzy blankets and sitting up in bed. A small creak followed your movements. You had a crush, no doubt. Abby was like a stubborn splinter you just couldn’t get rid. You decided some cold air might help clear your head and quiet your racing thoughts.

A small annoyance crept in, not being able to sleep over a woman you barely knew? Felt Pathetic, downright.

With it being too late to phone a friend, a walk sounded like the most sound decision. You tiptoed down the carpeted stairs, onto the worn wood. Creaking open the side down, you saw clover settled sound sleep on the corner of the porch. Your house slippers softy padded down the gravel and dirt path, needing to clear your mind.

Outside, the night air was comforting. The stars against the black- blue sky. crickets somewhat replacing the noisy thoughts in your head. You’d been walking about for a good while, enjoying the peace and quiet of the night, when suddenly, an unfamiliar sound cut through the silence. It was coming from near by. A series of soft clangs and muffled cursing.

You knew approaching wasnt the best decision but who would be on your family’s land at this hour. Were they doing something they weren’t supposed to? Or maybe lost?

you crept closer to the noise, not wanting to make a sound just in case. As you neared down the path you spotted a soft glow coming from the open garage door of a barn. a figure silhouetted against the warm light within.

the cursing got a little louder and more colorful, but with a familiarity to it. Then, as you came to a stop beside the open door, the mystery was solved. There, still dressed in her work clothes, was Abby, kneeling beside a familiar black truck. She was clearly having car troubles.

“You alright?” You called out, arms crossed.

Abby jumped at the sound of your voice, not expecting anyone else to be around at this hour, especially not you.

"Oh- You scared me!” She exclaimed, a hand over her chest, eyes wide from the surprise. You were going to give her a heart attack at this rate. Maybe you should start wearing a bell, to keep from scaring her for a third time.

“Sorry! Sorry!” You said, lips falling into a small frown. Abby shook her head, a soft warm chuckle escaping her lips.

"Nah, don’t apologize. It’s my own fault for being so focused I didn’t hear you come up."

She shifted on her knees, pushing back a brown strand of hair that fell on her face. She looked wore down but still so, so gorgeous.

“It’s late…why aren’t ya home?” You asked tilting your head. Scanning over the clear frustration on her face. She shrugged, her gaze returning to the truck's engine as she spoke

"Eh, I've always been a bit of a night owl. Plus, this old rust bucket decided to give me a few more problems.” She gestured to the vehicle, a hint of frustration in her voice.

Abby went on to explain that she’d be out here in the dark for around a hour give or take. It was almost cartoonish how upset she was. Honestly though, after a long day of work, your car not working would definitely have steam blowing out of anyone’s ears.

You watched as she reached for a rag and wiped some grease off her hands. Picking up on the small habit of constantly cleaning off her hands while working.

You sat arms crossed listening the best you could. She did help out around the land, the least you could do was listen. Although, this definitely wasn’t helpful in the ‘clearing my mind from Abby’ department.

"This thing just doesn’t want to cooperate, it’s been a real pain in the ass.”

“Can’t get home in that, huh?”

"Not unless I enjoy walking the five miles back home. And trust me, no one wants to see me do that after a day’s work.” She gave the stubborn vehicle a light kick with her hard boot. Frustrated to hell.

“need me to drive you? I don’t mind..” “I can’t sleep anyway, car ride might help”

You sighed, and honestly hoped she would accept the offer. More chit chat would be nice, especially if she insisted on not leaving your brain while you tried to rest.

Abby looked up at you, a mix of surprise and gratefulness in her eyes.

"You'd really do that, for me?"

She asked, clearly caught off guard by your offer. A moment of pause filled the air as she seemed to think over your offer. Then, a warm smile spread across her face.

"Ah I suppose that wouldn’t hurt. I think I’ve hit a stalemate with this thing anyway."

You felt a rush of excitement goosebump your skin. Relax, she just wants to get home.

Small talk filled the air. She followed you down the familiar path towards the garage, her heavy work boots grinding against the gravel.

As you both entered the garage, the silence of the night was briefly interrupted by the soft clicks and whirs of various machines and tools.

Abby slumped back into the truck's passenger seat, her exhaustion showing on her face. Eyelids heavy.

She gave you directions as you navigated through the dark country roads, passing over gravel and occasionally potholes. The ride was mostly silent, save for the hum of the truck’s engine and your occasional question to confirm the right way.

You couldn’t help but feel soothed by her small hum, another small habit you’d noticed.

As the vehicle crested a small hill, you approached a cozy, yet modest cottage with a few other outlying buildings. Soft yellow light spilled from the windows, casting a warm glow over the property.

"Thanks, for driving me…really."

Abby unbuckled her seatbelt, preparing to get out of the truck. A small zip followed. She placed a hand on the black door handle before pausing, turning back to you.

"Hey…you sure you’ll be alright getting home this late? Don’t want you to get jumped by a badger or some other wild animal.”

“oh? I can handle myself, thank you” you laughed.

Abby chuckled, a hint of a smirk on her face.

"I don't doubt that. Just…promise me you’ll lock your doors, alright? And no more walks in the middle of the night." She teased, one boot hanging out the door.

“Only if you promise to look over your shoulder more” you joked back since she clearly startled easy.

Abby rolled her eyes, a huffed laugh followed.

"Oh, so I’m being lectured on safety now, huh? Is that what this is?" She placed a hand on her hip, looking you over with curiosity.

“Just dishing it back out is all”

"Mhm, always gotta get the last word, hm?"

She chuckled, a flicker of challenge in her eyes. "Alright, fair enough. I’ll look over my shoulder, and you stay out of the fields after dark. Deal?"

“Deal” you had to feel those hands, so you said “we shaking on it?”

Abby glanced down at your offered hand, a smirk on her lips. She looked back up at you, that beautiful twinkle in her eye.

"Oh, you’re going for the old-fashioned handshake, huh? Sure, I’m in." She placed her greasy hand in yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

The handshake was solid, sending a small tingle down your arm.

Abby laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. She slowly released your hand.

"Goodnight. Get back safe, ya hear?"

She stepped out of the truck, waving goodbye. The porch light flickered on as she disappeared into the cottage, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

The drive home was a mix of silence and the hum of the engine, your mind wandering back to the encounter. You thought about the way she laughed, how her hand felt in yours. Strong but gentle. You felt a little silly, getting all worked up over a simple handshake, but you couldn’t help it.

For some reason she had gotten under your skin in the best way possible.

Taglist: @abbylvr69 @ceylnisgone

[theocddiaries]

Shadow: How’s Tails? Any better? Sonic: No. Ever since he had that nightmare about the tooth fairy, he’s been a nervous wreck. I can’t leave his side. Shadow: Hm. Sonic, when was the last time you spent time with your brother? One on one. Sonic: I took him to the dentist on Tuesday. Shadow: I mean doing something fun. Sonic: Hey, he had a blast scolding the dentist for having outdated magazines. …Okay. I don’t know, I saw him doing his own thing, and he’s not a little kid anymore, so I just gave him some space. But you might be right. I’ll talk to him. Tails! Can you come here for a second? [Tails comes out of his room with a broom and a tranquilizer gun, scanning the room before sitting on the couch, still on guard. Shadow and Sonic exchange a worried glance.] Sonic: Okay, buddy… [takes the gun from him]: Give me that. Look, I got the message. Tomorrow we’ll do whatever you want and I’ll make your favorite food, and we’ll have a sleepover. We’ll spend the whole day together. But please, drop the tooth fairy nonsense. Tails: It’s not nonsense, she’s really here! Sonic: Tails, I’m really sorry I made you feel abandoned. [From the hallway, Knuckles appears wearing a grotesque papier-mâché head with crudely drawn facial features, a disheveled wig under a tattered veil. He looks both ways before slipping into the bathroom.] Tails [screaming and pointing]: Aaah! There she is! There she is! [Shadow and Sonic turn, but Knuckles is already gone.] Sonic: Tails, there’s nothing there. Shadow: Okay, how about this? I’ll go spend a week with Rouge so you two can spend time together like old times. Tails: I don’t give a damn about your life, you egomaniac! There’s a lunatic in the house who wants to rip my teeth out! Aaaaaaaaah! There she is again! [Knuckles comes out of the bathroom, scratching his head in confusion. He heads toward the kitchen.] Sonic: Tails-- Tails: Look, look that way, please! [Sonic rolls his eyes and turns around.] Sonic: Tails, pal, there’s nothing. Tails: Yes, there is! She hides right when you look! She’s evil! Shadow: Kid, enough, okay? Your brother and I aren’t playing along anymore-- [Knuckles walks into the living room and taps Sonic on the shoulder while Shadow talks. Sonic turns around, sees him, and starts screaming along with Tails.] Sonic: Aaaaah! She’s real! Shadow: You aren't help-- Damn it! Tails: I told you! [shoves Shadow before running out]: Take him instead! [runs out of the house screaming] Knuckles: Hey, calm down, it’s me!!! Sonic: Knuckles? Knuckles: Help me get the head off, it’s stuck. Shadow [removes it after a few tries]: What the hell do you think you're doing?? Knuckles: Me? Bringing back the magic for Tails. Shadow: How? By haunting him dressed like La Llorona? Knuckles: No, I’m the tooth fairy. Sonic: That's great, because you’re gonna need new teeth when I knock yours out, you idiot! The kid’s terrified! He hasn’t slept in three days, he’s more owl than fox at this point because of you! Shadow: Look, you’re going to tell Tails it was you pulling one of your dumb stunts. Knuckles: I can't tell him. That’s like Superman admitting he’s Spider-Man. It ruins the magic. Shadow: What magic? You’ve got a serious problem with language. That costume causes a lot of things: disgust, unease, terror, but magic ain’t one of them! Sonic: I spent countless hours editing VHS tapes and DVDs so the kid could watch Bambi without the mother’s death scene, and you traumatized him in one night. First and last time you scare him like this! And especially the last time you mention the stupid tooth fairy! Knuckles: Stupid tooth fairy? Well, then, let’s call Santa Claus ‘fat bastard’ and Kermit the Frog ‘amphibian jerk’ while we’re at it! There's no values anymore! Bitter losers! [storms off] Sonic: Unbelievable… Knuckles [comes back]: Sorry, guys, I lost my head. Sonic: Thank you. Knuckles: Hm? No, I mean literally, I lost the head for my costume… Oh wait, here it is. [picks it up]: So, screw you both, Grumpy and Grumpier.

[the-californicationist]

he lets you watch

When you overhear Captain Price watching porn in his office, you decide to turn his fantasies into a reality.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: femdom, gagging, one slap

You were working late. Again. It was the most frustrating part of any operation: recon review. All the footage collected from all the soldiers’ body cams had to be reviewed and documented. Any dialogue? Syntactically tagged. Any shots fired? Counted. Any kills? Confirmed. You were glad to help the team, but this stage of discovery was dreadfully boring. 

Even worse, your new-found crush on your captain was driving you insane. To be honest, you’d had your eye on him for a while. There was something about a man in charge, but it was when this last set of footage came through that you really went off the deep end. 

Price had gone with Gaz into a warehouse that was suspected of housing enemy munitions, and the captain had uncovered crates and crates of target-marking spray paint. Huge canisters that attached to the bottoms of planes were all stuck in little rows, lined up and ready to use. 

Unfortunately for the captain, one of the canisters was propped open on the top of its box, and when he lifted the lid, he got covered in red dye. You watched it explode, covering the camera, and then when it reconnected, there he was. Shirtless. Down to his boxer briefs. Wiping red dye off of himself with his clothes. Gaz had brought a full kit, so Price was changing out, hoping to stay covert and camouflaged in the clean gear. Couldn’t well be a glowing red dot while trying to escape enemy territory. 

His chest was broad and full of dense, dark hair, laying flat like soft fur, untrimmed and natural. His beard was streaked red, and half his face was painted, making him look like an ancient Celt, ready for brutal highland battles and bedding willing lassies. He was frustrated by his accident, so all of his movements were sharp and aggressive, his muscles raging and wrestling against his skin. Then, he moved closer to the camera, and the bulge in his underwear became glaringly apparent. 

Hung. Thick. Not so long that it was out of place, but heavy. His cock was imposing, and when he readjusted himself, you could see how dense the muscle really was. You couldn’t help but pause the film, staring, in glorious 4k. You nearly had to wipe the drool from your mouth. 

Price looked so confident here. He was always self-assured, but sometimes, when you spoke with him, there was something that he was holding back. Some shyness perhaps, maybe just a reserved nature, but not here. Not in his livid rage, he was like a wounded beast - angry and virile. Full of righteous energy. It made you imagine making him come undone in other ways, in the ways a woman was meant to make a beast like that come apart at the seams. Ripping the constricting threads and freeing the hulking creature looming within. 

Now, he was sitting in his office, right next to yours, and he’d started watching footage of his own. Or, at least, you thought that he was watching the cams…until you heard a woman’s salacious moan penetrate the thin wall between you. 

Your eyes grew wide, and your breath caught in your chest. You sat in the silence of your office, hearing your heart pound in your ears. You waited to hear it again, just to be sure.

Then, a very quiet, 

“You wanna come?”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. It wooshed from you like a wave crashing against miles and miles of sand. 

Something snapped, some darkness possessed you. You found yourself standing, walking toward the door to his office. It was so late, everyone else had turned in. Just you and him in the west hall of the base awake. He never slept, it seemed. A night owl like you. 

You opened his door without knocking. You’d never done that before, and objectively, it was a truly insane choice. 

In your mind, his hand had lingered when he took his cup of coffee from your hands. In your imagination, he’d cocked a sly smile when you made a joke, just between you and him. You thought you’d seen him checking out your ass in the gym. But, you didn’t have any real proof. 

Popping open his door was the equivalent of pulling the trigger on a bazooka. 

He stood, caught like a fox in a snare, his chair clattering as you came into the room and shut the door behind you quickly. 

“Sergeant, uh,” he recovered, “What happened?”

“Captain.” 

It was a full sentence. And, it was all you had. You were finished. 

The video was still playing. The lurid slapping of skin on skin. Her over-acted moans, his ritual panting. Every few seconds, you counted three, there was another soft,

“You like that, daddy?”

You smiled. He turned red, just like he’d been painted again. 

“Sergeant, I was just…”

He paused the movie. Then, with his body, with the hand roughly rubbing down his face, with the palm tightly covering his mouth, he said a million other words. He was still pink with shame, and then he laughed,

“Yeah, no. I was ‘bout to have a wank. Not sure why I was trying to make you believe otherwise, love. Sorry. It’s too loud?”

You smiled wider. His genuine honesty was so smooth and effortless. A thief caught with his hands in the cookie jar, begging you to punish him for it. 

“No,��� you shook your head, “Just wanted to see what you were watching.”

He didn’t register what you said at first, still staring down at his boots. Then, realization washed over him and he looked up at you, eyes shining, brows arched.

“Oh? That so?”

You nodded,

“Let me see what’s got you up so late.”

The captain rubbed a big, calloused hand across his mouth, smoothing his beard, a bit nervous. Then, he pulled a chair around and motioned for you to sit beside him. You sat. He sat. He hit play. 

A woman was straddling a man, both of them hairless and slick like brand new Barbie dolls, spray-tan orange and bleach-blond hair. Americans. She was riding his larger than average dick slowly, deliberately slow, edging him with her pussy. She had a hand around his throat, grasping his jaw tightly, pushing his head back. He was tied to the chair, straining against it, clearly desperate as he writhed beneath her, fighting his restraints. 

“Please, baby. Please, let me come?” He begged. 

“You wanna come, daddy?” She teased. 

“Yeah, can I come?” He begged. 

“Ah-ah! I don’t think so…” She teased. 

Begging. Teasing. Begging. Teasing. A vicious, uncontrollable cycle of cruelty on her part, always pulling the proverbial carrot farther and farther from his snapping jaws. 

You turned to Price who was watching, rapt. He noticed you staring at him. Before he turned to face you, he smiled, sighing,

“Sometimes, when you’re the one barking orders all day, it’d be nice to turn your head off and follow someone else’s for a change.”

“You could follow my orders,” some psychotic part of you spoke. 

He gripped the side of the chair, his once-relaxed hands now making the cheap aluminum frame creak and pop. 

“What’d you say, Sergeant?”

“You heard me, Captain,” you didn’t know if you should call an exorcist or what. Who was this version of yourself and how quickly was she going to get you court martialed?

“You think you can order me around?”

You leaned in, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath, Cuban cigars leaving earthy notes of vanilla and licorice behind. You whispered,

“I know I can.”

He breathed out, his exhale caressing your lips, threatening to kiss you. 

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You locked eyes with him, 

“Sit on your hands, Captain.”

“Sergeant,” he tried to kiss you, but you pulled away quickly. 

Part of your body screamed at you, wondering why you’d avoid his advances, but your mind knew what he wanted. He needed to lose control. For a man like Price to lose it, it must be taken from him. Forcibly. 

“I said sit... on... them,” you sneered, making yourself larger by standing over him, placing your hands on his thighs to press into his skin. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, patronizing and light-hearted. It made you want to break him of that habit. Of thinking you were just his sergeant. Just the girl who brought him coffee. Just his gym buddy. 

He still hadn’t complied, chuckling to himself. Out of no where, you straight up fucking slapped him. Hard. Right across the jaw. Grabbing him by the collar,

“Sit on your fucking hands, soldier. That’s an order,” you barked. 

He sat on his hands, staring at you like you had doused yourself in gasoline and caught yourself on fire, in awe.

You pushed his chair back until you had room to move in front of him, and you began peeling off your clothes, one by one. Your shirt, your cargos, your bra, your panties; they all ended up on the floor, leaving you naked and touching yourself lazily, letting your hands wander. 

He moved to lift his hands off his seat, wanting to touch, so you backed away from him. It was a warning: move and this ends. Follow my orders, and I’ll stay. He settled back down. 

“You know, I should punish you for slapping me, Sergeant. That’s insubordination,” he chided, trying to regain control of the situation. 

You took your panties off the ground and found the wet stain he’d caused, showing it to him coyly, like you’d picked up a pretty shell from the beach. It gleamed in the light of his desk lamp. Then, you walked over to him, swaying your hips, and bent down as if to kiss him. 

As he opened his mouth to kiss you back, you pushed your panties into it, past his teeth, clutching at his jaw with the other hand as roughly as you could, knowing you couldn’t hurt him. You shushed his surprised noises, putting a finger to his lip,

“Shh, Captain. That’s enough. You’re not in charge anymore, are you?”

He furrowed his brow as if he would fight back, as if he would remove his hands and teach you a lesson. Then, as he tasted you on his tongue, he realized that you were offering prizes for obedience. He would reap the rewards, if he was willing to play along. His face softened, and he shook his head no. 

“Good boy,” you whispered. 

You kissed his mouth, awkwardly, since it was full of your wet panties, there was little he could do except experience your kisses. He reacted as if he wanted to kiss you back, and as you moved to kiss his jawline, he moaned. 

Price’s moans were rumbling and deep, long and low like a bull elephant’s roar. You wanted to drag that noise out of him again. Your hand found his belt buckle, and you rugged at it, willing it to loosen. As you kissed his neck, you drug down his zipper and freed his cock from the fabric. 

The captain was not soft. If anything, he was harder than he should’ve been for a little teasing and some neck kisses. You decided to use that to his disadvantage,

“My, my, my. Someone’s eager…”

You tugged up and down with length in a long, languid massage, feeling how his foreskin slipped over the head and down the shaft, smooth and supple. He was hairy around the root of his cock, just as you’d hoped, and after seeing the video of him covered in paint, you wished you could strip him down and run your fingernails through his chest hair, delicately scratching his skin and peaked nipples. 

For now, you spit on his cockhead, using it as lube as you rubbed him. He threw his head back in ecstasy. You removed your hand. He snapped back to attention, staring at you a bit desperate for relief. 

You giggled, 

“Is this for me, or for her?”

Pointing over your shoulder, you motioned to the paused video. You took your hand away, feigning hurt feelings.

His body arched toward you, missing your touch, and he shook his head, trying to say something. 

“For her? How disappointing,” you pouted, playing with the head of his cock with one finger, drawing circles around the edge. 

Price was saying something muffled through the fabric of your panties, shaking his head, scooting his chair closer with a quick thrust of his hips, making his cock flag from the jolting movement. 

“You know,” you whispered, drawing him in with your quiet tone, “if this was for me, I’d really be looking forward to feeling it inside of me.”

“Mmm. Mm, mm!” He tried to correct you, his shoulders straining as he pulled them forward, struggling against his self-imposed restraint. 

“Oh?” You caressed his face, rubbing your hand through his soft beard, feeling the stubble on his chin, “It is for me after all?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded, leaning his cheek into your palm, eyes hooded with relief. 

You could tell he was enjoying the game. You were enjoying it, too. You could feel how wet you were, watching him gaze at your shining folds hungry. Impatient. 

“In that case…” you straddled him, planting your knees on either side of his hips, trapping his cock between you both. His body felt warm, and his breathing was labored. 

You rubbed your wetness up and down his shaft, spreading yourself along his length, making wet little sounds as you smeared him until he was slippery. 

Carefully, you moved his head into your eager pussy, your walls pounding for him like a heartbeat. Then, you held his throat with your hand, forcing him to look at you. 

“You don’t get to come until I tell you to. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Mm, hm,” he nodded, rolling in the ecstasy of your tight cunt. 

“Good, boy.”

[imfinereallyy]

celebrate softly

it my birthday today so here’s a lil gift from me to you (yes I know that’s not how this works haha) I made a bunch of little things is celebration, i probably won’t post these till later in the day so sorry if you get a bunch at once.

Steve wanted to like his birthday.

No, really, he truly did. He knew that birthdays were the one time of year you get to be a little selfish. The people you loved gathered around you to celebrate another year of you.

It was just that Steve was also used to disappointment.

Over the years, his birthday has consisted of either his parents parading him around at business dinners or the empty silence of a house that wasn’t ever a home.

His old friends were never around. It was a holiday weekend; he didn’t expect them to stick around. Even if they had, Steve was almost sure they would have made him throw a party, where they would have pressured him to get drunk and sleep with someone, and…

Yea, Steve wasn’t interested.

The one birthday he spent with Nancy had been okay. She had to go on a family trip, her parents attempt at getting their kids to cheer up over the loss of their friends, and she was going to leave the morning of his birthday. But at midnight of July 2nd, she had snuck into his window even though she could have walked through the front door. Nancy had brought him a cupcake, a small present, and a soft smile. Steve had wanted to kiss her, but he knew it wasn’t what she wanted then. He wanted to be respectful, so he held her hand instead.

Nancy hadn’t brought a candle, said she didn’t want to risk burning the Harrington Household down. Steve had laughed, saying that would be the best birthday present ever, but she hadn’t laughed back.

The present had been a book. Which wasn’t a terrible gift per se, Steve liked reading it was just he had difficulty doing it. He couldn’t focus long enough, or he would have to reread sentences over and over again.

It just didn’t feel worth the frustration.

But it was sweet of her to get him something, so he tried reading it. It took him months to finish it, even though it was small. It was boring, and Steve had found the main character whiny, and Steve had begun to wonder if Nancy was trying to tell him something.

Then the Upside Down round two had happened, Steve got his ass kicked again and learned that Catcher in the Rye was Jonathan’s favorite book.

Steve had thrown out the book amongst his bloody bandages.

Steve was only slightly hopeful to have a good birthday last year. He had good friends (sure, one was his ex, and the other were children, but he still counted them); Dustin would be home from camp, and even though he had work, he got to spend the whole day bothering Robin, which brought him a special kind of joy.

But then they were cracking Russian code, getting tortured, and watching Max’s Stepbrother die, all within the days of his birthday.

So Steve didn’t have high expectations this year. Sure, people knew it was his birthday, it was hard to hide when he was friends with the nosiest people, but most of them were spending the entire weekend staying with Max, and he would have been too if Max hadn’t thrown a remote at him when he suggested it.

So Steve had conceded to having a quiet but lonely July 2nd.

But then at 7 am there was a knock on his front door.

A knock was putting it lightly, there was pounding echoing in the Harrington Household.

When Steve walked up to the door, he was prepared to drive away some bigots who had been trying to “repent Hawkins.” They had been going around the richer neighborhoods recently, saying we needed to clean up the streets of the sinners and the queers.

Yea, they were knocking on the wrong door.

Steve hadn’t expect Eddie Munson, notorious night owl, to be crowding his doorway at 7 am.

“Harrington, have I ever told you how absolutely ugly your house is? Like for how wealthy your parents are, they chose an absolute nightmare of a layout! It makes no sense.” Eddie budged his way past Steve with his arms full of bags.

“I’ve been telling him that for a year, Eddie, and every time he just shrugs!” Steve turned to find Robin bullying her way through him as well. She had a handful of videos in her hands.

“Sure, come in, I guess,” Steve mumbled. He shut the door and turned toward his intruders. “Not that I don’t love a surprise appearance at—“ Steve checked his watch “—7:03 am, but is there a reason why you are awake before the birds are even chirping?”

Eddie snorted and just gave him a look instead of answering. Robin shook her head, “What doofus hear is trying to convey with a noise, Jesus Eds, I know you’re not a morning, but words please, is that we are obviously here for your birthday. You, Steven Alison Harrington—“

“Not my middle name.”

“—we’re born at exactly 7:07 am on July 2nd. So we had to be here to say happy birthday officially!”

“How do you even know the time? I don’t even know that.”

“She snuck a look at your file last time Owen’s was in town.” Eddie smirked.

Robin hit him upside the head, “Don’t tell him that asshole, he already thinks I’m crazy enough. And don’t act like this wasn’t your idea!”

Eddie rubbed the back his head in dramatic fashion then yelled, “Snitch!” through hissed teeth.

Steve felt himself unthaw at the idea that these two weirdos woke up this early for him. “Ah, well, thanks, guys.” A blush rose on his cheeks, “Well, thanks for stopping by; you guys can go home and sleep if you want.”

“Stevie, did you think we brought all this to just leave? On your birthday. Oh no, no, no. We are having a whole movie and snack day! I brought weed, and chips, and we can order a pizza later in the day. And just be lazy weirdos in your fancy living room.” Eddie hopped up on his coffee table, startling a laugh from Steve.

“That sounds like a typically Friday for us, what’s so special about it?” Steve teased.

“Well we brought all of your favorite movies! Grease, Top Gun, Karate Kid, Indiana Jones...wait I think I'm noticing a theme here—“

“Robin!” Steve screeched, his blush coming back with vengeance. He didn’t want her to reveal there very obvious, and embarrassing pattern to his favorite films.

“And!” Eddie said from atop his place on the coffee table, unfazed by the two of them, “We are paying for the pizza.” His voice oozed with pride at that. Steve was sure he had come up with the idea.

“Wow I’m a spoiled prince. Maybe ever think I wanted to stay in bed?” Steve raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh but my sweet prince, we know you rather spend this glorious day with us.” Eddie was confident, with confidence came the damn nicknames, and Jesus Christ—this blush of his was never going away. “Besides what else could you wish for!”

A kiss from you. Steve thought quickly.

Steve sighed deeply before saying, “Alright. Get down.”

Eddie seemed taken aback, like he hadn’t expected the rejection. “Oh yea man, of course. We will get out of your hair.” He scrambled off the table.

Steve giggled, “No Eds. I’m moving the coffee table. This couch is a pullout. We can all just lay on it while we watch movies.”

Eddie’s face lit up while Robin yelled, “Oh thank god, I’m exhausted.”

An hour later, when the sun was still barely risen and Grease blared in the background, Robin was bundled up in the blankets they dragged from his room, out like a light.

Eddie and Steve huddled close, but didn’t touch. The anticipation and want sat between them. “I actually have something for you.” Eddie whispered.

Robin snored beside them; Steve looked at her fondly. “You don’t have to whisper; she’s a heavy sleeper. Learned that the hard way.”

“Ah well, I have a present for you.”

Steve knows he should say that Eddie shouldn’t have, or insist he returns it. He knew it was the polite thing to do. He couldn’t find it in himself to do it, though. The idea that Eddie even thought to get him something beyond the amazing day they had planned (truly Steve couldn’t ask for a better day), but Eddie had spent his time to get something for Steve.

It was nice to have someone who would do something nice for you just because they can, not because they should. So, Steve waited patiently as Eddie reached into his bag beside the couch.

“Here.” Eddie spoke, placing the roughly wrapped package in his lap.

There was a tiny notecard with Eddie’s chicken scratch on it; Steve decided to read that first.

Stevie,

No adventure is the same without you, and this is the only one I have taken without you by my side. Thought it was about time we changed that. Hopefully we are not forever partners in crime (we’ve had enough of that) but instead, adventurers taking on then great unknown.

Together.

Yours,

Eddie Munson ッ

Steve smoothed over the card and tried not to cry. The poorly drawn smiley face stared up at him from the piece of parchment. Steve tucked it into his pocket for safe keeping; he might even frame it.

Eddie looked at Steve eagerly as he tried to open the package. He does it slowly to tease Eddie; his frustrated little growl made butterflies in Steve’s stomach.

Inside the package is a worn-out book, one he would recognize anywhere, considering he saw it every day on Eddie’s bookshelf. “Eds, this is your copy of Lord of the Rings. I can’t take this.”

Eddie put his hair in front of his mouth, suddenly shy, “Well, it wouldn’t be exactly yours. It’s just I thought it would be fun to, ya know, read it together? Like we take turns reading to each other. I know the kids always bug you to read it, and I noticed that it’s hard for you to focus sometimes, and I get that, so it might be easier if we like make it a thing? I know it’s probably not your interest; it’s my favorite book, not yours, so you know what? This is stupid—“

Steve cut him off by pulling him into a hug. Steve buried himself into Eddie’s neck before saying, “Thank you. It’s the best birthday present.”

“Really?” Eddie pulled back to look at Steve’s face. Whatever he found there must settle him, because he relaxed his shoulders. “I know it’s silly, but I guess I wanted to share this piece of myself with you…and maybe spend some more time together.”

Steve didn’t mention how they spent almost every day together, didn’t think he had to either. They both knew.

Steve decided to be bold instead. He pushed Eddie back into the couch and settled his back into Eddie’s chest. He snuggled into the warmth of his arms.

Steve put the book in Eddie’s hand. “Okay, you read first.”

Eddie laughed; Steve could feel the vibrations from under his skin. It was delightful; it was delicious. “Oh, you want to start now?”

Steve made an indignant noise while Eddie laughed again at him. His hands settled at the back of Steve’s neck as he played with hair that brushed it.

“When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventyifirst birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was …”

And once again, hours later, when Steve woke up, after drifting to Eddie’s soft, deep voice, Steve felt something settle in him. He felt Eddie lightly snoring beneath him, one hand still tangled in his hair. He felt Robin’s hand wrapped around his ankle, grounding the both of them. And there, between all of them, was the fallen book with no bookmark, signaling they would have to start again.

Maybe, sometimes. Steve thinks, birthdays could be good.

***

projecting. projecting. projecting. that’s me.

I hope you guys liked this one :) I did use my own bday for him, but the time he was born at is different than mine lol. I had a lot of fun writing it, it was just the softness I needed.

[restinslices]

Everything pt3

PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 6999 (I made a few word changes at the last minute so this is inaccurate. Rip)

Summary: Everything pt1 and 2 from Ares perspective

Warnings: Sad shit. Ares threatening to murder Athena’s owl so animal cruelty? OOC Ares but this is not y'all first rodeo. Possible OOC Athena but who isn’t a little shit to their sibling? (The way that most of the gifs of him on here are him beating on Percy-)

You wanna know how to keep your sanity somewhat intact as a god?

Don't worry about your children. 

Gods are immortal. Their children? Not so much. If the gods watched over all their kids and were as involved as people wanted them to be, that meant everytime one of them died, they'd be torn up. Gods had too many kids. The grief would never end. 

That's how Ares saw it at least. Plus, that's how Zeus had it. You couldn't be too involved, and Ares didn't complain. Hating your kids was so much easier than openly loving them. Sure, he would watch his kids from a distance sometimes but there were gods like Hermes who thought about his kids every single day. One specific child tore him up from the inside. If anyone ever mentioned Luke Castellan, his face would go all solemn and he'd make some excuse to leave. 

That's what happened when you cared about one child. Imagine how it would be if the gods cared about all their kids this way. Endless torment. 

The brain was a funny thing though. You could try not to think about something, and it'd pop in your head anyway. Sometimes, you just did things because your brain was used to it. Like a morning routine. You don't think about everything you're doing when you're getting ready for the day, you just do it because that's what your brain is used to. Sometimes you'd look somewhere and be flooded with emotions linked to certain memories. The brain was very interesting. 

Ares didn't mean to stumble upon one of his kids. It just happened. Went back to that brain thing. Ares only meant to have a nice late night drive in the rain, no real destination in mind. That was his mistake. If he had a destination in mind, he wouldn't have been on autopilot and drove down a street that was linked with multiple emotions and memories. 

Memories of a woman he shared laughs with. Memories of a woman he'd hold hands with and take on various bike rides and walks. Memories of a woman he called beautiful and loving on multiple occasions. Memories of a woman that had one of his children and looked as happy as could be when she held them. 

There were other memories though. 

Memories of a woman he watched turn bitter and cold towards him. He was gone too often and they both knew she wouldn't be the last person he was with. There were memories of them fighting, of her telling him that he left her with a curse she couldn't get rid of. And Ares watched from afar as all the anger she had towards him was targeted at his child because they were within reach. 

He gritted his teeth as he thought about it, and he was planning on turning around, but he decided not to when he saw the figure sitting on the ground. He didn't have to be close to know it was you. You sat outside a lot, and he assumed it was because your house was too loud at times. Plus, you had a specific hoodie you got as a gift in middle school and you kept it ever since. Pros of getting a gift way too big for you. 

His mind screamed at him. “Do not go any closer! Just mind your business and turn around! Now!”

He didn't stop his bike as he was thinking, and the view of you and what he assumed was gonna be your poor excuse of an offering came closer and closer into view. A fruit roll up? He probably would've ignored you if he wasn't so close. 

“Tough night” he said once he was in front of you. Your confusion was clear. You hadn't technically made an offering, so you weren't expecting him to appear. “You were going to”. 

You asked why he was here and he responded a little more sarcastic than he meant to, but oh well. Wouldn't matter. He'd take you back to camp, forget this conversation, then that'd be it. 

“Why don't you like me?”

The question caught him off guard. It was sudden and came out of nowhere. He hasn't told you or any of his kids he didn't like them, so where the hell did you hear that?

Then you explained, and the conversation kept getting more heated. 

Anyone would expect for him to love arguments and usually, he did. This one though, he didn't. The more points you kept bringing up, the more he'd try to deflect and move on, and then you'd bring up even more points. You didn't accept him saying he didn't have to explain anything to you, and he hated it. Any other kid wouldn't dare talk to their parent this way, so why did he have to get the difficult one?

You made another good point about how his eyes shouldn't wander when he has Aphrodite and that calm facade slipped for a moment. Not because he didn't want you speaking about her, but because you were right and he had no actual answers for you. He should be satisfied with Aphrodite, and he was. But he was also a god and sleeping with mortals was part of the gig. They never really thought about what happened after. They weren't supposed to. 

“I didn't choose to be abandoned by my father and be stuck with a dysfunctional family for the rest of my life. You should be angry at that, not me mentioning Aphrodite. You should be enraged at the thought of anyone putting their hands on me and your hands should be covered in their blood! That is how it should be”. 

“Believe it or not, the gods aren't too keen on the idea of killing mortals”

But he wanted to. You had no idea how hard it was to watch one of your children be stuck in a situation you wanted to save them from but couldn't. 

Couldn't. 

Ares hated that word. As a god, he should've been allowed to do whatever he wanted. “Couldn't” shouldn’t be in his vocabulary, but rules put it there. You had no idea about all he had done to keep those types of men away from you. Did you honestly believe he “broke his wrist at work”? He worked at a fast food place. What were the chances?

He tried. The guy was just persistent. When he eventually gave up, your mom married another guy like him, just in a different font and had kids almost immediately with him. Like the last guy, this one was also persistent. There was only so much Ares could get away with before it'd cause a bigger problem, but he tried to make your life better from afar. 

He wanted to beat himself over the head. Why was he so frustrated with himself? The whole point of telling yourself and others that you hated kids, including your own, is that eventually you'd believe it. It was supposed to stay that way. He should've just said “I tried. Get over it”. Why did he wanna try harder? Why did he have this weird ache? Why did the rain suddenly hit him harder and the air smell so bitter?

“None of us asked for this. You all just decide to create and leave us. And you hating the people you created is… I don't know. And it's so stupid that I've spent years of my life trying to get you to be proud of me, only for it to be impossible!”. 

That wasn't true at all. Him not being proud of you? He wasn't supposed to have a favorite, but in the back of his mind he knew his favorite was you. He didn't give gifts to just any of his kids, it was for a reason. It was a small hint that he was watching and liked what he saw. He watched how you carried yourself in battle. You didn't just run in angrily, no. You understood battle. You understood your opponent. You actually looked into wars and you and a few of his other children would try to spot where his influence was. He'd be pretty stupid not to have you as a favorite. 

But you couldn't hear that. If he said any of that out loud, that'd make it real. If he said all of that out loud, his facade would crack and that's something he couldn't let happen. So he defended himself instead. “I claimed you didn't I?”. 

He didn't expect what happened next. 

Firstly, he didn't expect that you'd start to actually yell at him. Only fools who didn't care about their lives did that. Secondly, he didn't expect that ache he felt to get worse with every little thing you said. Especially the last part. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

The facade slipped from his face for a second. How couldn't it? You looked so beaten down and broken, and not because you were in a fight. He would've preferred that. If you had just finished a quest and you looked badly beaten with bruises everywhere, he would've felt better than he did now. At least then he wouldn't feel so guilty. Guilt was another feeling he hated. It meant he did something or made a mistake and he had a reason to feel guilty. Feeling guilty meant he cared enough about you and regretted what he done. It meant the lies he told himself for years weren't satisfying him anymore. It meant he had a problem. 

He tried to tune out the rest of the interaction. He heard your comment about being a burden, and your crying, then your realization that you had yelled at a god, and your comment about him cursing you, but he tried not to focus on any of it. All he did was throw a pouch of drachmas on your lap and watch you suspiciously open it. If you didn't want a ride from him back to camp, you could at least call for another. He could've just tossed you one, but you didn't have any on you. He figured you needed it more than him. 

“You're leaving?” You asked.

“I have a busy schedule”. It wasn't necessarily a lie. He had a particular house call he had to make, so technically he had something on his schedule. Besides that though, he knew he had to leave.

The thing about being away from your kids, is that it makes hating them easier. As twisted as it sounds, they're not there to defend themselves. It's easier to put walls up when there's not someone in front of you knocking them down over and over again. 

Then you did another thing that weirdly hurt. You didn't call him dad. 

What was wrong with him? Must've been just an off day. That's all it was, right?

“Yeah” he accidentally replied to himself out loud before he sped off. 

Just an off day. 

~

You wanna know another way to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't have an off day. 

Why? Because being around gods is like being around elementary school bullies. The gods still hadn't let Ares live down that day when him and Aphrodite got trapped by Hephaestus. Almost every single meeting they'd had, someone made a sly joke. Do you know how annoying it is to hear “I heard you're good at… NETworking” multiple times a year? You'd help Kronos escape too!

Gods notice when you have off days. They also dabble in business that had nothing to do with them. 

When Ares noticed he was missing offerings from a particular child, he must've seemed off. You know who smelled it on him? Athena. 

Ms “look at my owl! I'm so smart! Dad loves me more! Hahahaha I'm just so much better at war!”. Couldn't Kronos strangle her first?

“Ares, brother of mine, you seem so distracted”. Shielding her nosiness as concern. Of course. 

“I was taking in the view until you ruined it”. She smiled, but it wasn't a smile of joy. It wasn't a smile of bitterness and anger either. It was the kind of smile someone gave you before they dealt a crushing blow. Sinister almost. 

But sure, she was totally the better and nicer god. Yeah, ok. 

“Olympus certainly is beautiful. I'm surprised a brute can comprehend something as ‘beautiful’ and 'take in a view’ ”. 

He couldn't help but think to himself “this is the person people prefer?”. At least he was openly mean. Athena was like one of those mean girl characters in movies Aphrodite made him watch. Real snarky but hid it well. 

“You can't turn me into a spider, so I'll just say it; you're a real bitch and one day I'm gonna kill that disgusting owl of yours”

“You'll do no such thing!”. Threatening an owl made her angry? But if he called her pathetic then it's “Ares be nice to your sister!”. 

“Anger over an owl? You're pathetic-”

“Ares!” Hermes seemed to shout from out of nowhere “be nice to Athena!”

See?

He couldn't even throw something at Hermes because he was there one second and gone the next. 

Athena chuckled. “The smell up here is heavenly too. I can smell the offerings my children give me so well up here-”

“What do you want?” he asked, tired of this game already. “Get to it and make it fast. I don't like you”. 

“Hmm, you know who does like me? A particular child of yours”. She didn't need to say your name for him to know who she meant, but she did it anyway. 

“I don't care” he lied. It should've been the truth, but the memories of your last talk coming back and the fact that you chose her out of all the gods to switch over to pissed him off more than he liked to admit. “I have other kids”. 

“But each child is special, aren't they? There's only one of them”. 

“I don't care about any of them”. 

“Then you shouldn't care about what I'm about to say next; it's not just me. I asked around and I guess your child prefers others. Such a sad time. Speaking of other gods, did you know Poseidon got an offering from them recently? Poseidon, father of the child that beat you in combat, well they'll be watching over that child that beat you in combat. Maybe they'll even visit that beach where-”

“It was one time and his dad helped him!” 

“Whatever you say”. Ares had to remind himself that destroying another god wouldn't look good for him. That owl though? He was gonna poke a hole through it. 

“I couldn't imagine any of my children doing that. Must put a lot on your mind” she patted his shoulder then walked away. 

You gave offerings that belonged to him, to other gods. Worse of all, Athena. Then you decided to watch over Percy Jackson of all people? Really proved you were his. You knew how to hit people and make them feel it. It was just unfortunate it was happening to him. 

He didn't care. That's what he told himself. He was just being nosey. Hermes did it all the time, why couldn't he? 

He didn't think about your last conversation and ever since then he'd been watching over his kids more. 

He didn't care about one child not giving him his offerings. 

He wasn't seeing what the hell was going on being he cared. Absolutely not. He was just bored and nosey. That's all it was. 

~~

Ok so Ares had made a little oopsie. 

After your talk, Ares made a little house call and things got out of hand and some hospital visits had to be made. Whoops?

Because of that, your mom and step dad needed no convincing when you asked for legal documents so Sally could take you in. 

Well fuck. There went that obstacle.

And because he absolutely did not care and was only a bit nosey… he kept watching over you. 

He kept debating with himself. On one hand, he shouldn't have cared. Sure, he was missing offerings from one person but it was only one person. On the other hand, the fact that you kept making offerings to Poseidon, and he even gave you a gift, rubbed him the wrong way. Offerings, gifts, staying with that mortal woman and his son, going to school near each other, it's like you were changing families. Not only did that damage his pride as a god, but it also twisted a knife inside him that he didn't know how to get out. 

One day though, Ares got tired of it. He was a god and if he wanted you to cut this shit out, then he'd just force you to. All these emotions were making him weaker than he was, and he was tired of it. You weren't Poseidon's child, you were his. Simple as that. You just needed a reminder.

Slight problem. You and that Jackson boy were idiots. 

For reasons unknown to him, neither of you thought “hey, wouldn't two demigods attract a lot of monsters?”. So a big chunk of the time he was watching over you, he was killing monsters. You may have thought you were killing lots of monsters when you snuck over to Jackson's school, but he did a lot more work than you. Behind the schools, outside the apartment building, in between alleyways, everywhere. If he was anyone else, he wouldn't have been having as much fun as he was having. 

Fun had a limit though. He'd think about Poseidon and Percy and your last talk and that “fun” would become “annoyance”. Right now, the annoyance was higher than the fun bar. 

He was approaching the mall you worked at, and let out a deep sigh when he got closer. He was sure to mortals, it looked like a group of women were standing around and talking about whatever older women talked about. To him though, and anyone else that could see through the mist, the view was more sinister. 

Harpies. Not just one. Not two. Not even three. He didn't count them individually, but if he had to guess, there were at least ten. At least. 

Ten harpies. One demigod. 

One demigod that happened to be his child. 

All of that equaled one very pissed off god. 

The battle was short. The smart harpies flew away when they smelled him. The stupid ones were ripped limb from limb, beheaded and had holes put in them. 

Afterwards, he had a pep in his step. If there were at least ten outside, he could only imagine some made their way inside. 

By the time he found you, you had just stabbed your sword through a harpy’s throat. You pulled it out just as another harpy flew in the air. 

“MY SISTER!”, it shrieked. You looked up at it, no sense of fear in your body language. 

“You want more from the Child of Ares?! I have plenty to give!”. A sense of pride shot through him. 

You wouldn't get it unless you were him. He was the god of war for fucks sake, so not only was he watching a child of his in battle, but that same child used his name as a battle call. Sure, armies used to all the time, but it felt different when it was your kid. Once again, you wouldn't understand unless you were him. 

Unfortunately though, the fight was cut short. The harpy saw him and stopped, “L-L-Lord Ares. I-”. He didn't waste any time. He grabbed you and threw you at it, and watched as your sword lodged into the harpy and the wall. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“Saving your life”. 

Your face turned sour and he couldn't help but chuckle. Maybe you didn't know, but you looked the farthest from pleased. If he had to guess, you were probably thinking something like “I had everything 100% under control”. His children tended to have prides as big as Olympus itself. 

“Are you gonna catch me?” You asked.

 “What for?”

 “Because you threw me all the way to the fifth floor and it’d be nice not to break something”

 “You need me to warm up milk up for you too?”. Ares made smart ass remarks, and he expected you to make one back. Instead, you firmly planted your feet against the wall and pushed, and like a reflex he moved his arms so he could catch you. 

Ares couldn't remember the last time he held you. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he ever held you. He wasn't sure he held any of his kids. He used to. Time was hard to keep track of when you were immortal, but he remembers a time, maybe a hundred years ago, when he used to be present for his kids. Before rules were made and “couldn't” slipped its way into his vocabulary. He used to see his kids all the time. He'd actually keep track, help them on their journey and watch over them. When they died, he'd truly mourn them. 

Then rules were in place and now he kept his distance. When they died, did it hurt? Sure. Not as much as it used to though. A pro in a boatload of cons. 

When you slipped out of his hands, he noticed a few things. You were a few inches taller, and your hair had grown out. Such small things. Anyone else wouldn't notice, but because of his absence, he always noticed small things like that. He used to think “ok, whatever”. But now, he felt an aura of sadness. You, and the rest of his children, were getting older and he was never really there. 

He missed when he was just annoyed or angry when he saw his kids. Anger was way better than sadness. 

“I thought you're not allowed to interfere” you said, and he raised a brow. He thought it was real ironic that suddenly you cared for rules as if you hadn't been breaking them. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“If you hadn't caught me”

“And now?”

“My lips are sealed”. He wasn't really bothered about you telling. Zeus would get over it, and you only knew about one fight. Not the others. 

He could've walked away and left it at that, but he didn't want to. Your words from last time kept ringing in his ears. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because you were the only child of his that actually voiced how you felt. You made him feel guilty and that small amount of guilt cracked the walls and foundation he worked so hard to build mentally. 

Another thought crossed his mind. He didn't want this conversation to stop now. The gods were on borrowed time. Who knew when Zeus would get a bit nosey and he'd be forced to go? He craved what used to be normal hundreds of years ago, and even though it probably wouldn't be that way again, he could pretend for the time being. 

“You have money on you?” 

“Uh, yeah”

“You're paying for dinner. Let's go”. You owed him offerings anyway. 

“I can't” you said after you grabbed his arm. 

“Can't?”

“Yeah. I can't. My uh… my ride. Mom. She's coming to get me. You don't want mom knowing you're in town, right?”. Sneaky asshole. If he hadn't been watching, and if you hadn't paused so much, he would've believed you. 

He looked you up and down, debating on if he should pop your bubble now. 

“Just tax them another burger” he thought and didn't mention he already knew you were staying with Jackson and his mom. Instead, he told you the name of a diner nearby and to be there by noon tomorrow. There was no sneaking your way out of this one. 

~~~

Ares wouldn't say he was nervous. It just felt different. Not in a bad way either, which was alarming him. He enjoyed being around one of his kids, even though he was occupied with the Twitter war he started about vaccinations. 

You looked at him from across the table with a furrowed brow, and that's when he finally addressed you and told you what he was doing. 

He didn't know if you noticed this, but you made a little sound. Like you were beginning to scream but didn't. He looked up at you and you looked laser focused. Were you… were you screaming in your head? Alright. Maybe it was time to put the phone down before you popped a blood vessel. 

“You're probably wondering why I've called you here”

You squinted, “I'm wondering why I'm paying”

“Ask me”

“You know I wanna know though so why am I asking?”. He didn't respond. He just stared at you and tapped his foot on the floor loudly. He hoped it annoyed you as much as your smart mouth annoyed him. Maybe this was how parental relationships were supposed to feel though. It'd been so long. 

“Ares, the amazing God of War. The Protector of Mistreated Women. Wearer of biker jackets. I come before you as your humble child, begging thee to tell me what required my summons and why you were at the mall last night. Please please please tell me. I'll fall over and die if you don't”. Chiron was doing a terrible job when it came to teaching you manners and if you were anyone else, he would've gotten angry. Instead, he was mildly annoyed. 

He motioned towards the platter of burgers and fries, “this is your thank you. This is your offering to me since you haven't been doing that”. 

There it was. You visibly tensed now that you were caught. 

“You noticed?”

“I did. You demigods think you’re so smart. You have these big egos and think you’re ahead of us. You gave your offerings to Athena and Poseidon of all people” saying it out loud left a bitter taste in his mouth and he got angry again. Poseidon and Athena? Two gods that wouldn't have saved you from that mall incident. Two gods that didn't even try. In all the incidents you've had so far, it's been him trailing behind you and keeping you safe! “And then you stay with that fish boy and his mom. Yeah. I saw that too. And I save your life and you don’t seem the least bit grateful”.

“Yeah dad, I’m super grateful my life consists of monsters trying to eat me and a dad I only see once in a blue moon. Totally grateful”.

“We can’t interfere” he tried to defend his actions again. 

“Didn’t stop you last night”

He tsked, “I don’t get you. You complain about my absence then you complain when I’m here when I could be doing anything else!”. Ares kept putting his foot in his mouth. He was so bad at this, it was insane. Ares was never one to coddle his children, but he used to be able to be strict and stern without hurting someone's feelings… majority of the time. Sometimes things are said, but he didn't used to be this bad at it. What he should've done was apologize, but apologizing was never something he was good at. And if he apologized, he'd have to admit he was wrong and promise to do better, and he wasn't sure he could or that he even wanted to.

“Then go do those things. I’m not holding your hand and making you stay! And this isn’t about us and you know it. This is about you. This is about your ego being hurt. You don’t care about my safety. You didn’t go to the mall to protect me. You just love a fight and you were probably disappointed you couldn’t do more”. The scowl you had was so familiar, it was almost creepy. You weren't 100% his twin by any means. You had your own facial features, but dammit, anyone could tell by the scowl alone that you were his. It made that knife he couldn't get out twist a little more. 

You were so wrong. Sure, he was at the mall planning to set you straight but he genuinely did care about your safety. You had no idea how many monsters he killed or scared away that were tracking you down, and you had no idea about the other harpies outside the mall. The fact that you thought he didn't care about you at all, hurt him more than he ever wanted to admit. 

“That's what you think?” he asked. A tinge of anger in him, but mainly regret and sorrow. 

“That's what I know. And I didn’t need your help. I was just fine. The only thing you would’ve missed if I somehow died was your little offerings. I don’t matter to you. Just admit it so we can move on” he wanted to tell you how wrong you were, but you beat him to the punch. “And for your information Percy and Sally are very nice people. They feel more like family than you do”. 

The knife kept twisting. 

He wanted to share the blame. He wanted to find a way to blame you, or his other kids, or Zeus, but he knew he couldn't. Zeus was a problem. No point in denying that. But Ares could've always tried, and he didn't. He allowed himself to lie to himself over and over again about how he felt about his kids, and now it felt like you were slipping through his fingers and he wasn't strong enough to hold on. He wasn't fast enough to grab you. 

It got silent. He didn't know what to say. Ares hardly ever felt powerless, but that's exactly what he felt in this moment. Completely and utterly powerless. 

“Have you heard the song American Pie? Yes, it’s somewhat important to what I have to say. Yes or no only please”. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked unamused. What did a random song have to do with anything?

“I don't know. Maybe? Who cares?”. 

“There’s a line in the song that says this’ll be the day that I die. And for whatever reason it made me think about what I’d do if I were dying. If I woke up one day and I knew I was gonna die that day, what would I do? You wanna know what I realized?”. He leaned back in his chair. He had no idea where you were going with this but he might as well hear you out. “Shoot”. 

“I realized-” your voice wobbled and he did his best to not reveal how much it hurt to hear. “I realized I'd spend every second trying to make you love me”. 

The room stilled for him. Everything seemed to pause and he was left in a silent room. Everything was silent, except for his own heartbeat which thumped in his chest in an increasingly slow rhythm. 

If Ares was asked to describe how much those words tore him apart, he'd be at a loss for words. It was a feeling you'd only understand if you were a parent, and it was a feeling you'd hope you'd never feel. It was words you hoped you'd never hear. What was worse is that he only had himself to blame. Ares spent years lying to himself about how he felt. It became natural and sometimes he'd lie about things he didn't have to just because lying felt normal. It didn't feel that way anymore. It felt… he didn't know how to describe it. Each lie he's ever told in his life felt like it was being shot back at him at point blank range. He kept feeling various holes being shot in him and he had no idea how to cover them back up. 

When you started blinking, which was an obvious attempt to not cry and said “And I uh… I don’t wanna be that way anymore. And selfishly I hope that scares you” that knife kept twisting. 

“Gods don't feel fear” he lied. Gods felt fear. They were just better at hiding it. 

“Well whatever you wanna call it I hope you feel it. I hope -and I’m gonna keep calling it fear- I hope you feel afraid for what that means for us”. How defeated you looked filled his head with memories he wanted to keep buried. It reminded him of when he found you on that rainy night. It reminded him of when you started leaving cracks on his mental fortress. 

 “Allow me to humor you for a bit” all the sarcasm and hostility slipped from his voice now. He had a question but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. “Why would you not wanting to spend your last day with me scare me?”

You gave him an answer and if he could go back, he wouldn't have asked at all. 

Ares knew that his kids wanted to bring honor to his name, and as demigods, it was kinda their job. With that being said, he still felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Grief. 

Grief because your relationship was ending before it actually began. Hearing that you were intrigued by him before, and when you were claimed you read every story with him in it, only for all that excitement to be crushed… he wouldn't even wish this feeling on Athena, and on more days than not, he wanted to strangle her. It's a feeling you only wish on your worst enemies. 

“... And I hope the idea of me calling you Ares instead of dad terrifies you…”. 

It did. He never thought it would, but it did. Ares made many claims, like gods not dreaming or feeling fear but it was all false. Right now, he had a dream. A dream that this feeling would roll off him and he could go back to being how he was before. His fear was that that wouldn't be possible anymore. You cracked him. You broke his walls down but he was too late to welcome you in. He was too late to welcome any of his kids in. 

Everytime he tried to blame Zeus for his stupid rule, or Poseidon for welcoming you in before he did, it never stuck. He could only do so much blaming before he had to wake up and realize he wasn't fully innocent. None of the gods were perfect but some tried a lot harder than others. Why didn't he do that instead of convincing himself he didn't care for his kids?

“... and if you hate me I am begging you to have mercy and leave me be. No visiting. I won’t come to see you when we do that little field trip either. I’ll stay at camp or I’ll go bother another god. Hermes is really nice. And if I break my end of the deal you can do whatever you want to me. Turn me into an ant, rearrange my fingers, throw me down a flight of stairs at full force, whatever”.

He didn't hate you. He understood that a little too late. All of his kids thought the same? He understood why, but fuck. He missed when he was just angry. He missed how he was before he stopped to check on you that night. 

“You think, but you don't know anything” he managed to get out. Ares wasn't the type to cry, but his mind was going so fast and it was hard to slow it down. Each word that came out of your mouth twisted a knife inside of him more and more, and the injury was so severe, he could genuinely feel it. 

“Then tell me what I don't know”. 

Should he? Should he say anything? Should he tell you that he was sorry and he wanted to make things right, for not only you but for all of his children? Should he comfort you? Should he admit he was wrong? Should he go back to having a personal relationship with his children? Should he go back to fully mourning them when they passed?

No. 

What good would it do? Would he end up like Hermes? Paralyzed with grief for a son that wasn't even dead yet? Would him changing even mean anything anymore? He tried to be better, then what? He didn't even know how. He'd string his children along, making them believe it'd be better, then he'd be reminded of their impending deaths or the fact that gods couldn't be too close without there being a problem. Then he'd stop. Then his kids would push away harder. Then he'd be Ares, donor to many but father to none. 

“Sally's been waiting outside so…”

Wouldn't it be better this way? Let his favorite go and move on? Let the child that tore down his walls go and work on building them back up? Go back to being the Ares people expected?

“Yeah” he answered himself out loud. He let out a breath as he felt another twist inside him. “You want this?” he asked. 

“No” you said instantly. That voice wobble again… he was so much happier when people were angry with him. Anger he could take and give out, but he couldn't remember the last time someone was disappointed in him and he couldn't remember the last time he broke someone down without trying.  “No I don’t but this just seems like the best thing to do”. He didn’t argue with you even if he wanted to. 

Your hand went to reach inside your pocket for money but then he spoke again “keep it”.

Money was the last thing on his mind. 

“It’s no problem-”.

“Just keep it”.

You nodded. 

It fell silent for a moment. He could've just left, but he stayed seated. Ares from a couple years ago would probably feel lively and free, but Ares today? He felt like something was crushing him and that was hard to do. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Another one?” he responded lifelessly. Pretending to be unaffected was exhausting, and he was beginning to feel the effects. 

“It's not a favor if you don't wanna see me either”. He didn't respond. He didn't feel like lying anymore. “Can we do that thing mortals do? You know, when they hug and say they love each other before they go their own way? Or maybe just the ‘I love you’ part”.

He stared at you as he debated on what to do. One on hand he knew if he did as you asked, it'd be harder to let you go. On the other hand, a war was brewing and if you fell in battle, he knew he'd have forever to live with the regret of not hugging you. 

So he stood up. 

You stood up. 

It's strange how something Ares hadn't done in years could feel so right. Like this was how it was always meant to be. Like he was always supposed to be the type of father that was so present, that his kids would hug him regularly. 

He felt warm. He didn't know how else to describe it. He was just warm. Imagine it's a freezing cold day and you're walking home from school. You walk and walk, trying to ignore how numb your hands feel and the cold nipping at your nose. The cold is terrible, but you remember you left the heat on and that idea alone warms your body and keeps you moving. That's how he felt as he held you. 

“I love you dad”. It was natural. He wished he heard it more often. 

Go back to the scenario from before. 

You get home, so excited about the heat, only to find out the heat is off. Maybe you turned it off and forgot. Maybe someone in your house did. Either way, it was off and the inside of your house is just as bad as outside. The cold feeling seems to get worse now that the warmth of hope is gone. That's how he felt when he said “I love you too”. 

He meant it, but that warmth faded when reality hit. This was it. There would be no more talks like this. This was only the second time and your talks never went the best, but he still valued them. Maybe he was wrong to have favorites and maybe he was wrong to feel so hurt when he caused this but he was in agony anyway. 

When the two of you pulled away and you left, the knife twisted one final time then cut straight through him. He watched as you left for a moment before he looked away and sat back down, the emptiness becoming loud. 

You wanna know how to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't care about your children. 

Don't care about anything. 

Stay detached. Stay far away. Stay to yourself and a few other gods you can tolerate. Don't think about your children. Put your walls up and don't ever let them down. 

Stay angry. Don't feel sorrow or sadness. You'll live forever and the chances of that grief getting better are slim. Stay angry because at least you'll look intimidating instead of weak. Let people make their assumptions. 

Just. Don’t. Care.

But as Ares looked to the side, towards an empty booth with a window that perfectly showed you sobbing in Jackson's car, and your seemingly new family being there for you… he wasn't sure he could do that anymore. 

Y’all I swear they will have a happy ending… just not right now. But before y’all beat my ass, y’all knew damn well this part had no chance of being happy. The happiness is coming! I swear! I think I got everyone on the taglist.

Taglist: @kyuupidwrites @chadmeeksmartinswifey @lebguardians @beansficreblogs @itzjustj-1000 @white-wolf-buckaroo @elsisenta @leathesimp @marshymallo

[queer-media-tourney]

Here are all 64 round 1 polls:

Rent vs Orphan Black

Heartstopper vs Orange is the New Black

Carol (2015) vs Bugsnax

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern vs Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Fienburg

Red, White and Royal Blue vs This is how you lose the time war by Amar el-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Our Flag means Death vs Always human by Ari North

The last of us two vs On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden

Heartbreak High vs Shameless

Undertale vs The Handmaiden

Young Royals vs Revolutionary Girl Utena

Sens8 vs Carry on by Rainbow Rowell

Bee and puppycat vs The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Yuri on Ice vs Ranma ½

Q-force vs Feel Good

Torchwood vs The interview with a Vampire (2022)

Homestuck vs Good Omens

Some like it hot vs Killing Eve

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off vs Bound (1996)

It's a sin vs Magnus Chase by Rick Riordan

Doctor Who vs Portrait of a young lady on fire

Steven Universe vs Saltburn

Xena Warrior Princess vs Cyberpunk 2077

Welcome to Nightvale vs Schitt's creek

Night in the woods vs A league Of their own

Lisa Frankenstein vs The boys in the band (1970)

Black Sails vs Owl House

Hannibal vs The Traitor Baru Cormorant

Bottoms vs The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir

The picture of Dorian Grey vs Adventure time

The Sandman (comic) vs Supernatural

Maurice (1987) vs Hazbin Hotel

Nimona vs Love Simon

Epithet Erased vs What we do in the shadows

Buffy the Vampire Slayer vs The Other Two

One Day at a time (2017) vs Falsettos

She-ra and the princesses of power vs Dykes to Watch Out for

Celluloid Closet vs Harley Quinn

But I'm a cheerleader vs Vida

Angels In America vs Glee

Hooky by Míriam Bonastre Tur vs They both die in the end by Adam Silvera

Will and Grace vs Paris is Burning

Sanders Sides vs The Magnus Archives

The L word vs Goncharov

Queer as Folk vs Paper Girls

Boys don't cry vs Dracula

All of us strangers vs Yellow jackets

The Song of Achilles vs D.E.B.S

Brokeback Mountain vs Dead end: paranormal park

Carmilla vs Pride (2014)

The Bifrost Incident vs Pink Flamingos

Call me by your name vs Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Grishaverse vs Roswell New Mexico

Riverdale vs We Know the Devil

Stardew Valley vs Pose

Disco Elysium vs Different For girls

Banana fish vs my own private Idaho

Celeste vs Tales of the City, by Armistead Maupin

Everything Everywhere all at once vs Outer Wilds

To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar vs Victor/Victoria

Moonlight vs Stranger things

The birdcage vs Midnight Cowboy

The Watermelon Woman vs The Ritz

The haunting of Bly Manor vs Epic of Gilgamesh

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel vs How to survive a plague

[great20sworld]

LIVING THE DREAM 

A Viktor x Reader fanfiction 

Author's note: Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10 and chapter 11 along with summary are available in my Tumblr page. 

⚠️ Content warning ⚠️: Character death (not major character)

Chapter 12: Reverse!

__________________________

“We could've calibrated it better”

You said for the umpteenth time and Viktor didn't honour your exclamation with any comprehensible response, choosing to simply hum in acknowledgement. You put your head in your hands, forefingers pushing back the strands of hair falling over your eyes and thumbs gently applying pressure on your temples as you supress the weight of your eyelids gaining weight as each hour passes. An owl looked at you from the branch curiously extending to the lab, as if it also wanted to partake.

The lab was empty of human presence save for you and Viktor, the latter seemingly immersed in page turner resting in his lap, filled with equations. Though his eyes (much more vigilant than yours in the hour) were torn away from the book every once in a while, to rest momentarily on the dimly glowing line of crystals attaching itself to circuitry. It had taken almost another week or so to actually proportionally raise the charges to match the supposed output you predicted via modelling, and several hours before, your little team had convinced yourselves that the ‘portal’ was almost ready, and as soon as the crystals reached the charging point at a particular scale in the energy it generated, the phenomenon can be observed, granted that there would be a controller.

You remembered wearily how sceptical still Jayce had looked right before being pushed to the conclusion, running a gloved hand through his dark auburn hair and sighing. However, to your delight and surprise Viktor insisted and made a deal that if this “last attempt” failed, they would return to normal property analysis research and the unwilling labour had left Jayce tired, so he was definitely not going to be there to control it. Viktor had volunteered (very eagerly) and Sky also did, seconds before you also volunteered. 

Your gaze met Sky’s and you swore you saw something flicker behind her gaze, only momentarily though, as she quickly schools her expression to a cheerful smile, and saying something about needing to visit the green house anyways, before she thanks you for taking initiative. 

You try to shake away the small doubt already beginning to creep behind your head, as you had watched her leave with Jayce, for the day, leaving you with the tall lanky scientist with the lovely accent. 

Coming to terms with the hopeless fool trapped inside your struggling intellectual brain, you accepted to yourself that this was a moment you had been craving for. You two had gotten closer, ofcourse. With more time to talk, and more time to stress over your work with mutual headaches and late nights, it's been...nice, you presumed.

To spend some precious time with the man, where no other soul could bear witness to the "stolen moments" or so the foolish romantic in you chimed when he came closer, and closer, his beautiful fingers guided by the arm not supporting the cane extending forwards, (aiming at your hand at your side, you hoped).

Until...

You feel a soft flutter of paper being taken from the table you leaned against; his notes which he had compiled throughout the weeks, as he moves away, already ruffling through them, mumbling to himself.

You could've burst out laughing if it weren't for that tiny romantic blushing embarrassedly, clutching at its pearls making you quickly turn away, your gaze darting to the experimental setup. He had settled down next to it, and you, opposite to him, observing idly. When the silence got oppressive, you attempted to make conversation but were met with objective answers, not wandering far into what lay beneath his exterior. 

It didn't put an end to your silent study of his countenance, however. Only fueling it. In the shadows cast by the glow of the crystals and the milky white moon peeking in through the curtains, he resembled a sculpture with golden eyes moving gently in its sockets, made of the stars themselves, you swore. The lines over his cheekbones almost seemed intentionally crafted for beauty.

Then again... wasn't he?

The skilled fingers turned pages, as shoulders leaned back on the chair. It always startled you whenever his voice cut through the artificial silence to instruct you to check the controls.

Although...

Were your eyes deceiving you or was there a gentle tilt on his soft lips upwards whenever you made haste to adjust the systems or struggled to stay awake? 

Surely a play of the whimsical moonlight.

After the owl flew away, leaving you nothing else to make funny faces at, when your human companion wasn't looking, you sighed and looked away to the far end of the table, where your eyes linger on Viktor's workstation. There's another book over there that you hadn't recognised before. You sauntered over to his desk, unoccupied right now as the man sat at the main setup table to get a close look.

"In search of the sun", the title read. 

Ah, you have seen this before- just not up close as it were. You've observed at times when the scientist seemed to scribble away in this one, during moments of respite from calculation rechecking.

You flip through the old tattered thing, looking like one wrong tug at its spine would bring the papers down loose at your feet. It was handwritten, with crude but curious illustrations and erasure marks at most points. The recognition of illustrative depictions showing Zaun was instant, the fissures, the alleyways, and the descriptions. You didn't recognise the handwriting, but there were some scribbles at the sides of some pages, with arrow marks. That one, the sweeping letters- too illegible to be beautiful, but too pronounced to be ugly, you recognised instantly. 

The man's voice suddenly shakes you from your analysis, as he says, "She didn't get time to finish it."

You almost stumble when you find him standing next to you, but you make an effort to stay put. 

"Who?"

"The author."

"Who is the..." You try to flip to the back of the book, but his hand rests on top of yours, rendering you motionless.

"You won't find her name there. She never...got the time to put in her name."

Silence reined for a few seconds before vulnerable eyes met yours.

"It was...written by my sister. She...she used to write, about the undercity and the parts of it where we lived." 

 "Oh..." You breathe, looking at the book again with a newfound admiration. You don't remember coming across much authors from the undercity, much less someone who wrote about it, not without ironing out many wrinkles and smoothening out sharper details about zaun, that is. Viktor had mentioned that himself, in one of the conversations you had with him. Considering this one seemed, rather descriptive based on some of the sentences you caught sight of, what you saw now wasn't a tattered old thing anymore...

"She passed away a few years ago... Couldn't... couldn't finish writing it..." You don't miss the strained waver in the soft tone, it makes your chest ache and mouth part in shock. 

“Oh Viktor…” you murmur gently, hands clutching the book securely. “...I'm so sorry”

“It's in the past. She made a great effort though. But, it's not very comprehensive or fact oriented, more on experience…” he looks away.

“It's perfect.”

“What?” Viktor looks back at you, brows slightly raised. 

“Let me guess…” you say, your eyes trained on the book, once held by a beloved soul. “Some old critiques from up here, from the topside turned this down from being published, for all the reasons you just said.. and...you believed them.” 

Viktor was left speechless.

“Viktor… it is not detail orientation which moves hearts. This is not a documentary about zaun. It is not trying to be. It will not be happy to.” Your thumb traces the front cover. “I haven't read it yet, but from what I've gathered, this is a documentation of its people. Of a zaunite’s wishes, dreams, life. Moreover, what would a topsider know of that life? Know of the undercity?” You lift your gaze. 

“I…” Viktor’s voice quivered.

“You're no fool. You know this. You had been convinced. Viktor…why?” 

The shadows of loving sorrow came over the handsome face, you bearing witness to the past unfolding before those eyes, knuckles tightening around the cane supporting him. 

“My sister… Atira, was the kindest soul, who believed in the people, in hope, all in its own form amongst my people…our people, down beneath. Whatever she wrote, she wrote with emotion, differing entirely for whatever I stood for. She… O Janna, she loved the undercity. Loved it for what it was, believed and understood.  But, it all came to a startling close when one of the chem leakes happened. It happens always, we are usually able to foresee it sooner but…” 

His throat constricts.

“...She asked me to keep this, do whatever I must with it. Trusted me with everything that happens to a book, she believed I understood, because I was always the sharper mind in her eyes.” He sighed deeply.

“I went looking and searching for every publication sectors I could, sadly only available up here, but… none of them saw what…she had seen. What we had seen. It was never enough… I…” 

“I failed her…” 

The tilt of his head away from your view was something you hated with a passion, you own eyes filling with emotions so rough, you felt it in your heart. His sister had sought out the light. She was in search of the sun. You could almost see it. A woman, about Viktor's age, in the Undercity, eyes golden like the rays of the sun she sought after...

Seeing its brilliant rats in curtains over the crevices and cracks of Zaun, Atira might have wished to come up to the topside, but fear and prejudice may have stopped her.

A lover of nature, a lover of people...

If only she, and many others could have reached the safer side sooner in the time of the chem spills…

The sight of the ring of portal you had created in your table made you stop. A teleporter. Something that could connect and transport…

So that is why Viktor had insisted.

You take Viktor's hand, making him look at you.

“So much of the undercity…searches for the sun. Searches for safety…” you murmur. “Viktor, you haven't failed her! What if, what she desired was not the publication of the book, but the liberation of the undercity? She's smart, I have no doubt- if she has needed her book to get published, she would've sugar coated so much, but no- this is raw, this is true. What she wished, was the need of freedom, to seek the light. Somehow…” 

Viktor's eyes widen, his lips parting in shock. “Y/N… that is…”

“You can do it Viktor! You haven't failed… you have just started! ” Your hand, holding his, shakes it with excitement, as you see hope dancing in his eyes. In unison, your gazes darts to the ring set up the crystals almost charged up.

You smile and it gets wider when you feel his fingers closing around yours, face turning back to you, beautiful and hopeful, as he whispers:  

“We can do this.”

He's not alone...

“That's my boss!” You laugh, playfully patting his shoulder, as if long years of camaraderie had passed between you. 

Well, who needed long years when a part of your soul was standing before you?

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of him smiling, as you speak. 

“Why stop here! We can make a water filtration system!”

“And a heating system!” He adds.

“And an air cleaning system!” You grin.

He laughs, and the twinkle in his eyes when they meet yours makes your heart pick up pace. 

"Ah, you laugh now, but believe me when I say- this will change lives. So many. Both of undercity and piltover." You reassure, already up in the clouds with your visions.

“You are a lot like her.” He opines.

“I’m like your sister to you?” You ask slowly, a smile in your lips as you hold her book close to your chest, securely.

“My sister? No, no! You are not like a…sister to me.” 

A shy silence lingers between you, as the obvious reaches out from the top of your tongue.

“Who am I to you?” your question. More silence, his gaze darting everywhere except back to you.

“Your assistant…”

“Not just.”

“Acquaintance…?”

“More.”

“Friend…”

“More.”

“Best friend!”

“...”

“M-more..?” You blush.

Twin roses bloom on his alabaster cheeks, and a small strained breath from his countenance before his tender lips quirk upwards. Suddenly, you felt like a Victorian woman, a shy and quiet thing, before someone handsomely shy, yet, bolder. You gaze fixed on your shoes, as you see him stepping forward. 

“Y/N…” the quietness of his voice makes you lift your gaze up, met with the angel’s gaze, sweet and tender.…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

You and Viktor jump apart at the sudden beeping noise from your wrist, gasping softly. The chronoporter was going off, interrupting the sugary sweet moment, making you want to throw the thing right outside the window and be done with it.

"Dimensional drifts detected!" Chimes your mechanical companion, as your struggles to hide the dial of it from under Viktor's gaze proves faulty. 

"Is your watch...talking?" He asks, one eyebrow raised and lips slightly parted in bewilderment.

"Uh? N-no no no! It's, umm just I... I was saying that!" You laugh awkwardly, shifting your wrist wearing your watch out of his line of sight, pressing the mute button frantically as it resorts to angry text mode, indignant at being quieted by a mere human again. 

"What did you say?" Viktor asks skeptically, but you are once again interrupted by an ear splitting sound of metallic doors being squelched against one another and broken to pieces like rubber, the floor getting tremors as seemingly a giant's footsteps come by. Both yours and Viktor's head snap up the lab entrance, as you make out the figure of an old familiar face, now doused in purple hues, veins bulging and almost popping in the way muscles ripple beneath skin... 

"...."

"Oh thank God, you're not dead!" Were not the words you expected from your companion, but he has his ways. You look at him, your lips stretched incredulously in a thin horizontal line. Absolutely unbelievable.

"What! I was worried I had murdered him!" Viktor says back, frowning. You sigh, waving your hand dismissively before flinching as you see the goon pick up a huge table and throw it towards Viktor. Moving swiftly, you skid over to him just in time to splinter the table into pieces with your punch, Viktor cowering behind you, his eyes screwed shut. Before he could get in harm's way, you push him behind the huge board and the wall, as you step forward to face the goon, your blood rushing to your head in anxiousness. 

"How are you still doing this? Didn't you learn your lesson last time?" You say as you dodge away from the trajectories of whatever objects are being thrown your way. But you are answered with rageful screams and growls and maniacal howling laughter.

"Wait...wait wait! That's the voltmeter! No not the soldering set! Ahhh! The circuit board!" You say as the mindless man throws things at you, things you know are quite expensive, even up here in this functional universe. The monster of a man lunges at you and you roll away once more, jumping and galloping away, praying for an exit- but to your shock you see that the entrance is blocked with how much metal and rubber which used to be doors and walls piled against it. Viktor cannot save you anymore either, because if he threw the crystal again, the whole lab will explode- and you already had a sample of that.

Oh gods, what have you done?

You accidentally get hit by a wooden bench, making you see spots in your vision as you shake your head from disorientation. Your eyes lift up to meet the malicious ones of the man's, raising his whole torso to end you...

"Dimensional rift probability- calculated. 1.”

The room momentarily goes still, no life, no motion, until the next moment where it is bathed with the incandescent breathtaking sapphire hues wraps its curls around every crevice of the lab, pulling in itself, warping and twisting magnetically, with symbols flashing before your very eyes. Your feet lifts off the ground, as you defy gravity once more, the goon before you also airborne, to his dismay. However, the ring of charged arcane symbols rotating over and over, powerfully humming and thrumming over the atmosphere catches your eyes, mesmerizingly. 

“LOOK OUT!”

The sudden push towards the right as Viktor's whole body weight propels you out of the way of the beam of pure energy which surged through the middle of the room, made you dizzy, making you cling helplessly onto him, as he pushes you to the pillar, his cane holding you both in place. The screams of the brute maddeningly ringing around the lab, and vanishing all together- all in a staggering moment where you held him close. 

The light dies out, making everything clatter to the ground, including the two of you, as you tumble and fall, your fall made gentle by the low height you were at. 

Frantic gazes look around. No brute. 

The hextech crystal ring was glowing…

Deep breaths. Panting, hyperventilating. 

Your gazes meet, only inches apart, your arms thrown over his shoulders and his around your middle, cane pressed to the back of your leg. 

“It…it worked…” he whispers, eyes searching yours, in search of what- he didn't have a clue. 

“We…we did it…”

“WE DID IT!” 

Laughter fills the air as you both embrace, faces giddy, smeared with dust and dirt, eyes misty with unshed tears of joy and relief as you feel his hands shaking with nerves, holding you. The laughter gives way to soft giggles, and then chuckles as the tension loosens its grip on your throats. 

You pull away just enough to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, before hugging him again, not brave enough to face his gaze. You could feel him gasp, warmth spreading to the tips of his ears but you weren't sure if it was his, or yours. 

"Oh, and I saved Atira's book..." You say shyly, patting the inside of your cost pocket, the soft this of the book against fabric.

You feel rhythmic, almost symphonic beats of hearts against each other, this close…

Then…

A soft tender, chaste peck on your cheek by him…

You would have fainted. In his arms. Gladly so. 

The rest of the night felt like a dream, though you had simultaneously vague and pronounced memories of him helping you stand back up, asking you tenderly for permission to walk you home, passing by enforcers who were rather shocked to see you both unscatched, his hand in yours until you reached Gina’s house…

Another sweet kiss to your cheek before you watched shyly from the window as he walked away, grinning and smiling to himself stupidly as well, soft cheeks wearing blushes.

What a night…

Almost made you forget about the warning signal from your Chronoporter informing you that the portal you two had accidentally conjured up, had lead to your home dimension, and that Silco's goon had been dropped right before a location you recognised as a rehabilitation center. 

Good for him, you hoped.

Somewhere back in the academy, in the greenhouse, Sky Young prepares to tell you something.

Something concerning her heart.

_________________________________

Chapter 13 coming soon. Stay tuned.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 5: The Haunted House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, no Willis this time yay!!! 🥳

Word Count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 🥰🧁

Every house is haunted, not just by phantoms of the past but by the ghosts of what could have been. They live in shadows, in doorways, in the periphery of your vision; you walk through them like smoke or mist. Their blood—pooled and pulseless—is a cold spot in a sweltering room, their fingerprints are the woodgrain swirls of floorboards. If you listen closely, you can hear them at night in the chorus of the cicadas and the owls and the wet westbound wind. They whisper questions you’ve never been able to answer: Have I made the right choices? Have I done the best I could? Is love a myth or does it only exist for other people? Am I a prisoner of the past or the future or myself? Why have I never been chosen?

In the bathtub, you stare at the pale blue walls veined with cracks like the legs of a spider. On the tree swing in the front yard—here long before you moved in, inherited from the effort and care of another family’s hands—you skim your bare feet over emerald blades of grass and watch the lightning bugs appear at dusk. In Cadi’s room, you play the Nintendo when she asks and try to forget who gave it to her; and when she asks about Aemond, you say he’s busy with work, because how else can you explain his absence to a child? In the kitchen, you break eggs into glass bowls of vanilla, sugar, flour, butter, baking powder, but you keep getting pieces of shell in the mix, something that almost never happens anymore. You snap, grab an egg, pitch it against the refrigerator where it explodes into calcium carbonate shrapnel and sterile yellow gore.

Amir looks up, startled. Behind his rectangular tortoiseshell glasses, his eyes dart between you and the viscera that stains the refrigerator door. At last he says softly, seriously: “What is it you liked so much about him?” Implicit in this statement are others: You’ve never liked a man this much. You’ll never see Aemond again.

You study your palms, tools of creation, tools that destroy. “I spend every second of my life consumed by responsibilities. The house, the car, the bakery, the bills, Cadi, Willis, myself, even you. There’s no one to tell me what the right thing to do is. There’s no one who can carry the weight for me. I can’t show it when I’m tired or frustrated or scared. And so to have someone who—even for an hour, even for fifteen minutes—could take care of me, and make all the decisions, and convince me to trust him…it’s the closest I ever get to being at peace.”

Amir gives you a sad, vanishingly small smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” And you wet a dishcloth so you can begin to clean up your mess.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, and you’re coming home after delivering cakes for a birthday party down in Thibodaux. Your car radio is blaring Message In A Bottle by The Police. When you roll into the gravel driveway, the red Audi Quattro is waiting for you: parked right beside the house, like he belongs here, like he owns it. You throw open the door of your Chevy Celebrity and rage up the sloping, groaning steps of the front porch.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. There is an ambient humming, a chill that raises goosebumps on your bare arms. When you rush to the kitchen, you find an air conditioning unit in one of the windows, a metal box that turns the Fall-Down House into a tundra. They’re sitting at the hastily-cleared counter: Aemond leafing through the ledger book containing the financial records for the bakery, Amir beside him sipping a glass of sweet tea. Aemond glances up at you and then back down at the pale green pages, the lines of his face intense, focused. Amir greets you with a nervous titter, hiding behind his sweet tea. Ice jangles in the glass.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Our new air conditioner!” Amir says, overjoyed. “The customers are going to love it. No more waiting around in a stifling kitchen. You know how miserable it gets in here during the summer. We won’t be able to get rid of them! They’ll be purchasing cupcakes by the dozen just to have an excuse to get out of the heat!”

Aemond is still scrutinizing the ledger. “Why aren’t you buying in bulk?” he asks Amir. “The shelf life on things like sugar and flour has got to be six months at least.”

“We don’t have the liquid capital. We can’t spend cash if we don’t have cash.”

“And all these business expenses—mixers, coolers, pans, blenders, knives, the gas you burn when you make deliveries, the water you use to wash dishes—those are all tax write-offs, right?”

Amir hesitates. Aemond is aghast, his eyebrows shooting up into the blonde hair that shags over his forehead. The strands are damp with sweat and curling at the edges; he’s been working hard. He’s the one who heaved the air conditioner up onto the window ledge. His Marlboro jacket is draped over the back of his barstool. He’s wearing jeans, a black MTV t-shirt, and his Adidas sneakers.

“Please tell me you haven’t been paying income tax on money you aren’t actually keeping.”

“I didn’t know what we were allowed to write off, I was petrified to make a mistake! I don’t want to end up in Rikers!”

“They don’t put people in Rikers for tax evasion. You’d only go to minimum security.”

Amir rolls his eyes. “Well now you’ve convinced me.”

You are betrayed, furious. “You’re showing him the book?”

“He’s very bossy,” Amir says, slurping his sweet tea. “As you know.”

Aemond asks you, making notes on a legal pad he’s commandeered: “Do you have an IRA?”

“A what?”

“An IRA,” Aemond repeats slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “An individual retirement account.”

Should I? Could I? What the hell is that? “Um. I don’t think so.”

Aemond sighs, exasperated. He jots down another bullet point on his legal pad. “You need one.”

“I need you to get out of my house.”

“Shh!” Amir pleads. “He bought us an air conditioner!”

“Do you know how much that’s going to cost us in electricity? The bill is going to go through the roof. We’re not going to be able to afford this. And he doesn’t care, because he hasn’t even thought of it. Drop an oil rig into a lake and solve the unemployment crisis. Throw an air conditioner in a window and buy someone’s loyalty. He doesn’t understand us. He doesn’t care about us. He’s not capable of it.”

“I’ll pay for the electricity,” Aemond says. Now he’s looking at you.

“Get out,” you demand.

He seems—perplexingly—to be genuinely wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Get out!”

Aemond stands, walks to you, backs you up until your shoulder blades hit the refrigerator. The metal door is cluttered with Cadi’s drawings, secured there with multicolored alphabet magnets: dinosaurs eating people, Rambo, astronauts rocketing to the moon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond is so close you can smell the cigarette smoke and cologne and sweat on him, see the smudges of ink on his fingers. His right eye travels all over you, defiant and hungry. His left eye—and you only notice when there’s no space left between you—is an impassive, glassy, not-quite-identical blue that never moves. It’s an imposter, and a very good one; but it’s not him. You think, unable to say it: What happened to your face? Who hurt you? Instead you strike out to shove Aemond away with both hands.

“Get out of my house—!”

“You want to get rough with me? Will that make you feel better?” he murmurs darkly, ignoring your palms when they collide with his chest, his collarbones, his jaw. Your flesh can’t hurt him, it can only graze his skin like stray bullets. “You want to hit me? Go ahead. I’ve had worse. I promise you I have.”

“I hate you!”

But you haven’t said the right word, and you both know it. He grabs your wrists, holds them still, whispers low and menacing into your ear as you struggle to rip your hands out of his grasp. “I dreamed about you all night. Tying you down, stretching you open. I want that. I think you do too.”

“I don’t want it,” you hiss; but already you’re imagining him on top of you, inside you, in control of you, and to resist that is like trying to fight the instinct to seek water, sleep, sunlight.

“Then tell me to stop.”

You glare up at Aemond, raging, burning. His gaze locks with yours and stays there. You are suddenly aware of the heat of his fingers linked around your wrists, of the pressure of his hips against yours as he pins you to the refrigerator. You can’t say it. I don’t want him to stop touching me. I don’t want him to leave and never come back.

Again, Aemond dares you: “Tell me to stop.”

From the kitchen counter, Amir is gawking at you both, his eyes huge, stunned, painfully uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he doesn’t look away. “I’m not leaving,” he informs Aemond. Just in case you’re weak enough to agree to something you’ll regret later; just in case you need a friend.

The spell breaks, the curse lifts. Aemond releases you and takes several steps back. He breathes deeply, running his fingers through his damp hair, composing himself. “You’re a good person,” he says to Amir.

“Thanks. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment.”

Aemond turns back to you. Now he’s penitent, measured. Already, a part of you misses the weight of his bones on yours. But that’s not why Aemond is here. “Let me talk. Let me explain.”

No, you almost say. I’m not interested. I don’t want you anymore. There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me feel at peace with you again.

Instead, after long moments colored by waning sunlight and the whirring of the new air conditioner in the window: “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re on the tree swing, gripping the ropes and swaying slightly back and forth as you push off with your bare feet, rocking from your heels to your toes and then back again. Aemond lights a cigarette and takes a drag as he sits cross-legged on the grass in front of you. Amir keeps peeking out from between the blinds of the living room windows. Aemond glances around the yard, and you realize he’s searching for the alligator. His Marlboro jacket is folded neatly on the ground next to him.

“The gator’s not here right now, Aemond. She’s probably over in the trees. She’s not going to hurt you.”

He nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He fidgets restlessly with his cigarette.

All that money, all that power, all that ecological ruin, and he’s petrified of a five-foot gator that’s probably never eaten anything bigger than a pelican. It’s ridiculous. You smile weakly. “I think you have a phobia.”

He gestures to his scar, to his ruined left eye. “I’m afraid one will sneak up on me and I won’t be able to see it.”

He’s never spoken like this to you before, acknowledging his limitations, his impairment. He’s trying to be honest. He really is. “Where’s Christabel?”

“Back in the U.K.”

“When are you getting married?”

He shrugs, uninterested. “A few months from now, I guess. July. August. It doesn’t matter. I’m not really involved in the planning.”

“You’re a cheater,” you say. It comes out less accusatory than mournful. Why did you have to disappoint me? Why did you have to ruin this?

Aemond is dismissive. He puffs on his cigarette. “Everyone cheats.”

“No they don’t.”

“Everyone from my world cheats,” Aemond amends. “You marry for money or status or land or whatever, to prove you can snag someone who should be above you, to make your parents proud of you, to make sure your children have the right last name and titles. Then when the novelty fades—and it does, it always does—you find passion elsewhere.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s aristocratic. Poor people get divorced two or three times. They have public brawls and call the cops on each other. We just have a different solution to life’s inevitabilities. My mother cheats with Criston, Daemon and Rhaenyra cheated with each other, I cheat with you, Aegon cheats with…I couldn’t even list them. A lot of people.”

Aegon. So that’s the debaucherous brother’s name. “Not all fancy rich people cheat. Prince Charles doesn’t cheat.”

Aemond bursts out laughing. “Of course he does! He’s been fucking Camilla Parker Bowles since like 1970!”

Your stomach sinks. Poor Diana. “I thought they were just friends now.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what the tabloids say.” He inhales smoke—cancerous, lethal—and then exhales it in a grey gale like fog. “I think they stopped for a few years after he got married. But presently they spend as much time as they possibly can rendezvousing at all their friends’ country estates. Charles and Diana are miserable, but they’ll never split up. She’s entertaining herself with a cavalry officer named James Hewitt. Who looks suspiciously like Prince Harry, by the way.”

“And who does your father fuck on the side? Nancy Reagan?”

“He prefers the memory of a dead woman to my living mother. I’d say that counts as infidelity.”

The photograph Aegon showed me on the Targaryens’ refrigerator. Rhaenyra’s mother. And what else had been on that refrigerator? Pictures of the rest of the family? Old sketches and report cards? Souvenirs? A calendar with upcoming birthdays circled or starred? No. There was nothing. You consider Aemond with a disorienting blend of pity and barbed, venomous frustration. “I’m sorry Viserys has never been a good father to you. But that’s not an excuse to ruin other people’s lives.”

“Look, what you did…” Aemond begins with sizable effort. He puts the end of his cigarette out on the sole of one of his Adidas sneakers. “To walk away from something you believe isn’t right when everyone else is telling you to stay…that’s not easy. And maybe for you it didn’t feel so insurmountable because you’ve had to learn how to survive painful things on your own before. But all I’ve ever done was break my own bones so my father would notice me. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I’ve fractured my ribs, my hands, my skull. And it’s still not enough. Love isn’t given in my family. I have to earn it. It’s all I know.”

“You could learn something new.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. That’s not a language I speak.”

Exactly how bad of a father was Viserys Targaryen? “Aemond, what happened to your face?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

You study him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my Camilla,” Aemond says.

“No. No way.” But you’re amazed by how badly you want to say yes. One word and he’ll touch me again? One word and I can have him back the way we were before? It doesn’t seem possible to resist that. It’s not something that should be expected of any mortal.

“I want to be around you. I want you to keep making me feel the way you do, because it’s…it’s…it’s not something I get from anyone else. And I want to make your life better. I have the ability to do that.”

“Because you’re an oil tycoon.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees. “I was born to be one, and so I am. But even if I wasn’t—if I refused, if I died—it’s not like the trillion-dollar industry would just disappear. There’s Jade Dragon, sure, but there’s also ExxonMobil, Shell, British Petroleum, Chevron, Valero, Marathon, a hundred others. Someone would be drilling on Lake Verret regardless. But the person in charge might be less scrupulous than I am. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Were you in Ketchikan when the spill happened there?”

“No. I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project. It was a fuckup, it was Jade Dragon’s fault. But my father is the one fighting it in court. I have no control over that.”

Someone else’s project…

“Come to my house tonight,” he says.

“No, Aemond.”

“Then come over on Saturday.” And you think: He remembered which days Cadi is usually with Willis.

“I don’t want to be your mistress.” I want to be more than that, oh God, I want so much more. You think of Christabel touching him and wrenching nausea cuts through you like a blade. You imagine Aemond’s hands taking off her clothes—zippers, buttons, ribbons, belts—and you feel like there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to stop it from happening.

“We’re from two very different words,” Aemond says calmly, sensibly. “And it’s going to be impossible for us to understand each other unless we make an effort to learn about where we’ve come from. You’ve invited me into your home, your business, your family, and I’m very grateful for that. Now I need to do the same. And I think if you see more of my life, you’ll realize why I make the decisions I do and what it would mean for us to be together. Because in my experience, husbands and wives aren’t soulmates like they are in books or movies. It’s someone else who you actually…” He breaks off, then continues once he’s decided on the phrasing. “Spend most of your time with.”

Part of you knows that this arrangement would be hopelessly inadequate; you would feel like you were settling for less than you want, you would feel unchosen. But the louder part of you is clinging to it like a life raft. I want him to touch me again. I want him to make me forget about everything else. “I’ll think about it. Visiting the house, I mean.”

“Please do,” Aemond says. “How was Cadi’s weekend fishing?”

He really does listen to you; he remembers things. Even things you mention once and then never again. “She loved it. Willis knows more about the bayou than I’ll ever know about baking. They caught three catfish, four breams, and a bass, and then they made them into fish sticks. Thank God she has one parent who can cook. Even if Willis thinks Hungry Jack mashed potatoes are a vegetable. You know what he puts in the pot instead of milk? Coffee creamer. Cups of it.”

Aemond doesn’t seem pleased to be reminded of Willis’ existence. He says, rather mechanically: “I’m really glad Cadi enjoyed herself.” He grabs his Marlboro jacket, rises to his feet, scans the yard for the alligator. She’s made an appearance at last: she’s sunbathing about ten yards away, nowhere near close enough to be a nuisance. Still, Aemond frowns. Then he clears his face and looks back to you one last time as he strides towards his Audi Quattro. “And Cupcake?”

You peer up at him, shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

“When you come to the house…” He grins. Not if. When. “Bring your swimsuit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You cut the engine and survey the grand entranceway of the house that the Targaryens call The Last Desire, words in Greek that you couldn’t pronounce. The blue merle Great Dane—Vhagar, you recall, yet another bizarre foreign name—is lurking between the towering white columns of the wraparound porch. “Fantastic,” you mutter, stepping out of the car. It’s Saturday, 2 p.m., hot and muggy and cicadas screeching in the southern live oaks. Green anoles dart across the cobblestones and freshly-painted white wood of the porch. Whooping cranes, haughty and fragile, ogle you with reptilian yellow eyes.

You pause when you reach the bottom step of the porch. The Great Dane growls at you, her lips curling up to show long fanglike teeth. You’re carrying two bakery boxes stacked on top of each other: one contains a dozen blueberry pie cupcakes, the second filled with fresh Cap’n Crunch Treats. You glance around for someone to assist you with the hostile dog situation. You have no interest in attempting to shove her away like Alicent did on the day of the engagement party.

Blessedly, the head butler materializes in the doorway and beckons you inside. When Vhagar snarls as you approach, the butler pulls a small plastic water gun from the pocket of his black dress pants. “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” he tells you, and then squirts the dog several times. Vhagar reluctantly lopes away. “Please allow me to escort you to the pool. Mr. Targaryen instructed us to be on the lookout for you.” Then he breezes into the house without checking to make sure you’re following him.

You trot after the butler through the white-and-gold foyer, the deep red living room, and then out into the garden. There is a long row of neon green lounge chairs on the side of the pool opposite of the water slide. Three of the chairs are occupied. Helaena is stretched across one wearing a frilly one-piece, floral with ladybugs; her chameleon is perched on the top of the adjustable backrest. Alicent is in the chair beside her, dressed in a turquoise blue coverup that matches the pool water and reading The Silence of the Lambs. They both wave nonchalantly, seemingly unsurprised by your presence. And then there’s Aegon. He’s smoking a joint as a black boombox beside him plays The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You? You place both bakery boxes on a table shielded from the sun by a large green umbrella.

“What’s in there?” Aegon asks. He’s wearing pink plastic sunglasses, a radiant fuchsia sunburn, and a Speedo patterned with pineapples. His ferret is curled up in his lap and napping.

“Blueberry pie cupcakes and Cap’n Crunch Treats.”

“Yes! Pass me one of each.”

“Don’t be rude, Aegon,” Alicent says dully, turning a page of her book. “She’s not a servant.”

“She’s a literal baker. I’m asking for baked goods.”

“Dear, I’ve been singing your praises to every single person I cross paths with in this jungle of a town,” Alicent tells you, ignoring him. “Have you noticed yet?”

You hand Aegon his treats; he marvels at the miniature blueberry pie placed atop the cupcake frosting before scarfing it down. “I think we’ve had more customers than usual this week, now that you mention it. Thank you so much! Amir and I are more grateful than we could ever express.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, love,” Alicent says. Criston appears with a strawberry daiquiri and gives it to her, complete with a swirl of whipped cream and a little pink toothpick umbrella pierced through a wedge of lime. Criston wears a pair of roomy Hawaiian board shorts and his single gold earring. Alicent takes a sip. “Heavenly! I am completely revived.”

“Helaena, would you like one?” Criston asks.

“Yes please.”

“And one for Aemond’s friend too, please,” Alicent says. Criston nods and hurries off again. Nobody asks if Aegon wants a strawberry daiquiri. He gnaws moodily at his cupcake and then when it’s gone moves on to the Cap’n Crunch Treat. Helaena’s chameleon snatches a dragonfly out of the air with its tongue. Alicent shudders.

Aemond’s friend? Friend?? You sit down on the lounge chair next to Aegon, still wearing your pale pink coverup. He tells you: “Aemond should be back soon. He got a phone call and had to swing by the rigs after lunch but he didn’t think it would take long.” Then Aegon smiles toothily, and you notice he has residual white powder around the corners of his lips and just inside his nostrils. “It’s good to meet you properly this time, now that I’m aware of all your talents.”

“You know about Aemond’s…uh…preferences?”

“Oh yeah, and I knew he had a girl. He always has to have a girl. I just didn’t know it was you. He doesn’t usually bring them around the family.”

You steal a glimpse of Alicent and Helaena. If they’re listening in, they’re doing an excellent job of not acting like they are.

“I think we should address this,” Aegon says.

You are stymied. “Address what?”

“It would never work, me and you.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Aegon says. He flourishes a hand melodramatically. “You need a dom. I am, lamentably, an irredeemable sub. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

“Okay, Aegon.”

“I just needed to break the tension.”

“I think you’re imagining that.”

There are footsteps, the slapping of flip flops against the cobblestones, and then someone who looks like a younger, more cheerful, more sober Aegon arrives at the pool. He is dressed in royal blue swim trunks that stop at his mid-thigh; his wavy blond hair is down to his shoulders. Like his family members, he also does not seem at all surprised to see you. “Hi,” he says, shaking your hand. “I’m Daeron. I didn’t get to introduce myself at the engagement party. I’m sorry about that. I was entangled in a very competitive tennis match on the courts out back for most of the day.”

Alicent asks: “Daeron, love, would you like a strawberry daiquiri when Criston reappears?”

“Yeah, Mum, that would be great.” He parks himself on the available chair beside her and begins asking about her book. As they chat, a blue macaw flaps through the garden and uses its long, leathery talons to claim the backrest of Daeron’s lounge chair.

“It’s so sweet of you to take an interest in my reading, Daeron,” Alicent gushes. “None of my other children ever do…”

Aegon groans loudly. Everyone ignores him. Criston arrives with two strawberry daiquiris, one for you and one for Helaena. You take a sip through a plastic straw with several loops in it: icy cold and jarringly sweet.

“And one for Daeron too please, Criston,” Alicent requests. “Did you hear that he just got another article published? It’s about evaluating rock wettability.” Her tone suggests that she has no idea what this means; nonetheless, she is ardently enthusiastic.

“That kid is going places,” Criston says admiringly.

Aegon counters: “That kid’s had phone sex with Michelle Pfeiffer.”

You laugh, thinking that it’s a joke. Daeron just gives you a sheepish smile. Oh, you think. Not a joke.

Criston hustles back inside the house. An old man passes Criston as he strolls out to the pool. He looks around blearily, like he’s hungover or has just woken up from a nap or both. His bloodshot eyes skate over you without much interest. He squints at the pool floats that bob in the rippling, crystalline water, sparkly rings and an assortment of foam noodles and a giant cartoonish alligator.

“How was Kiribati?” Aegon says.

“Much better than here. This goddamn humidity!”

“I can’t believe you missed the engagement party, Father,” Alicent says glumly.

“Oh no, how could I! I’ll never have any way of knowing what transpired!” He plops down onto a chair near the end of the row. His bare feet are gnarled, his toenails long and yellowed. “Let me guess. Cake was served, champagne was toasted, people bragged about their stupid hobbies and their ugly children, that girl scuttled about with her perpetually-startled eyes and asinine comments. Do you remember when she tried to give me her condolences when she learned your mother passed away years ago? Why would I want some moonstruck idiot’s condolences? She didn’t know your mother. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Christabel is very young,” Alicent offers gently.

“She’s very something, that’s for sure. Very useless. Very irritating. This family would be in a much better state if Viserys wasn’t the one making all the decisions. His judgment has declined precipitously.” He casts a poisonous glare at Aegon. Aegon pretends not to notice.

“I like Christabel,” Helaena says. Her chameleon gobbles up a butterfly that ventures too close.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” The old man’s voice is kinder now. “You see the best in everyone. But dear Helaena, we are in for a lifetime of insipid simpers and vapid conversations.”

“A lifetime?” Aegon says. “So not much longer for you, Grandfather. What a comfort.”

The old man glowers at Aegon. “We should have left you in Alaska to have your throat slit by those animals.” And you hear Aemond’s words reverberating in your skull: I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project.

Aegon is rolling himself a fresh joint, accidentally spilling sprinkles of weed on his slumbering ferret. He snorts. “I don’t care what Alaskans think of me.”

Daeron says: “Aegon, you poisoned 1,000 square miles of the ocean.”

“The fucking ocean,” Aegon mutters. “What do we even need the ocean for?”

“Vacations,” Otto says.

Helaena adds: “Sushi.”

Daeron is distressed. “Actually, the ocean is super important.”

“Why are we talking about the ocean?” Aemond asks as he strolls through the garden and pauses by the edge of the pool to dip a foot in to test the temperature. He’s wearing black swim trunks and nothing else, just his skin, just his scar and his glass left eye. He sees you, smiles, goes to the bakery boxes and lifts out a cupcake. He sits down on the edge of your lounge chair as he licks off the wave-blue frosting. No one makes any comment, and no one brings up Aegon’s role in the Ketchikan oil spill again.

Criston returns once more with a strawberry daiquiri for Daeron. “Well, I’ve just about killed the blender, so hopefully we don’t need any more—”

“But Criston!” Alicent cries. “What about Aemond and my father? Perhaps they are in need of refreshments.”

Criston sighs. Crestfallen, he looks at Aemond. “Do you want a strawberry daiquiri?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just have a few sips of hers.”

Aegon says: “Can I get a pina colada?”

Criston turns towards the old man. “Otto? Daiquiri?”

“No, but if you could immediately teleport me back to the South Pacific, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Pina colada??” Aegon says again.

“Okay, Aegon,” Criston snaps. “Calm down. Let me figure out if we have any more coconut cream.” Alicent’s part-time bodyguard and personal assistant, part-time babysitter, part-time affair partner vanishes into the house yet again.

Aegon lurches to his feet. “No one listens to me,” he tells you morosely. “You see that? No one remembers. That’s how you know they don’t care.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alicent tells Aegon, not looking up from her book.

“Wait, someone is missing…” Otto muses, stroking his beard.

Aegon staggers to the edge of the pool, drags over a sparkly turquoise inflatable ring, and flops onto it. He paddles himself out towards the center of the pool. His ferret bounds after him, leaps into the water, and swims until it reaches Aegon, wriggling through the blue like a golden-furred snake. “Hey Sunfyre, you wanted to come too?” Aegon lifts the soaked ferret from the water and places it on his chest, soft and sunburned. “My bad. I assumed you’d prefer dry land.”

Otto—cantankerous and grating—looks around, baffled. “Wait, where’s Viserys?”

“He’s inspecting some of the rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico,” Aemond says as he finishes the cupcake and takes a slurp of your daiquiri. “He won’t be back until the end of the week.”

“Thank God,” Aegon exclaims from the middle of the pool.

Alicent changes the subject. “How long have you been baking, dear?” she asks you.

“Forever, basically. But I started getting serious about making it a business when my daughter was really young, about nine years ago. Now Amir and I sell hundreds of items a week, sometimes thousands.”

Daeron is nodding along, but he appears a little confused. He has gotten himself a Cap’n Crunch Treat and is feeding pieces of it to his blue macaw. “And you do that because…you want to?”

“Well I have to pay rent.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“And I could have been a checkout girl at the Doller General, or worked seasonally harvesting soybeans or sugarcane, or begged my ex-husband to get me a job in the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office…but I wanted to do something that didn’t make me miserable. And something that was really mine, that I chose.” Aemond is watching you thoughtfully. The other Targaryens are a tad interested but far more perplexed. They can’t understand work the way you do. They can’t understand money as something that must be counted.

“Brilliant!” Alicent declares at last. “Well, maybe one day we’ll have you making six cakes for Helaena’s engagement party, who knows!”

“It would be my absolute pleasure. Do you have a potential husband hanging around, Helaena?”

She giggles, covering her blushing face with both hands. Her chameleon creeps down to cling to her shoulder, as if to make sure she’s alright. Its conical eyes flit in random directions, an unmitigated freak of nature. You should have more compassion for it.

Aemond grins. “Helaena is responsible for no less than three broken engagements. She can’t commit.”

“And she’s only into guys who look like Aegon,” Daeron adds.

“No!” Helaena objects. “That is such a lie, that’s not true!”

“Evander?” Daeron says.

Helaena pauses to think. “Okay, yes, he looked kind of like Aegon.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Alicent frets, nibbling at the fingernail of her pinky.

“Dimitri?” Aemond says.

“Oh no,” Helaena moans; but she’s laughing too. “Oh no.”

“Sebastian?” Aegon says, and now they’re all howling.

Otto shakes his head. “Freud would definitely have some thoughts about this.”

“Bloody hell,” Helaena whimpers, swiping tears from her face. Her chameleon nudges her jaw with its shimmering, blue-green muzzle. “I totally only date guys who look like Aegon.”

Aegon shrugs from where he’s floating in the pool with Sunfyre. “Good taste, I’d say. Fuck them all, homegirl.”

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, scandalized.

Criston dashes out of the house and to the edge of the pool, clutching a pina colada that is swiftly melting. “You better paddle yourself over here, kid. I don’t offer in-water delivery.”

“You’d do it for my mother.”

“Probably. But you’re not her.”

Aegon groans as he splashes around without making much progress. “Okay, okay, give me a second…”

Aemond turns to you. “How do you like the house? I realized I never got the chance to ask last weekend.”

“I like all the stained glass, and I like that every room is a different color. The living room is red, the dining room is yellow, the kitchen is teal, Aegon’s bedroom is black—”

“Wait, how do you know?” Aemond is alarmed.

You chuckle. “No, no, not like that. I was lost and looking for a bathroom.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Aegon announces from his pool float. “Didn’t do it, didn’t try it, didn’t even think about it. Well…maybe I thought about it. But I definitely did not do anything.”

“Okay.” Aemond exhales, relived. “Close call.”

“What color is your room?”

He’s not going to waste the opportunity to extend an invitation. “Let me show you.”

On the same floor as Aegon’s punk rock bedroom and the lilac bathroom, you trail Aemond to the end of the hallway. At last he opens a door to reveal a room that is a deep, vivid blue like sapphires. The bookshelves that touch the ceiling are filled not with texts on engineering or the energy industry but histories of people whose names you don’t recognize. He has a massive wooden canopy bed swathed in dark blue velvet patterned with circling koi fish made of stars. He has a writing desk, a wardrobe full of suits, a television with an extensive VHS collection. The stained glass windows are a whirlpool of cerulean, navy, aquamarine, indigo, steel, azure. When you peer through the glass, you can see the gleaming currents of Lake Verret and the twisted dead ends of the bayou that forms at its edges, treacherous and untamed.

And when you start to feel that if Aemond tried to grab you, undress you, tie knots around your wrists you wouldn’t stop him, you tell him that you want to go back outside to the pool; and Aemond listens, and he doesn’t try to touch you even once.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, two days later, and Aemond calls to ask if he can bring you and Cadi dinner. He shows up with all the trappings of what he insists is real Italian food, doubtlessly prepared by his family’s private chefs: focaccia, caprese salad, ossobuco, risotto, Bolognese, panna cotta. He forgets the red wine, so you drink sweet tea instead, the three of you crowded around the kitchen counter, ceaselessly passing dishes back and forth while the little pink Panasonic boombox plays You Spin Me Round by Dead Or Alive.

“Hey Mom?” Cadi says as she chomps on a hunk of focaccia.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook dinners like this?”

There’s a tiny little gut punch, something you’re used to swallowing down even if it bruises you to the heart, to the bones. She doesn’t know any better. You can’t cry, you can’t get mad. You shrug, dispassionate. Aemond glances over at you, abruptly tense but not saying anything. “Well honey, it’s probably because my job can be really busy sometimes, and I spend most of the day in the kitchen, so when dinner time comes around the last thing I want to do is cook. But we always have food to eat, right?”

“Yeah. Like Amir’s leftovers or frozen pizza or something. But all my friends’ moms cook nice dinners most nights. Can’t you do that? When I go to Michelle or Erica’s house for dinner their moms make barbeque ribs, gumbo, seafood boils, etouffee, tasso ham, homemade macaroni and cheese, like real dinners. I want us to have that too. What if my friends want to eat dinner here sometime? I can’t bring them over and then just throw some Swanson’s meals at them.”

Aemond has put his fork down on his plate and is clasping his hands together, trying to figure out what to say. But he shouldn’t say anything. It’s not his place.

You tell Cadi, as calmly as you can: “Different families have different kinds of dinners, and that’s okay. I bet your friends’ moms don’t have cakes and cookies around all the time, but you always have tons of dessert options. Our situation looks different than theirs, but there’s nothing wrong with either one.”

“But desserts aren’t even good for kids. Dinner is way more important. You can’t say I get cakes instead of dinner, too much cake will give me diseases or something.”

“Okay, Cadi. That’s enough. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I’m just saying it seems totally unfair that my friends get real dinners and I almost never do.”

Michelle and Erica’s moms don’t work. They have husbands to support them. So they can spend all day babying a fucking tasso ham, but I don’t have that luxury. And I don’t want to be chained to a man. I don’t want to trade having a say in how my life turns out for being able to slave away over dinner for four or five hours. “I regret to inform you that I’m not like Michelle and Erica’s moms.”

“I wish you were,” Cadi murmurs, entirely unaware of what she’s done. You bite your lower lip so you don’t snap at her, or try to explain, or break down sobbing. You taste blood, hot sharp copper that blooms like wildflowers.

Aemond stands up. His barstool squeals against the sloping wooden floor. “Hey, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” he asks Cadi.

“Aemond, what…?” you begin, but he’s already headed for the front door.

Cadi blinks up at him, horrified. “Why?”

“You’re not in trouble or anything. I just want to show you something. Come on. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Cadi says doubtfully, looking at you. You give her your best reassuring smile, and she slides off her barstool and follows after Aemond. The front door opens and shuts. You don’t hear shouting, you don’t hear much of anything except the air conditioner and the boombox and the mourning doves, the long-eared owl, the cicadas, the bayou, the universe. You go to one of the living room windows and part the blinds to peek outside.

What you see is strange. Cadi is sitting on the swing, and Aemond is kneeling in front of her so they’re just about at the same eye level. You can see half of Aemond’s face; Cadi is blocking the rest. He’s explaining something to her with patient yet insistent gestures of his hands. Cadi says something, and Aemond nods and replies. He points to his scar, his glass eye, and says something else. Cadi asks a question, and Aemond hesitates. Then he acquiesces and moves closer to where she is perched on the tree swing. He reaches up towards the scarred side of his face, but you can’t see his eye. When he lowers his palm, there’s a small piece of curved, oval-shaped glass that glints in the dying sunlight.

“Cool!” you can hear Cadi exclaim, muffled through the windows that are now closed on account of the new air conditioning unit. She says something else, and Aemond agrees. You watch her hand extending towards his face, towards the injury he has revealed to her for reasons you can’t comprehend. You rush to other windows, trying to get a better view, but there’s no way for you to get a clear line of sight. Before you know it, your hear their footsteps drumming up the porch steps. The front door opens just as you’re scrambling back onto your barstool.

“Everything alright?” you say, more nervously than you intend to.

“Yup,” Cadi replies. She climbs into her seat and resumes wolfing down focaccia and Bolognese.

You look over at Aemond, bewildered. His glass eye is back in its socket. He appears composed, but you notice the fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, at his temples, at the nape of his neck. He gives you a casual little smirk and then returns to his barstool. He picks up his full glass of sweet tea and drains it in three massive gulps.

“Hey Mom,” Cadi says, and your throat is suddenly full of embers.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Tonight is really fun,” she says. She twirls her fork in the pappardelle pasta of the Bolognese, splattering red sauce over her cheeks. “This is great. I want to do this more often.”

And the embers in your throat cool, vanish, are replaced by something vast and free.

“You really do need a new house,” Aemond says as he helps you clean up after dinner; Cadi has already abandoned you both for her Nintendo. “There are new constructions a little further down Route 401, between here and Lake Verret. Three bedrooms, two baths. Not a castle or anything, just the right size for you and Cadi. We can go look at them sometime.”

“I don’t need a whole new house. There are midcentury homes all over the place down here. They’re small, and they might need fixing up, but they’re a lot cheaper.” Then you add, because it sounds less pathetic: “And maybe it’s nice to have a house with some history, some character.”

“Old can be charming and quaint, sure. But brand new is better.”

“Why’s that?”

He smiles. “No ghosts.”

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 5)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: mentions of non-con touches towards (Y/N), (Y/N) being very hateful and angry with Mikey.

Word Count: 3.9k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 6)

The next two days were rough, it felt like walking on eggshells. No matter where the siblings went or what they did, Michael always was nearby, just watching them, observing each of their activities and interactions.

Monday was fun (not at all), (Y/N) had to call and invent some excuse about their sister being sick for a week since Michael made it clear that they're not going anywhere for now, how you may ask? Easy, taking away the car keys right under their nose and seeing if they got the balls to get them back. (Y/N) was beyond pissed, but had to keep their frustration to themselves since there is little they can do about it, not without losing or breaking another limb in the process.

(S/N) wasn't even excited about not going at school, it's obvious that the little girl was uncomfortable with the precense of some big scary man, a big scary man who often holds a knife.

Oh, the knife. That stupid knife that (Y/N) often felt poking their sides or slide along their back and other parts that should not be touched by strangers. These unwelcomed 'knife touches' would usually happen when the man holding the weapon wanted more food, or simply because... Because he could, because he knows they won't do anything to stop him, because he wants to explore their body, see how it reacts to the cool blade gently sliding along their warm skin... At least Myers kept his part of the agreement and would do this only when (S/N) is not present, detail that lead the older sibling to believe that he has some very shady intentions towards them...

That disgusting son of a bitch.

Sleeping also became a problem, for the last night Michael would show up after midnight and just… Watch. It made (Y/N) super uncomfortable, they attempted to come to some agreement but all they got as an answer is a head tilt. The last straw was when (S/N) broke down in tears at the morning, confessing how much she hated when he is there and how scary it was. So (Y/N), like the older protective sibling they are, came up with a solution…

. . .

Staring, it became their unofficial language. (Y/N) was currently sitting on the ground with a kitchen knife tightly clutched in their hand. They're sitting right next to their sister’s room door, who by this time was sleeping soundly in her bed, completely unaware that her sibling is at the other side of the door, guarding it like a police dog and making sure that the monster doesn't disturb her innocent mind any further. Michael, of course, was there as well, staring back at (Y/N) from the darkest part of the corridor.

(Y/N) was no longer afraid, no longer fearful for their life, now they were just annoyed, angry, furious at the masked man. The audacity, the audacity of this bastard to just appear out of nowhere and ruin their simple and peaceful life with his presence, being this giant shadow that has no respect for (Y/N)'s boundaries and patience, testing them constantly, seeing how long they can handle before snapping and inevitably dying by his hand. They hated him, hated with a burning passion, they wanted to hurt him, stab him with everything in the house, lock him up back in the asylum, make him crawl back into the place in hell he came from…

The more their mind filled with such violent thoughts, the more their face changed into a sulk; brows deeply furrowed, jaw clutched tightly, eyes glued to his large form, pupils shrunken… Every single hint of disgust and unlikeness were reflected in their expression, in their gaze… But it didn’t affect Michael, not at all.

Or at least… They didn’t know it did.

The man stared back at (Y/N) nearly as intensely as they did, but unlike them, he wasn't feeling hate or anger, but a desire, desire for something. He still has to figure out what's that feeling is, which is constantly burning him from the inside, luring him closer and closer to them, demanding him to touch them, feel their body against his calloused hands and not the knife's blade, feel the way their chest raises and falls with each breath, feel their pulse move with each heartbeat... Look into their eyes... He wanted to stare into those eyes for an eternity, feel the heat of their anger burn his skin, scratch it with cold glances and then softly caress it with their warmth...

Warmth...

Even though Michael adored the thrill that (Y/N)'s furious gaze causes in him, sometimes... He wished he could experience their soft and loving gaze, the one they always gift their sister with. The way their face lights as they look at the little one, a soft warm smile appearing on their lips as a light gentle blush spreads on their cheeks. When (Y/N) has these eyes... They look so peaceful, so... He can't even describe it, but it somehow puts his mind on ease as well, making him feel like everything in the world is alright, like everything will be alright.

Sigh... But these are only wishes, something he had plenty of over the years. He wished for his mother to be home more often, a normal happy family, a good childhood, see his little sister and attempt to make their reunion right... He wished for so many things, yet none of them became true, so this one won't neither...

He will never experience these warm and loving eyes...

Never... Neither from (Y/N)... Or (S/N), who's still avoiding him and shying away in his presence, as if running away from a monster...

. . .

—"{Fuck...}"— you cuss under your breath as you look at the nearly empty fridge.

—"It's okay (Y/N), we can just go to the store and buy more!"— (S/N) says with an excited and innocent tone.

But in a second, her expression changed into a fearful one as she steps back. That's when (Y/N) feels a large hand grasp them by their arm, a bit roughly, which meant that Michael wanted their attention inmediatly.

They swallow thickly but mantain their composure. With their hand (Y/N) motions to their sister to go into her room, order that the little girl listens without a fuss and nearly trips as she runs away from the kitchen. Ones left alone, (Y/N) turns towards the large man while sighing shakily.

—"Okay, so-"—

They have no time to finish when their car keys were handed (thrown) to them. (Y/N) blinks a couple of times as they process what happened, huh... Well it was easy.

—"Oh..."— you slowly lift your gaze at his emotionless mask, your gaze distrustful, expecting some sort of trick. —"So... Am I really allowed to go?"—

No answer or movement, only an intensive stare. They sigh shakily again as they hide the keys in their pocket.

—"Can I take (S/N) as well?... She hasn't left the house for a whil- "—

Their form is suddenly pushed back against the fridge, their back pressed against the cold surface while a single large hand is holding them by the throat in place, firmly but not chocking.

He then slowly brings his knife up and simply points at them with the blade, it wasn't a threatning gesture, in Michael's terms, just a simple act to get a message across...

That they are going alone.

(Y/N)'s mouth gapes as their expression morph into a shocked and disgusted one, is he really planning to stay all alone with their little sister?!

—"You sick fuck, the hell you want to do to my si-"—

He suddenly shakes his head, not a little subtle jerk but an actual shake, probably realizing how bad and shady his intentions have looked from (Y/N)'s perspective.

(Y/N) let's out another sigh, trying to calm their temper and anxiety down, they really don't want to leave (S/N) all by herself with this maniac, but at the same time they really need food and other supplies. Reslizing that there is really no other way, at least not without ending up hurt, they groan both annoyed and frustrated at how helpless and useless they are.

—"Fine! I'll go alone... But... But let me warn my sister first, please."— you look into his mask's eye sockets as you plead, your own gaze less harsh, almost vulnerable.

They can feel his fingers twitch against their neck when they lock eyes, action that caught their breath and made body stiff. They can hear Michael's breathing get heavier again as they keep gazing at each other, yet their calm and pleading expression still not changing, hoping that this could somehow calm whatever is going on inside of his mind, hope he shows mercy... However, they do end up flinching when the man began to lean closer to their face, so close that they could nearly see his eyes, his real eyes, through the empty eye holes of the mask.

At the sight of his icy blue eyes stare back at them, (Y/N) freezes as an odd spine chill jolts through them, an electrifying feeling that made them both hot and cold at the same time. Oddly enough, they weren't afraid of his gaze... His emotionless yet intense gaze, like that of a wild hungry animal...

They remain like this for a while, their faces only inches away from each other. But when Michael attempted to move even closer and press his body agains (Y/N)'s, they finally snap of this strange trance and stop him by putting their hands against his solid chest.

—"S-Stop, this... This is too close."— you say, your tone a tag defensive.

Michael remains still, they could swear his eyes darkened by the regection, yet he doesn't push further and eventually let's go of their neck and steps back. It takes a second for them to regain their previous composure and focus, but thankfully they manage to.

—"I... I'll go tell (S/N)."— you grumble as you hurriedly make your way out of there.

. . .

—"Y-You're leaving me alone?... With the monster?"— (S/N) says shakily as she clings to your clothes and being on a verge of tears.

—"I'm sorry, songbird. I'm really sorry. But I promise I'll be back soon, you'll be okay, I know you will."— you hug her back tightly, also being quite emotional due to your own fear and worry.

—"But... B-But what if he-"—

—"He won't. He won't hurt you, he promi-"—

—"But he hurts you, (Y/N)!"— she exclaims, both angry and pained.

—"What?... No, no he doesn't, look, I'm fine."—

—"No you're not! I know he does something to you when you're alone and I can see that, you always look so hurt and angry and... Sad... You always so sad whenever he's around."— she looks at you as she grips your clothes tighter. —"I... I don't want him to make me sad too... I- I don't want to see you like this anymore, I want the old us back, when we were happy!"—

These words broke (Y/N)'s heart completely. Despite their efforts to keep everything cool and away from (S/N), the little girl proved that they didn't do a great job and how truly affected she is. However, they don't give up against their emotions and with a huff they hug their sister tightly again.

—"We will return to normal. As I said, I'll figure this out."— you look at her and your gaze softens a bit. —"When mom and dad were gone, I had to figure out many things at ones too, and as you can see, I did it. So why whouldn't I be able now?"—

The girl falls silent, thinking and unsure of what to say.

—"I know it's hard, I know you hate to see me cry, but I'll get us through this and soon I'll be the good old smily (Y/N) you know. Just be patient and remain strong, okay? Do that for me."— you smile at her as you take her hand into yours.

Both siblings lock eyes and another wave of silence came, but this time it was (S/N) who broke it by suddenly wrapping their arms around her sibling.

—"You're right! I must remain as strong as you!"— she confidentaly huffs. —"And- And I'll help you figure out things! Like our escape plan!"—

(Y/N) merely chuckled, already knowing that the 'plan' will be some sort of impossible and childish idea, but they'll give (S/N) an A for the attempt and effort. Ones made sure their sister was okay, they prepare to leave, but not before reminding the little girl to not come out her room until they return, order that she promised to follow.

When they exit into the hall, and to no one's surprise, Michael was standing right there, staring at their form. (Y/N) returns the stare for a moment, but instead of glaring daggers at the man, they simply scoff as they brush past him with a pitty gleam on their eyes.

Tsk, they are sad? Just look at him! Always trying to insert himself and be part of their every single interaction... That is sad...

Actually sad...

(Y/N) glances back before going through the front door, well aware that Michael followed them, he always does... The two lock eyes, though (Y/N)'s expression was hard to decipher.

—"I'll be back in a little while, you... Well, you already know your part of the deal."— you give a little shrug and finally exit the house.

When their car left, Michael remained in place next to the window, just staring and watching. Though (Y/N) said more than ones that he's allowed to do whatever, he doesn't really feel like doing anything. Sure, he can take a book, watch TV, eat one of (S/N)'s sweets... But... It doesn't feel as special as when (Y/N) is around, and their sister definetely won't appreciate the last one.

The sound of little and hurried footsteps got his attention, yet he made no movements, already knowing who it is. He could hear some little grunts and huffs come from the kitchen, as if the girl is struggling with something. He allows it to continue for a little while but eventually makes his way to the kitchen, both curious to see what (S/N) is up to and to make sure she doesn't do anything silly, after all, kids aren't the most brilliant most of the time.

When Michael entered the kitchen, he was met with (S/N) attempring to get something from the upper shelf. She was holding her dino-grabber toy, using it to get whatever item she so desperately wanted, which would slip away and further into the shelf with each grab.

—"Come ooon, you 'dingus' thing."— she groans under her breath, probably not even knowing what 'disgus' means.

Michael silently observes the girl, she was so concentrated in her little mission that she didn't even notice him get progressively closer until standing right behind her.

When the item slipped so far that she couldn't even grab it with the toy, she lets out a frustrated groan and was about to climb the counter, but instead lets out a squeak when suddenly a large arm appeared above her. (S/N) instinctively backs away and presses herself into the kitchen counter as she shields herself with the toy.

—"S-Sorry! I'm so sorry for disturbing you! I- I got hungry and- a-and wanted to grab a poptart!"— she hurriedly says as she squeezes her eyes shut, as if expecting some severe punishment.

However, all she hears is faint rattle of something inside of a container and then a low grunt. She opens one eye and is met with Michael holding the whole box of poptarts in his hand and extending it towards her. A sense of dejavu invaded (S/N), flashbacks of their first meeting flashed before her eyes and the same sense of dread and danger formed inside of her, but this time she won't run away. She promised (Y/N) to stay strong, she will simply grab the stupid dessert and angrily look at him, just like (Y/N) always does!

But when she reached out and looked up at his masked face, her bravery dissolved like sugar in water. Michael just looks so big and intimidating all of the sudden-... His figure resembling so much the monster a child would imagine hidding in their closet. But still, the girl manages to tame her fears and take the box with her shaky hands.

—"I..."— she shrinks a bit. —"Thank you!"— she hurriedly exclaims before making a run out of the kitchen.

Michael merely looks at her direction, though he felt a small disappointment that the little girl was still so afraid of him, he can't really blame her or do anything about it, anything but to be grateful for this little interaction.

However...

—"Psst..."—

He only tilts his head at the little noise and (S/N)'s figure peeking out from the doorway.

—"Humm..."— she hesitates to speak at first. —"Do... Do you promise not to tell (Y/N) I left my room? They'll give me the scold of my life if they find out!"—

The man remains still for a little while, but eventually breaks his stillness with a little nod.

—"So is that a promise?"—

Another nod, which caused (S/N) to smile.

—"Thank you. Hey, we're almost like partners in crime! Doing forbiden stuff and then covering each other's back!"— she giggles at the thought and runs away into her room right after.

And ones again, Michael was left alone, but his time he was left with a warm feeling that made his chest feel both light and on ease. He's not sure what this emotion is, but he remembers feeling it in his childhood sometimes, mainly when he managed to make Angel smile with his own childish shenanigans, he always felt like a hero back then.

Now... It's hard to call him a hero, a monster or devil are more suitable names, but right now, for ones and after a long long time...

He didn't feel like one...

. . .

The rest of the day went like many previous ones (Y/N) returned, they nearly cried of relief that (S/N) was okay and wasn't hurt. And just like promised, no one told them about the little interaction the girl and the man had.

After the 'story-time session' ended and the little girl was asleep, (Y/N) returned to their usual spot next to their sister's room, though to their surprise, Michael wasn't in the hall waiting for them like he usually does... Nevertheless, that didn't stop them from taking their spot and wait, they knew he would come, he always does...

At this point they have no clue what his motives are, this doesn't seem like a simple paranoia of them contacting the authorities anymore, or a simple desire to be a jerk. Whatever enmity is going between them is something deeper, something more personal and sick, it's like this man is obsessed with them, but what kind of obsession? They don't know... And maybe don't want to know...

Eventually, the masked man does return to his spot but was met with a completely different scene. Yes, (Y/N) was there, but so was (S/N), who's gently putting a warm fluffly dinosaur blanket ot her sibling's sleeping form, doing her best to make it as cozy as possible. The little girl had a concerned expression, she knew that (Y/N) had barely slept due to the fear and worry of Michael doing something to her, the dark circles and the pale tone on their face only proving the unhealthy and tired state of her sibling.

It's a miracle that the girl didn't scream at the sight of Michael's giant figure and white mask staring at her from the dark, most likely the head tilt gave his identity away.

—"{S-Sorry.}"— she whispers, shifting from foot to foot with a guilty expression. —"{I know it's past my bed time, but I swear I can't fall asleep no matter how hard I try! I wanted to ask (Y/N) if we could watch something on their computer but...}"— she glances at your sleeping form.

Michael makes no movements, he's not quite sure why the girl is explaining herself to him, it's not like he will scold her, quite the opposite, it's really loable of her to take care of her sibling no matter what.

(S/N) then glances at the man, again hesitating to speak.

—"{Huummm... Do you just stay and stand there every night?}"—

Michael doesn't move at first, but then gives a little nod.

—"{All night?}"—

Another nod.

—"{Do you even sleep?}"— she furrows her brows a bit.

This time there is no answer.

The girl frowns a bit, sure Michael looks and acts freaky, but at the same time she feels sorry for him, something about his behavior is so sad and... Miserable. Is this why he's always tailing behind (Y/N)? Because they manage to make him feel happy and safe like they do with her? Or maybe because he wants to remember and feel how it's like to have an awesome and loving sibling? Or... Maybe he is just a big evil jerk that want's to do something bad to them... There's only one way to find out which one is the case...

—"{Michael?}"—

He tilts his head.

—"{Do... Do you... Do you want to hurt (Y/N)?}"—

A heavy silence falls upon them, even Michael's breathing was inaudible. (S/N) couldn't tell what's going on inside of his mind. Is he thinking? Is he annoyed? Waiting for her to drop the question or ask something else? Due to the lack of reaction, the girl starts to hesitate about her question and if she even wants to know the answer, what if he says 'yes' and kills both of them? (Y/N) said how cruel Michael can be, so sure he won't hesitate to hurt them.

Eventually, she recieves her answer; a shake of his head.

Relief flushes through (S/N), though that answer sparked another question...

—"{Then... Then why do you always follow them?... Do you feel... Lonely?}"—

Another wave of silence, but this one is less heavy since Michael wasn't staring directly at her form, but at the floor instead. The subtle tilt of his head was enough to hint the deep thinking going in his mind. And is right, Michael is thinking quite a lot. He stopped bothering to understand his obsession with (Y/N) and wouldn't think too much about following them, he just did it. But now... Now that he's forced to think about it for the first time, he realized it no longer feels like part of his unholy fixation on them, it feels more... He's not sure, but when he's with them he feels...

He nods slowly, his shoulders slump a bit after that.

(S/N) frowns sadly, her childish innocent mind quickly forgetting the things this man commited, maybe he isn't that bad, after all, (Y/N) told her how hard and unfair life was towards Michael, so... Maybe, if (Y/N) and her are kinder to him, maybe, just maybe, he'll be kinder to them too?...

—"{Michael...}"— she quietly says as she begin to walk towards him.

The girl stops right in front of his tall frame, the man tilts his head when she motions him to crouch down, but eventually he does. That's when, and without any warning, (S/N) wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. The sudden contact made the man freeze completely, but he makes no effort to push the girl away. After a couple of solid minutes, his body starts to relax as he gives in into the little yet affectionate embrace.

The girl then leans closer to his ear, well, his mask's ear, but he sure heard her whisper...

—"{It's okay... I can be your friend.}"—