#wish there was an alert that i could make pop up on a person window after they reblog like

[vagoonabeach]

every now and then my activity feed will remind me i've commented on big posts or made big posts in the past and people are trying to engage with me on it, and idk what to tell u... ur talking to a brick wall my guy. i'm not even that person anymore

[pigcowboys]

part 3 where percy confesses plss😭

pairing: percy jackson x gn! reader

summary: percy finally explains the reason he's been acting so weird.

warning(s): awkward conversations, mutual pining (pls they're very slow..), cursing, love confessions, kisses.

a/n: UGHH THIS TOOK FOREVER IM SO SORRY. tysm for all the notes on both parts !! :) i finally managed to pop out the final part even if it took a minute.. truly trying my best to clear up all the requests in my inbox, just give me a minute!!

part 1 part 2

school was slow - as always.

you watched out the window intently, trying your best to tune out the teacher's nonsensical chatting as you focused on the small robin that was seated outside on the arm of a tree.

you were so bored you were watching a bird.

seriously, school had to be some kind of legal torture method.

the bird flapped around like he was looking for something, tweeting eagerly when he seemed to get his hands onto a random stick.

hmm..must've been building a nest.

he rushed forward to place it, the twig dropping from his mouth as he hopped around, trying to find it almost nervously.

you watched with amused eyes, bracing your head in the palm of your hand as your mind started to wander. school was back in session and because of that, you had made the crushing decision to leave camp half-blood in order to pursue an education.

of course, as per request of your mother. she cared about you - a bit too much you'd guessed because for whatever reason she'd decided to put you in a school that was so strict they cut down on students if their shoelaces were so much as a tad bit too eye-catching.

you tore your eyes away from the bird to focus on your teacher who was still very much into the lesson she was teaching.

only a few more minutes till class had ended - you just had to hang in there..

“and so..” the loud ring of the bell cut your teacher off, simultaneously alerting your body to make the swift action to pull your backpack into your lap, sweeping all your things inside as you hauled yourself up, rushing out the classroom door.

one more day here and you might just throw yourself out the window, you thought.

your scruffy shoes dragged against the polished and shiny marble floor of the hallway as you pushed past the sea of people that were flooding out of each classroom.

you didn't hate this school - well, it was the only school you hadn't accidentally destroyed so, there was no room to complain. it wasn't any camp half-blood though, as bitter as you were about being a demi-god, you still missed being in a community where you all had at least one thing to relate to.

at this school you'd be lucky to find a person who had the same music taste as you..

you pushed past the last person, stomping down the stairs as you spotted a figure in the distance standing just a few ways near the front entrance of your school. you quirked an eyebrow at the fellow, a smile pulling onto your lips as you approached the person closer.

“so, are you stalking me now?” you asked, slightly amused.

percy smiled back at you. “yeah, sure, you wish.”

you pulled him into a gentle hug despite the emotions inside of you being anything but things of that nature, pulling away to exhale dramatically. “gods, if i stay one more second here i might end up maiming my english teacher.”

"between me and you, i can't tell who has a worse school - i got like, 6 pages of math homework today."

you stifled a laugh, causing percy's face to shift to one of unamusement. “thanks for that, makes my life seem a lot less horrible.”

percy stared right ahead at you, expression not changing.

you'd be a goddamned liar if you said you hadn't thought about percy every second you spent away from camp half-blood. i mean, how could you not? this summer was so..weird.. for no reason too. not that you hated it - it was amazing! suuper fun. well, spending like 4 days in the infirmary wasn't very fun but - you digress.

you hadn't seen percy or honestly, really anyone for a few months since summer ended. despite all the phone calls and texting, you'd never had the pleasure of seeing him in real life. you were both so busy too the idea of planning a hangout was completely out of picture.

it was until now, at least.

so, seeing percy jackson parked outside of your school on his beaten blue bike with slightly rusty handle bars on this random autumn afternoon was not apart of your plan. in fact, you were thinking of passing out when you got home and sleeping like a log.

he looked the same, for the most part except his hair was a bit more grown out now, bangs slightly overgrown on his face. you were sure he hadn't gotten a proper haircut in a minute or two. he looked more mature now too - to you at least. his shoulder were broader and his awkward voice that cracked unexpectedly was replaced a more..raspy and warm voice that tickled your ears whenever he spoke.

“what're you doing here?” you asked, offering him a confused smile. he tucked his hand into his pocket

“i wanted to take you out,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.

you eyed him curiously, grabbing the straps of your backpack. “like...on a date?” you joked.

“do you want it to be?”

you paused, slightly stunned by his newfound confidence. a smile unknowingly made it’s way onto your face as you snorted, pushing him playfully as you hid your burning face.

“are we riding over?”

percy smiled, hopping onto the bike as he slid his helmet onto his head. he scooted over to make space for you. “if you're not too scared..”

you smiled back at him, laughing as you threw your bag into the small basket in front of the bike, plopping down behind him. you hesitated to wrap your arms around him, goosebumps growing on your upper arm as you braced against his back.

“you alright back there?”

“mhm..” you mumbled out. “let's go.”

"how'd you get the money to pay for all this stuff?"

you tried your best to keep as much good inside your mouth as you could as you and percy walked side by side. you hadn’t had a proper unhealthy meal in weeks — all thanks to your mom’s newfound obsession with kale and all things vegetarian.

“saved up,” he replied nonchalantly. “nothing too important.” you hummed in response as you tended to the oversized slushee cup that was clutched in your right hand.

“so, what’s the real reason you decided to come find me?” you asked suddenly, catching Percy off guard.

“you’re not a very good listener.”

“and you’re not a good liar,” you quipped, a suspicious look on yo ur face. “why’d you suddenly decide you wanted to hang out?” you didn’t mind that percy had came to visit you — really. it’s just, you two didn’t live near each other at all.

so, for him to suddenly appear outside of your school on a whim seemed too peculiar to just be as simple as “wanting to hang”. percy analyzed you silently before shrugging. “well..i guess I just missed you then?”

you offered him a teasing smile. “is that so?”

“so.”

you laughed to cover up the hard pattering of your heart as your stomach fluttered. was Percy..flirting with you? like..flirting, flirting. you sneaked a glance at him as you continued to work on your slush, jumping when you felt Percy’s hand interlock with yours.

he didn’t look at you, only continued to walk at a neutral pace beside you. moments like these made you question your status with him, like isn’t it slightly weird for friends to be walking hand and hand down the street? is that..normal? well, it is for you two.

“where are we going?”

percy glanced at you. “somewhere..”

you quirked an eyebrow at him. you trusted his judgement — of course but it was starting to get late, that sentiment being heightened by the dimmer sky and the fact you were starting to see more and more street lights power off.

your mother was sure to worry about where you were in a few hours. just what did Percy have to show you? your head was telling you to leave and catch a bus home while the rest of your body told you to shut up and go wherever this sea eyed boy led you.

“just through here, okay?” percy reassured as he stepped to the side, allowing you to go ahead of him. he seemed to of led you to some secluded forest area that was a few ways away from civilization. it was beautiful — amazingly so considering this was New York you two were talking about.

“percy what is this pla—”

your questions was cut off as percy placed his hands over your eyes, earning a nervous giggle from you.

“shh,” he cooed in your ear. “just follow my lead.”

“kind of hard to when I can’t see anything..” you replied, tripping over something that was seated on the floor of the forest. percy was quick to steady you, slowly walking you deeper into the forest.

you mind went numb as the sensation of his own warm skin against yours overtook your receptors. his skin seemed just as warm as it was that summer he spent in the infirmary with you. almost as warm as his hand that clasped your own as you sat on his bed, watching in confusion as he attempted to tell you something.

whatever that something was..

percy stilled behind you as he exhaled shakily. “okay, i’m gonna remove my hands now.” he said, slightly nervous. “don’t like..scream or anything, alright?”

“no promises.” you joked, earning a nervous chuckle from him. you waited expectantly as percy slowly removed his hands from your eyes.

you blinked your eyes open as you admired the scene in-front of you. the heart of the forest was decorated with various different fairy lights and other small lights, and at the center there was a small picnic basket with a picture of you seated next to it.

you recognized the picture from the first day you and Percy had met. you were attending the same school at the time and that day the school had planned a trip to six flags, one that you both attended.

seated knee to knee, you two ascended the tracks and despite all your mutterings about rollercoasters being boring — you still felt your heart jumping as you made your way up. then, right at the drop, your throat closed and you started to grow sick.

yeah..it wasn’t hard to imagine what happened next. percy was nice enough to check up on you after the trip despite being traumatized himself. held all your stuff for you while you threw up the rest of the your breakfast into the six flags public trash bin.

and your teacher, oh, your sweet caring teacher, caught the whole thing in a image that consisted of your sickly looking face attempting to throw up a peace sign and percy’s terrified looking face that was stained with your throw up who hugged you awkwardly, shooting a weak looking thumbs up.

you hated that photo — he knew that. it was probably why he used it.

your breath caught in your throat as you turned to face percy. he looked back at you with a warm smile on his face as he approached you hesitantly. you stood in place, watching him approach you. what should you say? what could you say?

“i’ve.. not been the best with my words..recently..” percy said, slightly embarrassed. “but, um..i don’t think i’d really forgive myself if I didn’t tell you this..” his face was flushed to capacity as he stood in-front of you. your lips trembled as you opened your mouth to say something to no avail.

Percy exhaled, stepping forward as he clasped your hand in his, bringing it to rest against his chest. your eyes casted down to look at your hand which rested there, the pattering beat of his heart loud as ever.

“i really like you.” percy admitted. “more than..more than i’ve ever liked someone in my life.” he stared into your eyes intensely as he tightened his grip on your hand. “and..i want to know if you feel the same way..” he paused. “please?”

you were at a loss for words. i mean, how could you have gaged this was what Percy had planned for so long? and how stupid were you for not seeing it all? everything that happened between the two of you at camp half blood..was he..? no, he was. he was trying to confess to you.

he felt the same way as you.

you slithered your hand out of his touch, bringing it to your side. percy’s face grew slightly alarmed, sadness growing on his face.

your stomach fluttered as you leaned in slightly, tongue darting out to lick your lips before you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing a kiss to percy’s lips. his eyes widened at the contact, freezing before kissing back hesitantly.

Percy wrapped his arms around your neck, holding you tightly as you pulled back from the kiss, a embarrassed look on your face.

“i couldn’t find anything to say.”

percy blinked at you, slightly shaken up. “you’ve said plenty.”

“clearly not enough since you genuinely thought I wasn’t going to like you back.” you huffed. “gosh, and while we’re on the topic — can we talk about how stupid I am?”

“let’s not,” percy mumbled. “we’d be stuck on it for hours.” you nudged him playfully. silence fell over you two again as you stayed still in each other’s arms, having an unspoken staring contest.

“i like you too, percy.” you mumbled. “i always have.”

a smile formed on Percy’s face as he nodded slightly. “yeah, okay..I’m glad.” he cleared his throat. “…do you have like, a specific amount of time you have?”

“shut up and kiss me again.” you replied with a smile, pulling Percy into you as your lips pressed against each other again. for a moment you almost forgot all about where you were and how late it was. all that mattered at the moment was the fact that you and percy were finally together.

well, it was for a moment.

you jumped as percy’s phone went off in his pocket, causing you to pull away from Percy immediately as he searched through his pocket for his cell. You eyed percy curiously as he brought the phone to your ear.

“mom! what’s..going on?.” he replied into the phone with a hushed tone. “yeah..they’re here..” he turned to face you to which you waved at him with a lopsided smile.

“uh, okay — we will..yeah we’ll be there.” he said before ending the call. Percy turned to you with a frown. you titled your head in confusion.

“are you up for dinner at my place? my mom wants to meet my new girlfriend.” he said, wars growing red.

huh. dinner sounded good right about now.

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: nagi x reader

♡   —   tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, pro football player!nagi, long distance relationship, fluff, feel-good fic, reader is implied to be a teacher/have students

♡   —   a/n: a little late birthday present for my dear friend @ofoceansandtombsanew!! took a few extra days bc i wanted it to be good lol mwah love uuuuu

♡   —  masterlist

Think I only want one number in my phone

I might change your contact to “don't leave me alone”

— "Nonsense" by Sabrina Carpenter

The first thing Nagi sees when he wakes up inside his hotel room is his cactus, Choki, standing proud on his bedside table. A few rays of sunlight peak through the curtains and he buries his face against his pillow, groaning. It takes him a good minute to gather enough energy to blindly look for his phone on the mattress, his fingers closing around the device once he does.

Squinting, he scrolls through his notifications, swiping most of them without even reading the content before reaching your name. He presses it, and a message shows up, paired with the photo he was just waiting to see. His lips were already twitching up before he could even register it.

In the photograph you’ve sent him, he can see a small, flower-shaped succulent sitting nicely on a teacher’s desk. The classroom seats are empty and he can see the faint glint of the sunset coming through the windows. Was is afternoon already when you sent it?

Nagi shifts on his bed, finding a more comfortable position, before pointing his phone at Choki and snapping a photo. In the background, you’d be able to recognize the hotel room he’s been staying at during the championship, plus the shoft morning lightning that indicated he was just starting his day. He types the message and sends it promptly.

To his surprise, the read notification appears as soon as the delivered one does. He sits up on the bed, drowsiness washing away almost completely as he watches three small dots blinking. What time is it there? How can you be awake too?

Soon enough, another photo of the same succulent appears, this time next to a window he recognizes as his own kitchen. Ah, it’s already night back home, he thinks, and for a moment wishes he was back there, sitting on the kitchen table and swiping across his phone as you tell him a story about work while you cook. The smell of herbs and spices he’s already forgotten the name of dances around his mind, and he finds himself groaning, laziness crawling back to his body the more he misses you.

A surge of energy straightens his back, the prospect of holding you sooner than expected gives him the motivation he was almost losing by being away from you for so long. He could sneak you into the hotel, he thinks; finally have a Good Sleep™, drift off while you run your fingers across his scalp and he rests his head on your chest.

Before he sends it, he makes sure to attach a new photo of Choki, only this time he includes a peace sign of his own.

The three dots appear again and Nagi finds himself balancing his long legs on the side of his bed. He rests his phone on the bed for a moment and stretches his arms, feeling a satisfying ‘pop’ come from his shoulder blades. His notification bell alerts him again and he quickly takes the divide again.

In the middle of a dimly lit hotel room, Nagi’s soft smile is put on a spotlight thanks to his phone screen. Your message doesn’t take long to arrive, the same succulent and kitchen window, only this time paired with your thumb and index finger together forming a heart next to it. 

Before he can type in another response, his alarm goes off. Almost in cue, he heard very similar alarms ringing in the rooms adjacent to his, followed by a couple of curses in the background and someone ―Bachira, if he had to take a guess― putting on a Spotify playlist on loud volume. Nagi lets out a long yawn and leaves his phone on the bed as he heads to the shower, message still unsent on the screen.

He’d rather tell you in person anyway.

[beakeoghan]

4 am and a bottle of champagne

Pairing: Shang-Chi x fem!reader

Summary: It's 4 am and your roommate finds your broken heart in the kitchen.

Word count: 1.2k words

Warnings: Roommate!au, mentions of cheating, very minor cursing, slow burn. In this story, Shang-Chi is referred to as Shaun since I pictured that the events of Shang-Chi and The Legend of The Ten Rings occurred before he moved in with her, and she doesn't know about his double life.

Author’s note: This little story is very self-indulgent and I wrote it for the lovely@tonystarksfavoritedaughter writing challenge! Thank you so much for tagging me on this and I'm very happy about your incredible milestone ❤ There are a lot of references to songs because that's how my mind works dhsdjkh The reader calls him “boy-scout” because she sees him as someone very honest and friendly.

Likes, comments and reblogs, as always, are very appreciated <3

You knew it was around 4 am when your body urged you to wake up and get out of bed. Truthfully, you hadn't even slept at all. Your eyes didn't seem to shut for a minute without flashbacking to the scene you'd seen earlier.

The cold floor against your feet was the only thing keeping you alert and present. You made your way to the kitchen, careful not to wake up your roommate. Against your will, though, the tears started lingering by your puffy eyes — you fought them, unsuccessful.

A glass of water in hand, only the dim lights of the table lamp by the sofa illuminating your face, you heard the tingling of the keys wiggling around when the front door unlocked. You didn't even realize he wasn't at home.

You stared at Shaun, squinting your eyes. "I thought you were here." Even though your friend was quite outgoing, frequently going to karaoke parties, he never came back home so close to dawn. "What were you doing out so late?"

Shaun took a quick breath, trying to make up excuses on cue. "I was at Katy's?" He said, but even he couldn't believe his response. "I was doing groceries?" He closed his eyes taking the hit of being so bad at making believable excuses to you.

The slight shake of his head and the funny tone of his voice made you giggle softly. On any other day you would joke around and confront him, making him confess, but not today. You turned your distant gaze away from him, thinking about hiding in your bed again. "Alright, good night, boy-scout."

"Wait, wait." He said, closing the door behind him after taking off his shoes, cautious not to make too much noise. "You're never up that late. Or early, I'm not sure anymore." He hung his jacket in the open closet where all the coats are usually stored. "Is everything fine?"

You knew he couldn't see your face. Otherwise, he wouldn't even have asked if you were okay. The spaced curtains let the moonlight and the slightly greyish blue sky come through the apartment windows. You sat down on the comfy chair nearby, grabbing a blanket that you would always leave in the living room.

Shaun approached the space, joining you on the other couch. His tired dark eyes stared at you with concern as soon as he noticed the red sheen on the tip of your nose and the sparkle on your eyes - the kind of sparkle he didn't wish to see. He hated to see. "Who did this to you?"

"Who do you think?" As soon as you let out the sarcastic huff, the other emotions started to show, and you felt like crying again. "I saw him cheating on me with another girl at that party. And the worst part was that he seemed so free like I didn't even exist."

Shaun shook his head in disbelief, almost pleading with himself not to say what he was yearning to say for quite some time now. He sighed, searching for the right way to let the words reach you.

"He is a fucking moron. That's what he is." He seemed so angry, but not at you. His hand gestured as if a single punch could knock another person out in one go. You recognized his face when he was so upset he could storm out - luckily, he never did that to you. The veins on his arm and forehead popping out, his jaw clenched, all very contained, yet, quite terrifying at the same time.

Your unexpected laughter made him jump out of the couch, taking his focus out of the feelings he was farming under his skin. "Thanks for sugarcoating it.”

"I meant to say that he isn’t worth it.” He said, cupping your hand onto his. "I'm sorry that it happened."

"I know." You nodded with a weak smile showing off for the first time that night. "I did break up with him if you were wondering."

"I was going to ask you that." He chuckled. "You know I've never been a fan of his, so I can't be partial on that."

"Can we pop out the champagne? Or is it too early for that?" You snorted a bit with your restrained laughter. After that little confession from Shaun, you lightened up a bit. You knew he wasn't the type of guy that despised people, but you always had that gut feeling that his senses were almost like a moral compass — if he doesn't like someone, there's something wrong.

"We can do whatever you want to, pretty girl." He smiled, mimicking your new mood. "Anything that makes you happy."

You reached him for a side hug and whispered a sweet thank you, resting your head on his shoulder. "Even at 4 am, you never fail to make me smile, boy-scout."

"It's just my duty ma'am." He saluted with a grin. "But seriously though," he cleared up his throat. "I hope you know that love doesn't feel like this. I don't have a single doubt in my mind that you loved him, but... Love isn't supposed to give you anxiety, cold feet, and make you second guess yourself as he did."

And as I would never do. He wanted to say but kept the last part for himself. “You’re going to be okay.”

”Thank you, Shaun." You nodded. His warm eyes reached you in a mellow embrace as if with one look he had snugged you with a blanket and gave you a sweetened cup of coffee. "And I'll keep my guard up for the future."

Shaun seemed satisfied with your answer and smiled. You stood up and walked back to the kitchen again after remembering the leftover cake from last night. You glanced over to him asking if he wanted a piece, but he refused, just watching you from the couch he was still comfortably sitting on. “Oh wait, look what we have here.” Your figure suddenly vanished inside the fridge lights, and your swift smile accompanied a half-opened bottle of cheap champagne. He guffawed at your suggestive grin and nodded, pointing at the shelf where you kept your very inexpensive glasses.

He knew he had to give you time to heal. There was this innocent understanding that whatever type of love he felt for you, it was enough for now. He didn't need to be your lover, not as much as he needed to be your friend.

He wanted to be the one you would drunk text to and the one you would sing series openings with late at night. He wanted to be next to you when you woke up and brew you a fresh cup of coffee — or tea, which one you would prefer that day. He wouldn't mind going out to buy you boba tea or put gas on your car when you didn’t feel like it.

Maybe he, too, had a misconception of love. Love was what he felt for you, even today when all he could do was comfort you and watch you dance on the kitchen tiles with that oversized t-shirt you had stolen from him. Love isn't one special moment in time, it's this constant friendship and reassurance feelings that come with it.

And for sure, if the time comes, and you feel the same, he will be there to hold you and rush in like a fool. But for now, your smile is the only proof of love he needed right now. The only one he fights to protect.

[charliedawn]

What is their reaction when they find out that they may have grown attached to you ?

You know how Jason can be very insecure and self-conscious ? Well. Prepare for a whole new level. He will check himself in the mirror when you're not looking, and if he doesn't like what he is seeing ? He will smash the mirror and go in a corner to sit and move back and forth, to give himself some reassurance. He still remembers what his mother used to tell him.

" Persons are a nuisance, Jason. You don't need them to survive."

But then, why does he feel like he needs you ? He feels conflicted as to what to believe.

Super jumpy ! He will jump almost every time you touch him or lose his grip of the things he is holding, often ending broken and splattered on the floor. He would be as clumsy as Jason and would want you to spend more time with him. However, he would also be scared of you breaking his heart.

" I..I c..care.."

Like many of your patients, Brahms has trouble finding his words. At first, many thought he was mute, like Jason or Michael. This is why hearing him speak to you always means it is important.

" I..I care.."

He wants to say many things, how he cherishes every moment you spend together, how you make his heart race everytime you are near him or how he wants you to be by his side forever..But, he can't. He can just hope that what he feels can be expressed through eye contact. You may not understand what he wants to say, but you still try to understand. You put your hand on his and reply with a compassionate smile.

" I care about you too. You are a very good friend, Brahms.."

Did you just indirectly friendzone him ? Possibly..You walk out and Brahms sighs before sitting on his bed while hugging his doll to comfort him.

" You turn me on."

He will be absolutely frank about it. He will just step up and tell you in front of anyone. He doesn't give a damn if the others hear him as well. Also, creep alert, will watch you sleep. He will sneak in your bedroom in the middle of the night and just look at you sleep. He wants to touch you so bad, but he knows that that would wake you up. And he doesn't want that. He will just admire you from afar, even pretend that you may like him back. He would just want to get close to you, to look at you and wonder what you may be dreaming about..hoping that you are dreaming of him.

" Oh my sweet..You look so perfect when you sleep.."

Now..You know how Five is very serious about his relationship with Dolores ? Well, you better be prepared by lots of imaginary fights between the two of them, and even a break-up ! *gasp* Drama. He would be in a very bad mood and would scream and attack everyone that approaches his personal space. He would also smash everything in his room. Like, everything. So much that the other nurses would be too scared of him and ask you to handle it.

" Hey. Are you okay, Five ? Did something happen ?"

He would snort and look up at you with visible frustration.

" You happened. Dolores and I broke up. Not that she was one to share her feelings anyway."

You frown in incomprehension before asking with a small airy laugh.

" I don't understand, what does that have to do with me ?"

Your question seems to trigger a nerve and he suddenly stands up to look at you dead in the eye with anger and, somehow, pain..

" Everything ! You're too nice ! Too forgiving ! Too perfect ! You wiped our past as if it was nothing, goddammit ! We're serial killers, Y/N! We're monsters and you treat us as if we were..as if we were.."

He doesn't get to finish that sentence as he seems on the verge of tears. He jumps on his bed to sit and hide his face behind his knees. You seem to finally understand the problem and sigh before sitting next to Five.

" It's okay to have feelings, Five. You can't hide them forever. I'm sorry if it upsets you but, I don't think you're all that bad. Sure, you kill and even eat people. But, I've seen you change. You are a lot less violent and a few more months ? And I'm sure you'll be out of here in no time."

He looks up at you again with a sort of desperation, very uncharacteristic of Five, before finally asking in a tearful voice.

" What if..What if I don't want to go back ? Out there, I'm just a freak. But, here ? I got.."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but you guess what he is going to say and smile understandingly.

"..Friends ?"

He doesn't answer, he only suddenly hugs you tightly and hides his face in your skirt. You hesitate before slowly petting the top of his head affectionately. The gesture seems to relax him, but he quickly straightens up and wipes his tears away. He then stands up and apologizes.

" I..I'm sorry, it was highly inappropriate of me. I'll..I'll let you work."

Before you could say anything, he runs out of the room and leaves you confused and worried.

Lots of uncontrollable laughter. More than usual. He is very nervous when you're around him and sometimes cries while laughing, showing that he is deeply ashamed of his condition. He is very bipolar and will sometimes act very casually around you, only to break into tears when you leave the room. He will stare at you and turn his gaze away as soon as you would notice.

" Well, would you look at that ? Sir Sh*tty the clown seems to have a little crush on the nice nurse.."

Pennywise would tease him about it while Penny cackles behind him. Arthur glares at them both before either ignoring them or leaving the room.

No. Nope. Certainly not. He will try to hide from you. He knows very well what he is feeling, and also what happens to the people he feels this way towards. He just managed to get rid of his curse, he is not about to risk getting on a murder rampage again ! Every time he would see you, he would pretend to be busy or hide. One time, he even jumped out the window to get away from you. It is very odd since Michael is normally the most chill and calm out of all the patients. But one look at you ? And he becomes a panicking mess. He has to get away. He doesn't want to hurt you like he hurt everyone else close to him, like he hurt his family..

" Me ? Having feelings ? Ah !"

One word: denial. He doesn't want to hear about things like feelings. He saved you ? Bah. It was only because he was bored. He will deny everything, but still follow you and pop up out of nowhere to see what you're doing. He enjoys talking to you, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

" Pennywise..You're staring again."

Penny would gently warn him as his big brother would pretend to not have done such a thing.

" Can't an old clown appreciate to look at nice things sometimes ?"

Penny frowns, not understanding his big brother's words until Freddy intervenes by popping next to him with a huge grin.

" Let it go, kid. Your big bro is just too much of a chicken to go talk to her.."

Pennywise growls in annoyance at Freddy before raising his middle finger at him.

" F*ck off Freddy ! At least I don't watch her sleep like a total perv !"

That would result in a fight that you would have to break. Again..

" Pennywise..I think I'm sick.."

Pennywise would admit some day to Pennywise that would sigh in annoyance.

" Stop saying stupid sh*t. You know very well that we can't be sick."

But, upon seeing the devastated face of his brother, Pennywise sighs loudly before turning towards him to focus his whole attention on him.

" Fiiinnneee...Tell me."

Penny's mood seems to lit up as his brother seems to be willing to listen to him.

" OK, so it concerns the nurse, Y/N. Everytime they are near me, I feel things in my stomach, like a million kids were kicking me in there..Everytime they touch me, I feel as if a part of me in my chest is about to burst and I feel warm, very very warm. And then, I feel very very bad when they talk to anyone else..It's horrible. I want it to stop..Should I eat them ?"

Pennywise stays silent for a while before saying with an unusual straight face.

" Penny.."

He starts, but Penny starts panicking as he sees the sour look on his brother's face.

" Oh ! It's bad, isn't it ?! What is it ?! How long do I have ?!"

Pennywise rolls his eyes dramatically at his brother's exaggerated reaction before cutting him off in his worried questions.

" Shut up, you idiot ! You're not dying. You're just feeling.."things" for them."

Penny stops talking and frowns in confusion, his eyes diverging in deep concentration, as if trying to understand Pennywise's words.

" Things ?! What things ?!"

He finally asks with his eyes wide open in obvious loss and Pennywise face-palms himself before answering with a loud sigh.

" You're falling in love, you dumb f*ck !"

At the word, Penny's face freezes and his smile goes downwards as he realizes that his older brother is right.

" Oh, sh*t.."

He curses and Pennywise frowns, as Penny hates curses.

" Language ! I'm the only one allowed to use curses, remember ?!"

Penny nods before asking in a worried tone.

" How do I get rid of it ? I don't like it.."

Pennywise can't help but feel sorry for Penny, as he knew better than anyone that there was no turning back..

" I'm sorry kid. But if it's really love ? You can't..like I can't.."

Penny's eyes widen at his brother's confession.

" You..You..love her too ?"

Pennywise seems to realize what he just said and groans before walking away. He didn't want anyone to know, even though Penny is his brother. Penny understands the wish of his brother to be left alone and starts walking out in the garden to think over what his older brother said..Could it be ? Could he really be falling in love ?

Bonus : The deal

The Horde is blindfolded and dragged to another room where a man and a woman are waiting for them. At first look, he can already tell that this man is one of the unworthy. The unbroken. The weak..His interest is cut short and he then turns towards the woman sitting next to him. Now, this one was interesting..Her eyes betrayed a much deeper complexity and she had a scar running from her forehead to her left cheek that proved she was worthy.

" You..You are broken. Rejoice.."

The woman smiles, but before she could start talking, her partner does it for her.

" Mister Wendell Crumb, we have a mission for you."

But Kevin only grits his teeths at the man.

" You are impure..I want to kill you.."

The man arks an eyebrow, but ignores his threat.

" Fine. Whatever. But first, I want you to be my spy. We didn't get you out of this prison for nothing, mister Wendell Crumb. We want you to be our little spy in the facility. We want you to find out how a certain miss L/N managed to control the patients outside of the facility. Do that, and you'll be as free as a bird..Do we have a deal ?"

He frowns, they wanted him to spy on a nurse ? She must be quite special for them to go to such lengths, to use him as a spy..Yes, quite the unique prey. The Beast was already impatient and Kevin licks his lips before nodding.

" Fine, but on one condition. When you're finished with her, I get to eat her heart.."

The request seems to take the man aback, but it is the lady that Kevin is looking at. She smiles coldly before nodding in agreement.

" Deal."

Kevin finally smiles widely and can't help the excited giggle that gets out from deep within him. Then, the dark and low voice of the beast makes itself heard as the smile grows almost ferocious as he announces. .

" Let the hunt begin.."

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[let-them-read-fics]

Blackpink HC / One Shots: Enemies to Lovers, College AU (2/2)

Requested: Yes

Warnings / Misc. -- Bickering, Rivalry, Fluff

A/N: Hey everyone! This is the second half of the request, featuring Rosé and Lisa. If you want to see the first part, with Jisoo and Jennie, click the link below. I hope you enjoy!

Click for Jisoo and Jennie

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Rosé

Park Chaeyoung: The girl who hung with the wrong crowd.

Your problem lied more so with the people she associated with than her herself. You couldn't wrap your head around why such a kind person like her would spend time with the class clowns and bullies, and to make matters worse, she would stick up for them as well.

She spent most of her days in either the art or music room, creating the masterpieces that her brain came up with.

But as soon as school was over, she'd be hanging out with them again and getting into trouble. For instance, because of her talents, they would invite her to go with them and graffiti various hot spots around town. She never vandalized any monuments or landmarks of importance -- she typically stuck to bridges or abandoned buildings -- but after getting caught with them multiple times, it was inevitable for her to be held accountable.

She was given a week's detention to make up for her actions

You, coincidentally, had a teacher that absolutely loathed you for no reason at all. No matter how good of a student you were for him, he didn't care; he had a vendetta against you for some reason, and he patiently waited for the opportunity to ruin your day.

You came in literally 10 seconds after the bell rang, putting the breakfast sandwich you stopped to get on the way into your mouth so you could open the door. He was standing at the front with a smug grin on his face, and you already knew what was coming.

You were also given an ungodly sentence of a week's detention.

Turning Point

"If I see you on your phones, I'm taking them." The monitor informs before sitting at the desk, reclining in the chair and putting his feet up soon after. You sigh and lean back in your seat, attempting to find a way to pass the next two hours without getting in trouble. Your eyes scan across the room, eventually landing on Rosé, where she sits a couple rows away from you. Sunlight is streaming in through the window next to her, its golden rays peeking through the breaks in the clouds above to shine on her. She looks gorgeous as she doodles away in her notebook, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear when it falls in front of her face.

After waiting on the monitor to fall asleep and sending one last glance to double check, you quietly stand from your seat and go sit next to her.

You barely know each other, but she's your only hope of remaining sane and occupied.

"Hi," you greet, looking into her eyes.

"Hi," she copies, a tiny smile forming on her lips when she notices your impressed expression upon gazing down at her paper. You have to hand it to her -- she's really talented.

"You're really good," you compliment, still admiring the artistry. Seeing as how you're looking down, you fail to notice the blush that works its way to her cheeks. Coming from you, the simple remark meant a lot to her.

You spend the rest of the day making small talk and getting used to one another, leaving detention later with the hopes of sitting together again.

----

The Next Day

"Hi again," you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to ensure that the coast is clear. The monitor is out like a light, with his mouth hanging open and an obnoxiously loud snore coming out.

"Hi," she giggles, watching as you dive into the floor for cover when the man shifts in his sleep. You thought he was waking up, and if he finds out you moved seats, he'll definitely have something to say about it.

"The coast is clear, cadet," she nods like a soldier, assuring you that it's okay to move back after a minute.

"That was close," you breathe out in relief, glad to live to see another day.

You share a laugh, though it has to be hidden behind your hands and kept a minimum. It's cute though -- like a little secret between the two of you, only for you to know.

"What're you drawing today?" You ask later, laying your chin in your palm as you gaze down at her work. Her reply comes out stuttered at first when she feels your leg innocently brush against hers under the table.

"D-dalgom. My friend's dog." She manages out, mentally smacking herself for looking like a fool.

You smile, thinking she's adorable. "I bet it'll be great," you encourage. She grins back as her eyes scan over your face, committing the memory of you to heart. She's always had a thing for you, ever since the time you were paired up in Biology last semester, so she's been enjoying detention more than she thought she would. Seeing you makes the time go by faster, though ironically, she wishes it would slow down a bit.

You make her feel appreciated for more than just what she's capable of producing, and the divide between you and her friend group is blaringly obvious. They like her because of the rush she can help them achieve; you like her because of her.

That thought persists in her mind for the rest of detention, and before she knows it, the monitor is releasing you again. She bends down to put her notebook in her bag when a thought pops into her mind: she wants to ask if you want to go to the park with her. When she's done zipping her bag up, she looks back up at you, only to find you on your phone, talking to someone.

"Yeah, mom. I'll stop by on the way home. So milk, cereal, ramen, and paper towels, right?"

She watches as you wait for a reply, tucking the phone into the crook of your neck as you move to write the list down on a spare piece of paper.

"Alright, love you, too. See you later." You hang up before looking back at Rosie. She looks a little down, and you have no idea why.

You pause for a moment, silently psyching yourself up for what you're about to ask. "This is gonna sound really strange, but do you want to come with me to the store?"

Her heart's pace increases at that, happy to know that you want to spend more time with her, just as she does with you.

"Actually, yeah. That sounds like fun."

You grin at her before spinning around and doing a little celebratory dance, which wins you a strange look from the monitor. You stick your tongue out at him before grabbing her hand and rushing out of the room, hearing his disapproval shouted after you.

--

"Milk?"

"Check."

"Ramen?"

"Check."

"Cereal?"

"Nope."

You nod at her words, now reminded of what you were forgetting. You push the buggy towards the aisle of cereals, gazing around in wonder at the huge selection. Rosé is just the same, eyeing all of the options like a kid in a candy store. After grabbing your mom's favorite kind, you decide on one for yourself and bring it back to the cart. Rosie scoots her leg over, making room for them beside where she sits, reclined in the cart.

You grin when you see her eyeing a box of fruit loops. Huh; fruity. Go figure.

You wordlessly grab the box and hand it to her, feeling your heart melt when she looks up at you like you hold the key to the universe.

"Thank you, Y/N."

"No problem, Rosie." You say, putting your hands on the bar as you begin pushing the buggy again. "Now, I say we see how long it takes to get to the paper towel aisle. My last record was 30 seconds."

She looks at you, clearly impressed, with her eyebrows raised. Without question, she pulls her phone out and gets the stop watch feature ready to go.

"3...2...1... GO!" She shouts, commanding your legs to start pumping as you race down the long strip of store before you. A couple kids dart out of the way just before getting smacked into, quickly turning around and cheering you on as you charge forward.

Her giggles fill the air as you drift around a corner, shouting apologies to the lady you almost bumped into.

"Sorry ma'am!"

A few seconds later, chest heaving and legs sore, you come to a stop in the aisle, dramatically collapsing in a heap next to the buggy. Rosé checks her phone as she reaches down to poke you.

"22.18 seconds, champ," she declares victoriously, smiling when you magically regain enough energy to stand up and celebrate.

"Woohoo! Team Y/S/N (Your Ship Name) for the win!"

She laughs along at that, joining in on your celebration, but she's blushing like crazy on the inside.

-----

The Last Day Of Detention

Ever since your trip to the store, you and Rosé have grown closer and closer. You traded numbers and text occasionally, though nothing beats having her all to yourself for 2 hours straight with no distractions. She feels the same; when she's in class, she can't wait for the bell to ring and signal your reunion. Part of her wants to get in trouble again, just to see you more often.

So, as you'd expect, it's really no surprise that you're sat right in front of her again, telling jokes and asking about her day. You've grown a bit more bold with every step closer you've taken towards her heart, and now you reach down to intertwine your fingers with hers.

She happily accepts, even bringing your hand up to her lips to press a kiss to the back of it. She smiles against your skin after it, making butterflies take flight in your stomach. She's got you wrapped around her finger, and you don't even try to fight it anymore.

The sound of the classroom door opening alerts you, making her lower your hand. She doesn't let go of you, though, and that fact warms your heart for some reason. The squeaky hinges groan out again as the door opens wider, revealing about 4 or 5 people from the friend group that she hangs out with. They motion for her to sneak out with them, but she just shakes her head.

"Come on, Rosé!" They whisper-scream, offering her a way to freedom. Little do they know that she'd take this imprisonment over freedom any day, so long as you're by her side.

"No! Get out before he wakes up!" She whisper-shouts back, eventually convincing them to leave.

"Why didn't you go?" You ask once they're gone, toying with her fingers as your hands rest on the desk.

"Because I like spending time with you." She admits, letting her defenses down.

"I was hoping you'd say that," you smile, letting her know that you feel the same.

The Fallout

After detention, the two of you walked out of the school, hand in hand

"Would you maybe, I don't know... wanna go to the park with me?" She asks nervously, glancing up at you.

"You read my mind, Rosie." You smile at each other and head towards the parking lot.

You started hanging out more, and she distanced herself from her old crowd

You encouraged her to enroll in your school's art program and show her work that way

"You're really talented; it deserves to be seen."

Your support meant the world to her, and she never failed to let you know

"Thank you, Y/N. Having you behind me means the world to me."

At one of her art shows, where she was tasked with unveiling a new piece that she'd been working on for months, you got the biggest surprise of your life.

She created a mural of you, all decked out with every color of the rainbow, utterly gorgeous

She lit up when she saw your reaction

"This piece is titled 'Mine', which I hope the girl in it will soon be." She says into the microphone, looking at you with hope shining in her eyes.

You nod your head with a smile and walk up to her, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that was long-overdue. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in closer with her sweater-padded hands and kissing you again and again.

The crowd claps for you, happy to see such an ending.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lisa

I couldn't choose between these two gifs so enjoy both for the price of one ^^^

Lisa Manoban: Cocky, smug, and self-assured. The dancer knew she was hot shit, and she wasn't afraid to show off.

You're all for people being confident and happy with themselves, especially when they're talented, but something about Lisa always seemed to rub you the wrong way.

Whether it be her lack of a filter or the arrogant swagger that she naturally exuded, you weren't sure. People wanted to either be her or be with her, but you fell into neither of those categories.

She always left you frustrated in one way or another, whether it be from her teasing or her witty comebacks

The teachers loved her, as did the students. She was the class clown, so her position was pretty sacred in the grand scheme of things

You, on the other hand, irritated her for other reasons. You were the only person she couldn't get to crack; you never gave into her charms, and it infuriated her to no end. She wasn't used to not getting what she wanted (as childish as that may seem) and having you, one of the most attractive girls at school, turn her down? Well that was a massive blow to her ego.

You weren't afraid to say your piece, and that both pleasantly surprised and upset her.

She constantly tried to flirt with you in class, but you knew it was all for the attention. She just wanted to make her friends laugh, which they always did.

"Y/N, come here babe. There's an empty seat next to me," she coos, batting her eyelashes as you walk in the door. It's a free day, so everyone is sitting with their friends, wherever they like.

"I'm good," you decline, deciding to sit against the wall beneath the large window of the classroom.

"Oooo, denied," Lisa's friends laugh at her this time, chuckling harder when she sticks her middle finger up at them.

"Yah, shut up," she says, nursing her bruised ego as she turns around and opens her phone.

You smile as you continue working on the homework you cracked open, scribbling an answer down onto the notebook paper in front of you. Your fingers glide over your textbook in search of the definition of the term you're on, and Lisa secretly watches from afar. Without realizing it, she grins when you light up upon spotting the answer.

Sometimes her flirting does work, though, and you turn into a blushing mess

*whistle* "Damn, Y/N. You're looking fine today," she exclaims, fanning herself. You worry that she doesn't really mean it, but when her eyes remain on you a second too long to just be friendly, you blush. She's taking in all of you, looking impressed all the while.

"Right back at you, Manoban." You wink, sitting down in your seat across the room. She lightly blushes back, though she does a good job of concealing it.

Considering you share a couple classes and the class sizes are relatively small, it was pretty likely that you'd end up paired together eventually

You weren't happy about it, especially not after the way she had acted that week. Her cockiness had been at an all time high as of late, leaving you frustrated and upset. She was so full of herself; all you wanted to do was wipe that stupid smirk off her face.

"Y/N, you'll be paired with Lisa," your photography teacher informs, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose.

"But Mrs. Ta--"

"Pairings are final," she cocks her head at you, persuading you to give in. With a sigh, you respond, "Yes ma'am," and attempt to ignore the sound of Lisa's friends high fiving each other in celebration.

The Turning Point

"My parents are gone for the rest of the week..." she says, holding the door open for you as you carry in your equipment. A hint of suggestiveness lies in it; she's alluding to exactly what you think she is, and you push her shoulder upon realizing it.

"Knock it off, Manoban."

"Okay, okay," she chuckles, listening to you for once. The surprise is clear on your face.

She leads you towards the backyard, where you set up one of your highest power cameras and turn it on. You have to create a gallery of different photos, all under the same theme. You both agreed to do a time-lapse of the sunset, and take pictures of the stars after.

Once she makes sure that the timer is set correctly and that the auto shut-off feature is enabled, she motions for you to follow her back into the house. You do, and she leads you into the kitchen.

"Do you want a snack?"

"Sure, do you have any ramen?"

She nods, quickly busying herself by bending down and searching through the cabinets. After she finds it, exclaiming a pleased, "Aha!", she tells you to go get comfortable in the living room.

Three minutes later, from your place on the couch, you begin to smell something burning. You scramble up and rush to the kitchen, only to find Lisa running around like a headless chicken, attempting to put out the small fire she started.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU MANAGE TO BURN RAMEN?" You shout, though your tone isn't angry. You're just very shocked, and loud about it. You push her away from the pot, albeit gently, and get the flames to go down relatively quickly. You turn the burners off and put the pot in the sink, leaning against the counter to recover from the adrenaline rush.

"Oops?" She asks more so that says, with a growing smile evident in her voice.

You shake your head and chuckle despite yourself, turning around to face her. "You can order a pizza now to make up for that." You point a finger at her, grinning stupidly when she presses the tip of hers to it.

"Your wish is my command, princess."

Thankfully you're already walking away as she says that, so she doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing you blush.

---

"Lisa, I can't keep going." You groan out, sweat dripping down your face. The pizza you ate earlier is giving you a stomache ache, paired with the physical activity you're doing.

"Y/N, just a little longer, we're almost there," she huffs out, keeping her movements steady somehow. You're a mess by now, so you don't understand how she's still going.

A couple minutes later, the TV in front of you lights up, saying, "Awesome moves! You win!" as you collapse to the ground in a heap.

Why you agreed to play Just Dance with her after eating is beyond you.

"Good job," she compliments, grabbing your hand to high five herself with it.

"Yeah, yeah," you roll over, catching your breath.

She lays down beside you as you recover, telling jokes to hear that laugh that she loves so much. She prefers yours over anyone elses, so it's always such a reward when she gets you to crack up.

"We should probably head up now," she notes, realizing that the stars will be coming out soon. You agree, and she carefully helps you up.

"Here, I'll carry you," she turns, bending down so you can get on her back.

"Lisa, you can't carry me," you brush off, feeling insecurity bubble up again like it always does when you're offered a piggyback ride.

"Y/N, I promise that I can. Trust me," she reassures, looking into your eyes sincerely.

"Alright," you sigh, standing onto the couch to get on easier.

"See?" She asks, sliding her warm hands up your thighs to keep you secured against her. "I've got you, babe."

You tuck your head into the space between her shoulder and neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume.

"I'm gonna punch you if you drop me," you whisper, feeling her laugh against you.

"Fair enough."

-----

Later, On The Rooftop

"Careful," she instructs, outstretching a hand to help you climb out the window. Her camera hangs around her neck, and she takes the cap off of the lense once you're both safely sitting on the roof.

"Wow," you sigh, gazing up at the sky in wonder. Her house is far enough away from the city that you're rewarded with a gorgeous view of the stars, unburdened by the industrial fog that hangs over the cosmopolis.

"It's beautiful out here," you say, looking back at her. You tense up a bit, not expecting her to already be looking at you.

"Sorry," she laughs at herself, looking away once she gets caught admiring you.

"It's okay," you reach down and gently squeeze her hand, making her blush lightly.

"Let's get started," you conclude, pointing at the camera. She nods, knowing that she'd never get the assignment done if you didn't step in to tell her to (considering she'd rather admire you), and she points the device to the sky.

After snapping a few pictures, she lays back in order to get a better vantage point of one of the star systems. She hands it to you after she's satisfied with her work, and you take your turn with it.

She notices that you keep brushing your hair out of the way when it falls in your face, so she decides to help you.

"Here," she says, saddling up behind you. She gathers your hair up, running her fingers through it to neatly pull it up for you. Thankfully she always keeps a spare tie on her wrist.

"Thanks," you smile, snapping another picture. The simple act warms your heart; she's being selfless for once, and helping you without even being asked. It's a refreshing change of pace.

"You're welcome." She chirps, sitting back down beside you.

-----

Later, In Her Bedroom

"Oh, I really like that one!" She says excitedly, pointing at the TV. Her phone, which is connected via Bluetooth and automatically receives pictures of her choosing from the camera, is displaying some of your best shots.

"Yeah, you did really well with that. I think we might beat everyone else if we use that as our cover piece."

Your compliment makes her momentarily shy, and she quickly realizes how much she loves your praise.

The two of you continue like that, reviewing the different pictures and choosing your favorites. She always finds ways to compliment yours, noting your technique or the filter you used, and it always makes you smile. She's different than you're used to, and it's throwing you for a loop, pleasantly surprising.

---

Lisa steps out of the room to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, leaving her phone connected to the TV. A ding sounds out across the space, pulling your attention away from the stack of notes laid out before you. Your eyes dart up to the screen, reading the text message that appeared at the top of it.

Austin ⛓: "Dude, did you get into her pants yet? We're literally betting over here 😂"

You blink a few times as their words sink in, making your chest hurt. You were really beginning to believe that you had been wrong about Lisa; clearly, though, your instincts were right.

Feeling betrayed, you shove your folders back into your bag and stand from the chair, willing yourself not to cry. The sound of the sink turning on lets you know that she's almost done, so you hurry your movements and make your way towards the door. She steps out into the hall just as you exit her room, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Woah, woah, woah, what's going on?" She asks with furrowed brows, approaching you. One of her hands lands on your arm, and you shrug it off as you brush past her without another word.

"Y/N, did I do something wrong?" She asks from the top of her staircase, watching as you walk towards her foyer.

"Why don't you ask Austin?" You bitterly call over your shoulder as you turn the knob, slipping out the front door. She hangs her head upon registering your words, realizing what must've happened. She makes a mental note to give him hell when she sees him again.

Tears sting your eyes as you exit the house, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself. You should've known something like this would happen. The chilly night air bites at your skin, stealing more of its warmth away with every step you take. The temperature doesn't change your mind, though; you're upset, and you'd rather freeze out here than be face to face with her right now.

"Y/N, wait!" She calls after you, blasting out the front foor. Her footfalls sound off behind you, announcing her rapid approach, but you don't turn around. Realizing this, she darts in front of you, keeping you from walking any further.

"Please, don't go. He's an idiot, Y/N."

"He might he an idiot, but that doesn't take away what he said," you scowl, clenching your jaw. "Betting? Really, Lisa?" You ask quietly, hurt evident in your voice.

"It was a stupid thing they tried to convince me to do. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop them from talking once you and I were paired up. That's not what I want, though. I'm not just in it for that."

"How am I supposed to believe that? This is your M.O., Lisa."

"It's different with you, I don't know why." That's a lie; she knows exactly why you're different than anyone else she's flirted with in the past.

You stand there before her, silently weighing your options. After seeing the pleading look in her eye, her dark orbs full of sincerity, you relent. "Just take me home. We'll work on it another day," you compromise, allowing her in just enough to take you home, but not enough to stay at her place any longer. You're still weary after a text like that, and you will be for a while.

"Thank you," she breaths a sigh of relief, clasping her hands behind herself as you begin walking back to her house. She notices you shiver on the way, and she slips her jacket off without hesitation to cover you. Neither of you have to say anything; one glance from you is enough for her, and she's content knowing you're warm.

The Fallout

From there on out she was always honest with you and actually spoke out when her friends tried to do something stupid

She still remained the charming class clown that she naturally is, just getting rid of the not-so-nice parts of herself

You slowly let her regain your trust, little by little

She did nice things for you on the daily, whether it be holding the door, carrying your books, or offering to buy you some lunch

"Morning, Y/N. Wanna grab some breakfast?" She asks, moving her head to the side towards the café at the center of campus.

"Sure," you smile, laughing when she celebrates.

She invites you to her dance perfomances

When she goes to championships, you're always first on her list of invites

"I want you there." She declares, handing you the flyer.

"You've got it," you decide, knowing there's no where you'd rather be. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

At said championship, she won the highest title and claimed victory for your school

You joined the rest of the team on the stage to celebrate, congratulating the solo dancer on her achievement.

"I'm so proud of you, Lis--"

She suddenly kisses you, clearly high off her win. She pulls back when she realizes what she just did, a worried look on her face.

"Shit, I'm sorry." She looks between your eyes, attempting to gauge your reaction.

"Get your ass back here," you order, feeling butterflies take flight when she eagerly presses her lips to yours again, wrapping her arms around you to spin you.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" She mumbles against your lips.

You squint, pretending to think about it. "Maybe... or maybe not."

Her subsequent gasp is quickly muffled by your kiss, which she can't seem to get enough of.

[onouwu]

Witch Heart Hunter

From far away, the low din of celebration from the residential area made its way through the large windows of a bare loft, a typically empty unsold apartment. Sounds of people about to welcome the new year melded with the ringing of car alarms and the manufactured happiness of radio pop. A bright shaft of moonlight shone through the overhead skylight, illuminating the brick interior and pristine hardwood floor where a pale brunette trespasser lies in a revealing blue dress with her wide brim hat covering her face, waiting. Time seemed to stop as Daisy laid on her back absorbing the sounds and vibrations of the city around her. Her heart thrummed in anticipation. Goosebumps raised on her bare skin at the thought of what was to come.

“I’m ho~oome!” Crystal announced, always heard before she was seen. Short blue-silver haired with a devilish smile like a fallen angel. Her frame was lithe and frail compared to Daisy’s taller stature and defined curves.  She materialized through a portal that appeared by their front door, revealing a beast of endless glowing blue tendrils on the other side before fading away into shadow. Looking up from her position on the floor, Daisy lifted the brim of her hat and gave her hungry look.

“Do you hear that?” Daisy sat up and cocked her head towards the city lights.

“Yes!” Crystal said “It’s like they’re begging to be taken,”

“Mmmh, I hope some do, the willing are fun to play with” Daisy let out “It’s been so long since we last feasted. We’d best be careful not to get overwhelmed”

Crystal laughed it off “You know, the hungrier I get, the stronger I am. Just guard the outside while I take my half and leave you the others, okay?”

Daisy just smirked as she got up “I’ll be counting”

The new year party goers were surrounded on three sides by towering evergreens, and to the north of their clearing was a partially frozen lake. A group of eight sat by the lakeshore, drinking beers, and listening to the radio for the countdown. A loner stood away from them on the ice, looking up at the moon and hugging himself for warmth. On a wooden log next to a crackling campfire, a couple sat kissing passionately. Scarves, gloves, and a white brassiere hung from the branches next to them like exotic flowers in the moonlight.

Daisy perched on a branch in the treetops, Crystal sat next to her, her excitement radiating off her as she peered into the crowd. And so, the pair sat and watched, waiting for midnight to strike when the group would converge. It was then that the witches would feed. “Get ready to say hello to the new year, folks! It’s currently 11:59!” The group hollered in response to the jovial radio host. “If you’re listening right now, I wish you good health, happiness, and safe travels home. We’ll leave it to the city timepiece to count us down. We’re signing off for the holidays! As always, stay safe. Stay inside.” To this, several of the group scoffed.

Crystal elbowed Daisy in the rib, interrupting her observation. She looked beside her to see Crystal, thighs straddling the branch they were on and swinging her legs without a care in the world.

“Hey Daisy, make it snow will ‘ya?”

With a bit of a laugh Daisy’s eyes fell shut and her right hand waved in the air with a bright blue glow. High above the treetops, a cloud swirled and grew. Soon, snowflakes fell to the ground above the opening.

“Hey check it out!” The partygoers oohed and aahed, momentarily distracted by the sudden snowfall. No one seemed to notice that it was only in their clearing that snow fell. As if on cue, their heads shot to the side as the first of many fireworks exploded in the distance. “Ten! Nine! Eight—” The group gathered around the campfire, bottles in hand. “Seven! Six!” The lovers finally separated. “Five! Four!” The loner slowly made his way to the group, avoiding the couple. “Three!” The snow fell harder. “Two!” The fireworks came faster. “One!” Crystal and Daisy stood. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

A sound like an explosion rang in their ears. The snowfall had evolved into a storm. A wall of ice sprung up from the ground, blocking the city skyline with what looked like a jagged translucent glacier encircling them. They began to realize the trap they had fallen into much too late.

These walls were soon dotted with portals to another realm where slippery glowing tendrils shot out and grabbed their helpless victims.

“All this energy is going to feed us for days!” Crystal cried out.

Daisy couldn’t think. All she could hear was the sound of the humans wailing and the ecstasy of feeding. She was drawn into the uproar by its momentum. It was hard for her to resist immediately draining the life from these trapped humans, but she walked along the ice wall to scout the area for any alerted human forces. Sure enough, it didn’t take long before she saw a bespectacled woman with dark skin in camos and a black tank top. Her long curly hair a crimson red and her eyes display an unsettling calm when looking at the witch’s trap.

Daisy heeded caution, but she could see from the well-developed physique of this woman that there was a lot of life in her that shouldn’t go to waste. She quickly raised her hand and formed a snowy tornado around her that instantly hardened into a cone of solid frosty ice.

“Ohh what a catch” Daisy let out as she slid down the ice tower and began walking toward the woman who stood eerily still despite her situation. Daisy took the cue however and didn’t get too close before she froze the woman’s feet to the ground.

“You’re full of delicious energy. What’s your name, sweetie?” Daisy let out joyfully as she felt the intense energy radiating off this woman – more than any human she has ever seen.

“Name’s Hilda, dead witch… I want you to scream it loud before I crush your throat” The woman let out. In an incredible display of strength, Hilda slammed her fists against the wall of ice and smashed a hole into it within a second.

Daisy’s heart jumped from seeing such a superhuman display of power, reminiscent of the witch hunters of old. She decided to quickly end it, and summoned sharp spears of ice beneath the woman to skewer her. However, as the ice shot up like a rocket, the woman freed her feet and moved from over the forming pillar, using it as leverage to leap toward Daisy.

Terror filled Daisy’s hungry eyes as Hilda landed within a few feet of her. Daisy could only form a flat wall before her and flee while giving herself a moment to figure out how to handle this mysteriously strong person. Daisy quickly summoned a blizzard behind her as she ran to gain more distance, but all she could hear was the cracking of the ice as soon as it formed. Every step she took those behind her felt closer. Her poor lungs started to wheeze while her heart slammed in her throat, filling her ears with its frantic thrumming.

She turned around to summon another barrier but was met with a heart-stopping gaze inches from her face and a deep agonizing pain in the pit of her stomach. the woman’s fist had just buried itself into her core and robbed her of what little breath she had.

Daisy dropped to her knees, clutching at her chest with one hand, croaking hoarsely as she gasped for air and heaved. This was a blow like she had never felt before. As she lay on the forest floor weak and breathless, she felt utterly helpless. She could only wonder what the woman had in store for her after that.

In her winded state, Daisy managed to roll onto her burning and aching stomach. She desperately clawed at the frozen earth.

“You’re pathetic.” A boot harshly turned her over onto her back. Daisy could only see the sadism shining through this woman’s cold and heartless gaze before she stomped on the pale bare flesh of Daisy’s midsection.

Daisy tried to curl into the fetal position but Hilda shoved her boot in harder, crushing her organs under the hard thick rubber of her boot.

Hilda knelt down and Sat on Daisy’s hips, the relief of that shoe leaving her body wouldn’t hast long before she felt a calloused hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing mercilessly

“Haahkk- aahk—" Daisy let out in a desperate plea for air, grabbing and forming icy shackles around Hilda’s arm. A bright blue glow came from her hands and the ice pushed upward to lift the hand. Despite the intense cold, the determined soldier doubled down her grip. The ice cracking, shards falling on Daisy’s body as her efforts proved futile.

“I hope you all make it this easy. Just give up so I can cut your heart out and add it to my trophy wall” Hearing that makes Daisy’s heart slam against her ribs as if trying to escape its fate, but while Hilda’s hand cuts off the vital route of blood to her brain, its efforts only hastened the end of her precious oxygen supply. Her vision blurred as drool overflowed from her lips. The thick blue veins in her neck standing on end, her purple face and throat bulging, looking as if her head would pop like a grape while she struggled to free herself.

“You know what… I can’t wait for that.” Hilda pulled out a knife, Daisy squirmed beneath the woman with all her might at the sight of the glossy silver blade, but to no avail. The last-ditch effort only brought a smile to Hilda’s face in its futility as her cold steel pressed against Daisy’s breathlessly squirming chest.

Daisy’s gaze rested upon that vengeful piercing stare as her vision faded, feeling the knife bite her skin. Despite her efforts to cling to consciousness and her frantic pleas to her eldritch patron, her body quickly calmed and succumbed to its fate. She could only lie there breathlessly while the cold blade slowly descended into her chest and inched closer to her pounding heart.

“Daaaaaayyyseeee, it’s dinner time” Crystal called out.

Crystal waited for a few seconds before getting impatient. She decided to see for herself what was going on and leapt up to a tentacle which she sat on as it towered above the icy wall “Ugh, don’t tell me you’re not sharing the-“ Crystal watched in complete shock as she saw Someone sitting on Daisy’s unconscious body, continuing to strangle her while slipping a knife beneath her ribs. That shock turned to a hot rage quickly before she lifted her staff and summoned a portal behind the woman

THWACK- massive and slick tendril sent the woman flying a few feet away from Daisy.

The woman let out a “GAH” as she bounced off the ground once and rolled to a stop on her stomach. Ignoring this, she raised her head and looked back to where she stood a moment before. A translucent blue tentacle undulated, its base emerging from a portal near Daisy’s supine body and its tip stroking her neck, another wrapped around the blade which twitched to the beat of the frantic organ writhing against its tip.

“Tsk, tsk. Oh, Daisy. I thought I taught you to last longer than that? Disappointing.” Crystal let out while Hilda looked up at her.

“Hello there! Who might you be, and how did you manage to do that?” Crystal pointed at Daisy.

“You’ll see” Hilda replied

“My friend Daisy back there is a bit of a lightweight, I admit. But still, I’ve never met a non-magical person who could do such a thing.” Crystal planted her staff on the ground and put her crossed arms on top of it. She perched her chin atop a forearm as she leaned against her staff, looking at Hilda with a pixieish smile. “Comeon… What’s your deal? I’d love to know before I… well, you know.”

Hilda, now on her feet, shot a death glare at Crystal. “Oh, you’ll find out what my deal is. Firsthand.”

“Dangerous and snappy! I love it.” Crystal said

Hilda took off and charged the witch where she stood. Crystal ripped her staff from the ground and held it out to her side as Hilda closed the distance between them. The redhead’s fist cut through the air like a bullet, inches away from Crystal’s neck but stopped short as she fell to the ground. She looked back to see a large tendril gripping her leg and pulling her back to the portal from where it came.

“Keep going, show me what you got, sweetie!” Crystal said while more slithered out from the portal and grabbed the woman’s body, slick and wet as they coiled around her limbs and slid down to her wrists and ankles

“Ngh!” A grunt of effort escaped as she struggled against them until she calmed down and let the witch close in. Crystal stood up against the bound woman.

“Looks like you were about to take my friends heart. If you want a witch’s heart so much, here…” Crystal grabbed Hilda’s hand gently and pressed it to her own chest. Her excited heart pounding into Hilda’s palm.

“You have mine already.” Crystal smiled

Hilda ripped her hand from Crystal’s body as disgust filled her eyes. Crystal’s own expression filled with disappointment

“Come on, don’t be so cruel… to yourself! It’s your last moment, don’t you think you should let yourself enjoy it?” Crystal said as she wrapped her arms around Hilda in a tight hug, closing her eyes to feel the nonverbal exchange between their pounding hearts, Crystal’s excitement and Hilda’s rage fueling eachother in every exasperated beat. The life in this woman made her drool, a powerful energy she had never felt before, all hers for the taking. A treat that must be savored. Hilda’s muscular body squirmed against her and moves her delicate and flimsy body around like nothing, held back only by the power of her spell.

After about a minute the captive woman stopped resisting, to Crystal’s disappointment.

“Mmmm, time to-“ Crystal opened her eyes to see Hilda staring down at her with a wicked smile. As she reached for her staff she felt the woman’s hand holding it, the tendril that was binding her wrist ending in a fleshy pulp.

“hey, give me that” Crystal let out as she backed off from arm’s length. The tendrils left Hilda’s body to Crystal’s horror, showing just how faithful her demonic deity was to her as it obeyed its new vessel.

Crystal’s heart sank, her legs began to shake as she weighed her options and held her composure.

“You think I need that? We speak telepathically, and you can’t understand the language of ancient Gods”

“Your guard dog speaks just fine… Nothing’s going to be quite as satisfying as what I am about to do to you now” Hilda let out as she raised the staff above her head. Crystal’s composure dropped and she fell back reflexively, crawling up to run, only to be tripped by a familiar slimy appendage. She frantically pulled at it to no avail

“What are you doing, stop!” she said to the demonic being, though she was met with silence.

Hilda approached with a grin from ear to ear. Crystal couldn’t stop herself from struggling in vain, putting on a pathetic show for her assailant. As Hilda closed in, Crystal puts her hand in front of her face. Hilda grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her up. The staff glowed in Hilda’s hand and Crystal felt a warmth on her chest.

“Come on, you wanted to have some fun didn’t you?” Hilda let out, stabbing the staff in the ground beside her and grabbing the top of Crystal’s blouse, ripping it open and baring her naked body. Confused, Crystal looked down, her eyes widened at the sight -- her chest covered in the runes of a small portal into her body. The space inside the circle disappeared and Hilda’s hand reached in.

“Ahhh! Wait, wait!” Crystal cried out as she felt an intense pressure in her chest, the thrumming in her ears and body ceased.

Hilda grinned “You wanted to give me this? What a pathetic thing, I don’t even want it… now go ahead, do something, your arms are free.” Hilda let out harshly, sending a new explosion of agony through Crystal’s chest, radiating outward into her weary body while the woman’s fingers sank into the meat of her helplessly squirming life. As her fate set in, she stopped short of giving Hilda the satisfaction of token resistance for as long as she can.

“What a great stress relief, crushing a wretched witch’s heart” Hilda says with a twisted sense of amusement. Crystal remained silent, looking up and spitting in Hilda’s face.

“Come on, bitch, do something fun” Intense waves of unbearable pressure consumed Crystal as Hilda harshly pumped her heart.

“AHK!! Please!” Crystal let out, caving easily as she flailed and tried digging her fingernails into the intruding arm with all her might -- a smile cracking the frustrated frown on Hilda’s face. Crystal’s vision grew blurry, her head feeling light, but the cruel woman’s torment was fueled by her helpless struggling.

“I’d love to keep going but I need to finish what I started with your fri-“

Hilda’s words ended abruptly as a ball of solid ice slammed into the side of her head. When Hilda lets go and fell over unconscious, Crystal saw Daisy behind her, holding her own chest and panting heavily while forming an icy prison Hilda’s body

“Crystal… we need to be more careful” Daisy let out, sitting beside her partner, pulling her to her lap, watching over her while she took shallow labored breaths

Crystal couldn’t speak to tell Daisy how grateful she was to see her. As the portal on her chest closed, every heartbeat sent shockwaves through her body.

“Wh…what about her” Crystal mustered

“We’re going to study her… painfully. And figure out what this new power is.”

[welkinsky]

HEY!! Sorry my bad english, im brazillian. could you do it like, like they get secret love letters? please!

they: tsukki, nishinoya, kyotani and tendou plz

Masterlist

Characters: Tsukishima,  Nishinoya, Kyōtani and Tendō

Tsukishima Kei X Reader

He ignored the first one. Straight up left it on the desk. *in front of others*

Went back and got it later once everyone left. At first, he has convinced himself that he was just going to read it for fun, as a joke, but deep down he wanted to know who it was and what they have written.

He was restless during the entire practice because he wanted to go back home and read it.

Once he has was home he didn't even change and got to reading.

As he opened it, the first thing that he searched for, is the name but since it was a secret letter he didn't find it.

But as he read it, he smiled like a goofball thinking that someone is out there who likes his snarky comments!

As he got more he started smiling a bit more and he kept them around him all the time. This one time Hinata almost found them in Tsukki's bag. Poor shorty is still confused to this day, what he did wrong with trying to shift Tsukki's bag to the shelf instead of the floor.

But this one time he caught you by accident and you went all red. He definitely noticed that and said, "Wanna go get some milkshakes?" No comments? At All? You were surprised by that and to your surprise, he was really nice to you. Because you gave him many opportunities to troll you but he just cute smiled and a pat on top of your head.

Nishinoya Yū

This boy at first thought it was a prank or something and cracked a joke to his friends "It can't be none of you, look at the handwriting, you all can only wish to be this good at it."'

This was his way of making sure that they don't take it seriously. But he on the other hand is determined to find out the person behind it.

Because this is way too cute okay? He now needs to MARRY the person behind these letters.

With every new one, he got it was like a trap for you. But this one time you fell for it and he found out that it was you.

"Why didn't you tell everything to me directly?" he said leaning to the door frame of the class as you were dropping another letter on his desk. You got tomato red! "Well, I loved the chase anyway. Now you really wanna go to that cafe you mentioned in one of these?" he said as he walked closer to you.

As you nodded yes, this guy sighed as if the weight of the world was lifted off him! This idiot was still not sure if you'll go out with him or not.

Kentarō Kyōtani X Reader

When he saw the first one, he was about to throw it was thinking that it is just another piece of paper, no cap.

But then he opened it to make sure again and once he read it, his head shot up with a jerk as if he'll find the person looking back at him.

He looked around frantically to see if anyone was watching or not but no one was so he gave it a thought first and then kept it in his bag and left the classroom. You saw everything through the window reflection.

What bothered you was that his facial expression never changed, they did when he shot his head up but to your disliking, it was more of an angry one.

But you thought of trying one more time but this time you got caught because he was on high alert ever since.

"Why," he said looking at you with the same angry expressions, and honestly your soul left your body for a second but you didn't show it, "because I like you" you replied trying to look confident. "Exactly, why?" he replied back without changing his expression.

"What do you mean why?" you said a bit annoyed. There was a silence as he literally just watched you *as he internally screamed*

"Meet me after school, let's get some ice cream." his angry face turned into a smirk and honestly it gave you butterflies seeing him smiling.

He dropped you back to your class with a few small talks with people staring at both of you all the while.

Satori Tendō X Reader

As he read the letter, again and again, just to make sure that he is getting it right, his eyes shot up and he looked around for anyone looking but he caught you looking. He didn't ask you anything, just walked past you real closely signaling you that he knows.

You were confused "should you send more or not." but then you stopped thinking he didn't respond so he is not interested.

But one day you were sitting and soaking in the sun at lunch break when he popped out of nowhere and said, "Aren't you going to send me more of them?"

Was he waiting all the while? You got nervous and didn't know what to say "Or we can sit and talk if that's okay with you," he said sitting right next to you on the bench anyways.

You smile on the outside but on the inside? You were having a dance session with butterflies in your stomach.

You two had such a great conversation that none of you wanted to leave after lunch was over so he planned to walk you home that day and he kinda lives in the opposite direction.

_____________________________

I LOVED writing for Haikyuu so much! I love the boys to the moon and back :’)

If any of you have any more Hailyuu asks go ahead. I’m too motivated to write for them right now :D Now that the A-Z Headcanon event is over I’d love to get asks.

Thanks For Reading and for the ask!

If you liked it you can check out the masterlist too!

[marsofaries]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider {Katsuki Bakugou x Reader}

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Assault

Summary: Your grumpy (and ridiculously attractive) neighbor helps you rid of the spider in your new apartment. Things grow from there.

Notes: fem!Reader, ProHero!Bakugou, Bakugou hates feelings

That’s it. You were moving out.

So what, that you just managed to unpack the last box in your new apartment? One look at that eight-legged... creature, and it was their apartment now. You weren’t trying to be dramatic, but spiders were the absolute bane of your existence.

This led to you shakily standing over the said arachnid, a large All Might mug trembling faintly in your hands. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck-- FUCK!” You shrieked as the spider took a quick dart to its left. Nope. No way.

It had taken about an hour before the spider was successfully captive. Another hour to finally figure out what to do next. 

And now there you were, pacing back and forth in front of your neighbor’s front door, mumbling failed greetings to yourself like a desperate prayer.

“Hi, I’m-- that’s not right. How about ‘I just moved in and--.’ God, I sound like an idiot.” Gathering all of your courage, you rapped three quick knocks on the front of the wood. The urge to bolt was suddenly very powerful.

“I swear to God, Shitty Hair, if you-- Oh.” The door was suddenly swung open to reveal the most gorgeous person you had ever seen in your whole life. With biceps the size of your head, the man completely dwarfed you in size. He almost took up the entire space of the door, his spikey blond locks brushing the top the frame. Vermillion eyes stared at you cautiously as you forgot everything you were about to say. “The fuck you want?”

As you made no move to answer, the Greek god of a man pulled his lips into a scowl. 

“What are you, a fucking stalker or somethin’?”

That definitely brought you out of your reverence.

“W-What? No!”

A scoff left the man’s lips, and you suddenly wanted nothing more that to kick him straight in the jewels. However, you were on a mission. A mission to rid a tiny eight-eyed demon from your living room.

“There was a, uh...spider.” You slowly trailed off, waving weakly in the direction of your apartment across the hall.

 “A spider? Really?” The blond questioned condescendingly, rolling his stupidly-perfect crimson eyes.

A light flush brushed your cheeks in embarrassment as you stared down at your shoes. You were sure he was going to slam the door right in your face. But he didn’t.

The man brushed right past you, marching right though your open door-- making sure to loudly mumble as many complaints as he could. You stumbled after the tall blond, failing to keep up with his abnormally long strides.

You watched in silence as he crouched by the downturned mug, raising a single perfectly-sculpted brow. However, your silence was quickly turned into a squeak of horror when your neighbor dumped the spider into his bare-hand. 

For a moment of absolute terror, you thought the stranger was going to throw it at you.

Wide-eyed, you watched as he pushed open the nearest window and placed the spider on the railing of your fire-escape. Having pushed the window back down, the man turned back to leave your apartment. As he walked past, he shoved the now (thankfully) empty mug to your chest.

“W-wait!”

He paused, sliding his crimson gaze to yours.

“M-My name is (Y/L/N)… (Y/L/N) (Y/N).”

You weren’t quite sure why you felt the need to give him your name. Maybe it was because he helped you when you were absolutely sure he wouldn’t. Or maybe how he decided to let the bug free instead of kill it. Maybe it was the amused huff he let out when he heard your terrified squeak. Perhaps it was all three. You didn’t know.

His striking red eyes suddenly raked your frame before a smirk settled confidently on his all-too-attractive lips.

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

~~~

“HOLD THE FUCKING DOOR!” 

You let out a squeak at the sudden yell, sticking the toe of your nude-colored pumps between the sliding elevator doors. A muscled arm wedged itself between the doors, pulling them back open.

“You.” You breathed as none other than your extremely hot neighbor was revealed. The blond was clad in a loose black V-neck and sweatpants-- a large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. His hair was slightly damp, as small beads of water dropped off the edge of his spikes every couple of seconds.

“Stalker.” He acknowledged with a grunt. The corner of Bakugou’s lips shot up at your protests.

The ride down to the lobby was relatively silent and slightly awkward. You kept switching your weight on both legs as you struggled to find something to say.

“The fuck you dressed so fancy for?” The explosive blond finally said. You couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief at the break in silence.

“I got a new job at All Might Bank!” You were pretty excited, as it was your first day. The bank itself was pretty fancy, and you were cheery that it was named after the old symbol of peace. All Might had been your favorite hero growing up but you grew out of your hero phase as you had gotten older. Nowadays you couldn’t tell one hero from the other.

You turned to Bakugou with a smile, content that he even cared about your life. It was quite a surprise when compared with the vibes he gave off.

“What about you?” You asked cheerily. 

“... Agency.” He grunted.

“Oh! Are you a model or something?” You knew it! There was no way that a man as attractive as Bakugou Katsuki was not the cover of every magazine. He was, just not for the reasons you thought. You watched in confusion as the explosive blond emitted a loud snort.

“Or something...”

DING!

You were almost sad as the elevator dinged, signaling the end of the ride. Although it was short, and mostly awkward, you found yourself enjoying his company. You walked side by side until you reached the doors to outside, pausing slightly when he went to part.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou froze at your expressed gratitude, studying your figure with renewed interest.

“You know... for the spider?” You seemed to lose all cognitive brain function when he looked at you with those frustratingly gorgeous vermillion eyes. Bakugou scoffed and turned away, muttering a quiet response. Little did you know that he was trying to hide a light blush.

“Whatever...”

~~~

You were happy to say that these shared elevator rides became a daily ritual, to the point where Bakugou started to bring you his delicious leftovers for your lunch (he made the meals especially for you, but would die before he ever admitted that). Before you knew it, you were quite smitten with the blond.

You couldn’t help but replay this morning’s occurrence in your head as you filed checking account after checking account.

 “Good morning, Bakugou-kun!” You called as you exited your apartment. You didn’t even have to look anymore. Bakugou had a habit of waiting for you outside your door to give you his most current dish. 

“Morning.” He grunted in response, hating the way his heart skipped a beat.

His eyes scanned over your form, (longer than considered friendly) as he checked your outfit. Bakugou always seemed to have some sort of fashion-ready advice on the tip of his tongue, and with you still thinking he was a model-- you were more that happy to comply. And also for the fact that he really did have a good eye for it.

“Undo the top two buttons… you look like a nerd.”

Your eyes quickly flashed to your white button-up, pulling at the two buttons with one hand.

“Better?”

Bakugou only grunted in approval. He was trying to act like he wasn’t on the verge of kissing the ever-lasting life out of you.

~~~

“Hey, Newbie! Get me a coffee, will ya?” You were quickly pulled out of your daydream by one of your (slightly arrogant) bosses.

“Of course, sir.” You answered as you hurried to the other side of the bank. You’ve been at your new job (and apartment) for about a month, and they still won’t let up on the whole “newbie” stuff. 

You sighed as you waited by the coffee maker, situated right to the left of the big glass entrance. Oh, how you would have loved to pour that coffee right over your boss’ head. Too lost in your own head, you failed to notice the suspicious group of men heading straight for the vault until one of them grabbed your arm.

“What the fu--”

“EVERYBODY DOWN OR SHE DIES!” 

Oh shit! Oh fuck! Your mind was reeling at a million miles per hour. The man had pulled you to where your back was to his front, and had a blade pressed against your throat. It seemed to come out of the inside of his wrist, being a relatively deadly quirk if handled correctly.

Everyone within the pristine building froze but quickly dropped to the floor after some warning shots from one of the robbers. Another suddenly morphed into some sort of beast and marched to the steel vault door.

You suddenly wished that you had a more physical quirk, cursing it for being so useless in this situation. Yeah, you knew basic self-defense, but it would be futile with three other villains in your midst.

Minutes felt like hours, and you could only hope that someone had alerted the police and nearby heroes. You winced as the blade dug into the delicate skin of your throat.

A sudden explosion burst through the skylight of the building, raining glass shards on the hostages. All at once, people were screaming, running, and blast after blast started ringing in your ears. You let out a sigh of relief.

The heroes were here.

Using the distraction, you quickly gripped the man’s arm tight below the base of the blade. You pulled it away from your neck ever so slightly, ducking your head to pull yourself through the gateway you had created. Keeping your hands locked at the base of the robber’s wrist, you twisted his arm and shoved up-- forcing it to pop from its socket.

A sudden bump to your shoulder from a running hostage caused you to slip up on your little self-defense sequence, allowing the man to break from your grip. He whipped around to face you, holding his dislocated arm. You panicked, so... you socked him in the face.

He let out an enraged cry, thick blood gushing from his nose. You were a bit surprised with how easy it was to land a hit on him. You thought that villains would have been more prepared before robbing a bank named after All Might.

Oh, well.

You punched him again in the nose for good measure, and he was out like a light. His hot red blood coated your knuckles, and you gagged in disgust. Ew. You wiped the back of your dominant hand on you button-up absentmindedly, before being shoved to the floor by your panicking boss. Wow. Your limbs felt like mush now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you suddenly couldn’t find the strength to pick yourself off of the floor.

A final explosion went off, followed by the most desperate and wretched call you had ever heard in your entire life. And the call... sounded suspiciously like your name.

Your eyes shot up at the scream, searching frantically for the owner of that voice. You knew that voice, you only ever heard it in grunts and light-hearted mocking sentences, but you knew that voice.

“Katsuki.” You breathed, eyes suddenly locked on familiar crimson irises. 

Relief flooded his features as he saw you, and was at your side in seconds-- dropping quickly to his knees. 

“Oh my god.” Bakugou breathed, grabbing your head and cradling it tight to his chest and-- what the fuck was he wearing? Wait, there was no way... he was the explosion hero you saw on the news! Holy fuck!

“You scared the shit out of me! Do you know how terrified I was when I heard there was trouble at your work?! And you didn’t answer your goddamn phone? Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” Worried rambles fell rapidly out of Bakugou’s lips, seemingly void of any filter. You would have been ecstatic by his cute little worrying if your mind wasn’t reeling by the fact that your crush neighbor was one of the top ten heroes in Japan.

He suddenly grasped both sides of your face and pulled back so you were eye to eye.

“Are you hurt? I swear to God, if someone hurt you-- I’ll fucking kill them.” Bakugou’s eyes were frantically scanning your face, looking for any sign of injury.

“...Katsuki?” You mumbled softly, and he immediately froze. He felt his heart lurch in his throat as his name tumbled from your lips. You, on the other hand, were completely, and utterly lost. “You’re a pro-hero?”

“....What?” Bakugou questioned dumbly. “You could have been seriously hurt and that’s the first thing you think about?”

“What? I thought you were a model.” You whined, lightly smacking his chest.

At this, Bakugou let out a loud laugh, and you just watched in awe. You had never seen him laugh before. Even though half his face was smeared in black makeup and little injuries littered his skin-- it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life. He pulled back to look at you, but suddenly froze.

“You’re hurt! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Bakugou shouted, spotting bright red stains on the front of your blouse. You quickly grabbed his hand, hoping to soothe his panicking.

“Hey, hey!” You yelped, gaining his attention. “It’s not mine.” 

You gestured over to the villain knocked out next to you.

“Holy shit.” Katsuki breathed, before turning his vermillion gaze back to yours. A quiet, amused huff escaped his lips. “So you’re afraid of a spider, but can knock out a villain?” He questioned teasingly.

A light blush covered your cheeks, causing you to force your eyes down. You suddenly noticed just how close you two were. You were situated about half way onto Bakugou’s lap, as one of his large hands softly held your waist. The other was still trapped between your own. This caused your blush to only darken.

“Hey, eyes up here.” Bakugou muttered, lifting his hand from your waist and to the base of your chin. You force your eyes back up to his, but couldn’t help but sneak a quick glance to his lips. However, Bakugou saw it, and that was all it took.

Bakugou crashed his lips onto yours, and you were quick to respond. You tangled your hands within his soft blond locks, allowing him to completely dominate the kiss. His hands held you tightly to his body, refusing to give even an inch of space between you two. He didn’t let go even as you pulled back for air, his lips chasing after yours.

Time seemed to stop while he was kissing you, and every one was distressed with the thought of losing you. It was soft and sweet, and then rough and desperate-- the sweet smell of caramel, of Bakugou, invading all of your senses. 

You finally broke for air, breaths mingling shamelessly. Bakugou rested his forehead on yours, wanting nothing more than to never let you go.

“I’m so glad I found you, Stalker.”

Bonus:

A low whistle dragged out across bank, turning the couples’ gazes over to a certain hardening hero.

“SHITTY HAIR, I SWEAR TO--”

The End.

Notes:  This was my first imagine! I hope you guys liked it!

The police watching the final scene like: 👁👄👁 can we go home?

[script-nef]

Presents (and other things)

Category: fluff

2k words; Shopping date [3/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

Out of everyone in the whole world, the person you love most in the world is Nanami Kento, your brother. He was the one who saved you from the cursed spirit that haunted you and took your parents’ lives. He was the one who took you in so that you wouldn’t be put in the system since you were still a minor. He made sure every day that you were safe and healthy even if he was injured or exhausted after a fight.

That's why in the weeks nearing his birthday, you made sure that he would have a relaxing time. He said you didn’t have to and he’d rather have you not fret over him, but that is unacceptable. He needs to have a good birthday. If you could, you would make the whole month just about him. But the last time you tried that he sat you down for a long, scolding lecture about how it’s unnecessary. So that’s out of the option.

Right now, just a few days shy of his actual birthday, you have a problem. Because you were buried in work and have a terrible memory.

His present.

You forgot to buy a present. 

“I forgot to buy a present! Why am I so dumb… Why am I like this, Gojou? It’s literally one of the most important things with birthdays and I forgot it. Because I’m an idiot. I wish the ground would swallow me up… I deserve it…” Thuds reverberate through the room as your head makes contact with the table. Repeatedly. Hard.

Wallowing in self-hate is great but your brain starts spitting out all viable present options. 

Shopping for Ken-chan is hard because he’s not materialistic in the least. He also doesn’t have a lot of hobbies. “I don’t need presents.” is a regular phrase every time his birthday or holidays come up, but then he gives presents to you and you end up feeling worse. This is all while your brain is getting thrown around. 

A hand comes between your forehead and the desk, gently bringing it up. Gojou has a small pout as his cold fingers try to soothe the burning sensation. 

“You still have a couple of days left! Don’t bang your head against the table, your brain doesn’t work enough as it is.” He easily moves out away from your slap. But returns in time to stop your head from falling again.

“I should have remembered this weeks ago. There’s no use trying to make me feel better, Gojou. I’m a terrible sister. I deserve this pain.” His fingers poke against your cheeks and he smooshes and stretches them. It’s uncomfortable but you let him.

“I haven’t bought a present either.”

“You’ve never given him a present.”

“This is the year to start! I have to get on his good side!” That’s weird since he never cared about what Ken-chan thought of him.

 “Why?”

“We can shop together!” Classic ignoring. His face comes to level with yours. “Let’s go to Shinjuku, I’m sure there are things even Nanami will like. Also, I found a new sweets shop.” You stare at him. “But I will focus on the present for today! C’mon, I can fly us there. You’ve never flown before, right? I think it’ll help.”

For some inexplicable reason, floating in mid-air with nothing to save you other than Gojou is amazing. Adrenaline pumps through your veins at the thought of crashing down to Earth if Gojou lets go. You know he won’t though. 

The air is chilly up here and there’s constant wind makes your hair whip everywhere, getting in your mouth and eyes. It doesn’t dampen your mood.

Your arms tighten around Gojou’s neck, watching the city blink with life way underneath your feet. Well, his feet, since you’re bunched up in his embrace. 

“This is so cool! Do you do this every day?”

“Yup.” He pops the p and slowly walks closer to your destination. The world looks like a child’s playhouse. 

“No wonder you’re constantly in an amazing mood! I would do this every time I’m feeling down!” Gojou’s chuckle reverberates through his chest and into your body. 

“I can take you out again when you’re sad.” A buzz takes over your body at the thought sparkles come to life in your wide eyes.

“You would do that for me?” Gojou is an incredibly important asset and therefore also very busy, needing to take care of special-grade curses that others can’t while also teaching and looking after his three students. He couldn’t be at your beck and call, you can’t ask that from him. But the gentle smile he gives is so warm and sure, assuring you that his words are true.

“Of course I would. Any day.” His grip around your body tightens.

Something weird fuzzes in your chest. It’s not uncomfortable or bad but… unique. And foreign. You got a good report back from your physical evaluation last month so it’s not something physical. Questions about what the cause could be takes over your mind but the sudden sensation of zero gravity makes all of them fly out the window. Burying your face into Gojou’s neck, you prepare for the worst.

“And we have arrived! M’lady.” Chipper as ever, Gojou’s feet touch the ground with a light plop and he lets you down gently. You look at him in confusion until realisation kicks in. And you kick him.

“Don’t do that! I think my heart stopped!” He cackles at that, finishing with a “Won’t do it next time.” If there is a next time. The probability is reduced significantly because of what he just did. 

Taking your hand in his, he escorts you down the stairs from the rooftop and into a department store. The people who couldn’t see mere moments ago high up in the sky.

As expected, it’s loud and crowded. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people shuffling about and sweeping everyone to move even if they wanted to. It’s fortunate that Gojou has a firm grip on your hand because otherwise you’d be completely lost. Still, it’s nice to be buried in the commotion of everyday lives. It helps you forget about the whole war that’s looming over everyone.

“Any ideas on what to get?” The question you’ve been asking yourself for the past hour or so is echoed by Gojou. “We have all the time in the world, so don’t worry. I’ll keep you company for as long as you want.” 

Blisters form on the back of your feet thanks to the amount of times you walked around the huge place. Gojou bought you bandaids even though you said Shouko can fix you up. It hurts a lot less thanks to that. Finding a present is still a challenge. Every time you think you have one, your brain comes up with a rebuttal for why Ken-chan won’t like it. Two hours and nothing to show for it, you’re on the verge of collapse. Even a quick snack break didn’t help.

Gojou sets you down on a bench, letting your head roll on the backrest. The sight of thousands of coats and jackets running around upside down makes you giggle. Maybe the stress is finally getting to your head. The mantra of “I’m a terrible sister” tries to sneak in and wreak havoc. You’re just about to let it when the upside-down brand of a designer clothing shop catches your attention. 

“Gojou.”

“Yup?” His head comes into view as he copies your posture. It must look really weird to passersby but you don’t care at all. “Got an idea?” You point to the brand. Or at least you think you do. The lack of blood in your brain is making everything dizzy. “Clothes?”

“I wanna buy him a good suit.” Standing up, swaying a little from the sudden oxygen influx, you try to drag him towards the shop. He tries to make your attempt harder by using his weight and height, but a firm glare makes him concede.

“I thought he said he doesn’t want suits.” Oh yeah, you told him that when it was rejected. Ken-chan did say that, years ago, when you bought him one for your first present. While incredibly appreciated, he reasoned that there is a high chance of it being ruined since he has to fight in them. And this was around the time when you started getting paid. It was his way of saying that you should invest it in something more durable and preferably for yourself. How does Gojou remember this when it was just a fleeting complaint that you barely remember?

“He said it’s because there’s no point in spending so much money on something that might be damaged so quickly. But I’m going to buy it for a different reason.”

Collections of suits, varied by colour and pattern, line the huge shop. Skimming over a lot of them, especially ones with questionable designs, you turn to the monochromatic area. Simple is best when it comes to Ken-chan’s taste. Shuffling through the shades, you contemplate between either beige or blue.

“What’s the reason?” Gojou’s voice calls from the change room. You wonder when he got there. 

“For him to wear it if he goes back to work in an office after the war has ended. Or just when he goes out, without the worry of getting attacked and ruined. It’ll be like a promise! That he’ll do his best to survive the war to wear it.” 

Gojou is silent in response. It drags out and now you’re sort of embarrassed about what you said. Your partner loves taking advantage of others’ sappy moments, teasing them mercilessly over it. That little speech is basically perfect ammunition against you. You expect his high voice to make fun of you.

What you don’t expect is for him to pat your head, slowly and softly, like he won’t ever get to do it again.

“Nanami must have used all his luck when he became your guardian.” Voice low, bringing shivers down your body, he cards his fingers through your hair. Like he’s combing them. Seconds tick by and it feels sort of nice, telling you to relax, but your body’s on high alert for some reason.

“I think he’d like the blue one. Since he already has a brown suit, beige is too close.” A black suit adorns his body when he comes into view. Even the shirt is black. It fits him perfectly and he looks really good in it, courtesy of a good body proportion. He could possibly pull off the hideous suits you elected to shy away from at the front of the display. You clear your throat.

“Wow, you look really good in that.” His hands smooth down the creases on the jacket, preening at your compliment. “You should buy that. Wear it to dates or whatever. Ladies will fall to your feet if you show up with that.” Holding up two blue suits, your eyes scrutinize them and you try to imagine which shade will look better on your brother.

“Ladies will fall to my feet? Really?” Amusement tinges his words. The left one looks better.

“Yeah, probably. Girls love guys in suits. Well at least, I do. If they wear the right one for them, it’s really hot. Left one is better, right?” He gives a nod, a wide grin playing on his face. “Alright, this one then. Are you buying the suit?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be put to good use.”

The checkout is quick, and it’s night when you step out. 

“You wanna go back by flying? We can try doing the Howl thing.” That’s really tempting, being able to reenact one of the most iconic scenes in the movie. But not today. 

“No, I prefer being in your arms.” Gojou stares at you with such intensity that you can feel it even with the blindfold. Then he immediately barks out a laugh, one so loud that people nearby flinch at the sudden noise. You flinch at the sudden noise.

“Ah… You really keep me on my toes, you know.” Before you can ask what that means, he takes your hand again and starts walking to the stairs. His steps are faster than usual.

Next chapter →

[lonelyreputation]

Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

--

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics.  She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing.  All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.  

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her.  She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.  

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table.  You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name.  So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.  

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her.  Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match.  With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine.  Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room.  The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.  

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze.  You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.”  It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.  

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard.  You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.  

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla.  You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note.  But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.  

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video.  In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off.  He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview.  You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?”  Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.”  His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about.  It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album. 

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar.  And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting.  I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting!  He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.  Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.  

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished.  Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change.  Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write.  So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open.  But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience–��but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before.  Red was country and 1989 was pop.  This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to.  And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion.  You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.” 

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true.  That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around!  At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.”  You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her.  You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence.  Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face.  You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted.  But not now.  You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind.  Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first.  You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room.  With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.  

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved.  Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room.  I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you.  And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you.  The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired.  But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter.  But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought.  And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”  

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her?  In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.  

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff.  Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff.  With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence.  He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla.  Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal.  Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it.  The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons.  The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s.  So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!”  His eyes quickly darted down to your bag.  You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have.  I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?”  Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?”  He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach.  He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you.  But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio.  And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment.  Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words.  But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.  

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number.  Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla.  And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.  

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written.  I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio.  There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch.  You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.”  He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up.  You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him.  You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs.  There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat.  It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner.  Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee.  And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned.  He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”  

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you?  Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking.  But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.”  You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything. 

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one.  Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.”  The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.”  Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar.  Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord.  So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar.  So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.  

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem.  Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place.  So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.  

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well.  He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her.  And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him.  It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light.  His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change.  You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you.  Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little.  I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related.  You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write.  With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine.  He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.  

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang.  He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.  

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory.  And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before.  You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn.  And you knew she did it purposefully.  She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her.  She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop.  You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla.  You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first.  And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page.  He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.  

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.”  He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it.  But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad.  You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.”  And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin.  You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air.  You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough?  That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was.  In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.  

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal.  She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist.  And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen.  He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See?  You think it’s stupid.  I––That’s why I crossed it off.  It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”  

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability.  Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability.  It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip.  And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him.  You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more.  You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album.  And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other.  And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself.  Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.  

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album.  That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her.  You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.  

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it.  Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined.  It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart.  It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting.  You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter.  It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere.  It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen.  No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day.  He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release.  Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off.  And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands.  And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break.  While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour.  You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.”  Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours.  It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out.  You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous.  Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands.  You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off.  Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.  

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing.  It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place.  Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position.  Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other.  You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her.  You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired.  But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight.  You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated.  You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him.  Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before.  Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.  

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it.  She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze.  All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing.  You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her.  You thought that no one caught her slip up.  But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage.  Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you.  You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you.  You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now.  Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault!  If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me.  Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n?  So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you.  And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.  

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn.  She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled.  She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad.  We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.”  Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written.  TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling.  Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave.  If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video.  This was the Zilla you knew.  This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years.  She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract.  When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was.  But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter.  Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud.  And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract.  When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching.  In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow.  Because everything about that sentence was a lie.  The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you.  She made that clear during the years you worked for her.  

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal.  Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world.  And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him.  You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts.  You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner.  As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text.  It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant.  But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door.  After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind.  Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio.  You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter.  But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table.  He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say.  So you didn’t say anything.  You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug.  Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.”  Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head.  You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?  

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase.  Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums.  But then you caught Zilla’s attention.  And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people.  I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.” 

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?” 

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?”  The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name.  I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”  

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.”  Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table.  At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.  

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes.  You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

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[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Archie//happily ever after

Request: Archie Andrews imagine where the reader is pregnant and dodger targets the pregnant reader and you can add whatever else you want but a fluffy ending and then skip to the birth

hey! first, trigger warning: threats/stalking (ikr, what a way to spend valentines day) other than that, i hope you like this!! i really wasn’t sure what to do with it but i think i figured it out! enjoy!

“Archie, really I’m fine.” The last step creaks beneath your feet, the sound alerting your mom to your presence. She looks up from the book she’s reading and sends you a small wave and half a smile before going straight back into reading it. 

It’s one of those that you always find donated somewhere, with the really weird cover of a poorly drawn woman clinging onto a half naked man. This time she’s branched out and is reading about a werwolf falling in love with a human, but it’s still got the same amount of R-rated smut in that makes you shiver every time you think of her reading it.  

You’ve told her that if she wants to read about stuff like that, she’s better off going on the internet, but computers are a gateway to viruses and hacking so she doesn’t touch the computer thats years older than you, sat in the spare room. 

Your dad is stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot that makes you feel sick and hungry at the same time and you’re not sure if you want to throw up or eat all of it. 

You peer over his shoulder, and he looks back at you with a smile before lifting the spoon out and offering it to you. Your eyes light up as you taste it and give him a silent thumbs up while Archie rambles about nothing on the other side of the phone. 

“Seriously I’m okay.” You say again, but he’s not listening and if it weren’t for the bump attached to your stomach that makes it more and more difficult to walk, you’d be over there in five minutes to kick his ass. “You don’t have to come over.” You roll your eyes at him. 

Ever since you got pregnant and he lost his dad, he’s been obsessively worrying about your safety. And it was sweet at first, he was looking out for you and his baby, but now, you’re worried that if he keeps up with this level of anxiety, he’s going to break. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You interrupt him and for a change he actually shuts up. “Byeee. We love you.” You add and hang up quickly. 

“Was that Archie?” Your dad asks and you let out a small huff. “I see it’s still all rainbows and hearts with you two.” He teases and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“He’s just worried about us.” You reply and point down to your rounded stomach, currently being hidden by the oversized t-shirt you stole from Archie. “Too worried if you ask me.” You mumble and shuffle over to the fridge. 

“Hey!” Your dad smacks your hand with the towel resting over his shoulder. “No snacking, dinner is almost finished!” 

“I’m eating for two dad. I could eat the entire contents of the fridge and dinner and still be hungry.” You reply and he grumbles quietly to himself while plating the food up. 

“You know, I was just like Archie when your mom was pregnant with you.” He says and you place the jar of pickles back in the fridge. “Maybe a little less, but then again me and your mother did live togeth-” 

“Dad.” 

“Sorry. All I’m saying is that it’s natural for him to be anxious. I mean, it’s your first kid and a lot has happened to the two of you. He’s bound to be a little more nervous than most. But it’s not a bad thing.” 

“It’s an annoying thing.” You reply and he rolls his eyes.

“What’s an annoying thing, dear?” Your mom asks as she shuffles past you and opens the fridge. 

“Do you people not see the food that is literally on plates waiting to be eating?” Your dad throws his hands up and you and your mom share a look.

“We do dear.” Your mom cups his cheek and smiles up at him sweetly. “It’s just we don’t want to eat it.” She adds making you laugh loudly. 

“Archie is an annoying thing.” You giggle while your dad glares at the two of you. 

“All men are dear.” She replies and pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Here you go.” She hands you an envelope and you look at her confused. It’s blank, apart from your name in bold black letters and a small x near the bottom. “It was pushed through the front door just before I came in here to see what abomination your father had created today.” 

“The only abomination I created was her, and you helped.” He says and grabs her waist, pulling her into his chest and the two of them giggle. 

“Hey! And ew.” You pull a face and rip the letter open. Your eyes scan the same clunky writing and suddenly you feel your blood run cold. You drop the letter and rush towards the window, frantically pulling the blinds up. 

“What is it?” Your mom joins you, her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she watches you move frantically. 

‘roses are red, violets are blue, you can’t see me but i can see you’ 

Your dad reads aloud, his voice trailing off near the end and slowly he looks back at you. 

The kitchen suddenly seems a lot darker than it was a minute earlier. The light flickers and bushes rustle outside, making you shuffle further towards your mom and suddenly you wish Archie had come over. 

“What?” Your mom laughs. “Who would send something like that?” She shifts uncomfortably and wraps her arms around her. “Y/n, is this one of your friends playing a prank?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t know who it is.” 

“Well they know you.” She replies. 

“Audrey.” Your dad says lowly and she shuts up. 

The front bell ringing makes the three of you jump, and before either of your parents have a chance to do anything, you’re already stomping your way towards the door. They follow you quickly, both of them shouting for you to leave it but you’ve never listened to them before so why should you now. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before swinging the front door open. 

The only thing that greets you is the flowers and ornaments that line the porch and you let out a shaky breath, but then you see it and it feels like you can’t breath again. 

“Oh. Isn’t that nice?” You say sarcastically. Your mom and dad look at each other and then at you, confusion turning into fear when they notice the picture pinned to the front door. 

Your smiling face stares back at the three of you, with scratched out eyes and red paint splattered over it. 

“Y/n, Audrey, go inside.” Your dad ushers the two of you back in before snatching the paper and slamming the door shut. 

You watch your dad storm into the kitchen to grab the not so secret lighter from your mom’s not so secret smoking stash. Your mom follows and the two of them stand in front of the sink as your defaced picture burns. 

You sigh and pull your phone out, already knowing that this is not going to end well. 

“Hey Archie.” You start slowly and you can already hear his heart rate rising with each second that passes. “You might want to come over.” 

---

A rattle at your bedroom window has you awake and sat upright within seconds. You watch the shadow of a figure contort and move across your bedroom walls and you know you should run and scream and cry, but you can’t. Your frozen still in your bed with nothing but a lamp and a duvet cover to protect you. 

A silent sob escapes your lips and you slowly push the blanket off of you, your legs shaking as your feet touch the soft rug by your bed. The wood rattles and you feel the breath leave your lungs and a scream forces its way out of your throat. 

Whoever had sent you that letter, whoever had been watching and following and mailing you pictures of you and your parents doing mundane things like mow the lawn and water plants, they’ve finally decided that tonight is the night. 

Tonight the Y/l/n’s become the newest family to be added on to the growing list of Riverdale’s murder victims. 

Honestly you thought you’d have a little more time, you seem to have escaped death before when investigating the going’s on in town. So you assumed this would just be another thing that gets solved. 

But after four days of Archie and your friends working tirelessly to try and figure out who wants you dead...nothing. And so as you make eye contact with the person or thing that has come to murder you...hopefully in a fast manner, you know this is the end. 

But then the window opens and you see a flash of ginger hair sticking out of a black hoodie and you drop back down onto your bed, ragged breaths leaving your lips. 

“It’s okay.” Archie shushes and rushes towards you. “It’s fine. It’s just me.” He reassures you and pulls you into a tight hug. 

“You idiot.” You smack his chest and he coughs at the force. “I thought you were it! I thought you were going to murder me, you’re a fucking idiot.” You smack his arm with each word. “Idiot.” You finish and he waits a minute before deciding to speak. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “It’s just it’s late and I didn’t think anybody would answer the door.” 

“So you decide to climb through the window?” You ask and he shrugs, kicking his shoes off and throwing his jacket over your desk chair. 

“Hey, I used to do it all the time.” He replies and climbs into your bed. 

“Yeah, I remember.” You reply and shuffle in next to him. He props his head on his arm and shifts onto his side so he can look at you properly. “What happened to you?” You ask and stroke his cheek gently. “Why do you look like you’ve just come from a fight.” You add and follow the bruises and dried blood covering his face. 

“Because.” He mumbles and looks down. 

“Because?” 

“Because I have.” He replies and your jaw drops. 

“Archie, you’re gonna be a dad. You can’t go around fighting people because they’ve stolen from Pop’s or threatened your friends.” 

“I know.” He nods and drops onto his back. “I did it because of you.” 

“What?” 

“I know who sent you that note. It was Dodger.” 

Of course it was Dodger. He’d been nothing but a pain in Archie’s ass since he turned up and started involving kids in drugs. Of course, Archie being Archie tried his best to get the kids out of it and Dodger away from Riverdale. However this place being the way it is, nothing is ever that easy, and now you’ve landed yourself a stalker. 

“Him?” You ask surprised. “What the hell did I do to him?” 

“Date me.” He shrugs and you glance at him. 

“And he wants to do that?” You ask and wiggle your eyebrows making him laugh. “Now I understand the whole creepy poetry theme.” You say and glance at the small pile of threats sitting on your desk. 

You’ve had one every single day for the past four days, meaning you’re under 24 hour surveillance by your mom, dad and Archie. 

“No, he wants to kill me, so I guess he thought he’d go after you.” He replies and you huff loudly. 

“Well that’s just plain rude. It’s you he’s got the problem with, not me.” 

“I know.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I tracked him down and told him to leave you alone.”

“And did that work?” You ask and he sends you a look. 

“Does it look like it worked?” He points to his bruised eye and you shrug. 

Silence fills your small room and you stare up at the ceiling, hoping that it’ll tell you the right thing to say. 

“Archie?” You ask and he hums in reply. “You know I love you right? Like more than anything ever?” He nods and you take a deep breath. “You know that me and this baby are going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I know you’re under a lot of stress and I know you’re really worried, but beating people up isn’t going to fix everything, no matter how much they deserve it. Maybe you should talk to your mom or something.” You whisper and he sighs. 

You feel his hand against your skin, his touch light and soft as his fingers run up your arm, until he rests them against your stomach. You rest your own hand on top of his and let out a shaky breath. 

“It will be okay.” You say, although right now you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince. Because having a baby is terrifying anyway, but it’s even scarier at 18 in a town that’s most famous for murder. It feels like every year there’s something new that you, Archie and your friends barely get out of alive. 

It’s hard keeping yourself safe when the baby is safe inside you, but what happens when they’re born and it become more difficult to keep them safe. 

“Y/n. Listen to me.” He starts, picking up on your panicked breathing. 

“I promised you I would keep you safe. And I plan on keeping that promise. Nobody is ever going to hurt you or our baby.” 

---

It’s been a long and stressful journey, and there were parts of it that thought you wouldn’t make it. 

But finally you’re here. 

The hospital smells like machines and hand sanitiser, and the four blue walls feel like they’ve paled in the time you’ve been stuck between them. 

Archie thought he’d never be able to step foot in a hospital ever again, not after everything that has happened, and not without his father. But then your waters broke in the middle of Pop’s and all of his fears were forgotten. 

Everything after arriving at the hospital seemed to pass him in a blur. He was sure five minutes ago he was helping you through the front doors of Riverdale General Hospital, rambling incoherently about you and the baby and how you need help, and the next he’s stood beside you, letting you break his hand and watching nurses and midwives rush around you. 

Your scream forces him out of the daydream he’s in, and then it’s not you’re scream he can here anymore. High pitched wails are heard throughout the whole room and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Well done babe.” He whispers and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Your let out a tired chuckle and drop your head back onto the pillow. 

“I did it!” You whisper, and a few stray tears roll down your cheeks. Archie grabs a tissue to wipe them off, before pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He smiles and kisses you again. Your eyes flutter closed, but a loud cry makes you sit up a little straighter, despite the pain you feel. 

“Y/n. Archie. Meet your son.” A grey haired woman grins as she hands you your son. His small fists kick away the blanket wrapped around him and you both let out a small giggle as you watch his face scrunch up into a yawn. 

“Our son?” Archie asks and runs a hand over his cheek. “Do you think he’ll be ginger?” He asks and you look up at him. He’s already staring back at you, and there’s a look in his eyes that is reserved only for you. It’s so full of love and awe and it makes you feel more loved that you ever have before. 

“I really, really hope so.” You smile and kiss him slowly. A small noise forces you to pull away and the two of you stare down at your newborn son. “Have you got any ideas for names?” 

“Archie Junior!” Archie replies and you send him a look. 

“I have not spent the last 9 hours in labor for you to call our baby Archie Junior.” You say making him huff and mumble a small ‘fine’. “What about Freddie?” You ask and he looks at you quickly. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyes watery and you smile sadly. 

“Of course.” You nod. “Freddie Archibald Andrews. Named after the kindest, sweetest and bravest men I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

✨tagged ✨

@moxleybabe

[avengerscompound]

Moving On - Chapter 4

Moving On: A Falcon & Captain Marvel Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Sam Wilson x F!Reader, Carol Danvers x F! Reader

Word Count:  2107

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Smut (MF, oral sex, vaginal sex, accidental exhibitionism/voyeurism)

Synopsis:  You thought Sam Wilson was the love of your life.  You had planned to do it all with him - marriage, kids, see the world.  Even when you’re life gets turned upside down, and you both end up international fugitives, he’s there by your side.

Then Thanos comes.

When Sam is one of the many turned to dust, leaving you alone and pregnant, you don’t think you’ll ever stop grieving.  Yet, everyone tells you that Sam would want you to move on and live your life - that he’d want you to be happy. Gradually you open your heart up to another.  Carol Danvers has lost people too.  First her daughter, then her wife.  As the two of you lean on each other, feelings grow and you move on together.

So what happens when Sam is returned to you?

Chapter 4: On the Run

It is strange how quickly your whole world can change.  One minute you’re planning a wedding and living in the Avengers Compound in Upstate New York, an official agent for the Avengers.  The next you’re considered a war criminal and you’re on the run with your fiance and three other people, one of them who happened to be Captain America.

It had been like a slow-motion car wreck watching everything go wrong.  First, there was a completely unnecessary fight against your friends in the airport because no one wanted to listen to each other.  Then you’d been arrested by people who you’d once considered not just friends, but family.  Then you’d been shipped off to some secret supermax prison in the ocean for enhanced individuals with no trial, even though you weren’t enhanced.  Then Steve Rogers had busted you out and you’d ended up on the run.

You were with Sam though, and you’d rather be with him on the run knowing you were on the right side of the fight than safe in New York alone.

You’d all been trying to make the most of your time working as vigilantes.  There had been a lot of alien tech ending up in the hands of criminal organizations and Steve had been leading your little band of merry men to go and get it back.

Things weren’t easy for any of you.  There was a lack of money coming in and everyone had had to quickly withdraw their entire savings before the government blocked all of their accounts.  Thankfully Steve’s pension from the army had accrued a lot since he’d been lost at sea, but he hadn’t been able to withdraw all of it.

It had meant that a lot of the income came down to you, as out of everyone - you were the least recognizable.  Yes, there were alerts out for you, but you were a spy - you knew how to disguise yourself and you knew where to find under-the-counter work when needed.

The trick was never staying in the same place for long and returning to countries that didn’t sign the accords.  Even those weren’t safe for long - Ross was not above sending people into countries illegally to detain people who he was hunting - Bruce Banner was a testament to that - but they were safe for a little while and meant that once a month rather than sleep in the stolen Quinn, you could splash out and get a hotel.  Although you were pretty sure that Wanda was often sleeping in hotels - with Vision most likely - anytime she said she needed to have some alone time.

You woke up and stretched on the cold metal floor of the Quinn, your spine popping loudly.  Sam shifted in close to you, his arm draping over your sternum and his hand resting on your neck so his fingertips lightly caressed your jaw.  “Was wondering when you were gonna wake up,” he murmured.

“Is it late?”  You asked, blinking your eyes in the dark of the jet.  There was light coming in through the cockpit window, but it was low and you couldn’t tell if that was because it was early or just overcast outside.

“Not particularly,” he said, his hand running down your neck and over your collarbone.  “You just normally sleep like shit in the Quin.”

“Who says I didn’t,” you grumbled, rolling in toward him, and breathing him in.  There was an acrid sting to his scent thanks to the fact that neither of you had showered for a few days.  You were all due for a trip to somewhere remote with beds and good water pressure.  Steve had said maybe going back to Wakanda for a few weeks was in order.  He didn’t like to go too often because T’Challa had already extended himself above and beyond anything that was fair to ask of him just by harboring Bucky.  But it had been over six months since any of you had been there, and you had accumulated a lot of alien technology that you knew Shuri would love to get her hands on.

Sam chuckled and his hands ran down to yours, linking your fingers together, and playing with the engagement ring that sat on your finger.  “What if we just get married in Wakanda?”

You looked up into his eyes.  They looked black in the dim light and when he smiled at you, the corners of them crinkled slightly.  “I’m not sure that’s what you really want,” you said.  “Don’t you want Sarah to be there?  And the kids?”

Sam frowned.  Sarah’s kids had been two and four years old when you’d gone on the run and every month that he missed of their lives hurt him.  He’d been sending money back to his sister to keep the family business running back when you’d both had actual jobs, but these days he was barely scraping by himself.

He sighed and nuzzled into your neck.  “I just want us to start our lives together.”

“I know, but life had other plans,” you said.  “I love you and I don’t need to get married to know that.  It’s not going to change anything.  We will still be on the run and we won’t be able to build a stable life and have kids.”

Sam sighed and leaned his forehead against you.  “I know, but I want you to be my wife.”

“I am your wife,” you said.

“Not legally,” he said.

“We don’t do anything legally at the moment,” you said, playfully.  When Sam didn’t laugh, you sighed and wrapped your arms around him.  “Sam,” you said.  “If you really want to get married in Wakanda, I’ll do it.  I’m sure I can get something nice to wear together, and Nat and Wanda can be my bridesmaids.  I’m sure given how close we’ve all gotten they would be who I’d have picked anyway.  Just like I know you’d have Steve be your best man.  But I know you.  This isn’t really what you want.  You want the big wedding down in Louisiana like you always planned.  With the catering done using fish that were caught by your family’s trawler and you want AJ and Cass to be our little ring bearers.  And I know… I know that if you do this - if we get married in Wakanda without Sarah, she’ll murder you. She will murder you and then disown you post humus.”

Sam started laughing.  “Yeah, she will.”

“Sam, I love you.  I’m yours, no matter what,” you said.

“I know,” he replied with a sigh.  “I know we’re doing the right thing now.  I mean - Tony can get all on his high horse about how important the accords were, but he still broke them immediately.  That fucking kid he brought to the fight is still breaking the accords and living his best life.  I just… I wish we could have both.”

“So do I,” you said.  “I hope they come around, but I’m scared that the thing that makes them realize how wrong they are is gonna be real bad.  Like; world-ending bad.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said.  “Which is why I’m doing this.”

“So, what do you want to do?  You asked.

“I guess… we can wait,” Sam relented.  “But maybe we can see if there’s any way we could do something small that we could sneak Sarah to?  Like … she goes to the Maldives and who just happens to be there getting married?”

“They’ll be watching her,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.  “But we can look into it.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed.  “We’ll look into it.”

Sam leaned in and kissed you deeply.  You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him down on top of you, so the full weight of his body pressed down on the cold metal floor of the jet.

Sam groaned softly and rolled his hips, his cock starting to harden against your thigh.  “Where’s Steve?” you mumbled against his lips as he continued to kiss you.  He was currently the only unknown factor as Wanda was on another of her ‘retreats’ and Natasha was dealing with some ‘personal things’ that she wouldn’t tell the rest of you about.  He pulled back and smirked down at you.  “Why?  You want him to watch?”

“No,” you giggled, smacking his arm.  “I want the opposite of that.”

Sam laughed and nuzzled at your neck, pushing his hands up under your sleep shirt. “On his morning run.  Just you and me, baby.”

You kissed him again - more frantic this time, and your hands dug into his shoulders.  Sam began to squeeze and massage your breast as he ground down against you, sending a warm buzz through your body.  He began to move down your body, taking his time to both undress you and kiss every part of you.  By the time he was crouched between your spread legs, your whole body prickled like a live wire.

He gripped your thigh with one hand and reached up and began massaging your breast with the other as he dipped his head down and began lapping at your cunt.  You moaned and arched your back, gripping his bicep with one hand as you reached over your head with the other.  A hot current ran through you as Sam focused on your clit, sucking and nipping at it as he squeezed your breast.  He moaned into your cunt, the sound sending vibrations through you.  You slowly fell apart under him, writhing as a coil of hot pleasure wound itself tightly in your core.  Sam thrust two of his fingers inside you, and as soon as they hit that sweet spot inside you you cried out loudly and came hard, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm crashed through you.

Sam sat up onto his knees and looked at you.  “Gonna have to be a little quieter,” he said tapping your thigh.  “Steve’s got pretty good hearing you know.”

You scrunched up your face.  “Maybe you need to gag me.”

Sam chuckled and bit his bottom lip as you got on our hands and knees.  Even on the bedroll, your knees were going to hate you after this, but right now you didn’t care at all.  Sam moved up behind you, held onto your hips, and thrust hard into you.  You stumbled forward a little but managed to catch yourself on the cargo trunk in front of you.  He began to fuck you hard immediately, not even waiting to steady yourself.  You cried out and clenched around him as it felt like a hot shard tore through you.

Sam leaned over you, kissing your neck and shoulder, as he put his hand over your mouth.  “Hush now,” he growled in your ear.  “You don’t want to wake up the whole forest.”

You moaned into his hand and opened your mouth, letting him push two of his fingers inside for you to suck on.  He railed into you, his hips moving quickly and erratically as your bodies slapped together.  You tried to bounce back on him, adding to the pleasure coursing through you, but it wasn’t long until your arms gave out and you were helpless under him as your orgasm built.

As his hips began to stutter, Sam wrapped his arm around your waist and began to rub your clit.  It was all it took for the dam inside you to burst.  You buried your face in your arm and cried out as you came, clenching around Sam’s cock.  He began to thrust even more erratically as he chased his own release and with a jerk and a low groan he came, releasing inside you.

You let yourself flop completely on the floor, breathing heavily and feeling a little high on endorphins.  “You think Steve is out there and heard us?”  You asked as Sam lay back down next to you and kissed your shoulder.

“Caught the tail end of the show!” Steve yelled, his voice muffled through the jet walls.

You and Sam both broke down into peels of laughter and you hid your face in Sam’s chest.

“Get a move on, would you?!” Steve yelled.  “We have a lot to do today.”

You laughed even harder and Sam held you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead.  “Come on, duty calls,” he chuckled.

You let him help you up and the two of you both started cleaning yourselves up the best way you could.  You hoped to god that Steve would say it was time for a break soon, but in the meantime, you were glad you were here with Sam.

// NEXT

[sailtoafarawayland]

Best Left Buried

(A CS Halloweek AU)

SUMMARY:  It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone. There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

RATING: T 

Happy @cshalloweek, everyone! The prompt that struck me was: Monsters / red - under a spell | mystery | "I'm not going anywhere" | bloodcurdling

This takes place in an AU Storybrooke with Halloween and supernatural vibes. I hope you all enjoy my take!

AO3 - FF

Best Left Buried

I'm new to storytelling, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't follow the rules. I don't want to start at the beginning, or the end. One would think that leaves the middle, but...how about we begin at 'on the way to the end'?

And every story needs a little mystery, don't you think? The stranger on a lonely night, the bloodcurdling scream that no one hears? Like most Halloween tales, we'll need to start with some dark and gloomy, and a woman all by herself on the side of the road.

Well, maybe she isn't so alone after all...

/

“Everything alright here, Sheriff?” a slow, cautious voice called, cutting through the hazy beam of light that glared from the SUV parked twenty feet or so behind her.

Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots, moving closer.  

Arms stretched and gripping the raised trunk of her cruiser, Emma stared down at the person tied up and bent within, knees tucked against the bumper and eyes glaring up at her, narrowed and angry above the length of black cloth cutting into the corners of his mouth.

Well, fuck – old fashioned worked just fine up until the moment a state trooper wanted to intrude on her evening plans.

Before the man could make a sound, Emma twisted her wrist.

His eyes went wide, panic winning out over anger as he discovered his voice no longer worked the way it should, and that no matter how hard he tried to scream, there was nothing to hear.

No matter how desperately he tried to kick the bumper to alert the person approaching them, his body just wouldn't obey.

Arching a brow as if to say, 'did you think I was just gonna let you call for help?', Emma smiled and simply tossed the shovel resting against the bumper over top of him, the thunk of it hitting the back of the trunk resounding in the quiet night.

“Yup,” she called back, letting the 'p' pop from her lips as she slammed home the latch of the trunk, leaving her cargo in complete darkness. “Just clearing up some roadkill. Must be an easy night if you're up this way – Portland run out of Halloween mischief?”

The trooper shook his head, stepping into her space as she turned away from the trunk and leaned casually against it, brushing her gloved hands together as if to rid them of dirt.

“I wish,” the man muttered, adjusting the volume on his radio as it roared with static. “Man, these things never work in this town of yours – must be a lousy signal. Don't know how you guys manage.”

“Small town,” Emma shrugged, “not much trouble to manage. What brings you up so late?”

“We actually got a call in for a missing person, thought I'd head up your way and see if you'd laid eyes on him.”

Emma leaned forward to study the trooper's phone as he held it between them, the screen illuminating her furrowed brow and lips pressed into a concerned line.

“Doesn't look familiar, but I can ask around if anyone's seen him. He dangerous?”

“Nah, don't think so – might be off his meds though – anxiety, apparently. His fiance called in and said he ran out of their hotel room a few days ago during a fight over which direction they should head, inland or up the coast. She mentioned he'd wanted to head this way.”

“I swear, the foliage brings out nothing but crazies,” Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'll keep my eyes open, let you know if we see anything. It's been nothing but TP'ed houses and ding dong ditch the past week.”

“Technology may change, but the classics never get old,” the trooper laughed. “Speaking of, the wife was asking after the recipe for that lasagna you dropped off at the station a few weeks ago. Any chance you could – ”

“I wish I could help you out,” Emma cut in, raising her hands in supplication, “really, I do, but Granny would have my head if I even asked, or worse – she'd stop serving me.”

“Ah, well, I suppose some secrets are best left buried,” the trooper chuckled, flashing her an understanding smile. “Besides, I'd hate to run across you without your caffeine on board.”

“Right on both counts, Dietz,” Emma grinned. “Tell Charlene that Killian and I said hello, and keep safe.”

The trooper waved a gloved hand in farewell before climbing back into his SUV and pulling a u-turn. Emma slid into the driver seat of her own car, watching in the mirror as his lights were swallowed up by the darkness that would lead him safely out of Storybrooke.

//

Have I captured your attention? It's so good to finally have someone listening. How about we jump back to the beginning now, and I'll tell you a story about a quaint New England town called Storybrooke?

It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone.

There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

Or perhaps I should say red.  

If you're just another tourist passing through in October, blinded by the leaves and farm stands filled to brimming with pumpkins and hot cider, then you might not notice that something about this town isn't as it seems. That's what everyone here hopes for, that you'll spend a few bucks on some food and plastic souvenirs and move on up the coast to the next small town with a good story.

But the locals lose their easy smiles when someone looks too closely beyond Main Street, asking questions about things that are best left buried.

They don't want you to ask questions about the occurrences and complaints, the accusations and stories that have found their way to the darker corners of the internet. They frown when curious couch detectives hold up printed photos of people long gone – or should I say 'missing' – directing them instead to a rack of shirts emblazoned with the words 'I survived Dead Man's Peak'. Have you heard the legend of the centuries old ship's Captain whose spirit roams the cliffs? People go up there all the time to take photos...can't be too careful around those steep drops, they say, nothing but cold sea below...

It has an odd reputation, Storybrooke, for missing people and gruesome deaths, most of them ruled accidental – falls from great heights, victims of drowning – but the town makes its living on the backs of all those old legends, witches and vampires and ghosts, so they sell their shirts and coffee mugs, and look the other way when morbid curiosity seekers and ghost hunters make the long drive from their dark apartments and flickering screens all the way to their small town in Maine.

Most of the time.

As long as you don't look too closely and become someone they don't care for.

Because those people...I can promise it's not long before their social media goes quiet. Their camper van disappears unseen from Main Street one night – and just like that, it's as if they had never driven to that quiet town at all. The friendly old lady who runs the diner never saw them, never served them coffee and tucked a mint under their pillow. The sweet librarian never made suggestions on what they might like to check out for their stay. The harbormaster never leased them a boat to take a tour around the bay, and the kindly shrink who walks his dog three times daily  never once saw them sipping coffee on the park bench.

It's not until too late that you can see them for who they really are.

How the friendly old woman who owns the diner pulls raw meat from the fridge after closing, arthritic fingers digging deep into the mass of red flesh and drawing it closer to her mouth, her eyes flickering shut with pleasure as she tears hunks of it free and swallows them down. How the sweet librarian locks up at the end of the day and returns to the back room of the Pawn Shop, the knowledge she's gleaned during her studies made useful as she seeks to return her lost love to the world of the living. How the harbormaster grins wickedly in the dark of a warehouse, teeth sharper than humanly possible as his eyes hone in on the soft, pulsing flesh of a young woman's neck. How the shrink sits beside an unsuspecting stranger on the park bench, drawing their sadness and woes from them and feasting, leaving those he speaks to holding darker and more open wounds than only moments before.

You won't see it until it no longer matters, until they have no intention of allowing you to flee to the next town with a story to tell.

But I promise you, none of them have a story quite like Storybrooke. I should know, I was there when it began.  

And now...well, I'm not going anywhere.

//

“So, this is the evidence I needed to see?” Emma grimaced, toeing the bit of faded, rotten canvas poking from the dirt, the orange tarpaulin long separated from the bit of metal that was once a frame.

“This is where it all started,” the man insisted, walking frantically between the trees and gesturing widely to the overgrown clearing. “This was where we'd set up camp, and here, right here – ” He knelt and swiped his hand through a layer of wet leaves, exposing what looked to be an old circle of stones. “This was where we roasted marshmallows.”

“It look's like an old campsite,” Emma agreed, eyes darting to the sun that was only just setting low over the forest, “but there must be hundreds of these abandoned all along the Maine coast. I don't see how it's – ”

“I found this,” the man rushed, desperate to make her see reason. He yanked a mildewed piece of fabric from the ground nearby, waving it between them. “It was my dad's. His name is on the tag. This is the spot, right here, where it all started.”

“Alright, look, Mr. Mendell – ”

“Greg. My name's Greg.”

“Greg, can you just slow down and explain this to me again – one more time, from the beginning, please?”

“Thirty years ago, my father and I were camping in the wilderness. Then out of nowhere, there was a rush of something in the air, and an entire town appeared right beside us.”

“Out of nowhere?” Emma deadpanned, whipping out her flashlight and shining it over the rapidly darkening forest. “Towns don't just fall from the sky, Mr. Mendell.”

“It was like magic, and when we tried to leave the town, she kept my father here – the Mayor. When I tried to get help and get back to him, it was gone – the entire town. Like it was under some sort of magic spell.”

“You're saying magic a lot.”

“I know I sound crazy,” he stammered, running his hands over his close cropped hair as he paced back and forth.

“Yeah, just a little,” Emma snorted, passing the beam of light over his face and watching as his eyes squeezed shut.

“But I'm not. I tried to move on, start a new life, but I couldn't, not until I figured it out – and now I have. It's this town, it has secrets,” he hissed, his hands tightening into fists at his side.

“Okay, sir. I think it's best we get you back to town and maybe give someone a call – do you have any family I can reach out to?”

“I don't need you to call anyone,” he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked as he took a step away from her toward the shadowed trees. “I need you to help me find out what happened to my father – everyone in this town, they're in on it. The Mayor, she looks exactly the same as she did back then. The woman who runs the diner and her granddaughter...they're all the same!”

“Sir, I'm gonna need you to just calm down,” Emma sighed.

“Do you have any idea how many people have gone missing in this town? My father may have been the first, but he wasn't the last. As soon as anyone starts asking too many questions – poof, gone!”

Reaching up, Emma rubbed at her brow with an exhausted huff as she approached the man while he continued to rant.

“There were those two women – the DeVille woman and her friend. They took vacations from work to visit and never came back. That blogger – the one who posted a photo of some strange, purple cloud that went viral. His partner came to meet up with him after he got a concerning text and never found him, then – strangely enough – his partner disappeared as well.”

“So you're telling me that this town somehow magically appeared here out of thin air,” Emma scoffed, “and that we're murdering people to keep it secret.”

“I looked into you – you only moved here recently, so you're safe. You have to do something about it, Sheriff.”

“Here's the thing,” Emma sighed, shrugging lopsidedly. “You're right.”

“What?” the man rasped, some instinct that rises in humans when danger is sensed making his face grow paler with each second that passed between them.

“You're right about the town, about magic, and this – ” she toed the rotted tent again, grimacing. “This was an oversight of Regina's. Why am I always cleaning up her messes...”

“You're in on it,” he mumbled, staggering backwards and as far from Emma as possible, nearly falling beneath the canopy of the trees.  

“Quite perceptive, this one,” hummed a disembodied voice from behind him.

Greg spun wildly on his feet, trying to pin down exactly where the voice had come from, his movements eliciting a chuckle from the shadows. With his back turned to Emma, he never saw the blow coming, his eyes slipping shut before the dark, leaf-covered soil rose to meet him.

Emma leaned her weight on one hip, a large branch spinning idly in her hand.

“The troublesome ones always are.”

“Excellent form, love,” Killian praised, and Emma smirked as her husband stepped forward, black leather and dark hair separating from the shadows, his sea blue eyes glimmering mischievously. “I was wondering when you'd just get to the point.”

“Needed to know exactly what he knew.”

“The same as everyone else, it seems – except for this,” Killian pointed out, kicking the remains of some rotted out camping gear. “Why am I not surprised another of the Queen's disastrous decisions has come back to haunt us.”  

Emma waved her hand and the forest floor was magically pristine, completely devoid of anything resembling a long-disused campground.

“Problem solved.”

“Well, almost,” Hook smirked, waving his hook at the unconscious man lying between them. “There's still this one to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, toeing at the man's chest with her boot. “Look's like dinner is gonna be late unless one of us heads back now. Rock-paper-hook?”

“Quite humorous,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes as Emma waved a single hooked finger in the air, “but I think I'll tackle dinner. Otherwise, the lad will be eating pop tarts and deli meat from the packaging.”

“Hey, that's protein, and the pop-tarts are pumpkin spice, so that has to count for something.”

“I highly doubt there's any squash in those monstrosities – a balanced meal they are not.”

“Should I point out how hypocritical you're being,” Emma retorted, stepping into his space and matching his grin with her own. “I'll try to be quick, unless you wanted to...” She nudged the body between them with her foot, her eyebrow angled in silent question.

Killian glanced down at the unconscious Greg Mendell, his tongue lingering over sharp fangs as he studied the tremulous pulse in the man's neck. Then his eyes darted back up to Emma, catching the way her pulse quickened and arousal widened her pupils.

“I think I'll take my repast once you return, love.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” she purred, knowing the wait would only make him more voracious. “I'll see you home in a bit.”

“I'll count the minutes,” Hook whispered darkly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss, her tongue swirling around the curved fangs that replaced his canines. His fingers found their place in her curls, and he angled her head with a gentle tug, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her neck. “Now, allow me give you a hand back to the cruiser.”

“Such a gentleman,” she breathed, still battling her racing heart and the desire pooling low in her gut as Hook squatted and lifted Greg's body as easily as if the man weighed nothing, tossing him over a shoulder.

“Shall we?”

They hiked the short distance back to the pull off, the squad car already covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves that drifted down from above.  

“You know, I could have gotten him myself,” Emma said, knowing he would have been back with Henry already if not for her. “You'll be that much longer getting home now.”

“Nonsense, Swan. Henry can wait a few minutes on good form. Go on then, pop the boot.”

“It's called a trunk. Who did you even pick that up from? Pretty sure they don't have 'boots' in the Enchanted Forest.”

“You know, I'm not sure,” Killian shrugged, using the motion to slough Greg's still unconscious form into the trunk beside the rest of Emma's things. “Nottingham, perhaps?”  

“Do I want to know what you guys have been up to?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you. The man can hardly hold his rum – I think Robin simply likes to include him so he can rob him blind during poker.”

Before Emma could blink, Killian had pulled several lengths of rope from his jacket and quickly bound Greg's hands and feet together, finishing the entire presentation with a strip of black cloth that he rolled tightly and wedged into his mouth, tying it round the man's head.

“So old fashioned,” Emma teased, slamming the trunk shut and leaning against it, welcoming her husband down for another kiss, trying to ignore the way it set her body afire.

“I'll see you at home, love,” he promised, and then he was gone, leaving nothing more than the cold press of his lips and the ghost of his thumb against her chin.  

“Look's like it's just you and me then,” Emma sighed, rapping on the trunk twice before fishing for the keys in her pocket. “Let's get this over with.”

//

This is the part of the story that always makes everyone gasp, although I think if you've been paying attention, the reveal will hardly be as shocking for you as what happened next was for me.

I woke, though I don't remember falling asleep. I was too terrified for that, so like everything else that happens in this god forsaken town, I blamed it on magic. Magic had stolen my voice and ability to move, it had disappeared countless people, my father included, and it was about to get rid of me as well.

And tied up in the trunk of a cop car, there was nothing I could do about it.

Everything was black, and it took me a minute to realize that nothing was moving. I could feel my breath hot and wet around the gag in my mouth. After a moment, the trunk clicked open, swinging high to reveal a starry sky surrounded by a halo of trees.

It was kind of a beautiful view, but you don't appreciate those things when you're pretty sure you're about to die.

And she stood there, blonde hair lit from behind and the edges of her jacket glowing red as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I'm gonna be late for dinner because of this shit. Every year, it's someone new.”

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. As if she sensed my intention and it made no difference at all, she waved her hand and my voice rushed back to me, the gag and the magic that had silenced me both gone.

“Help! Someone help – ”

“There's no one around to hear you,” she snapped, reaching for the shovel that she'd chucked behind me. “Now get out of the car.”

“You're crazy if you think I'm just going to – ”

Her wrist flicked again and suddenly I was standing ten feet from the car in the middle of a field, the ropes that had bound me gone. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, and I wish I could say I'd been quicker to run, but I wasn't, and even if I had, I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered.

My eyes drifted to the ground beside me – or the lack of it. A large hole roughly the size of a person had been dug into the earth, black, loamy soil piled high beside it.

“Please – ” I took a step back as she took one forward, but another wave of her wrist stole any ability I had to move on my own, my breaths shuddering against my rib cage as I stood there like a deer frozen to the road.

I could only watch in horror as she reached toward me, a look of annoyance on her face. Her hand pressed against my chest, and before I could even understand what was happening, she reached through it –  pain gripped me, tearing a feral sound from my lips as roughly as she jerked her hand free.

She stepped back, something bright red and glowing caged within her fingers, a heart – my heart.  

“Get in the hole,” she sighed, as if she were directing me to fill out paperwork and not ordering me to my death.

I wanted to object, to run and scream, but instead my feet moved, carrying me to the looming pit. I could only stare, utterly terrified, as my shoes dangled over the edge, the soil threaded with roots damp in my palms as I gripped the edge and dropped.

“Please,” I begged, staring up at her where she stood, looming over what was to be my grave. Her face was shadowed by the moon behind her, but her jacket glowed as red as my heart where she held it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm the Savior,” she explained with a tone that said she found the job rather inconvenient. “I protect this town, keep it safe.”

“From what?”

“From people like you, who come and poke your noses into our business. We have a life here, and we just want to live it in peace. So I do my part, we all do.”

“So now you're just gonna what, bury me alive?” I screamed, bile thick on the back of my tongue and my limbs shaking with adrenaline.

“Alive?” she laughed. “No, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

I could feel my heart thumping against my bones as she held her arm over my open grave, the red glimmer moving closer, illuminating the glistening curves of worms and beetles that treaded the freshly disturbed earth.

And then she squeezed.

Pain unlike anything I'd ever known consumed me, and as some non-corporeal part of me rose high above, I looked down and saw the grey ash that fell from her hand to litter my corpse below.

She brushed her palms together, as if they were dirtied by nothing more than crumbs, and then with a tired flick of her wrist, the black soil scattered on the ground tipped itself back into the hole, burying me entirely.    

//

There's an old, scenic Victorian home whose windows peer out over the sea.

Inside, a woman comes home for the evening. She hangs her red leather jacket reverently beside its black companion.

At the table, a husband dusts hot cocoa with cinnamon, smiling as she takes it to warm her hands after an evening in the cold.

She sits on the sofa with her son, watching as he's captivated by the soft glow of the TV, a controller gripped between his hands and an empty dinner plate on the table.

It's a scene fitting for an autumnal New England night – Norman Rockwell for the millennials.

There's no outward sign of the monsters that lurk beneath. There's no blood on her hands, but they're red with it all the same, just as her neck is painted red later that evening as her husband takes his own meal.

Her and every other person in this town – it's all painted red.

So, now you've listened to my story – one more 'tourist' who's taken the long drive up the coast to this damned town, searching for mystery and ghosts.

You've found one, one of many – the only question is, will you linger to hear the rest, or will you flee onward to the next small town with its small stories, grateful that the monsters you sought have passed you by?

Choose wisely, Ghost Hunter – some stories are best left buried.

END

Tagging:  @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54 @ilovemesomekillianjones 

[fictionalabyss]

Saltine.

Pairing : Crowley x Plussize!Reader

Word count : 1,930

Warnings : AU (Crowley isn't a demon but is super fucking rich), Cam girl, Cam show, drinking, partial nudity

Header by : @sorenmarie87, as always. She's the best and I adore her and her work.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

The internet was filled with so many girls thinking they could get rich quick just by taking off their clothes. Like they were something special, something to behold. But really, they were one in a billion. Forgettable. Nothing different from the next person.

You were one in thousands. Slightly better odds.

Being a BBW, while nothing overly special on it’s own, did do one thing for you. People who ended up in your room knew what they wanted. They wanted a curvaceous goddess in their face. Curves and softness, something you had plenty of. The pool of plus size cam girls was smaller than the pool of everyone else.

Beyond that, you did what people paid you to do. If a guy paid you to fill your room with balloons and pop them one after another by sitting on them, you did it. Rub lotion all over your stomach and then spit on it, sure. Wear clothes that were two sizes too small, why not.

Tonight was kind of like that. Packages from a few regulars had shown up in your PObox, and one of them had contained a bottle of booze. Glencraig, a scotch whiskey you’d never heard of until James showed up in your chat room and paid for a private show where you drank and talked with him for an hour about two months ago. Now you had your own bottle. So you had taken a picture of it sitting between your legs, put it as your profile pic on the site and titled your chat “Me and Craig. Let’s see where this goes.”

Crowley’s bored and frustrated. The office is empty and he’s supposed to be working but he’s pent up. It’s been a long day of morons fucking shit up and he needed a god damn break. Billions of dollars at his disposal and he still couldn’t buy good fucking help to run his business.

He’s scrolling through women, looking for someone to catch his eye and quickly realizing he doesn’t think anyone will. They’re all the same. Once you’ve had one, you’d had them all, and he’s had plenty in his time. Fergus McLeod was no innocent. He was the farthest thing from it.

With a grunt of disapproval, he started looking for something different, hoping for something new. Key words being typed into searches, but nothing catching his eye in half of those either. Not for long, anyways. ‘BBW’ was a keyword he’d hit. Not many girls online, some of them into some niche things that he’d honestly consider, but all their pictures were the same. Every single one.

Except one. It had him leaning closer, trying to read the label. Interested enough in that at least, he hit join. What he found inside made his cock twitch.

A dark leather chair, not too different from one he  sat in himself. Smooth thick thighs he found himself wanting to bite into. And between them? The item that had taken hold of his interest, the reason he’d clicked to join. Glencraig. The bottle was freshly opened from the looks of it, about three fingers missing, so probably only on her second glass at most. He leaned in again, trying to get a closer look at the label. A soft curse fell from his lips when he saw the numbers 1974, and then ‘Aged 34 Years’. His cock twitched again, and he found himself reaching down to grip it through his slacks.

It was a close up of the bottle right now, and he wasn’t complaining. No one complained when she went to refill her glass, either. A whiskey glass was brought down to her thigh, then the bottle was brought out of where it was nestled, and a bare pussy was exposed. Chimes rang through his office, followed by a soft giggle as she poured, and then the bottle was placed back down, her pussy hidden once more behind the amber liquid and the black label. Then the camera moved.

It was tilted up more, following the glass as it was brought up to her lips and she took another sip. A shiver ran down her spine as it burned, and Crowley found himself smiling along with her. He heard another chime, then her laugh again. The tip amounted to about 75$, give or take.

“James, don’t be absurd, you already paid for the bottle.” She spoke as she pushed the camera back, giving a full view. Bottle between her legs and that seductive smile on her lips.

A message came up in the chat that read ‘Maybe I want you to be able to get yourself another. Hey guys! Let’s get her enough to order another bottle so we can have another night like this!’

The chat sped up, messages agreeing with the sentiment, and more chimes of tips being given for the cause. Another giggle came from her lips as she brought the glass back up to her mouth.

Not to be out done, Crowley made a donation of his own.

You were smiling, giggling, happy that everyone seemed to enjoy the theme of the room tonight. Glad that James approved of how you used his gift. You tilted the glass back just as a few chimes went off signaling more donations, and one of them made you choke on the scotch and spit it out. You stared at the screen, stunned as the liquid ran down off your chin.

Who the fuck was TheKing, and why did he just drop what had to be about 2 grand on you?

A new alert sounded, and you noticed you had a DM. Speak of the devil.

>> TheKing : From one Glencraig lover to another. I hope you enjoy it, love.

You stared at it, still in shock. In all your time as a cam girl, on here, on BBW specific sites, nothing like this had ever happened before. People bought gifts, sure, but this?

>> TheKing : Breathe, darling. >> TheKing : Don’t forget to breathe.

Realizing you had just been sitting there staring at the screen, you wiped your chin off and licked your lips, trying to collect yourself. The main chat was blowing up, you weren’t the only one dealing with shock and awe with what just happened.

“Uhm.” you breathed out awkwardly, not sure what to say, how to react. Was this real? “All hail The King?” an awkward chuckle followed the words, but the chat room was filled with messages of ‘all hail TheKing!’  “Should I bow.. or..” you joked, with a shy smile.

>> TheKing : No need to bow, love. >> TheKing : Though I wouldn’t say no to a conversation.

A soft smile graced your lips before you typed out your answer.

<< Saltine : We’re having a conversation. >> TheKing : I was thinking something a little more face to face. >> TheKing : I hear your voice, you hear mine.

You licked your lips, the general chat room forgotten for the moment. With money he dropped on you, your undivided attention for a moment was the least you could do.

<< Saltine : I don’t meet people from the site in person. It’s a safety issue, I’m sure you understand.

Three little dots in the corner let you know he was typing almost immediately.

>> TheKing : I wouldn’t expect you to, love. I meant more of a chat where I have my camera on too. Make it a little more intimate. I don’t mind paying for a private show where you don’t need to show anything. I would just like a drink with you.

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, considering the offer. Private shows didn’t really happen a whole lot, but when they did, it was charged by the minute so it was worth the time. You found yourself using your thumb to crack the knuckle of your index finger, and then your middle one before you nodded. “Yeah, we can do a private chat.” you spoke, letting the chatroom know your cam would be shutting off in there in a minute.

>> TheKing : You just made me a very happy man, darling. Whenever you’re ready, you let me know.

You were chewing on your lip as you waited for his cam to kick in. It was a moment of black before a bright light seemed to come on, and quickly it shifted. There was black in the middle of brightness, and then slowly the light seemed to adjust. It was a window. A massive window. As the lighting adjusted, you found yourself looking at a man in a suit and behind him, a city skyscape all laid out for him.  Glancing at the time, you wondered where in the world he was. Was it evening like where you were, the sun still holding on and not yet ready to set, or was that a morning glow behind him. Either way, it looked beautiful.

The man himself was something to behold. Not stunningly beautiful, not young and fit like some of the guys who popped up on camera for you, but captivating. He seemed to demand attention, radiating power. He was someone. A few very short hairs touched his forehead, he had a short beard as well, one you had the urge to run your fingertips over. Dark piercing eyes that you felt burning into you as one side of his mouth turned up into a smirk at your reaction of seeing him.

“H-hi.” you stuttered, then curse yourself for it.

His smile only widened. He brought a glass up, and that’s when you noticed the bottle on his desk. The same as the bottle still sitting between your thighs. He took a sip, then placed the glass down on the dark wood. “Why Saltine?” he asked, and you felt your stomach flutter at the accent.

“Because I’m so fucking salty all the time?” You gave him a shy smile. “Why TheKing? What are you the king of?”

“Your dreams.” He answered without hesitation and a fuck ton of confidence. He was cocky, he knew the effect he had on people and how to use it. “If you wish it.”

“Tempting.” you try to tease, lifting your own glass to your lips. “Why me?” you ask before sipping.

“Glencraig. Aged 30 years or more, there is no finer drink, love. It’s rare to find a woman with such tastes.”

“It was bought for me.”

“But you enjoy it, yes?” You gave him a nod. You had to admit, it wasn’t bad. “A woman of taste.” he smiled again. “What other things do you enjoy, Saltine? Money? Things? Travel?”

“Are you offering?” he intrigued you. He really did. Something about him made you want more and you didn’t even know him. “I could use a vacation.”

“Anywhere you want, darling. Where would you like to go?”

“Paris.” You answered quickly, and it didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Scotland.” you added. “England. Ireland. India. Japan. I want to see it all.”

His smile widened again. “Scotland, eh? It has been a while since I’ve been home.”

“I was joking.” you chuckled.

“I wasn’t. In another life, I could’ve given you everything you wanted and more with just a snap of my fingers.” You sat there, stunned again. “Choose a place and I’ll send you there. If you want, I’ll take the time and meet you there. The choice is yours, darling. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this interested in anything.”

“All because of a bottle of Craig?” you asked.

“Everything good in life starts with a quality scots. Be it a whiskey, or a scotsman.” he winked. “So where first?”

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