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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius.

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara.

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?”

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge.

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?”

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat.

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye.

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears.

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either).

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?”

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.”

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily.

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home.

Sirius nods.

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek.

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest.

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?”

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side.

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?”

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him.

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home.

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair.

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs.

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?”

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

“It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching.

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James’ free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.”

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.”

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently.

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers.

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.”

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.”

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow.

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.”

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.”

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?”

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing.

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?”

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.”

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.”

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

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urfavskzlvr · 5 months

Text

whoopsies?

SMUT UNDER THE CUT

MINORS DNI

Bangchan x GNreader 😻

you really didn't mean to. it was an accident. you didn't mean to find your best friends Onlyfans.

You were just on your couch on Twitter scrolling through. You came across a small clip of a guy teasing if he would take his shirt off. you could see his large bulge through his black sweats. you couldn't see his face but you still found it hot. you watch the video twice and you're turned on. fuck. it wouldn't hurt, would it? you click the link in the caption and it brings you to his onlyfans. $45?! Who does this guy think he is? well, he is really sexy... and you are horny... and you got paid yesterday... what's the worst that can happen?

you put in all the information and hit confirm. it unlocks a whole world of jack-off videos, whimper audios, and a plethora of boyfriend roleplays. holy shit. the fucking jackpot. which one do you choose first? you scroll aimlessly until something catches your eye. "Jack off instructions" goddamnit, it's perfect.

you click the video and it starts. you slip your hand into your pants.

"Hey love." you shut off your phone. what the fuck? it can't be. why did that guy sound like Chan? God no. you're just mistaken. you have to be. you open your phone again and press play again.

"here's a new gift for you. I know sometimes you need a little hel-" You shut it off again. it's him. it sounds exactly like him. his accent, his tone, it has to be him. what are you supposed to do? you just spent $45 on your best friend's Onlyfans.

just ignore it until it goes away, that works. But you are still really horny. no you wouldn't. but you just paid $45, might as well put it to good use. HE'S YOUR BEST FRIEND THAT'S WEIRD. but he's so sexy. what if he finds out? but what if he doesn't? what he doesn't know can't hurt him. fuck it. you open your phone and continue to watch the video.

"I'm only here to help you feel some relief. if you're not already, go ahead and start touching yourself, slowly. you can listen, right?" shit. you feel your face starting to get hot. this is your best friend and you are currently jerking off to his voice, on his Onlyfans.

"you're doing so well. such a pretty look for you. do you want a little more? go ahead, go a little faster." why are you listening? why are you doing this? you feel so gross, but so incredibly good.

"you want to cum? hm? go faster, baby" you let out a small groan as he says baby. you listen and go faster. fuck. it's so good. you feel yourself being embarrassingly close.

"you can hold out for me, can't you, love? or maybe you can't. such a greedy baby." holy shit. your body shakes as you inch closer and closer. "i guess you've been good enough to cum. go ahead. cum for me, baby" your body jolts forward as you finally go over the edge. your legs shake wildly and you feel like your heart is about to jump out of your chest.

"you did so good, baby. look at you. so needy for me." he chuckles. you lay there looking up at the ceiling while trying to catch your breath. you can feel your arousal in your underwear. how the fuck did you just cum that hard? you feel embarrassed and ashamed. you just came the most you have to your best friend's voice. you want him to come and lick it up. WHAT? don't be thinking such things.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

heyyyyyy

sorry if it seems short or unfinished. i hope you liked it either way <3

Pt. 2? 👀👀

reblogs, comments, and ASKS highly appreciated <3 (please leave me asks i love doing them so much)

Okay. love you bye <33

#skz hard thoughts #stray kids smut #stray kids hard hours #skz smut #stray kids #skz #bangchan smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #bangchan hard hours #christopher bang #bangchan x reader #bangchan x gnreader #bangchan skz

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heavenlyhischier · 8 months

Text

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 - 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 7.6k (i got very carried away im sorry)

summary: after months of feeling like you've lost quinn, he ends up losing you. will the two of you find your back to each other?

warnings: angst, self-destructive tendancies, drinking, cursing, MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut, shower sex, fingering, oral (fem recieving), unprotected sex (use protection guys), teeny bit of a praise kink, brief breath play, please let me know if you see any mistakes. i finished this at 2 am and my vision was a little blurry at that point

note: this is part of my follower celebration! i'm so glad i finally wrote about the future captian of the vancouver canucks please guys im begging you.

Two years ago, you had met Quinn Hughes through a mutual friend, and he’s been a part of your life ever since. In the beginning, the two of you took things slow, wanting to truly get to know each other before getting into a relationship. Quinn wanted to make sure that his intense schedule that involved him being gone for long periods of time wasn’t going to overwhelm you, or make you feel alone. You wanted to make sure that, after all you had gone through, Quinn was going to remain a man of his word and make your relationship work despite the many odds that came with his job. And he did, at first.

For the first year and a half that you were with Quinn, he was texting, calling, facetiming as often as he could when he was gone. If he wasn’t doing something that related to his commitment to the hockey team, he was talking to you in some way. He would send you pictures of the places he would visit with short captions of how he wished you were there with him, and you would always smile at them and tell him that you would be, one day. Though, a few months ago, those texts started to become less frequent, and when you did get them, they sounded forced, almost like they had been rehearsed.

For a while, you tried to reason with yourself. Telling yourself that he was just getting busier, and the stress was getting to him. You tried to understand just how demanding and exhausting his job must be, so you brushed off his deteriorating communication. Instead, you tried to hold onto the hope that when he was finally back home, things were going to go back to normal. Quinn was going to walk back through the door to your shared apartment and hold you until you fell asleep. Then, that stopped happening too.

The first time you realized that Quinn was truly pulling away from you was when he didn’t come straight home after a seven day roadie. He hadn’t even told you that he was close to home yet. You only found out because Natalie had posted a snapchat story of JT holding Owen, and you were immediately dialing your boyfriend's phone number. Your heart sank when it only rang three times before cutting to his bland voicemail message.

You remember spending the rest of that night crying into your pillow, thoughts of what you could have done to make him distance himself from you clouding your brain. You knew that hockey players had an abysmal reputation, but you have never lumped Quinn into that group of men. You’ve always thought the world of him, considering yourself lucky to have the luxury of being loved by him. This had you questioning everything you thought you knew about him. When he came home later that night, he gave you a half-assed apology and explanation followed by a string of kisses that had you melting back into him.

Though even that started to dwindle, and eventually it stopped all together. When Quinn was home in Vancouver, he rarely made the effort to spend time with you, and when he did, it was almost like he wasn’t there. His face would always be buried in his phone, or he’d be playing video games with his friends and you’d simply be sitting next to him on the couch. Quinn had stopped trying to plan dates, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone on one with him. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had shared a kiss that was more than the obligatory chaste peck on the lips before bed.

You tried to reassure yourself and ignore the aching in your chest, but the way he put as much distance as he possibly could between the two of you, the less you were able to do that. Eventually, you’d decided that enough was enough, and if it felt like you weren’t in a relationship, then you weren’t going to be in one. No matter how badly it hurt.

The thought of breaking up with Quinn made you feel like someone was holding your head under water. The panic settling into your chest as you realized that you couldn’t breathe; your lungs burning the longer you went without any air. No matter how hard you tried to break the surface and gasp for air, your head was only shoved deeper and deeper into the water until you realized that the only escape was leaving him. Leaving the man you were still in love with was the only way for you to be able to breathe again.

When he finally came home that night, he didn’t even notice you sitting at the table, his head shoved in his phone as he walked through the door. “Quinn,” Your quiet voice bounced off the walls of your home. His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise that you were still awake at this hour, but you continued, “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” He drew out, brows knitting together in confusion as he slipped his phone into his pocket, “What’s this about?”

His eyes darted throughout the apartment, and you watched as his shoulders fell when he realized that stuff was missing from all over. Your stuff. With Quinn avoiding your home like it was, or rather you were, the plague, it gave you enough time to gather everything you’d brought over with you, and temporarily move it into a friend's apartment until you could find your own. Despite the multiple breaks you had to take because you kept breaking down, you managed to do it all in one day.

“I think you know what it’s about,” You chewed at your bottom lip, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying.

“Baby, I-,” He tried as he reached over the table to grab your hand, but you quickly cut him off. The chair scraped against the floor as you abruptly stood, shoving his outstretched hand away from you.

“Don’t call me that,” You spat, vision blurring from the tears, “You can’t call me that anymore.”

“What are you trying to say,” He asked, his voice breaking, and that made you angry.

How dare he act like he was hurt when all he’s been doing is hurting you? He put you in this position. He pushed you away, made you feel like he didn’t want you anymore. He did this, and he doesn’t get to act like he’s the one that’s hurting.

“I’m saying that we’re done, Quinn. I’m breaking up with you,” You asserted through the salty streams falling down your cheeks. Though the words tasted bitter as they came out, you felt a slight, very very slight, sense of relief wash over you as you said the words out loud.

Your words hung over his head as you fell into an uncomfortable silence, eyes staying trained on him as you waited for a response. He stood at the table with his palms pressed against the wood, head down as he let out a shaky breath followed by a weak question.

“What do you mean ‘Why’,” You scoffed, shooting daggers into the top of his head, “Quinn, you’ve barely said a full sentence to me in the last week. You don’t talk to me when you’re gone anymore. Hell, half the time I don’t even know you guys are back unless someone posts about it. I just- It just feels like you don’t want this anymore, and that’s okay, but what you’ve been doing isn’t.”

“No,” He breathed out, his voice small and broken as he shook his head, “No, it’s not and I’m sorry. I don’t- Fuck, Y/N, I don’t know what to say right now. I lo-“

“Please don’t,” You interrupted, tearing your gaze away from him as you choked on your own cries, “Please stop, Quinn. I can’t do it anymore. I love you so much, but it’s gotten to a point that the person I fell in love with is gone even though he’s right in front of me.”

A part of you did want him to beg you to stay, to beg you to give him another chance because he will change. He will change as long as it means he got to have you, and he couldn’t live without you. But the more logical part of you was holding the spear, and it was telling you that you were doing the best thing for you. That leaving Quinn, while it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, it was the right decision for you.

“I’ve already got all of my stuff moved out,” Your voice cut through the thick silence, “You’re not home much so it made it pretty easy.”

You couldn’t help but throw the jab in there, but it was only to cover the thinly veiled agony that was truly going on in your heart and bleeding into the rest of your body. You didn’t want Quinn to know that saying goodbye to him was like death by a thousand cuts, and so you masked the pain the only way you knew how. With anger.

“I wish you and your team the best in the rest of the season, I really do. But I think it would be better for both of us if we don’t talk after this.”

Not waiting for his response, you made a slight show to toss the key to what was now his apartment onto the table in front of him, the gentle ding of the metal hitting the wood echoing through the empty room, before walking out of the door. You’d barely made it into the elevator by the time your feelings washed over you an aggressive wave that came seemingly out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. You were thankful that the ride down to the bottom was quick and no one else joined you, and that the main lobby was only occupied by the security guard who’s more than likely seen his fair share of crying women.

That night, you went to your friend's apartment and broke down into a mess of screams, tears, and pain. She held you as you cried, held your hair as you threw up, held your hand through the shower curtain because you didn’t want to be alone. She stood by you in your most desperate time of need, and she made it her own personal goal to maim the hockey player should she ever see him again.

Quinn didn’t text or call you, but you knew that he wasn’t doing the greatest for the first few weeks after your breakup. Petey and Brock had both called to check on you once they had figured out what had their teammate in the state he was in. They asked how you were doing, and not-so-subtly mentioned that Quinn wasn’t any better off than you were. Though, they quickly learned to not mention him unless they wanted to listen to you call them obscene words before ending the call and ignoring them for a few days. You knew their intentions were good, but you didn’t want to hear about how “awful” Quinn was.

If he had acted like he cared about you half as much as his friends were telling you he did, maybe you would have made the effort to ask about him. If he loved you half as much as they said he did, but he didn’t. And he’s made that clear to you. Of course you know you told him that you thought it best if the two of you didn’t talk anymore, but you had secretly hoped he wouldn’t listen. That he would be calling you and texting you, begging you to come back. Telling you how in love he was with you, but it was complete and utter radio silence.

Eventually, you were able to pick yourself back up enough to find your own apartment. Leila had insisted that you staying with her was never going to be a problem, but you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. You needed to try and move on from him, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go of him yet. You needed to try and find yourself again, and you couldn’t do that sleeping in the guest bed of your best friend and her boyfriend's apartment.

Leila’s worried eyes were practically carved into your skull at this point, but you didn’t blame her. She’s had to pick you up, physically and emotionally, more times than she had anticipated when you initially turned up at her door with puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Though she should have realized how deeply hurt you were the fourth time she held you after you had woken up thinking that your breakup was a nightmare, only to realize that it was reality that haunted your dreams.

No matter how hard you tried to forget about Quinn Hughes, the city you lived in was as riddled with memories and reminders of what once was. He was on every street you walked, in every store window you passed by. He was everywhere, and it made you feel like there was a shard of glass piercing your heart, unrelenting and unmoving. You wanted nothing more than to forget about the man who had torn your heart in two, and you were willing to do anything to do that.

The bar air that clung to your body was sticky with alcohol and sweat, but you didn’t seem to mind as you moved your hips to the beat of whatever terrible remix they were playing. The unnamed man behind you had his hands planted firmly on your waist, but you didn’t pay him any mind as you let yourself dance. The alcohol swimming through your veins aiding your ability to forget about all of the hurt you had yet to heal from.

For the last three months, you often found yourself in some sort of bar or club to drink your pain away. It was cliche, but you hadn’t stumbled upon any other outlet that allowed you to forget about the constant ache in your chest. Leila had tried to guide you towards less self-destructive ways of healing, but you didn’t listen to her. This way was guaranteed to ease your heartbreak, at least for the night and that was all you needed.

“I’m Wren,” The man yelled into your ear, an off-putting smirk slapped on his less than desirable features.

Your mouth dropped open, the blood pounding in your ears covering the music entirely. It was too close. His name was too similar, and it made the one thing you were trying to forget flood itself into your head. Images of Quinn and memories of the way his voice sounded pushed their way to the forefront mind, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, you pushed the man away from you and scrambled towards the exit of the bar. Your vision turned bleary and clouded, from the tears or the alcohol, you weren’t sure. Ignoring the worried calls from strangers you shoved past, you rushed out into the crisp Vancouver air.

You stumbled over into the mostly empty alleyway, clutching at your chest as your back came in contact with the brick wall. You were aware of the many lingering eyes on you, but the feeling that was consuming you made their attention appear miniscule and irrelevant. All you could think about was Quinn and how he never even fought to be with you. How he gave you up so easily.

Leila’s boyfriend had seen you run out of the bar, and immediately darted towards the bathroom so he could grab her. With the help of a few random women, he was able to get her attention much faster, and she was rushing out of the bar and leaving him to close their tab. Leila heard you before she saw you, and that alone made her chest burn for you.

“Honey,” She delicately approached you, her voice calm and collected, “What happened?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but nothing was coming out but strangled breaths and mangled cries. Despite having seen you in this position more times than she could count, it broke Leila’s heart all the same. She maneuvered your body so that she could pull you into her lap, ignoring the fact that she was sitting on the ground in a dirty alley. She began rubbing soothing circles on your back and instructed you to try and follow her breathing pattern.

Once you were able to catch your breath, you let out an almost incoherent, “Why didn’t he come back?”

Leila was able to calm you down enough to get you back to your apartment nearly an hour later. She kept insisting that you just come home with her, but you already felt guilty enough for intruding so much on her personal life. You knew she didn’t mind, but you did, so you managed to convince her that you would be okay by yourself, and that you would call her if you needed her. Though, she wasn’t the person you ended up calling.

“You have reached the voicemail box of Quinn Hughes. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“I hate you, Quinn,” You started, your voice already raspy from the moments prior, “I hate you so much for making me believe that you ever loved me back the way that I loved you. I thought we were forever, you know. That’s what you told me. That we would get married and have our own family, but we saw how that turned out. It was never going to be me, was it?

“I just wished you would have had the balls to tell me that you fell out of love with me, if you ever did in the first place, or found someone else or whatever the fuck happened. It would have made it a hell of a lot easier knowing that I, or you, did something to make you not stop loving me. It’s just- The worst fucking part about all of this is, is that I’m still so in love with you that it physically hurts me to be without you, but that doesn’t matter does it?

“Fuck. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess I'm just trying to give myself closure so that I can really move on from you. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop loving you, but I’m going to try.”

Hanging up the phone, you threw it onto your couch and let out a gut wrenching sob that ripped through the stillness of your apartment. You fell to your knees and let everything you had been bottling up for the last three months bleed out of you. The world spun around you, your lungs burning as you gasped for air. Your fingers grasped at anything they could possibly wrap themselves around in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

You felt as if you were back to square one, and you hated that all it took was some man having a name that too closely resembled his. It was stupid, you thought, blatantly pathetic how easily you were thrown back into the fire you had done your best to crawl out of. You had almost healed all of the cuts Quinn’s treatment of you had left in your heart, but now they were gaping open once again.

Minutes passed by, or maybe hours you weren’t sure, and you had fallen into a limp ball on the floor of your living room. You had no energy to move from the spot as silent tears escaped their previous confinement. You stared lifelessly at the ceiling above you, mind too tired to fight off the dangerous thoughts floating about inside your head. It was only when sleep finally graced you that you were able to escape the pain of what-ifs.

The following morning, you were rudely awoken by someone aggressively and relentlessly knocking on your door. The sound ricocheted across the nearly empty walls of your apartment, and worsened the already excruciating pounding in your head. Pushing your tired body off the floor, you let out a quiet groan as nausea rippled from your core.

You passed by a mirror that Leila insisted you hang, and you outwardly cringed at your appearance. Your face swollen from last night's breakdown, and your makeup was smudged all across your face. Needless to say, your unwarranted guest was not going to get a presentable version of you.

Not bothering to check the peephole, you pulled the door open and time froze all around you. Quinn stood there with his hands in his pockets, head covered by the hood of his blue Canucks hoodie. His face was decorated with overgrown facial hair and deep set bags had found places underneath his eyes. Truly, he looked awful, but the sight of him in front of you made the already growing ball of nausea burst.

Quinn watched as your eyes simultaneously widened and hardened with an undetectable emotion, but he’s sure he could guess what it was. When he had woken up that morning, the last thing he’d expected to see was a missed call from you, let alone a voicemail. He’d listened to it a dozen times before calling Petey, asking him what he should do.

After a lecture that closely resembled the one he had already gotten from his teammate months prior that was followed by words of encouragement, he set off to your apartment. He only knew your address because Brock had accidentally let it slip when they passed by it one night. Truthfully, Quinn was expecting you to not answer the door or to slam it shut in his face when you saw him. That he was prepared for, but what he did not prepare himself for was you darting to the bathroom.

He stood in the hallway, conflicting emotions battling with each other as the sound of you retching reached his ears. He wanted to follow after you and comfort you like he’d done many times before, but he also didn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable than you undoubtedly were already. He opted to step inside and wait for you in the living room, preparing himself for whatever you were going to throw at him.

You were heaving into the toilet, panic running through every nerve in your body as you tried to focus on breathing rather than throwing up. The last person you had expected to show up at your door was here now, and you left him standing in the hallway. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you flushed the toilet, pushing yourself up off the floor for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Why was Quinn here? How was he here? You never gave him your address. Though a brief reminder that Brock knew where you lived was enough to answer that question for you, but nothing you could come up with answered why. You remember leaving him a voicemail in your drunken meltdown, but you couldn’t wrap your head around just what had gotten him to seek you out.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long, and you wondered if Quinn was still here. You’d heard the door shut, but you couldn’t figure out if the footsteps that followed were inside your apartment or in the hallway. After quickly brushing your teeth and convincing yourself that he had left, you stepped back into the living room and were proven wrong. He had settled into the spot on the couch that he chose every time if he could; closest to the kitchen. His leg was anxiously bouncing up and down, and he was biting at his fingernails.

“What are you doing here,” You called out, nails digging into the palm of your hand as a way to keep yourself grounded.

The sound of your voice had Quinn’s head turning on a swivel before he was standing and taking a few steps towards you, but he stopped when you stepped backwards. He swallowed thickly, knowing that he was already treading through very dangerous waters by showing up at your apartment unannounced, and he didn’t want to do anything to further worsen that.

He instantly registered the tortured look in your eyes because it was the same one he’s been sporting since you left. Quinn knows he’s to blame for the downfall of your relationship. He should have fought harder. He should have fought, period, but he had his own reason for letting you go.

“You called me last night,” He started.

“I was drunk,” You firmly stated, heart beating loudly in your chest, “It didn’t mean anything.” You were lying, and he knew that, too. Quinn could always tell when you were lying.

“It meant something to me,” He rushed out, “Hearing your voice- Hearing you say that you thought I never loved you ripped me to pieces. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please listen to my explanation? I know it won’t repair the damage I’ve done, but please. I was too scared before, but I’m not now.”

He rasped your name out like it was something sacred, like it held the entire world within its syllables. His eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears as they bore into your own. He could tell that your heart and brain were at war with each other by the way you kept taking sharp breaths, and your eyes kept flitting away from him.

“I don’t know, Quinn. I’m trying to move on, and hearing you out will only undo all of the work I’ve put into doing that,” You tried, turning away from him but still staying in the living room.

“I know, baby,” The nickname tumbled out before he could stop it, sending a jab to your chest, “I know, but please. I will leave you alone after, if that’s what you really want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You weighed your options in your head before letting out a hesitant, “Okay. I’ll listen, but if I want you to leave after, you’ll go?”

Your heart had won this battle, but you’re relying on your brain to save it later if need be. The sound of his approaching footsteps made the breath catch in your throat, but the feeling of his hand sliding into your own sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body. Your head snapped to his own, your eyes full of anxiety and familiarity.

He gently pulled you over to the couch, dropping your hand so that you could sit as far away from as you wanted. The air was crawling with nerves from both parties, but the lack of anger radiating off of you brought him some sort of comfort as he gathered his thoughts. Though, in your defense, you could never be angry at Quinn, no matter how badly he hurt you.

“I know that no apology can fix the hurt I’ve caused you, but I am sorry. I am so sorry for pulling away from you instead of talking to you. I never fell out of love with you, ever. Not then, and not now. Do you want to know the best thing that’s ever happened to me? It isn't hockey. It isn’t money. It’s you, and that terrified me. I was so scared that I was going to screw everything up.”

You opened your mouth to interrupt him, but he cast you a stern glare and shook his head before continuing, “I never let that bother me until I overheard you talking to Leila about marriage and children, and I got scared. I started questioning if I was good enough for you. If I was even good for you. I’m gone so much with the team, and I’ve already missed so many of your accomplishments because I was on the road.

“I started thinking about us having kids. How many appointments would I miss? What if I missed the birth? What if I missed the baby’s first steps? I couldn’t imagine putting you through all of that by yourself, so I started pulling away. Was it a good idea? Absolutely not, but it made sense to me. I thought I was going to save you from heartbreak in the future, but all I did was cause it now instead.

“I didn’t call after you left because I thought I did the right thing. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but then I heard your voice this morning and I knew I had to fix it, if you’d let me. I couldn’t let you think that I never loved you, because I do. I love you so much, and I will do anything to prove that to you, should you give me the chance.”

You sat there in silence, digesting the words that had just been said to you as you let out quiet sobs. For nearly the last year, you had believed that Quinn didn’t love you, and now he was saying the exact opposite. He was begging for another chance, and that was what you had wanted, right? It still was, but the damage that was done wasn’t going to be easily fixable. You would have to start back at the beginning, and you’re not sure if Quinn was willing to do that.

“Baby,” He whispered, your silence lighting his skin on fire with nerves, “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I will do whatever it takes to fix this mess I created. Anything.”

The gears were turning in your head, trying to conjure any sort of coherent thought to tell him that you wanted this, but you were scared. You’d put so much faith and trust into Quinn, and he tore all of that down out of fear. What if he did that again?

“I want to,” You whispered, “I do, but what if you do it again? I can’t go through it all over, Quinn. I felt like I was going to die without you, and I can’t go through losing you all over again if you get scared.”

You felt his weight lift off the sofa, and before you realized what was going on, he was wedging himself in between your legs in front of you. He cupped both of your cheeks in his hands so you were looking at him, and you swear you blacked out for a second. Just because Quinn had hurt you, doesn’t mean the effect he had on you went away.

“You won’t lose me ever again, okay? My heart belongs to you. My heart beats for you. I promise to love you for the rest of my life, even if you don’t love me for the rest of yours.”

His hands were still on your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat, his pleading eyes darting all across your face. Lucky for you, your heart and your brain had linked together as you let out an almost silent, “Kiss me, please.”

And he did. Quinn’s lips were on yours in an instant, hands dropping down so he could pull you into his chest. The kiss was full of desperation and months of lost time as the two of you clung to each other. He was holding your hips so tightly that you’re fairly certain they were going to bruise, but you didn’t mind. You were pulling him into you just as desperately, afraid that he was somehow going to disappear from right in front of you.

He briefly pulled away so that he could sit on the couch, pulling you into his lap not long after. He quickly reattached his lips to yours, and he kissed you with so much fervor that it had your head spinning. You could feel some of your sadness melting away, being replaced by passion and desire for the man underneath you. Almost as if a switch had flipped within you. You shifted your hips on his lap, and a throaty moan escaped his swollen lips as he slightly threw his head back.

“Be careful with that,” He let out a breathy laugh, “You know what that does to me.”

There was a teasing glint in your eye as you spoke, “I know.”

“Fuck me,” He groaned, subtly moving your hips against him.

“If you insist,” You drew out, leaning down to ghost your lips over his neck.

He threw his head back against the couch and screwed his eyes shut as your warm breath fanned across his neck. Your eyes flicked up to his face, and you couldn’t help but let a mischievous smirk form before dragging your tongue across the expanse of his neck. He let out a string of profanities as you latched your mouth onto the spot you knew would send him spiraling, but you quickly pulled away and hopped off of him.

“I need to take a shower,” You announced, a teasing tone to your voice, “I’m still gross from the bar.”

Quinn’s eyes snapped open, watching as you began to walk away. Only when he heard you ask if you were going to join did he jump off the couch and scramble after you. He shed his clothes as he followed you to the bathroom, leaving a trail of fabric in his wake. By the time he had reached your bathroom, you’d already turned the shower on and rid yourself of your own clothes.

“I do not deserve you,” He mumbled as his eyes raked over your naked body.

He’d already memorized every dip and curve of you, but he always treated it as if he was seeing all of you for the first time. Your body captivated him in all of the best ways, and it left Quinn breathless every time you graced him with it. He considered it a privilege to be able to bear witness to the Goddess of a woman in front of him, and he worshiped it like it was.

Despite all that has happened between the two of you, you still felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with Quinn. Unlike the guys who had seen you naked before, none of them treated it the way he did. He never made you feel insecure, and he always made every other part of you feel just as loved as your body. He admired your character, and even your flaws, all the same.

“You gonna stand there or are you going to join me,” You teased as you stepped into the shower.

The water enveloped you like a welcomed hug, and you let out a sigh of relief as the stickiness from last night was washed away. You were facing towards the shower, eyes closed and head tilted back. You heard the curtain rings slide against the rod before you felt Quinn’s chest pressed against your back. You wiggled against his hardened length, and he took your teasing as a green light.

His fingers trailed up along your hip, across your waist before dancing over your breast. He made a point to slightly lift his touch so he just barely grazed your nipple, and you let out a whine when he did. His hand briefly paused when he reached your collarbone as if he was going to change his mind, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around your neck and leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” He whispered before dipping his head down and attaching his lips to your neck.

While one hand tilted your neck to give him better access, his free hand trailed down your stomach and towards your center. The knot in your stomach grew the closer he got, but he was taking his time with you. Relishing in the moment he never thought he would have again.

“Quinn,” You whimpered, “Please.”

“Please what, baby? I need you to use your words for me,” He briefly broke his contact with your neck.

“I need you to touch me, please,” You were begging him, needing him to give you the release that no other man has before.

“Good girl.”

He slid one finger into you, an almost pornagraphic moan echoing off the tiles of your bathroom. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gripping at the slick shower wall for any sort of support before your knees buckled from under you. He carefully moved his digit inside of you, stretching your walls so he could add another.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so tight,” He groaned into your ear.

“‘S because no one’s touched me- Oh fuck,” You cried out as he inserted another finger, “No one’s touched me since the last time you did.”

Quinn knew he shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing that you didn’t let another man have you the way that he did only made him harder, and he didn’t think that was possible.

You were writhing against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, your moans filling his ears like they were his favorite song. He moved his thumb to press against your clit, and it was then that Quinn had to use his own strength to keep you standing. He worked his fingers against you, and he’s gotten you to the finish line enough times to know that you were already just about there, so he didn’t stop.

“Oh my god,” You cried out as his thumb rubbed circles and his fingers curled inside of you, “I’m almost the-Fuck.”

“I know, pretty girl. I know,” He murmured, keeping his pace steady.

Your legs are shaking and your vision becomes spotty as the knot inside you comes undone. He captures your lips with his own as you come all over his fingers, kissing you with the same amount of passion he’d had before everything happened. He was still supporting you with the hand that was previously on your neck, but you slowly regained the strength to support yourself as you came down from your high.

“You okay,” He asked, turning you around so that the water was no longer hitting your front.

“More than okay,” You gave him a sloppy smile, still slightly dazed from your orgasm.

“Good, because that was only the beginning,” He smirked, switching places with you so he could back you into the corner of your shower.

You watched as he turned and shifted the shower head so that it was spraying against the two of you as much. You pulled your brows together in confusion as you questioned him, “What about you?”

“What about me,” He feigned confusion as he slowly fell to his knees.

“You know what,” You quietly spoke, eyes wide in anticipation as his hands gripped your thighs.

“I’m getting all I need, baby. Don’t worry,” He glanced up at you, eyes sparkling with pleasure.

His fingers trailed against your thighs that were wet with a mix of water and your own juices. Goosebumps rose in wake of his touch, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. You kept glancing down at him with your lip pulled between your teeth, your heart still rapidly beating from your orgasm only minutes ago.

Quinn spread your legs with his hands before placing feathered kisses on the inside of your thighs, eliciting a few breathless moans from you. He stopped when he got against your aching core, his breath hitting it as he spared you one more glance.

With a swift movement, he was lifting your leg over his shoulder and then he was diving into you like it was his last meal. His facial hair was tickling your inner thighs, but all it did was add to the sensation flowing through your body. His hands were gripping at your legs to not only keep you steady, but to give him something to hold on to.

He was devouring you in a way that made it seem like he was enjoying it more than you were, but you highly doubted that to be true. His tongue worked against as he led you to yet another orgasm, mouth sucking and swirling in all of the right places. You tugged on his hair as you felt the familiar fire burning in your stomach, your head hitting against the tile wall.

Your second orgasm ripped through your body, rendering you temporarily blind yet again. He carefully placed your leg back beneath you, placing open mouth kisses against your stomach as he stood leaving behind a mixture of his saliva and your cum against your skin. He attacked your lips with his own in a dizzying kiss, his hands cupping and squeezing at your breasts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” He mumbled against your lips as he placed his forehead on yours.

“I missed you too. So much, Quinn,” Your eyes became misty with tears, but you tried to push them back.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment or anything, but thank you for giving me a second chance. I definitely don’t deserve one, but I will keep my promise and do whatever it takes to win you back.”

You pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before saying, “Well, you can start by properly fucking me.”

The softness in Quinn’s eyes darkened to something full of desire and lust, but he still managed to keep the look of pure admiration and love. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you into his chest and meeting your lips with a hungry kiss. You could feel him pressed against your thigh, and it made the already wet pool between your legs worsen.

“Need you to hold on to me baby. Wanna look at you,” He instructed as he pulled away, gesturing for you to wrap your arms around his neck, “Good girl.”

Quinn rubbed himself between your folds, teasing your entrance and watching your face twist in desire and want. Slowly, he pushed himself inside of you and let out a mangled moan as your walls clenched around him. He paused and let you readjust to his size, doing his best to remain still and not roughly jerk his hips back.

“Move,” You whimpered, bucking your hips forward for any sort of friction, “Please move.”

With your pleading, Quinn was pulling himself nearly all the way out and slamming back in at a pace he knew you both liked. His thrusts were hard and deep, filling you in just the right way to leave you gasping for more. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on his hips to allow himself a better angle, and you swear you blacked out for a second. You were grateful for the strength he has from hockey or you’re certain you’d both be on the floor by now.

Your loud moans mixed with his own, surely filling the entirety of your apartment with the sound. A part of you hoped your neighbors couldn't hear, but a bigger part of you didn’t care. You finally had him back, and the both of you were making up for lost time. His hips snapped against your own as he brought his free hand back up to your neck, squeezing at the sides with the pressure he knew wouldn't hurt you.

You were clenching around him, sending him into a fit of blinding, white hot ecstasy. No matter times Quinn had imagined you when he fucked his own hand, it was absolutely nothing compared the real thing. Watching as your eyes screwed shut and his name fell from your lips in desperate whines was a sight he would never get tired of.

“Oh my god, Quinn,” You shakily cried out, your eyes rolling backwards and the top of your head hitting against the shower wall as he thrusted into you, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Such a pretty girl,” He praised as his hand dove between your bodies, his fingers coming to rub at the bundle of nerves, “You look so pretty wrapped around me, you know that? Fuck, you feel so good.”

You were gripping at his back as he split you open, your vision coming in and out as he rubbed at your overstimulated clit and repeatedly slammed into you. Your name was tumbling from his lips in grunts, only tightening the coil in your stomach as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. You could feel the heat swirling inside you as he rammed himself into you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Quinn, I’m going to- I’m gonna,” You stuttered as he worked himself deeper, harder.

“I know, baby. Let go,” He whispered your name like it was holy and just, “Come all over my cock, pretty girl.”

His words sent you flying over the edge, your third orgasm of the night sending you into a fit of unmistakable pleasure. Waves of contractions washed over your body as Quinn fucked you through your orgasm, his own crashing over him not too far after. His thrusts became sloppy and slow as he came inside of you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck as he let out stifled moans against the skin.

You’re not sure how long you clung to each other with him still inside you, sounds of your heavy breathing replacing the previous moans that were probably still echoing somewhere in your apartment. However, what felt like hours but was probably not even five minutes later, Quinn pulled himself out of you, guiding your still shaking leg back down and keeping your body upright.

“Time to get cleaned up, yeah,” He teased, his thumb and forefinger coming up to grab your chin.

“Good thing we’re already in the shower,” You bantered back, eyelids slowly drooping courteous of the man in front of you.

You lazily pulled Quinn back into your hold, meeting his lips for yet another searing kiss. Yet this time, there was no desperation. There was no hunger. There was only love, and hope. Hope that, despite the damage that has been caused, the two of you will return to the best version of yourselves and let yourselves be happy without worry or fear.

again, please let me know if you see any mistakes. and let me know what you think! xoxox

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes smut

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ssavaart · 3 months

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hi mr. Scott! i just wanted to say, your art has been so influential on me, and impacted me in such amazing ways. not even with just your art. your words, and making your videos accessible to people like me (i have auditory processing disorder, and you were the first artist i found that had captions on their videos that weren't blocked by headers) *and* you made videos on something i love? it was a goldmine. the way you talk about art, with it so passionately, it's beautiful, especially seeing your journey. You've encouraged me so much to keep painting, and I submitted a painting to a podcast i like a lot and it got featured! (

) My art style has still changed drastically since I made this (this was last November), and I'm still improving because I keep finding the inspiration to paint and draw from you. I really can't express this into words, but that's what I've been trying to do, to express my gratitude. There's also the fact that you are autistic like me, and I feel hope looking up to you seeing that we are allowed to be happy and successful. Anyways, sorry for my ramblings, and have a good day/night

~sen

Oh. This really means the world to me.

Thank you so much for this! ♥

Truly. Your art is beautiful!

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

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squoxle · 6 months

Text

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ~ 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐟 (𝟏𝟖+)

👑 pairing: 25yr!little sister's bf!heeseung x 22yr!older sister!reader

👑summary: you're crushing hard on your little sister's boyfriend, but things really take a turn when he shows interest. req by: @hoyeonheeseung

👑 cw: 🔞MDNI!!corruption, oral (m. and f. receiving), penetration, kissing, swearing, drinking, drunk sex, unprotected sex, slight degrading, noncon/dubcon, sexual themes, cheating, college au, hee’s a big ole hoe and so are you [feat. Jake~Brother | Jay*EN- | Sunghoon*EN- | Kazuha*LESF | Yunjin*LESF | Lucy*Weki Meki | Keeho*P1H] 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤／𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖❤️‍🔥

👑wc: 6.5k

You were scrolling through Instagram when you saw a new post on your younger sister's story.

The caption read, "ladies! it's officially cuffing season!" There was a little red heart on the photo of her and her boyfriend holding hands. You also noticed that she was wearing a small gold chain with the letter 'H'. You knew she had been talking about some guy she was interested in, but she never told you who he was, claiming that you were "too judgy."

You still responded to her story, as if the two of you didn't literally live together.

“OMG! Did the cops finally find your stash? Am I gonna have to bail you out?!" you replied, teasing her about this so-called 'cuffing' season. You didn't expect her to respond as she was obviously busy with some dude.

Later that night when your sister came home. "Hey, Chloe." "Hey. I'm gonna go take a quick shower and we can talk when I'm finished ok?" "Okay." After her shower, that was everything but quick, she started to tell you about her day before crashing mid-story.

From what you gathered, Mr. H is super cute and funny, but he asked her to be his girlfriend in the most corny high-school musical, Troy and Gabriella way ever. Basically, he told her to close her eyes and he put the necklace on her. Then he said this cringy-ass line, "Whenever you see this I want you to remember that you're mine." When your sister told you this you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

*Okay, maybe I am a little judgy* you thought to yourself.

The next day when your sister woke up, she arranged for you to meet her new boyfriend. "Hey, Jake is probably gonna be there too." "What is Jake gonna be doing there?" "Well, they're friends soooo." "Wait what?! You didn't tell me that." "Really, I thought I did. Sorry." "Eww. So you're like the little sister who dates her brother's best friend." "It is so not like that," Chloe chuckled.

You and Chloe drove to Token Town, an arcade/bar about 20 miles from where you live. "Sooo how did you two meet again?" you asked as you walked through the automatic sliding doors. "Ugh. I told you a million times already." "I don't care. Tell me again."

The mix of music and arcade noises made it difficult to hear so you were both kinda shouting, rather than talking.

"You remember when I cracked my phone screen a few months ago?" "Yea. What about it?" "Well, he was the one who fixed it for me." "So I guess the price was being his girlfriend huh?" "No," Chloe giggled. "Then what?" "I went to Apple to get it fixed, but my warranty had expired and he overheard my conversation. You already know I was not trying to pay for a broken screen. Anyways, he was there to pick up some new air pods and that's when he offered to fix my screen for me. He said he used to work for Apple." "So you're telling me that you let some random ass stranger play operation with your phone." "Well, I trusted him." "I know damn well I wouldn't have. I don't care how cute he is."

The two of you laughed before Chloe pulled out her phone to text him. "He said he's over by table 11." "Okay."

You headed over to table 11 to find Jake and your sister's boyfriend. You felt like you had seen him somewhere before, but you weren't sure exactly where. "Hi. I'm Heeseung," he said with a slight wave.

For some reason, when he said that you immediately remembered where you knew him from.

Two months ago, you were shopping at the Korean store to pick out some snacks for you and Chloe to share. Unfortunately for you, the store had been rearranged so it was a little harder to find what you wanted.

As you scanned the aisle for Pockys you spotted them on the top shelf. You weren’t one to ask for help so you desperately wiggled your fingers trying to knock down the desired box. You managed to knock down the matcha flavored pack, after hopping a bit, but you still needed the strawberry and chocolate flavors. You and Chloe like to mix them together and pull out random flavors. You barely nudged the strawberry box down and it fell on your head.

*Ouch*

*Two down, one more to go* you sighed to yourself.

As you reached for the final box you felt a hand graze yours. “Here. Let me help you,” a gentle voice said from behind. “Thanks. They changed the store around and I was trying to get them by myself. But I—“ You turned to face the man standing behind you. His looks alone caused your train of thought to completely derail. “That’s a lot of snacks,” he smiled looking down into your basket filled with different flavors of ramune, milk, and now Pockys. “Are you planning for a zombie apocalypse or something?” “No, it’s actually for me and my sister. We both have a major sweet tooth.” “Oh really? You must love Choco-Pies then huh.” "Hmm. I've actually never had those before." "Well, you should definitely try them," the man said before walking down the aisle and grabbing a red pack from the shelf. "Here," he said placing the 'Choco-Pies' in your basket. "You'll thank me later," he winked.

To your surprise, the two of you finished your shopping together. In fact, the man even paid for the Choco-Pies at the register--he said he was paying just in case you didn't like it, you didn't waste any money. "It was really nice talking to you. Maybe we'll meet again sometime." "Yea, or maybe not." "Hmm true. Well, just in case we ever do, my name's Heeseung."

You snapped back into reality at the sound of your brother's laugh. Jake's goofy laugh was like his superpower. It had a habit of zapping your thoughts away.

"So, all this time when you were talking about a girl, you were talking about my sister?" Jake laughed. Chloe playfully pushed his arm. "Sorry, but I can't say this is what I was expecting when you said I'd be meeting your girlfriend. I've known her my whole damn life and cute and sweet are the LAST words I'd use to describe HER," Jake burst into laughter again. "Would you just shut the hell up already," Chloe said, rolling her eyes. "Okay okay," Jake said catching his breath.

You were too stunned to even speak. You couldn't believe that the guy you had been fantasizing about for weeks was standing right in front of you...with his girlfriend...your sister. You had told your sister about the encounter before, but you didn't tell her his name. You knew that she'd tease you about it till the day you die, but she teased you anyway. She named him your "Choco-Stalker."

After about an hour, you and Chloe went back home. You could hear her talking on the phone with Heeseung, but what you couldn't stop thinking about was if he remembered you. It was a little over two months ago, but maybe he recognized you too...

It didn't matter anyway, he was dating your sister now. You knew all feelings for him had to go.

[December 18th ~ the day before the Xmas party on Saturday...]

You and a few friends decided to have an Xmas party this year because some of you were graduating and others just wanted to have a good time. You chose to host it at Sunghoon's house since he had the most space and the perfect environment for a little get-together.

You were busy hanging decorative garlands and other hanging decorations with Sunghoon, while Jake and Lucy decorated the tables. Chloe and Heeseung were in charge of the balloons, while Jay and Keeho were out ordering food and snacks for tomorrow.

"Guys, I am so excited for this party tomorrow," Lucy said as she placed a snowman figure in the center of one of her tables. "Yea, I don't know why we haven't done this before," Jake added.

"I kinda wish it wasn't at a time when some of us would be leaving though," Heeseung chimed in. "Ehh it's alright. It's not like we're all gonna disappear out of each other's lives just because we get a silly little diploma," Sunghoon said as he fastened the tie on the garland hook. "Yea, that's true, but still...life is gonna change for some of us," Heeseung sighed.

"Hey hey hey! Positive vibes guys. This should be fun. Let's just enjoy the moment we have together," Jake smiled. "Yea, you're right man. Let's make this a night to remember," Heeseung smiled back.

"What are you two gays smiling about?" Keeho laughed as he walked through the door. "Oh nothing. I was just spreading positive vibes as usual,” Jake smiled. “Well we successfully ordered all of the snacks so we can pig out like the sloppy fat asses we are tomorrow,” Keeho continued. “Oh and guess who I brought with me?” He smiled. “Umm…Jay?” Sunghoon asked. “No.” “Soobin?” Jake asked. “No. Stop guessing guys,” Keeho chuckled. “Oh I know. You picked up Zuha didn’t you?” You guessed judging by the grin on his face. “Yup,” Keeho huffed. “Come on in Babe,” Keeho said as Kazuha jumped from behind the door.

They were always so goofy together. Their relationship resembled Joker and Harley Quinn…as in when they weren’t throwing around sassy jokes they were shoving tongues down each other’s throats in the most violently aggressive way ever. Which is exactly what they did that following night.

[December 19th ~ the day of the Xmas party...]

It was around 8pm when everybody finally arrived. You guys had finished decorating the night before and picked up the food the Jay and Keeho ordered yesterday. Everything was perfect, exactly the way you envisioned it.

Sunghoon prepared everyone a special Gingerbread Martini, which was perfect for the occasion. “Woah! This is really good! What is it!” Jake’s face lit up as he took his first sip. “It’s a Gingerbread Martini,” Sunghoon giggled. “It literally tastes like a cookie with rum in it,” Yunjin said licking the froth from her lips. After hearing the comments made, you were very excited to try the concoction. Just like they said, it tasted like a spiked gingerbread cookie. All of the right flavors and a balanced sweetness. It was perfect.

“Okay, party people. It’s time to hand out gifts,” Kazuha clapped, getting everyone’s attention.

Everyone gathered in the living room. Some sat on the floor, others on the couch, and some decided to either stand or brace their bodies against any surface strong enough to support their body weight.

"Hey! I wanna go first," Jake said excitedly. He started by giving everyone a Christmas card filled with $20. Next, Sunghoon passed out his gifts. Everyone got a Christmas keychain with the year attached to it. "Damn, bro. You were being stingy as fuck this year," Keeho hissed. "Merry Christmas to you too asshole," Sunghoon scoffed back. "I actually bought other gifts for everyone, but I want to give them to you on Christmas Day," he continued. "Sure you do," Keeho rolled his eyes. "Guys. Guys. Relax. This is supposed to be fun," Yunjin pouted. "Yea you're right," Sunghoon muttered before they both apologized in unison.

"Okay, now it's my turn," Kazuha sang. She handed everyone little boxes. Gold for the guys and red for the girls. "Woah. What the hell is this?" Chloe gasped. "Well. I bought everyone something special in case they wanna jingle some bells and deck the halls," Kazuha winked. "You're so kinky Zuha," Yunjin giggled. Inside the girls' boxes was a decorative thong, a 'morning-after' pill, and a mini vibrator. The boys had three condoms--Kazuha said it was for a full day of fucking, sex dice, fuzzy handcuffs, and a black satin cloth.

"Who the hell am I supposed to use this with?" You laughed. "Doesn't matter," Kazuha smirked. "Get yourself a winter fling--" "Or we could always just have one big orgy," Keeho cut her off. "Nah bro what the fuck?" Jay spat. "Come on. Think about it, man. It would be kinda hot." Everyone started to engage in a conversation about this imaginary orgy. A few questions were who would ride the best and how many times could someone get off before they passed out. And this went on for about an hour before you moved on to the next party activity, making ugly sweaters.

Everyone was busy creating the ugliest sweaters possible. Even though they would only be worn once, it was still a fun tradition. Of course Heeseung and Chloe were making one for each other. But for some odd reason, Heeseung kept looking at you. And this didn’t feel like the type of looking like “oh I’m just staring off into space which just so happens to be in your direction” it was more like the “yea I’m with your sister, but I’d rather be doing this with you.” Well it didn’t seem that way at first, but after what happened on New Year’s…that’s the only thing it could’ve meant.

[December 31 ~ New Year’s Party…]

After the success of the Xmas party, Sunghoon wanted to throw another party to bring in the new year. Just like last time, he made another special drink. However, he was a little heavier on the alcohol.

Unlike the last party, you all just huddled up around the TV and watched the New Year's countdown. Surprisingly, Kazuha was the first one to fall asleep. It wasn't until around 2 a.m. that everyone else crashed. You were the only one awake, or so you thought.

You went to the guest room down the hall, just to relax away from everybody. Yes, these were your friends, but you just wanted a little time alone.

❤️‍🔥: You climbed onto the guest bed and slid your panties to the side. You never would've thought that Kazuha's little Xmas gift would be so useful. You spread your legs and pushed the tip of the vibrator into your pussy. You spat a bit of saliva onto your fingers before reaching them down to stimulate your clit. You knew this was bad, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get Heesueng out of your mind. You increased the intensity of the little toy, while you continued to rub your clit. You were reaching your climax as you started to softly moan Heeseung's name. Your eyes had been closed this whole time so you didn't notice that someone else had entered the room.

"OH MY GOD!" you gasped, covering your dipping wet pussy with your dress. Heeseung had been watching you masturbate while moaning his name for who knows how long. "Sorry, I thought everyone was asleep," you said as your face burned with embarrassment. "How long have you been standing there?" "A while," Heeseung said as he looked down to see your hands desperately hugging the hem of your dress in an attempt to hide yourself. He walked closer to you and climbed onto the bed, between your legs. He gently moved your hands, revealing your throbbing cunt.

He began to kiss your inner thighs, "I know you want this," he whispered against your wet folds. He then started to lick and suck the juices from your sloppy pussy. "I heard the way you were moaning my name earlier. I want you to do it again." You were taken aback by his words, but instead of saying his name you stuttered. "Say it now," he said as he shoved two of his fingers into your pussy. You softly moaned his name as he jerked his fingers back and forth. "Say it louder." "What if someone hears us?" "I said say it louder," he growled as he started to finger your pussy harder and faster. You started to moan his name a little louder as he kept up a good pace. "Good girl," he smiled which made you melt in his hands. As you reached your climax, you grabbed his hair in your hands and started to ride his face causing you to cum in his mouth. :❤️‍🔥

You fell asleep almost right after you finished, and the last thing you remember is Heeseung kissing you on the lips before leaving the room. The next morning you woke up, you weren't sure if that was real or just one wild-ass wet dream, but what you did know was that it felt pretty damn good.

[January 4 ~ Trip to the mall with a few friends...]

You were at the mall just hanging out with Jay, Yunjin, Sunghoon, your sister, and her boyfriend--who you hadn't been able to stop thinking about since that night. You still weren't 100 percent sure if that really happened, but he had been looking at you a little weird lately. Chloe insisted on dress shopping because she just wanted something to replace one of her old dresses.

Chloe and Yunjin were busy in the dressing room trying on clothes and Jay and Sunghoon were looking for snacks. It was just you and Heeseung...completely alone.

"Umm, Heeseung?" "Yea?" "Do you remember the New Year's party?" "Yea, why? You wanna do it again?" His response surprised the hell out of you. Here you were trying to sort fantasy from reality and he just confirmed all of your doubts.

"I-I-" Heeseung cut you off with a kiss on the cheek. "Maybe some other time," he winked before Chloe skipped out of the changing room with Yunjin.

"Well, that was a total waste of my time. All of these dresses either make me look fat or make me feel bad for the poor girl who would actually buy it," Chloe said as she placed the stack of dresses on the empty countertop. "Welp, I guess we should go catch up with the boys," Yunjin suggested before you all started walking to the food court.

Sunghoon and Jay were busy talking at a table when you guys found them.

“Hey guys,” Jay waved. “We’re just waiting for the pizza to come out,” Sunghoon added. “Ohhhh yes! What kind did you get?” Yunjin and Chloe asked in unison. An intense love for pizza was one thing those two had in common. Other than that, they were polar opposites.

“Well we got one meat lovers, one veggie, and one cheese,” Jay smiled admiring their excitement. “Heh, if I was a spoiled pizza princess I would’ve had you thrown in a cell for ordering a naked pizza,” Yunjin smirked. “Oh come on. Cheese pizza is good,” Jay giggled. “The only living being that I can think of that would genuinely enjoy a cheese pizza would be a mouse,” Yunjin continued as she sat in a chair beside Jay. “Well you were never really the best at thinking anyways,” Jay smirked. “The pizza princess of beauty and no brains,” Jay teased. “Heh well then you can be my cheesy jester. You’d make a pretty clown,” Yunjin teased back.

“Number 257. Order number 257 is ready,” a voice said over the intercom, cutting off their odd flirting session. “I’ll go get it,” Heeseung said before standing. “Do you need any help?” Sunghoon asked. “I kinda wanna get away from these royal pains anyways,” he continued. “Uhh, yea sure. You can carry the drinks while Y/N gets some napkins and toppings.”

You followed Heeseung and Sunghoon to the counter. Heeseung grabbed the three pizza boxes and Sunghoon picked up the 2 liters of Orange Soda. The three of you started walking back when Sunghoon suddenly stopped. "What?" Heeseung asked. "I forgot to grab some cups and straws. You guys can keep going without me. I'll catch up," Sunghoon hissed before walking back to the pizza booth.

Heeseung paused to watch as Sunghoon walked back to the counter for the additional items. You took this moment to stare at him. Heeseung just had this look about him that made you want him more, even though you knew being with him would break your sister's heart. You looked at his perfectly pouty lips and thought back to the way that they were pressed up against your wet pussy. Now that you knew it really happened you couldn't help but to think of him sexually.

"I told you guys you didn't have to wait for me," Sunghoon said with a shy look on his face. "Yea, I know. But I really didn't mind," Heeseung replied. "Ok, well, I also got us some plates. The lady behind the counter just put the cups and plates in a bag together. That made it a lot easier to carry," Sunghoon chuckled.

"Huzzah! The pizza hath arrived," Yunjin cheered upon seeing the three of you approach the table. You watched as Chloe mouthed the words "Help me," but she didn't realize that Jay was watching. He exploded into laughter and Yunjin whipped to face him. "What art thou laughing at, Jester? I don't remember making a joke," Yunjin was in full-on character, she was even attempting a British accent which threw you completely off.

Yunjin continued her princess persona for the rest of the time you guys were at the mall and you all eventually decided to play along. Chloe was her sister--the princess, Heeseung was the prince, Sunghoon was the knight, and you were a female knight. Jay was still shocked that he was the jester. He even made a joke about it.

"So I guess the princess is fucking the jester on the side huh?" "What?" "I'm just saying. It's pretty obvious that you have a thing for me," Jay smirked. "As if," Yunjin rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know you want me," Jay chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, spinning in a circle. "Put me down you clown," Yunjin laughed as Jay nuzzled his head in her shoulder.

Ever since what happened on New Year's, Heeseung continued to make advances on you--which you didn't entirely reject. However, the farthest you've gotten was a deep tongue kiss with a little boob fondling. It was hard sneaking around with your sister's boyfriend when they almost always hung out with each other.

[February 11 ~ Three days before Valentine's Day...]

With Valentine's Day around the corner, you expected Heeseung to take your sister out for the whole day, but instead, he decided to hang out at your shared apartment. "Are you excited for our special day?" Heeseung asked lying on Chloe's thighs. "Yea, what do you plan on doing?" She asked, twirling her fingers through his hair. "Hmm. I was thinking maybe we should go on a picnic. What do you think?" "I love that idea," Chloe smiled. "Yea a little picnic and then we can go back to my place," Heeseung added. You watched as Chloe's expression changed. "Uhh or we could just come back here," she suggested. "Oh...umm ok. Yea, we can do that instead," Heeseung chuckled awkwardly.

Though he was still lying on her lap, you could tell that the energy in the room had changed.

*I would've never passed up on a chance to go to his house after a date...especially as his girlfriend* you thought to yourself. *I should've taken advantage of seeing him again* you thought back to how you saw Heeseung multiple times after the two of you met, but you were too scared to talk to him so you never even attempted approaching him. You kind of hoped that you'd cross paths again...well when he's not in a relationship with your little fucking sister.

[February 14 ~ Valentine's Day...]

Heeseung showed up around noon to pick your sister up for their picnic date. You helped her choose an outfit the night before. Something cute and red. You watched as she excitedly walked out of the door holding Heeseung's hand.

They had been out for an hour before you finally got bored and decided to have a little fun by yourself, but before you could start anything, you heard your sister unlock the door. "Dammit," you swore under your breath.

You left your room to ask her about her date. "Hey, Chloe. How was your..." Chloe stormed right past you and went into her room, slamming the door behind her. Heeseung was left behind standing in the door frame. "What happened?" You asked. "Nothing...couple stuff," He sighed, rubbing his forehead. You invited him in to sit on the couch. A few minutes later Chloe came back out of her room. "I'm going out with Yunjin and Zuha. I'll be back before midnight. Don't wait up for me," she said before closing the door behind her.

"You should probably go too," you said to Heeseung, even though you'd much rather him stay around a little longer. "Hmm yea, I guess. Unless you want me to stick around." "No that's okay." "You sure? I promise to make it worth your time," He said as he placed a hand on your thigh. "You're dating my sister Heeseung. I can't be doing this," you said pushing his hand away. "You weren't thinking that when you were moaning my name," He said reaching to palm your pussy which was now throbbing with excitement. "Well I-" "Think of this like a Valentine's gift to you," he continued, smoothing his pants around the bulge in his jeans.

Though it just started as you straddling his lap while the two of you kissed, it wasn't long before dry humping his dick turned to you getting on your knees between his legs.

❤️‍🔥: You looked up into his doe eyes and watched as he pulled out his hard pulsating dick. You slowly wrapped your lips around him, adjusting yourself to his size. "Mmm fuck," He groaned as you began to suck on his dick, coating it in your saliva. You used your hands to assist by jerking the remaining length of his shaft while focusing on the tip with your lips and tongue.

The warm and moist enclosure of your mouth sent pleasurable sensations throughout his body. You watched as his hands gripped the couch while you sat between his legs, satisfying him with your hands and mouth. He struggled to maintain eye contact with you as he repeatedly threw his head back. The texture of your tongue stimulated him, causing him to start slowly grinding against your face. You could hear through his desperate stifled moans that he was craving more. Within seconds, Heeseung grabbed a handful of your hair as he forced himself down your throat.

You felt him fucking your throat as you struggled for air. The constant speed and lack of oxygen made you feel like his personal sex doll. You gripped onto his thigh as he thrust himself into your mouth. Finally, he pulled your head back. You breathlessly fought to fill your lungs with air while he maintained a firm grip on your head. Saliva seeped from the corner of your mouth that hung open from being fucked so viciously.

Still, driven by your own desire to be force fucked more you licked the tip of his dick, tasting the salty pre cum that dipped from him.

"You want more?" Heeseung asked in a husky voice, to which you responded by sucking on the tip. "You're such a fucking slut for me," he grinned before slamming your face on his cock again. Tears ran down your cheeks as he fucked you harder. You moaned as he pumped himself in your throat, sending vibrations down his length. "Fuck baby, we gotta start doing this more often," he said breathlessly. You felt his dick throbbing in your mouth as he filled your throat with his hot, sticky load. You swallowed it so quickly that it caused you to hiccup which made Heeseung smile. "You're so cute," he said kissing your lips. :❤️‍🔥

As badly as you wanted to do more you knew he had to get going. It had already been over an hour and you knew Chloe would be coming home soon and the last thing she needed to see was you alone with her boyfriend.

"Yea, I understand," Heeseung said as he stood in the door frame. "Don't forget to call me if you need me," he added. "What if my sister is home?" "We can meet up somewhere else," he chuckled before closing the door behind him.

At this point, you were dripping wet and needed to relieve yourself at least once before going to bed. Heeseung had left his plaid hoodie on the couch which you took to your room. You slid it over your head to fill your nose with his irresistible scent. You continued to pleasure yourself while thinking back to sitting between his legs. There was something about the way his voice sounded that turned you on. Remembering the sight of him gripping the couch while he threw his head back and moaned in pleasure to your touch sent you over the edge as you came in your bed. After you finished, you stuffed his hoodie under your pillow before going to sleep.

[March 15 ~ Chloe's 21 Birthday...]

Though you wanted to call Heeseung, you refrained from doing so. You hated the feeling of doing this behind your sister's back. You knew she'd be heartbroken if she found out. So, you hadn't spoken to him since that day. Anytime it felt like the two of you would be left alone, you went and found something else to do or somewhere else to go.

"Happy Birthday, Chloe!" your friends and family shouted in unison. Your friends had put together a surprise party for Chloe at Sunghoon's house. Recently, his house had become the perfect spot for parties and he was more than happy to share his place for fun.

Your parents only stuck around for about an hour. They gave Chloe her present and waited around to sing 'Happy Birthday' and get a slice of cake.

Since it was her 21st birthday, you guys had also planned to go clubbing. She was now old enough to drink legally, so this was the perfect opportunity.

After opening gifts, you and your friends took her to The Bleu Lagoon, a popular club uptown.

"I'm paying for the birthday girl!" Kazuha cheered as you all lined up at the bar. "I thought you didn't bring your wallet," Keeho asked. "Yea, by me I meant you," Kazuha laughed.

"Party of 10," You heard Jay say to the bartender. Your brother Jake, brought along his girlfriend Bella, mainly to babysit Chloe. Even though she was of age now, he was still concerned about her safety.

After about 3 rounds of tequila shots, Keeho and Kazuha went off to dance with Jay and Yunjin. "If she wants anything else, just put it on my card," Keeho said to the bartender before walking off. Bella was busy chatting and sharing a plate of nachos with Jake because they decided to stay sober to drive everyone else home.

"Shut the fuck up Heeseung! I don't want to hear anything you have to say! I'm not gonna let you ruin my fucking birthday!" Chloe shouted before stumbling away. "What was that all about?" you asked Heeseung who sat there blankly sipping from his beer. "Hell if I know," he shrugged. You climbed off the barstool and followed Chloe to the bathroom. The music was so loud it was hard to hear exactly why the argument started, but you knew you had to at least check on your sister to see if she was ok.

You walked into the bathroom and saw your sister crying in front of the mirror. "Hey, what happened?" "Nothing...Heeseung can just be such a stupid little fucker sometimes," she sniffed. "Did he say something?" "No, but I think he's talking to someone else."

You felt your insides cringe at her words. "What makes you think that?" "Because...he hasn't been the same for a while. The guy I met was nothing like this. He loved me and only me. But now I always feel like he's sneaking around or waiting for some kind of opportunity to fuck some bitch behind my back."

All those tucked-away feelings of guilt were resurfacing now. This is exactly why you never wanted to mess with him in the first place. Now, here you were, hugging your sister who was crying about her boyfriend who she suspected of cheating. The worst part was that he was cheating on her and you knew it...because he was cheating on her...with you.

"I just wanna go home now." "You sure?" "Well, I can wait around for everyone else to finish, but I don't want to sit with him. He's just gonna piss me the fuck off."

You walked with Chloe out of the bathroom and went to a booth seat. You ordered her another drink, which she barely touched. After a few minutes, you noticed that she had fallen asleep, so you took her cup back to the bartender and told Jake where she was. He and Bella moved over to sit at the booth to watch her while you stepped outside.

"I'll be back, I just need to go clear my head," You told Jake before walking out.

You went to the roof of the establishment. There it was quiet. Nothing but stars surrounded you. *How could I do this to my sister? I'm such a piece of shit* you thought to yourself. *She'd never have done something like that to me*

You leaned over the edge of the building, looking at the peaceful cityscape when a body trapped you in place.

"What the fuck?! Get off of me!!" You shouted, trying to push the body off of you. The man pushed your face down, stopping you from moving anything more than your legs. You tried to kick the man away, but it was of no use as he pushed himself against you. You tried to scream for help, but the pressure on your chest silenced you. You felt the cool breeze as the man lifted your dress to expose your ass.

Again you tried to push him away, but it was useless as he was much stronger than you. He wriggled your panties down as he jammed his fingers inside. You hated the way your body was betraying you by reacting to his actions. The second he pulled his fingers out you turned to face your assaulter, Heeseung.

"Heeseung! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you shouted slapping him in the face. "I need you, Y/N. I need you so badly," he whined. You could tell that he was pretty drunk as the smell of alcohol tainted his breath. "No. You're my sister's boyfriend and I don't want to keep doing this with you," you spat pushing him away from you. "I don't care about her. I want you," his words slurred together like a cocktail while his eyes remained fixated on you. "You're a drunk fucking mess, Heeseung. I'm gonna go get Sunghoon to take you home," you said as you walked toward the rooftop exit. "No!" Heeseung shouted, grabbing your arm. "Let go of me, Heeseung. I don't want to be with you. Understand?" You struggled to tear away from his grip, but he wasn't letting go.

❤️‍🔥: Heeseung pinned you up against the brick wall and quickly pulled out his dick and forced it into your pussy. You gasped at the sharp pain of him stretching you open. "H-heeseung...st-stop," you pleaded as he stroked his length inside of you. "Fuck your pussy feels so good," he said as he continued to pump himself inside of you.

He reached around to rub your clit and kiss your neck. The sensation of overstimulation caused you to succumb to his advances. You knew this was wrong, but something inside of you still wanted him.

He felt your body relax as he pounded your pussy harder. "I know you missed me you little slut," he whispered in your ear. "You missed me fucking the shit out of you," he added. You didn't say a single word as he fucked your dripping cunt.

Heeseung pulled out of your pussy and turned your body to face him, lifting one of your legs to give him a better shot of your aching hole. He eased his rock-hard member back into your wetness as he pulled you in for a deep, sloppy kiss. The two of you stayed connected by the trail of saliva and your lustful desires. You felt as though you were getting drunk from the alcohol on his lips.

Heeseung moved down to caress your breasts as he kissed your neck. You could feel him getting closer as his dick throbbed harder into your tight cunt. He gripped your ass as he spilled his seed into you, fucking you harder than ever before. "Now, it's your turn," he groaned as he dropped down to his knees.

He inserted his fingers into your pussy that oozed with his cum. Jamming them in and curling to stimulate your g-spot, Heeseung licked and sucked on your beady clit. Your leg was now over his shoulder as you grabbed his head and started to grind against his face. "That's it, baby. I want you to cum all over my face," He moaned between your legs. Hearing this sent you over the edge. You began to jerk yourself against his lips as you reached your climax and went into a shaking orgasm. Your juices flowed all over his fingers and mouth. He rose to his feet and your quivering body fell into his embrace. :❤️‍🔥

"Now let's you cleaned up before we go home," Heeseung said as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

The two of you left through the rooftop exit and went to the bathroom to clean up. A combination of his cum and your own wetness was still running down your leg.

You headed back to the club as if nothing happened.

Jake and Bella took everyone home, including Heeseung, who helped walk Chloe to her bedroom.

"If you fuck around a little more, you know where to find me," he said before heading to the living room. He slept on the couch and you slept in your bed, but you couldn't stop thinking about what happened on that rooftop. You had just started to get him out of your head and then you couldn't get him out of your pussy...which you didn't totally hate.

What were you supposed to do now?

About a month after her birthday, you overheard them having an argument. However, this definitely wasn't the first time you heard them fighting, the sparks between them had blown out a while ago. Apparently, they had been having problems since Valentine's Day and she'd had enough. So they broke up. You couldn't help but feel slightly responsible for their sudden breakup, especially after learning that it was because of the lack of sex. Now you were faced with the decision to either continue fucking him on the side or completely move on. Dating your sister's ex was out of the question. You knew that she'd never forgive you for that.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@chlorinecake @hoyeonheeseung @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @nikisblkgf @wtfyangjungwon @fox-kimsunoo @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae

🎀𝔹𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤/𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞: @shen-oa @tezzy-lovez

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trainsinanime · 1 year

Text

I must once more ask fanfic writers to please stop apologising for your work. No "this may be bad" or "yeah sorry this sucks", especially not in the summary. Otherwise many people will go, "Okay, this seems interesting… but they already start by saying that it's bad, so I'll just scroll on to the next one".

More than that, it just puts me in a bad mood. When I read the title and tags and summary, I'm excited about your work! …until you tell me that you're not and I shouldn't be either. Talk about a let-down. And mind you, this is long before I ever read the first word of your story.

Okay, but what do you do if you really think your story might be bad, but you want to publish it anyway? My suggestion is lying. Just pretend it's a great story, worthy of being published. No apologies, just present it as if you were someone who is proud of what you wrote. You may feel like a fraud, but just give it a try.

The secret trick here is that many (all?) people who publish their works without apologies also feel like their work might not be good enough, and feel like frauds. Certainly if they don't have that many stories and/or are trying something completely new. You're not actually a fraud, you're just a normal beginner.

And the second secret trick here is that you are probably bad at telling whether your story is any good. You are the only one who can compare to the written text to the abstract jumble of ideas in your head. You know all the fun ideas you couldn't include because of three fun options, only one could go in there. You know the parts you didn't write because you didn't find the words. You know the clunky parts you had to write to connect the fun stuff. But nobody else knows any of this stuff. They just see the story as written on its own, and you may be surprised how much they like it. Give them that chance.

If you really absolutely feel like you have to, you can put something like, "first time writing fanfic" or "first time writing bank heist" or similar in the notes, but that's strictly optional. Just don't apologise. Let us be excited.

(Same thing applies to fan artists. But due to the way most sites show you the picture first and the caption second, it's a bit different there. It's actually kind of funny to see an incredibly gorgeous drawing, and then scroll on to see an apology for how bad it is underneath.)

#did I write a post like this before? probably #will I write it again once I've forgotten about this one? probably #fanfic

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Pit Babe Jeff x Alan & Kenta x Pete Colors Ep. 11

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

Disclaimer: I've been listening to Drake's "You Broke My Heart (Fuck My Ex)" on repeat for over two hours, so I'm *in* my feels, and all of them are salty.

Jeffrey, the red? Really?! Is it because you are looking at Barbie suffering and know the truth?! YOU KNOW, MOTHERF*CKER!

Love that Pete's side starts with the blue-est drink because he is a GOOD MAN, while Waymond's side begins with the non-blue side since he cannot pick a side in this color war!

Peter, I know you were a red, but I also notice you in that blue blazer, and the way you look at Waymond. I wish Waymond could see that no matter how much the red may linger, he NEEDS to make a choice. Be blue. Commit to it, Way Way.

Babe is back in black, Alan is blue, and Jeffrey is a LIAR!

"You broke my heart. I had my doubts about you from the start! I swear you're dead to me. Does Mercedes make a hearse? FUCK MY EX!"

All I'm getting out of this is Jeffrey and Charles have a dad and Decanus was the fall guy for this very-dumb-plan. I am not a Dean apologist, but I am very much on his side, without a doubt, no hesitation.

Alan Scale - 12/10. Why?! WHY?! It's not even the damn outfits. IT'S THE RED TUBE OF PRODUCT PLACEMENT Y'ALL ARE SHARING! Are y'all secret agents?! Do y'all have superpowers? What in the hell is y'alls deal?!

KIMBERLY! Not wearing red. I wouldn't either. Fuck them hoes. You're a free man now. I love you and I like you.

Alan, you have never done anything wrong (expect apologize to lying Jeffrey), and you using the blue tube of product placement is healing my soul. I love you. I like you. I respect you.

Pete in the blue shirt too! My holy trinity is coming through. Kimberly, Alan, and Peter, you are good men, and I have never doubted you. You three will save the day like the PowerPuff Girls. Sugar, Spice, and Chemical-X. Beat the hell out of Mojo Jojo Big Red. And in case it's not clear: Alan = Buttercup, Kim = Blossom, Pete = Bubbles

Kentana, why do you have spies at Bubbles' place?! You were spying on him in the woods, and y'all had that moment. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Jeffrey, in the blue. Better be telling Buttercup you're sorry for LYING and that you love him. You will never find a better man. NEVER!

Oh, are you telling him that?!

I think you are! There is pink!

Buttercup, these was cheesy af, and I'm disgusted at myself for smiling when the hearts connected.

POP OFF, SIR! Sex on the blue bed!

Sex in the blue shower!

Cuddles in the blue bathroom! Jeffrey is gonna be blue one way or another, even if Alan has to -redacted- it into him.

Big Red did wear red once?! Color me shocked, but who are these kids in the past? A blue kid and red kid? Which one are you, Kentana?

I love that the blue is *right* there next to Kentana, yet he stays in the black. He is a Black Brooder, but he is blue-adjacent, and I just do not understand why he can't be loyal to the blue instead of the red.

Oh, wait! Was that them as kids?! Pete, in his red pants, emerged from the blue (because he has always been a GOOD MAN!), but . . . that means Kentana was the little blue kid? Kentana, what made you go black? The abuse? The manipulation? You and Barbara are the same text, but different font, and I just need you to be better. Kiss Peter and let him heal you because this is the second time you have pushed him against a wall, and I think you want any excuse to be on him.

Waymond, I'm stressed over your ass. Color-coded boys in love get happy endings, and unlike Kentana who is color coded black and Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog who are just pure color chaos, you refuse to pick a damn color. And do you know what that means? No happy endings. You are paired with Peter, and he is trying with you, but it's episode 11 and you haven't solidified your color. Are you black? Are you blue? Are you red? Are you gonna kiss Peter because if not, Kentana sure looks like he will? ARE YOU GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING?!

Peter, always in the blue! ALWAYS! Give that blue to Waymond. Give that blue to Kentana. And kiss them! I cannot support Waymond and Kentana's wrongs if they don't kiss a boy (with consent, Waymond!)

KENTANA! In the dark, again. Pete is always coming from the blue, and you are always in the dark. SEE THE LIGHT, KENTANA!

Oh my god! The dark versus light. Y'all were best buddies since childhood. Quit your shit, Kentana. You are a good guy in there. I saw it in the beginning when you looked sad that Barbie was being hit, but I need you to act! I need you to do something, and I'm hoping it won't be sacrificing yourself. Kiss a man! Kiss Kimberly already! You and Waymond are scaring me!

OH SHIT!

Pete. Liked. It.

Waymond. Waymundo. Way. I thought you were supposed to be with Peter and Kimberly and Kentana would be the new Kardashians, but . . . are you going to be the sacrifice? You cannot settle on a color. You haven't kissed a man (with consent). You are drinking all the time. You were taking pills to cope with life. Kiss any man so I can know you are safe.

FUCK!

Way, please touch Whiny Winifred and convince him not to do shoot. Way, please do not take a bullet for Barbara to atone for your sins. Barbie can fix himself if he is shot. Way, please do not do this to me. Please. I'm begging you.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #the colors mean things #and they will guide me the whole way through #color coded boys in love #episode 11 #way is gonna do it #he is gonna break my heart to redeem to himself #It's because I like Nut that I cannot be rationale about this #I'm gonna be stressed all week

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givemea-dam-break · 3 months

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the calm before the storm

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ in which circumstances pull two souls apart

pairing: anthony lockwood x (fem) reader

a/n: the angst queen is back. no apologies. i was craving writing another luke castellan fic, but decided it was about time i came back to the hyperfixation that began about this time last year (happy one year lockwood and co!!) so surprise!!! i'm not sorry for this, just so you know. enjoy!

warnings: canon typical violence, descriptions of murder, angst (as always)

words: 4.7K

taglist: @irisesforyoureyes @neewtmas @wellgoslowly @waitingforthesunrise @oblivious-idiot @jesslockwood @magicandmaybe @gotlostinfiction @ettadear @locklylemybeloved @aayeroace @mischiefmanaged71 @mirrorballdickinson @ikeasupremacy

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

01. the calm

There was a certain kind of peace when it came to 35 Portland Row at night.

The way the fire flickered, casting the library in a golden-orange glow and filling it with cosy warmth. How the kitchen always smelled like whatever wonderful meal George had made earlier in the day. The sound of the crackling fire and pages brushing against each other and creaky floorboards. They all compiled together to make it feel like home.

(y/n) sat curled up on one of the library’s armchairs, nose buried in one of the aged books. A steaming cup of tea sat on the coffee table beside a pile of senseless magazines - Lockwood’s guilty pleasure. He was thumbing his way through one just at that moment, and the cover - an edited photo of Penelope Fittes and Steve Rotwell with a big, bold-lettered caption “Inside the minds of the most treasured people in Britain!” - told her everything she needed to know.

“That stuff is going to rot your brain,” she murmured, turning the page of her book. “I don’t know how you can stand reading that gossip.”

Lockwood, still looking at the magazine before him, shot her a sideways grin. “You just don’t appreciate today’s culture.”

A laugh bubbled from her lips. “I appreciate it plenty when I’m not under threat of death from ghosts. I mean, seriously. How many times can you read about what colour dress Penelope Fittes wore to a gala, or the stupid things all those snotty old rich people keep saying?”

“You have to admit, they’re a little bit funny.”

“It’s funny how stupid the things they say are.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes, dog-earing a page before closing the magazine and setting it down atop the already massive pile. His head tilted as he looked over at her, face cast in that same golden-orange hue that basked the room. He looked positively ethereal.

“I have read plenty of books, too, you know,” he said, still smiling. “I just don’t find them as interesting.”

Raising an eyebrow, (y/n) slipped her tattered bookmark between the pages of her book, balancing it on the arm of her chair. She twisted slightly so that she could look at him in the other armchair.

“Have you ever considered joining a gossip circle?” she asked. “You know, the kind where all those old women meet up in a cafe and have a little blether about their drama? You’d fit right in. Have half of them charmed within minutes.”

His smile changed, then, shifting into the exact kind she had imagined him using to get into a little gossip session. “You think so?”

She snorted, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. “Without a doubt. You’d have them convinced that, because Penelope wore a green dress to a gala and Steve Rotwell had a green tie, there is some kind of secret relationship between them. Secretly married, or some bosh like that.”

“Well,” Lockwood drawled, “just as well one of us has the skill of charm. If it were you doing interviews, we’d have no clients.”

She swept his magazine off the table and thwacked his arm with it. “If there was no one here to keep you alive, there’d be no business.”

He laughed then, and the sound was like music to her ears. If it was something she could bottle, she’d have a thousand vials of it collected. She could listen to him laugh all day, especially if she was the reason for such a beautiful sound.

With a playful kind of annoyance, she tossed the magazine back on the table. She might have imagined it, but Lockwood watched the movement with eagle-like attention, as if studying every move she made. Every face she pulled. The thought had her heart pounding a little faster.

“I wouldn’t be surprised by that idea, by the way.”

“What?” (y/n) tilted her head. “You being dead without me to save your ass? It’s a proven statement.”

Once more, he rolled his eyes. His smile would have buckled her knees had she been standing. “No. Penelope and Steve being secretly married. I’m going to cop that idea now. Just in case it’s true.”

“As long as I get the credit.”

“Always.”

02. before

“Another murder? Lockwood, do you ever think of broadening your horizons?”

Lockwood grinned, spreading out a few pages from different newspapers in front of him. “We seem to specialise in them. How many murdered ghosts have we successfully contained? Besides, the murderer of this one is unknown. I thought it’d be a fun challenge to see if we could figure out the perpetrator.”

“We have extremely different definitions of fun,” (y/n) grumbled, flipping open a folder full of dated documents. “Don’t you fancy something less… brutal? Someone who died of old age, maybe?”

“Boring,” he said, drawing out the vowels. “We’re Lockwood and Co! How else do we get in the papers without something like a murder?”

She watched the way his eyes seemed to gleam with a strange sort of joy and shook her head, holding back a smile. They most definitely had different definitions of fun.

“Maybe we can bake some really nice cakes,” she suggested. “Donate money to help stop homelessness? End world hunger?”

His smile then was so beautiful that it stole the breath from her lungs. “While those are wonderful suggestions - I do particularly like the thought of cakes - I think we can do much better by getting rid of some ghosts. Now! What have you found?”

They went on like that for a few more hours, passing taunts back and forth while noting down any points of interest from their research. Really, it would have been more beneficial to have George researching with them - he made sense of all the big, fancy words and mixed-up dates - but he was researching his own case with Lucy.

It was an interesting case, that much she had to give to Lockwood. A woman, named Fearne Watson, who had been killed in her home a mere four years prior, whose body was not found for another two days when her neighbour had come to drop off some food she had baked for her. Police had flooded the scene and all of the journalists from popular news sources managed to squeeze their way in, getting all the details they could wring out of anybody, including the poor neighbour. (y/n) could remember seeing a glimpse of it on the news, sitting in her mother’s living room, waiting for her father to come home from work. The body had been sealed in one of those black body bags. There was caution tape everywhere, tape that journalists and paparazzi seemed to ignore.

Her family had been interviewed, each of them grieving harder than the last. It was hard to read their heartfelt words. Her sister, who had practically raised her during their childhood while their single mother worked multiple jobs, was by far the most emotional. It was even worse seeing photos of her attendance at the funeral - her pure devastation at a private memorial being disrupted by paparazzi.

What had seemed like at least half of London’s population had ganged up on the press, after that. Some smaller companies were thrown out of business.

The biggest mystery of it all had been the murderer. Whoever had committed it had covered their tracks well: nobody had seen anyone in the home with the victim - though they had not been paying much attention, therefore it had been partially investigated - nor had they seen anybody leave. No weapon was left behind, which was no matter because, as it was later revealed, Fearne had not been killed with a weapon.

The autopsy reports had not been released to the public, but Lockwood’s charm and (y/n)’s bare-faced insistence managed to garner them the second-last piece to the puzzle.

“Hemlock poisoning,” (y/n) murmured. “What year are we in? 1623? Don’t people usually use, what, paracetamol nowadays?”

Lockwood’s eyes flitted over the document, trying to absorb as much information as possible. If DEPRAC found out they had weaselled their way into getting their hands on it, there would be trouble. They had a very limited amount of time with it.

“Would’ve been a painful death, I imagine,” he said. “It’s a paralytic - says here she died from suffocation. Her respiratory system was paralysed after her muscles seized, also paralysed.”

She shuddered, taking the sheet of paper when he offered it to her. It wasn’t long before she had to pass it back, insanely disturbed.

“You sure know how to pick a belter of a case,” she mumbled. “Next time, take George with you.”

He only smiled, more reassuring than anything else, and reached over, squeezing her hand. Sparks coursed through her veins at the touch, and she looked up at him, melting at the way he looked at her.

“We’ll be okay,” he promised. “We have each other.”

A smile curved her lips, and she squeezed his hand back. “Always.”

03. the storm

The chains were heavy in her hands, cold enough that the skin of her fingers and palms were beginning to hurt. The house itself was not cold quite yet, but iron had that effect.

Lockwood stared down at his thermometer before nodding. (y/n), gratefully, began laying down the chains in a circle, closing the ends in on each other. Lockwood set a lantern down in the centre but didn’t turn it on just yet.

“Eight degrees,” he said. “You ready?”

She pursed her lips, nodding.

“No sympathising with visitors this time,” he added, and while there was a smile curling his lips, she could feel the seriousness in his statement. She did have a history of it.

The house’s living room was large enough to fit two three-seater sofas, as well as a dining table tucked under the back window with six chairs. The walls were a dingy shade of beige. A large patterned rug, red as blood, covered a good portion of the dark wood floor. With a thumping heart, she knelt down and lifted up a small corner of the rug.

She took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow its beating. Nothing good would come from being in a panic. The slight tremor in her hands ceased. She was a well-versed agent, this was nothing! She had helped solve the mystery of Combe Carey Hall. She had solved dozens upon dozens of cases. One more murder was nothing.

But, as she pressed her hand flat against part of the floor, stained slightly darker than the rest, it became clear that she was wrong.

Time seemed to swell around her, spinning and spinning until she was crouched in a brighter version of the house. A version without the big rug and the dining table beneath the window. The walls were a beautiful shade of duck-egg blue. Photos hung in simple white frames, plants were dotted around the room in pots shaped like cats and hedgehogs and dinosaurs.

Music played softly, a song (y/n) recognised as one her mother used to listen to while she still lived at home. Someone was humming along.

A woman swept into view, one she recognised from the newspapers that did not do her beauty justice.

Fearne Watson’s auburn hair was swept over her shoulder in loose waves, glowing like fire in the sunlight. She had blue eyes that were ever-smiling, and her freckled cheeks were rosy. She was no older than twenty-five.

Another voice could be heard, feminine and soft. She was singing along to the song while Fearne mimicked the instruments. (y/n)’s parents had often done the same.

The second woman came into view, and (y/n) couldn’t help but smile. Her sister, Dahlia, brushed over, gently taking Fearne’s hands in hers. They spun for a few moments, dancing along to the song. When it ended, they laughed and laughed, sipping from delicate teacups.

“Mm! What kind of tea is this?” Fearne asked, smiling. “Tastes very floral. It’s not jasmine, is it?”

Dahlia smiled, too, watching her sister with soft eyes. “Something like that.”

A terrible feeling began to settle in (y/n)’s bones. The thoughts building in the back of her mind began to come to fruition, and as she watched, she could feel her blood running cold. There was a terrible, nauseous lump in her throat. The police had thought nobody had been home with Fearne.

Fearne’s hand brushed her throat lightly. There was a faint sheen on her brow. “Did you add parsley to this? It’s got a bit of a weird taste.”

Her sister merely shook her head. She had not drank any of her tea.

“Dal, this - this doesn’t taste right.”

Dahlia tilted her head just so slightly. She did not seem concerned. “Oh?”

It was then that it began. The drawn-out death.

Fearne’s skin took on a pale tint, coated in a layer of sweat. The teacup dropped from her hand, smashing on the hardwood floor. Dahlia swept it up, disposing of it in the bin beside the sofa. She watched her sister closely, bright eyes narrowed as Fearne’s limbs took on a rigid look. She slumped on the sofa, panic flaring in her eyes.

She was struggling to speak, lips coated in her own saliva. She managed one word. “Why?”

Dahlia did not respond to her question. “Hemlock tastes very similar to parsley,” she murmured, standing as her sister began shaking, trying to suck in as much air as she could. “It was a shame things ended like this.”

The question, Why? hung in the air, unanswered. But the glaring look in Dahlia’s eyes revealed truer feelings than she had expressed in interviews. She resented her sister. Wholly and irrevocably. Why exactly she hated her was left a mystery hidden by a cruel smile.

(y/n) was torn from the vision as Fearne’s face began to turn purple, her lungs failing. She was saved from the horror of watching her die.

Lockwood was crouched in front of her when the present world began to melt back around her, his copper-and-caramel eyes taking the place of the sofa Fearne’s body had slumped upon.

His hands were on her face, warm and calloused. “You okay?” he asked gently. “Need any water?”

She shook her head, goosebumps rising across the skin of her arms. “It was her sister.”

“What?” Lockwood frowned, hands slipping from her cheeks to rest on the skin between her shoulders and neck. His touch made her shiver. “The newspapers -”

“They got it wrong,” she said. There was a bitter taste in her mouth. “She - she put hemlock in their tea. She murdered her own sister. She lied to the journalists. I can’t even begin to understand -”

Her voice fell flat. In some space in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of Lockwood speaking, trying to draw her attention back to him, but all she could focus on were the whispers. The glow.

A few feet behind Lockwood, there was a faint shimmer in the air, akin to how heat shimmered above pavements in summer. But this was all wrong. This was the dead end of winter. This was inside a house, where that kind of heat didn’t appear anywhere but the oven. This shimmer was glowing.

At first, it was no more than that - a shimmer - but the features soon developed. Long auburn hair. Freckled cheeks. Down-turned eyes and a wide nose bridge.

“Fearne…”

Lockwood’s hands were on her face again, trying to get her to look at him. “What? (y/n), talk to me.”

Dahlia, said the apparition with such spite that (y/n) could taste it. Bitter and pungent and poisonous. Dahlia.

She sounded out the name as if speaking to a child and teaching them syllables. Her very voice, strained of air and yet still, somehow, melodic, had her frozen on the spot.

“Fearne,” she uttered again. She could not move.

Perhaps had she not felt such sympathy for their visitor's circumstance, she would not have found herself ghost-locked. Perhaps she would have been standing already, rapier in one hand and a salt bomb in the other, prepared to hold her off whilst Lockwood found her source. Or, no, really it would be the other way around - Lockwood would never let her fight a ghost on her own, his pride and needless urge to protect were a killer. So maybe she would have been searching for that source by now. Maybe she would have found it already.

But it felt as though her joints had locked up, preventing her from moving at all. Her eyes could focus only on the shape of Fearne Watson’s ghost and not Lockwood, who she would much rather have been looking at.

He seemed to realise then what was happening, standing as he spun around to face the ghost. His rapier was drawn in mere seconds, angled towards her purple, glowing face. Her teeth were bared in some gruesome excuse of a smile that creased her tear-stained cheeks.

“(y/n).” His voice was steely as he looked ahead at the ghost, hiding any of the fear she wasn’t entirely sure he ever felt so as to not empower the ghost. “I need you to find the source. Snap out of it.”

She couldn’t, not when Fearne’s voice whispered in her ears so painfully, so full of betrayal. Her sister’s name over and over and over again, tear-filled and sickening. All (y/n) wanted to do was wrap her arms around Fearne and promise her that things would be okay, that she would take her story back to the news with the revelation of her killer. Even if it was just her word against the world’s, supported by no evidence but her Talent, she would do it.

Then, Lockwood threw a salt bomb at Fearne’s face, dissolving her spectral form for a moment.

He turned back to (y/n), eyes uncharacteristically wild. “(y/n), go!”

And she did. She was on her feet again, heart thumping in her chest as Lockwood turned to follow the moving glow of Fearne Watson, slashing at her with his rapier whenever she came too close.

(y/n) grappled for anything that could be a source, feeling them in her hands for any signs. Ice cold. Traces of memories that she would be able to see or hear. Most were fruitless, just ghastly-looking vases and pretentious photo frames. What on earth would be the source if somebody else was living here now?

A thought came to the forefront of her mind, driving her back to the blood-red rug. She folded the corner over itself again and again until she reached somewhere near the middle, cringing at the wailing noises that came from the visitor. Salt exploded in the air, tangling in her hair and melting on her lips. With the miasma she had misunderstood as fear and sympathy, it was a horrible taste.

The dark floor was stained darker in one spot, splotchy and strangely shaped, exactly where the teacup had fallen in the vision. Fearne howled when (y/n)’s fingers brushed it.

“Hurry!�� Lockwood called, twisting his rapier in ways far too complicated for (y/n) to ever attempt. “I know what you’re thinking!”

And he likely did. She was unsure as to why Lockwood expected any different from her - to not feel even the slightest bit bad for these ghosts. Some had died so brutally, so heartbreakingly, that sometimes she doubted if he truly had a heart, despite the way she so often saw him looking at her.

This poor woman had been killed by her sister for nothing more than existing. She had died horribly, unable to move or breathe as her sister watched her struggle, ignoring the hemlock tea stain on the floor beneath her feet. She had remained at the site of her murder for years, with no escape from the memories of her death.

How could she not feel bad? How could she not wish for something more for ghosts like Fearne, more than a fight and another violent end, surrounded by the flames of the Fittes Furnaces?

The wailing disappeared for a moment, and all she could hear was Lockwood panting behind her. And the whispers. The whispers from the floorboard.

“Have you found the source?” he asked, his voice cool. She wasn’t sure when the last time he had used that tone on her was.

His answer was a resounding yes.

Fearne’s glowing apparition appeared in front of (y/n)’s face, her haunting smile and glassy eyes like a hand around her heart.

Dahlia, she murmured. A tear slipped down her purple cheek as one of her hands slowly reached upwards, towards (y/n)’s cheek. Her other hand neared the site of the source, from which she had just appeared. Dahlia.

(y/n) didn’t notice how cold her hand felt until the chill was gone, replaced by the weight of a silver net. All noise felt as though it had been sucked out of the room, replaced by a heavy silence.

Then came the angry breathing Lockwood so often resorted to when he could not bear to speak to George or Lucy when they had particularly annoyed him. But never had he done it because of (y/n). Never.

She turned her head, slipping her hand out from beneath the net, and met Lockwood’s gaze. His brows were drawn close over his shadowed eyes, lips curved downwards as his shoulders rose and fell with each deep, steadying breath he tried to take.

“We get rid of ghosts,” he said, voice tight. “We aren’t paid to sympathise with them.”

(y/n) stood slowly. “They deserve more than this.”

“They are ghosts.” His words were clipped now. “They deserve nothing.”

“She didn’t deserve to die.”

“And neither do we!”

He had raised his voice just so slightly, but, even still, it took her by shock. He slipped his rapier into his belt, pocketing his salt bombs, and stared angrily at her in a way he never had before.

“I let you off the first time something like this happened,” he said, “because you were new. I wanted to see how you worked, see how you processed these things. The second time, well, that was different - the ghost had no intention of doing anything but sitting sadly in a corner. The fifth time? Well, I suppose that, along with every other time you’ve pulled this, was because of my feelings for you. But you’ve put both of us at risk today, again. I won’t have it.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What? So you want me to go around with no feelings whatsoever and just get rid of all of these ghosts?”

He threw his arms into the air, exasperated. “Yes! That’s what I pay you to do!”

“Well, I won’t do it.” (y/n) bit the inside of her cheek. “Without the emotion, I wouldn’t be able to find the sources the way I do. I’m not going to be some emotionless paramount of an agent like you. And if you don’t want me to work that way, then I won’t. I'd rather leave than do that.”

“Then go.”

The words hung in the air, and (y/n) found herself immediately regretting hers. But Lockwood's certainty in his, they had her dead-set. If he was so blasé about her threat of leaving Lockwood and Co after all they had been through, all she had felt for him, then she would go.

She didn’t want to work in any way but hers. She had perfected her technique, used it on every case to support her findings. Sure, she sympathised with many of the ghosts; how could she not, when many were late children or murdered women or family members taken too soon? Telling her not to work that way, to not use the pain felt by the victims to help her bring them peace, was like trying to cut a piece out of her body. She’d kick and scream and stop it at any cost.

With a breath that constricted her chest, she clenched her fists. Pain flared up through her right hand and, when she looked down, she had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t making up the blue tinge her skin had taken on.

Lockwood seemed to notice it at that very moment, eyes widening as he stepped forward. His voice softened as he said, “(y/n), let me see -”

Taking a step back, she clutched her hand to her chest. “No.”

She said it with more force than she has ever used with him. It shocked her almost as much as it did him.

With her good hand shaking, she turned and strode out of the living room into the kitchen, where their kits were stashed.

DEPRAC’s main goal was to protect and provide for the agents that fought off visitors across the whole of Britain, and they had recently managed to get legislation approved for agents to carry adrenaline shots with them to cases. Far too many agents, most of them being barely teenagers, had died waiting for ambulances to provide the shots after being ghost-touched, especially when working in remote areas. DEPRAC wanted to reduce fatalities as much as possible.

So she reached into Lockwood’s bag - legislation had only been approved with the compromise that supervisors or business owners carried adrenaline shots with them, rather than allowing other agents to have possession of them - and pulled out the box containing the shot.

Lockwood was at her side in a second, reaching over to help her out, seeing her struggle with only one hand, but she turned away from him. She hoped he hadn’t seen the tears clouding her eyes before she had moved.

“(y/n),” he murmured.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just don’t.”

And, so, she stabbed the needle into her arm, administering the adrenaline despite the rules surrounding even that part of the legislation. She did not want to feel his hands on her skin. Not anymore.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

(y/n) sat curled up on her chair, newspaper laid out before her.

Her last case with Lockwood and Co had made it into the news, page eight, much to Lockwood’s likely chagrin. That was a guess, though. She supposed she wouldn’t know anymore.

Light flooded in through her window, illuminating the walls of her childhood home. She had not wanted to return, but what choice had she had? Getting a flat in London was almost impossible.

Her parents had taken her back with open arms, happy to have their little girl back, but they fell into old habits quickly. It seemed that the years she had spent living in 35 Portland Row had left them to store some passive aggressive comments ready for her return. Everything she did elicited some kind of comment.

She flicked through the newspaper, filling in crosswords and drawing devil horns on the heads of the Fittes agents that had made it into the paper.

Page eight, though she hated it, held her attention. After the effects of ghost-touch began to fade away, Lockwood had called the police and DEPRAC regarding the case, informing both of their findings. Though no evidence had been found to prove their claim, paragons of each big agency with the talent of Touch were brought in the DEPRAC van. Every single one confirmed her story.

The police disappeared shortly after, alerting higher ups and figuring out a strategy. Dahlia Watson still lived in London.

The floorboard was pried from the house, wrapped tightly in a silver net and taken by a DEPRAC officer en route to the Fittes Furnaces. She didn't miss the way Lockwood looked over at her at the announcement of the source's destination.

Journalists appeared shortly after, shouting their questions and writing down every move (y/n) and Lockwood made in their frustrating notepads as if their silence was condemnation. DEPRAC officers managed to shoo them off, but not before they snapped pictures of the two walking out of the house.

Lockwood looked as he always did, with that charming smile that, despite (y/n)’s anger, had a horrible flutter arising in her stomach, His long jacket blew back just so in the breeze, and his hair brushed his forehead softly. (y/n), on the other hand, looked far sterner than she had ever seen herself, her hand still a faint shade of blue, her eyes wan. Anybody who had seen their pictures in the news before that point likely knew that that was the end of their business together at Lockwood and Co. They were stood about two feet apart.

She should have left it there, left her remorse and fury mixing terribly in her chest, but she didn’t.

Her eyes caught onto the final sentence, and she felt rather sick. “I give full credit of the discovery to my partner, (y/n) (l/n), (pictured left). This case, and Fearne Watson's murder, would not have been solved without her. Always.”

Former partner, she thought with a lump in her throat. And, well, always did not seem so true anymore.

She tore the page from the paper, ignoring the bewildered look on her mother’s face. With bleary eyes, she crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire.

Perhaps always was only for fairytales.

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