#And I might get a few more ceiling birds if I come across them in store

[emile-hides]

Here’s probably the final update to The Shrine

[fanfoolishness]

Headcanons from the (first) Kashyyyk mission

So there was supposed to be an arc with the Batch on Kashyyyk in S7 of Clone Wars, but like Dark Disciple it didn’t get a chance. But I still like to think of the Batch each finding a moment on Kashyyyk where the war receded into the background, and they felt something new:

Wrecker has never seen trees like this. They soar up into the clouds, trunks the size of cruisers, villages spiraling up into the trunks. As the others scout ahead he rests his hand on a vast trunk, so large around its surface almost seems flat instead of curved. The wood beneath his palm feels invincible. For the first time in his life, he feels small in a way the steel and sea and rain of Kamino never had achieved.

Echo takes a deep breath. The smells of smoke on the battlefield, blaster fire and droid grease are thick on the ground, but behind that he catches gusts of a green and living scent rich and raw and real. Water mists on his face, cutting through the grime of battle. It’s nothing like the sterility of Skako Minor, and he breathes deeper, waiting for another hint of green.

Tech’s ears perk up at chatter in the trees. He’s adding fluency in Shyriiwook to his list of languages, filing away each growl and utterance in his mind, cross-referencing with his translator, putting it together. But Kashyyyk is a whirlwind of other sounds, too, and he catalogues and isolates each one as fast as he can in the downtime between the next assault. Spiders insects birds water leaves, the sounds of blaster fire in the distance mingling with the songs of night creatures in the lower canopies, the sighs and flows of the forest. His mind buzzes with it. He records three data cards’ worth of memory in two hours.

Hunter’s senses jangle, whole streams of information coming in through every sense he’s got. This place is absolutely exploding with life at every turn, and it’s a cacophony that takes him a few hours to acclimate to. But even when he’s got a handle on it, there’s still a buzz and a hum he feels more than hears, a webbing that’s got nothing to do with the giant spiders, a connection between… well, everything. It’s a pulse in the soil from tree to tree, the wind carrying animal calls and tree pollen alike, the crackle of mycelia deep in the soil underfoot. He could live here a dozen years and never untangle all of it. But he might like the challenge.

They might be supposedly safe here, but Crosshair still scans the environment, searching for signs of anything suspicious. His vision glides over bark in a dozen shades of brown and gray, smatters of jewel-bright mosses and lichens, vines in flowers of scarlet, violet, gold. There’s creatures, too, scampering furry things of tawny gold with tufted tails, the jet-black glitter of massive spider eyes, insects half the size of clankers with emerald wings and kaleidoscopic scales. The sky peeks through the ceiling of leaf and canopy, and for an instant, he catches just a glimpse across the blue: the silver shimmer of translucent feathers, the suggestion of enormous wingbeats, the shadow of a long and sinuous tail. His eyes sting. He blinks away the water from them, his chest feeling oddly light.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Manuscript Search Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @elshells, @serenanymph and @spuddlespud! :D

Words: expression, challenge, course, protest, return, embark, horizon, run, rain, real and road. These are from The Power and the Glory:

Expression:

Lian donned his calmest, most gentle smile. That particular smile was notorious all through the palace for being his default expression in unpleasant situations. One of the princes attempted a coup? An argument broke out between the imperial physicians? Someone dropped dead in the middle of a banquet? No matter what sort of event he was witnessing, Lian always wore the same smile. It drove most of the palace out of their minds. You could understand a man who scowled and grumbled, but what were you to make of a man who just smiled when any sane person would be furious?

Challenge:

"She'll be along to collect you soon," Death said. "In the meantime... I don't suppose you know how to play chess? Winning or losing won't change your fate, of course. You've no idea how many people challenge me to chess in the hope I'll send them back if they win. It'd be a nice change to play against someone without that motive."

Course:

If Irímé was asked to decide what sort of animal he'd like to be stuck in the form of, he probably would have chosen a dog or bird. Not a dragon. Of course, if given the choice he would much rather not be stuck in any form. But if he had to be, a small one would be better. Much easier to avoid notice that way. It was impossible to avoid notice when you were a dragon.

Protest:

A small part of Irímé's mind was reluctantly impressed by how easily Abi had thrown Haliran around. Telekinetically picking up an inanimate object was harder than it looked. Use too much force and it would shoot up to the ceiling. Use too little and it wouldn't move at all. Telekinetically picking up a person, who was much heavier than, say, a book and much more likely to protest, was something very few immortals could do. For an adolescent immortal to toss an adult around the room with enough force to break a bone... Well, no wonder Abi could do impossible things like raise the dead. She clearly had far more magical power than anyone realised.

Return:

Mirio could think of at least eight people who would not be at all comforted by his presence. All of them were his cousins and all of them would want him to go home so they could return to backstabbing each other in peace.

Embark:

At least when they disembarked at Veiteos there was no longer much chance of Shizuki asking him to go flying. Maybe that was why Irímé now had time to notice something was wrong.

Horizon:

Again the noise stopped. It went on like this, starting and stopping and each time getting closer, for what felt like hours. The moon passed overhead and sank towards to the horizon. Although the monsters were there they remained stubbornly out of sight.

Run:

Years ago Abi and Irímé had discussed what a phoenix might look like. None of the storybooks could agree on their colour or size. Irímé had thought they would be bright red while Abi thought they were more likely orange or golden. It turned out both of them were wrong. Apparently phoenixes were a mixture of very vivid blue and dark green. If he hadn't known better he would have assumed Abi had somehow gained a peacock's wings. Oh, and they were on fire too. Abi didn't seem too perturbed by this fact. Otherwise Irímé would have run for a bucket of water.

Rain:

Two hundred years ago a rival kingdom had attacked Tananerl. Ilaran had frightened them away by conjuring torrential rain to turn the road they took into a morass.

Or so the story went. What actually happened was much less supernatural. Ilaran and his generals knew the terrain of the area. The road ran through a flat plain bordered by steep cliffs. They knew that when rain fell in the mountains beyond the cliffs, a few days later it would come sweeping down on the plain. A person travelling across the plain would have no warning until the deluge began.

Real:

After the first two days the gossip about Mirio and Lian's supposed engagement mostly died down. Somehow or other word got out that Abi was a notorious troublemaker -- which was true -- and that led to the rumour that she'd probably eloped with Lian herself -- which was so far from the truth that Mirio found it a real struggle to keep a straight face. That rumour was widely believed in the court. Mirio almost felt sorry for Abi. Almost.

Road:

In the distance Kitri gradually became aware of a sound. It was grass rustling in the wind. But there was no wind. And it was feet thudding against the road. But no one would go for a walk without a torch, and she didn't see any light. It dawned on her that singing, even quietly and incoherently, had been a very bad idea.

Tagging @silvertalonwritblr, @mrbexwrites, @eccaiia, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D Can’t be bothered thinking of new words, so just pick some from mine :D

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Whumptober Day 14

No. 14 Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to Become a Villain

Desperate Measures | Failed Escape | “I'll be right behind you.”

CW: failed escape attempt, intimate whumper, captivity, imprisonment, uhhh implied future not fun times

After the waterboarding, the man released Carlen from the chair, before leading them to another, smaller room.

This one had a hard concrete floor, brick walls, and a thick iron door. A single, flickering lightbulb hung from the ceiling, just barely enough light for Carlen to be able to make out the thin cot in one corner, a ratty blanket on top, and a rusted toilet and sink on the other side of the small room.

With one last condescendingly sweet pat to the head, the undeniable screech of a metal lock turning signaled that Carlen was finally alone.

Immediately, their legs buckled underneath them, and they barely made it over to the cot before completely collapsing. Shaking, they wrapped the blanket tightly around themself, rocking slightly.

The room was nearly freezing, and Carlen's still-dripping wet frame was wracked with shivers because of it.

Eventually, like that, sitting up, pressed tightly into a corner, eyes fastened to the door, limbs squeezed tight together, they managed to fall into some restless sleep.

—

The bang of the door swinging open woke them, and they stared cautiously at the man as he walked in.

He squatted down in front of them, holding out a decent sized chunk of bread. “Here,” he offered. “Thought you might be feeling a bit peckish.”

Reaching forward, Carlen’s trembling fingers closed around it and they quickly brought it to their mouth. It was still a bit warm and soft, as if it had been baked recently. Glancing up at him, they whispered, “Th-thank you.”

He smiled at them, nodding his head slightly. At that, they immediately tore into the bread, nearly moaning at the taste, after who-knew-how-long of not eating.

Finally, after a few moments passed in tense silence, Carlen got the courage to speak up. “May, may I ask you something?”

The man chuckled, reaching out to pat their head. “My little bird, with such sweet manners. Of course, you can ask me a question.”

They swallowed their last bite, mouth suddenly dry. Bringing their arms to wrap around their drawn up legs, they softly asked, “What, um, what's your name? Or.. what should I-I call you?”

The man paused for a moment before his face cracked into a grin. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said, running a hand over the light stubble across his chin. “Huh, I guess it couldn't do any harm. My name is Brentley, and I'll allow you the privilege of using it, although the occasional ‘sir’ wouldn't be a bad thing.”

“Brentley,” Carlen repeated softly, tongue darting out to wet their lips. “Thank, thanks for the bread… sir.”

Ruffling their hair one last time, the man–Brentley–stood. “You're very welcome, little bird. Try to get some more rest. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

With that, he was gone, door closing behind him.

Carlen stared at the dark iron slab for a few moments, heart pounding with apprehension. After a few moments of the dim silence, they furrowed their brow, wondering if they were making up the thin line of light outlining one side of the door more than the other.

Blinking rapidly, they carefully stood and stepped towards it. When they reached it, they slid one hand over the frame of the door, squinting in concentration.

A moment later, they were certain: one side of the door was further out that the other. The door wasn't locked.

Glancing around nervously, Carlen carefully pried their fingertips between the door and the wall, slowly cracking the door open bit by bit, pausing frequently to check for any noises coming from outside.

Eventually, they were able to make a large enough gap for them to slip through, which they wasted no time in doing.

Stepping out into the hallway, they found themself surrounded by doors just like the one they'd come from. Unable or unwilling to think about any other possible victims trapped behind them, Carlen quickly made their way towards the staircase at one end of the hall.

Ascending as fast as their shaky legs could carry them, they quickly reached the top, where a wooden door blocked their path.

Holding their breath and praying to… anyone who was listening, really, they closed their fingers around the dull brass knob and slowly turned it.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Carlen pushed the door all the way open, quickly passing through it.

With their back firmly against the now-closed door, Carlen surveyed the hall they were now in.

The walls were plain, pristine off-white, without doors or decorations. Deciding to take a gamble, Carlen pushed off, heading down the left of the hallway.

After several different identical hallways, Carlen’s mind was reeling and their sense of direction was utterly shattered. A small voice whispered in their head to just go back to the cell, hoping for the best.

Still, Carlen pushed forward, and, at the end of the next hallway lay a door. Rushing towards it, Carlen was able to make out the window in the middle of it, and, through that, the green of grass and trees, with a pale blue cloudless sky above.

Letting out a soft sob, their hand had just closed around the door handle when a voice came from behind.

“Well, now, my little bird, I'm very disappointed in you. I thought you'd be smarter than this.”

---

Taglist: @badluck990 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-vagabond-nun @shywhumpauthor @panic-and-chaos @freefallingup13

[solalunar-eclipse]

Replay/Rewind/Restart

Chapter title: Ah, the Cache. Truly the most tsundere of Addisons.

AO3 Link

Getty | Cache

Summary: One fateful day, Cache stumbles across a Lightner who's found herself terribly lost and a long way from home. Neither of them could have predicted what happened next.

(Mild warning for lots of swearing from Cache)

Cache sighed tiredly, pulling on their denim jacket at the end of another long day’s work. It was their turn to close up the shop today, and they did so with practiced ease. As always, they saved the best part until last: checking on all of their pets one more time to make sure all was well.

They patted the aquarium screensaver fondly and gave the Tamagopets a brief once-over, making sure all of the little ones were present and accounted for. The blue birds had been slightly quieter as of late—Cache inspected them carefully, running through possible illnesses in their head. They’d have to have a word with Pixel about their diet tomorrow. The birds had been relatively picky as of late, and while Cache was willing to indulge them to some extent, they were not about to let any of their pets get themselves sick.

Next, they gave a bit of extra food to some of their more care-intensive pets, including the (mildly glitchy) purple primate-looking creature and the dog-cow hybrid they’d rescued off the street one day. On the other hand, they simply shot the Tasque kittens a flat look, muttering, “If I find out either of you little shits are getting up to no good, I will mark down your price, you hear?”

…the kittens didn’t need to know that they’d never actually do that.

Satisfied that all of their pets would be well for the night, they stepped outside and flipped the sign on the door to read Closed. Quickly, they locked the door, and then walked off, searching for some way to kill time. They had hours until they’d be expected at the Cyber Grille, after all, and…not many people to spend those hours with. Their cousin was busy most of the time, and Pixel wasn’t exactly up for socializing after working hard in the store all day.

The mint-colored Addison resigned themself to wandering the streets until they stumbled upon something interesting, brushing a few strands of hair out of their face to get a better look at their surroundings.

Most people, upon meeting Cache’s eyes, quickly looked away. Some even increased their pace a little bit—after all, they had built a pretty well-known reputation over the years for not taking shit from anyone. Only those who didn’t know them well were brave enough to look back or attempt a polite nod.

After a few minutes, Cache found themself in front of Pink’s store, and breezed in with their customary smirk already in place. “I’ll have the usual, Pink. To-go.” they said simply, earning a raised eyebrow in return.

“Oh, I see how it is.” he replied, casting a glance to the ceiling even as he turned to his shelf of tea flavors. “No ‘Hello, Pink’, or a ‘How are you doing, Pink’. Not even an ‘It’s nice to see you, Pink’! What is the world coming to these days?” Despite the Addison’s protests, he began to brew Cache their usual tea, pulling out a to-go cup and sliding a pale pink cardboard ring around it.

They leaned on the counter casually, clearly unbothered. “C’mon, Pink, you know me better than that. ‘Sides, I’ve got places to go, people to see, y’know?”

Pink scoffed lightly, handing over their tea. “I know for a fact that Getty is too busy for you to visit him right now, and I’ve never seen you come in here with anyone else besides him. Who is it that you’re planning on seeing, hm?”

Cache’s expression tightened abruptly, and they gripped their drink so forcefully that the cup nearly crumpled. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. See you around.” they muttered, stalking out of the store irritably.

Sure, they might not know many people, but Pink had no right to point it out like that! They weren’t some loser without any friends—they knew other people besides just their cousin! 

Remembering the tea in their hand, they took a long swig of the drink as though it were liquor, hoping it’d ease the discomfort they felt. It didn’t help as much as they’d have liked, though. Getty was a great person, and they loved him dearly, but he didn’t exactly have a forceful personality. There was only so much his tea could do to cut through their frustration.

Before they knew it, the drink was all gone, and they eyed the cup in their hand with something approaching disappointment as they tossed it into the nearest trash can. They didn’t feel like they were going to explode at any moment anymore, but their afternoon had still been soured by Pink’s comment.

As they reached a street corner, they heard a massive clamor coming from down the road to their right, and looked over to see what was going on. A whole swarm of Addisons were clustered on the sidewalk, all talking with overlapping sales pitches and eager gesticulations, assaulting Cache’s eyes with a riot of color and sound.

They were just about to jaywalk across the street, already rolling their eyes at the eagerness of the other Addisons, when they saw just who the group’s target was.

A Lightner practically cowered in the midst of the group, their eyes darting about in distress as they struggled to cope with the situation escalating around them. They were fumbling in their bag, clearly helpless against the onslaught of salespeople so much more insistent and demanding than anything they’d expected, and—

—for the briefest of seconds, Cache remembered a much younger mint-colored Addison, stressed as could be, just trying to do things right and keep their head above water and Mr. Spamton, sir, please, if you’ll only give me just a moment—

“HEY!” they roared, storming down the street and shoving their way into the crowd. “Back the fuck off, assholes! Give them some goddamn room to breathe!”

The Lightner’s eyes met theirs, gratitude written all over their face. Some of the other Addisons hadn’t gotten the message just yet, though, opting to offer discounts instead, and so they whirled around, keeping themself in between the human and the other advertisers. “What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not understand?!” Cache snapped, fixing the others with the full force of their angry glare. 

“I was just about to offer an extra-special deal—” one of them protested, and Cache practically felt you tense up behind them. 

“No, you fuckin’ weren’t. You were about to leave. Capiche?” the mint-colored Addison growled, their hands curling into fists. They almost wished they’d brought security along with them. Almost.

Thankfully, that seemed to be enough for the remaining few to get the message, and they dispersed quickly.

Once the last of the salespeople had left, they turned back to you, frowning. “Why the hell didn’t you stick up for yourself? You know they’re not gonna leave you alone unless you tell them to, right?”

You shrank away from them, eyes wide and frightened. “I’m sorry—I really didn’t know—!” you said quickly, taking a small step backwards.

Damn, you were nearly as skittish as some of the poorly-treated pets they’d had to care for over the years. They backed up, settling into a slightly less confrontational posture and letting themself slouch a little. No sense in towering over you after everything you’d just been through.

“Oh, my bad. You’re new here, are you?” they asked, using a slightly less sharp tone but neglecting to offer you a true apology. “Well then, uh, hi, I guess. I’m Cache.”

“Mm-hm!” you agreed, looking up at them nervously. “Just arrived here today, actually. And, um—” you introduced yourself in turn, and they repeated your name once, just to make sure they’d heard you right. You were quiet. 

“Oh yeah!” you added suddenly. “I heard you—well, I mean—I appreciate you not assuming, but I use she/her. Just…for future reference, and all. You know.”

Cache couldn’t quite decide what expression to make at that. It’d have been an asshole move of them to assume they knew everything about you just from the way you dressed, but the fact that you’d noticed sure was…well, it was something. “Cool. Guess it’s only fair I trade you back, then—they and them only. None of that ‘he’ bullshit, ‘kay?”

You nodded quickly in agreement. With the momentary lull in conversation, something else you’d said suddenly came back to them, and Cache studied you a bit more closely.

“Damn, so you said you really just got here today? No wonder you don’t know shit about Addisons, then. Free piece of advice—give ‘em an inch, and they’ll take everything you got.” they told you, letting some of their disdain bleed into their words.

You blinked, looking confused. “But…aren’t you also an Addison?” 

“Gold star for you, got it in one.” they drawled sarcastically. “I’m not like those guys, though. Not into all of that kiss-ass BS.”

“Well, thank you for all of your help, Mx. Cache!” you said politely, smiling up at them.

They grimaced. “It’s just Cache. Fuck, that makes me sound all stuffy and shit.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, but then shyly tacked on “...Just Cache.” You gave them a little grin which vanished as soon as it had appeared. 

Cache flicked their eyes up to the green grid at that, which seemed to encourage you to continue. “Um, do you…know what time it is? It seems like it’s dark all the time here, and I can’t tell if my phone is right.”

The mint-colored Addison checked their own phone and gave you the time, which you confirmed on your own device. “So it is getting kind of late, then.” you said, mostly to yourself. “I guess I’d better go find someplace to stay. Thanks again!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold it a goddamn second.” they snapped abruptly, your words registering heavily with them. “You’re telling me you’re fuckin’ homeless right now?”

“Well, until I find a hotel…I guess so?” you said, giving them a slightly bewildered look.

“Do you even have any money to get a room with?” Cache pushed, trying to ignore the mounting evidence that their protective instincts were threatening to take over.

“I…” you began, rifling through your wallet, “…have some gold? I got some other kind of money earlier from a sort of battle thing, but I had to spend almost all of that on lunch. I’m pretty sure this should be enough for a night or two at a small place somewhere…”

“Okay, okay, I don’t know what the hell gold is, but I’m assuming it’s some kind of Lightner money. You at least know what Lightners and Darkners are, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, a nice Virovirokun explained that to me.”

“Cool. So yeah, no, that’s not gonna get you shit. We only use Dark Dollars here, so you’ll need some of that if you want yourself a hotel room.” Cache explained.

They immediately regretted it when your expression crumpled, before you made a valiant effort to cover it up and put on a brave face. Damn their soft heart. They spat several choice words internally before gearing up to do something they just knew they’d regret.

Cache heaved a deep, long sigh. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got money on me. C’mon, let’s go hunt you down a hotel for the night.”

They whirled around and began to stalk down the sidewalk, hearing you rush to catch up with them after a moment. “You—you really don’t have to do anything like that!” you exclaimed, sounding as though you’d literally rather sleep on the streets than accept their money. “I can’t repay you, and I’m sure you already have your own things to worry about!”

Cache shoved their hands in their pockets and shot you an irritated look. “Listen, there is no way in hell I’m letting you spend the night in some alleyway, you hear me? Don’t think you’re gonna be able to change my mind on this, because you won’t.”

Your eyes widened even further somehow, and seemed to almost shine briefly in the city lights. “Oh, oh my goodness, thank you so much! That’s so nice of you, I promise I’ll—”

“You’ll nothing.” they insisted, glowering at a point just over your left shoulder. “I just don’t wanna be the unlucky bastard who’s stuck thinking about you out in the cold all night, you hear? That’s it.”

“O-okay…” you agreed, but you didn’t sound very convinced. 

Cache refused to say anything beyond clipped directions for the rest of your walk to the nearest hotel, maintaining an absolutely scorching glare at the sidewalk. They yanked open the door, but held it in place with a hand until you had a decent grip on it, pointedly ignoring the shy smile and ‘thank you’ you gave them.

“You got a vacancy?” they asked the unfortunate receptionist, a person who looked vaguely fox-like—and who also immediately quailed at the look on their face.

“Um, yes!” he said, rapidly typing a few things into his computer. “What kind of room would you like?”

“What’s cheapest?”

“We have a small room on the third floor—I have the price right here.” He summoned a screen with the information, and Cache sucked in a breath. Their movie money was going to get slashed for this.

Their reaction was nothing compared to yours, however. “Cache!” you cried. “You really don’t have to do this, I’ll be fine, I swear!”

Your protests had the exact opposite effect as intended on them, actually convincing them to open up their wallet and slap several bills down on the counter without even haggling on the price. “I’ll take it.” they said, and the receptionist fumbled to hand over the key.

Cache walked you up the two flights of stairs and to your door, shooting looks at anyone who dared to give you a second glance for being a Lightner. Hesitantly, you unlocked the room, and then just stood and stared at it for a solid minute.

“Thank you.” you finally said, your voice sounding tighter than usual. “This…means the world to me.” You didn’t look at them as you spoke.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and find you someplace decent to get breakfast, ‘kay?” they said, not actually caring what your answer would be. “‘Till then, here’s a little cash for dinner. Don’t go blowing it on stupid shit. Understand?”

“You’re a great person, you know that?” you sighed, finally stepping inside the room. “I’ll…see you tomorrow, then. And thank you. Again.” Shooting them one last smile, you closed the door.

Cache stood in front of it, staring into space for far longer than they would’ve liked to admit. Eventually, they pulled themself together enough to make their way over to the Cyber Grille, but left far earlier than usual when even the alcohol wasn’t enough to ease their tension. 

Despite what they’d said earlier, they still found themself thinking about you as they tried to fall asleep.

…

True to their word, Cache knocked on your door at a decent time the next morning (they did have a job to get to, after all). “Hey! You up in there?” they called.

A moment later, you pulled open the door, shooting them a small smile. “Good morning! How are you today?”

Cache blinked, readjusting as you inadvertently dragged their conversation onto a slightly new track. “Uh…I’m fine, I guess? You?”

“Oh, I’m alright!” you said brightly, but something felt off about it. “So, where are we going?”

“Just someplace down the street. They have donuts, should be good enough for now.”

“That’s more than enough!” You paused suddenly, seeming to remember something. “Oh yeah! I didn’t spend all your money yesterday, here’s some of it back.”

Now Cache was staring at you outright. “How the—never mind, I probably don’t want to know. Keep it. I have work today and can’t get you anywhere for lunch.”

Soon enough, they’d gotten you to the bakery and picked out enough pastries for the two of you to split. As they sat down across from you at a table outside, they neglected to eat for a moment, opting to study you instead.

At first, their stare was laced with suspicion. They weren’t normally this charitable, after all, and they were starting to feel thoughts creeping up along the lines of she’s just taking advantage of you, stupid and didn't you learn your fucking lesson last time?

As they watched you, however, they began to feel more and more like their heart was being stomped on repeatedly by whatever had happened to you. You didn’t hesitate to start eating the food, but you did so mechanically and listlessly, like you were doing it because you knew you had to and not because you were enjoying it.

Once you’d finished your first pastry, you looked up in surprise, as if you’d been so consumed by your own thoughts you’d forgotten they were even there. “Oh, sorry! I’m not always the best at conversation.” you admitted sheepishly. Cache quickly tore off a piece of their own donut and ate it, hoping you wouldn’t notice that they hadn’t even touched their food. 

“Nah, ‘s good.” they said around a full mouth. “Honestly, I’m kinda impressed you haven’t lost your shit yet. I mean, you’re sitting inside the fuckin’ Internet, hanging out with an Addison like ‘oh yeah this is just a regular Tuesday’.”

Your smile grew slightly bittersweet at that. “I love it here,” you insisted. “If it were up to me, I’d never leave.”

Cache frowned. That…wasn’t what they’d expected. “What do you mean, ‘if it were up to you’?”

You sighed. “I don’t know how I got here, which means I don’t know how to keep myself from going back. I sure hope I get to stay for a while longer…”

Your expression fell briefly, before you seemed to remember that you were with someone and perked right back up. Your smile was slightly strained around the edges, though, in a way that made Cache’s heart ache. 

“I hardly know anything about you, though, Cache. Where do you work? Do you like it there?”

They could have just brushed off your question with a noncommittal answer, closing off any potential of getting to know you, but there was something about you that made them want to keep you around. It was so long since they’d met anyone new who had this much genuine, well…everything. And there was something wrong, too, they could feel it. Despite what they might claim, they’d never been able to ignore anyone or anything that seemed helpless and in need.

“I own a pet store, actually. I can take you there once we’re done eating, if you want.” they said, trying extremely hard to make it seem like this invitation wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not bad. The little guys normally behave themselves, and it’s not like there’s anyone else who could take over and do the job right.”

You brightened up at that, clearly excited. “What kinds of pets do you have? Can…can I pet any of them?” you asked hopefully.

“Only if they let you.” Cache said, taking another bite of donut. “And I’ll explain all the different types to you once we get there.”

Once the two of you had finished eating, you set off for Virtual Pets. The walk there wasn’t very long, and by the time they had arrived, the store was already open. “Oh yeah,” Cache added, “I told Pixel to set up the place ‘cause I’d be in late—she works for me.”

“Did I make you late for work?” You sounded far more concerned than was necessary. “I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, stop worrying so much. I’m the boss of this place. What’s Pixel gonna do, fire me?” Cache insisted, smirking. They pushed open the door, catching the attention of the other Addison in the shop. “Pixel! I brought the Lightner I told you about with me, she’s here to meet some of the pets.”

You introduced yourself politely to Pixel (but still with an air of tension about you), tacking on a “It’s so nice to meet you!” at the end.

“It’s good to meet you too, hon!” she said kindly. “Cache told me they’d met someone new, but they didn’t tell me your name or that you were a Lightner until just now.”

Cache rolled their eyes. “Well, excuse me, I was kind of busy helping pipsqueak over here find an actual bed to sleep in for the night.”

“Wh—hey, what?!” you cried, giving them a slightly incredulous look. “Pipsqueak? I’m not that small!”

The mint Addison walked back over to you, straightening their posture and invading your personal space just to make it clear exactly how much taller than you they were. “Doesn’t look that way to me.” they said smugly. Internally, though, they were pleased. It was a lot better to see you indignant than anxious and sad.

You huffed irritably, before finally noticing the pets all throughout the shop. “Aw, hello there!” you practically cooed, darting over to peek at the Tasques with a genuine smile on your face. “Oh, they’re such cute little kitties!”

Cache bit back a laugh, not wanting to make you self-conscious right away. “Yeah, you say that now, but you should see them when it’s feeding time. Those little shits are brutal.”

“I’m sure they’re just hungry!” you protested, nearly pouting. 

The rest of the pet introductions went the same way, with you making a stunning variety of high-pitched noises and Cache slandering all of their pets just for the sake of being contrary. Pixel threw in a comment here or there, but she mostly stayed out of your way, clearly still a little off-kilter in the presence of a new person who wasn’t a customer.

Eventually, you had to leave, since you insisted on finding a way to earn some money so you wouldn’t be a burden to Cache. They had told you it wasn’t necessary, because the last thing they wanted to watch you do was beat yourself up about something they’d decided to do, but you had insisted.

Once you’d left, Pixel turned to Cache and smiled at them. “You really like her, huh?”

Cache immediately scowled, stalking behind the counter. “She’s okay, I guess. It’d just be a shitty thing to ignore her when she has the self-preservation instincts of a fuckin’ Tamagopet.”

“That’s nice of you, Boss.” Pixel said, picking up her broom in a poor attempt at hiding her grin.

“Shut up.” they grumbled, turning their focus to the window and decidedly not worrying about how you were doing out there all by yourself. 

Dammit, they didn’t even remember to get your phone number. 

…

Over the next few days, Cache kept on checking in on you, although they didn’t need to pay for all of your meals anymore. You’d been getting into small scrapes here and there, which scared the hell out of them at first, but it turned out that you were actually quite good at helping other people solve their problems. You had been quite surprised the first time an Ambyu-Lance offered you a few dark dollars for helping them replace their needle, but it turned out that the people of this city were actually quite generous with their money when they were shown some kindness.

It definitely wasn’t enough to finance most of your needs, though, let alone pay for your own place. That was why you began to actively ask around at jobs to see if they were hiring, clearly assuming that anything would be better than continuing to feel like you were being a drain on Cache’s resources.

They continued to insist otherwise, still concerned for your well-being, but even they couldn’t deny that it was difficult to pay for all of their usual expenses and keep you at that hotel. So, a few days after you’d begun job-hunting, they had suggested something new.

“Listen, shortcake…” they began, tossing out one of their many new nicknames for you. (They’d warmed up to you quite a bit, finally willing to trust the fact that you were really as nice—and as in need of someone to rely on—as you seemed. They pointedly ignored the part of them that was eager to be that person, the person they hadn’t had. They also tried very hard not to think about the fact that they were getting closer and closer to giving in and adding ‘sis’ to their list of nicknames with each passing day.)

“I was just thinking, what if you moved in with me? Then we can start saving up cash to get you a place of your own.” they said, and immediately regretted how tense they sounded. “I mean, if you wanted to. I’m cool with whatever.”

You gave them a look that suggested you absolutely knew what they’d just done, and they silently cursed the fact that you were getting better at reading them so quickly.

“You really wouldn’t mind?” you asked hopefully. 

“Am I not the one who literally just asked?” Cache shot back. “What about that makes you think I mind?”

“Fair enough.” you said sheepishly. “I’d love to, thank you.”

“No shit.” they muttered, internally shouting “Fuck yeah!” and hoping none of it showed on their face. “Alright, let’s get your stuff and move you in.”

You didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, having only been in Cyber City for about a week so far. As a result, it didn’t take very long at all for you to set up camp on Cache’s couch (they were somewhat guiltily glad that you’d insisted on that, because they knew their sleep schedule would be shot to hell if they took the couch).

After that, things began to move…both more and less smoothly than before, if they were being honest. It turned out that you were actually kind of a neat freak, and made it very clear that you disapproved of Cache leaving their things around the house, even just for a day or two.

On the other hand, now that you were living with someone you trusted, and had spent over a week in Cyber City, it seemed like some of the weight that had settled on your shoulders was finally starting to lift. One night, they’d found you crying on the couch, and hadn’t accepted any of your poor attempts to convince them you were okay. Instead, they’d managed to get you to tell them your story, and then promised you afterwards that nobody would make you leave if you didn’t want to. They would make sure of it.

Another good thing that came out of you living with them was that they could finally start going out to the movies again—and taking you on occasion, too. Your continued insistence on searching for a job, with its sporadic schedule, was still a lot better than Getty’s work hours had ever been, meaning that they got to go out with company far more often than before. On top of that, you had a wider taste in movies too, enjoying almost every single genre that they took you to see.

The first movie you’d ever gone to with them had been a simple superhero film, the latest in a truly massive franchise that they’d been looking forward to watching for a little while now. 

You had stared at the line running out the doors (despite the fact that opening night had been three days ago), but hadn’t complained about the wait. If anything, you just seemed impressed. “Have you really waited in lines longer than this before, Cache Deposit?” you asked.

“Oh, absolutely. This is nothing.” they bragged. “You should’ve seen this place the day that one sequel came out—you know, the one for that sci-fi movie that’s been in the works for decades?” When you nodded in acknowledgement, they continued on. “I waited there for hours, but I got to see that movie eventually. Damn glad I did, too, the scenery alone made it totally worth it.”

“Wow, I wouldn’t have taken you for such a patient type.” you remarked, unable to keep the mildly sassy smile off your face.

“Oh, shut up! Don’t test me, shortcake, I will get one ticket instead of two!” Cache swatted you on the arm, but they were grinning too.

Once you both actually got inside, Cache insisted on getting a large bucket of popcorn for the two of you to share. They sat down in their seat, snatching up a few kernels, and turned to look at you just as the green glow of the preview rating screen came on.

The mint-colored Addison let out a quiet sigh, feeling themself relax back into the seat. They were in their favorite place, you were smiling as you watched the screen, and they had plenty of buttered popcorn.

This was perfect.

The movie went over well with you—you smiled and gasped at all the right moments, and you told them afterwards with genuine happiness that you’d enjoyed it. They couldn’t help but rant a little about their own takes on it (“the sidekick’s actor deserves so much credit, their facial expressions alone were amazing! And don’t even get me started on the color theory in that one scene—”), and to their delight, you listened intently and even asked them to elaborate on some of their points.

Cache invited you to plenty more movies after that, all different genres. Everything from mystery to comedies was fair game, and they even indulged you when you asked to see a couple of animated movies here and there. (They weren’t necessarily awful, it was just that Cache had some standards.) While some of them went over better than others, all in all, they had a great time with you. 

…Except the one time they’d tried to drag you into a horror movie. You’d stepped out after ten minutes, and sheepishly informed them that you got terrible nightmares from that kind of thing. They teased you about it a little, but didn’t even complain about the money they’d spent on tickets. Instead, they took you home and played a few rounds of Super Smashing Fighters with you.

And if they let you win a few times, well, nobody ever had to know.

One night not long after that, they dropped the news over pizza that the two of you had finally put away enough money to start apartment-hunting for your own place. Cache felt a twinge of discomfort that they elected not to examine too closely, instead opting to finish by taking a big bite of pizza before they could say anything stupid.

“Would you be willing to shop around with me?” you asked. “You know Cyber City a lot better than I do, and you’re good with prices, too.”

That eased the twinge somewhat, and they offered up a more real grin in exchange. “Sure thing, sis. I can bring security too if you’re really looking for a discount…” they added, smirking.

“Cache! Don’t you dare!” you cried, fighting back laughter. “I actually want to find a place, you know! They’ll probably be too scared to even consider me!”

Cache rolled their eyes. “They’re wimps, then.”

You laughed softly under your breath and took another bite of pizza. Once you’d swallowed, you added, “Oh yeah! I can still stop by Virtual Pets whenever, right?” 

“The day you’re not welcome in VP is the day I lose the damn business, understand?” Cache insisted, pointing at you with their own slice. “Always, and I do mean always come in if you want to.”

“And we’re still on for movies and Friday gaming nights?” you confirmed, mostly as a formality rather than a serious question.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, shortcake.” they said, secretly feeling relief replace the last bit of discomfort inside them. It seemed that even though you were moving out, the two of you weren’t going to grow apart in the slightest.

(And they were absolutely right.)

…

About a week after you moved into your apartment, Cache sold their dog-cow hybrid to what appeared to be an eager couple looking for a nice pet. They seemed perfectly friendly and well-intentioned, so the Addison felt pretty comfortable making the sale.

They seriously regretted doing so now.

The hybrid was returned less than a week later, deathly ill after one of the children (because the couple hadn’t thought to mention that they had kids in the house) had fed her something she wasn’t supposed to have. Cache had been so distraught that they hadn’t even been able to find words to fling at the two, who damn well should have known better. Thankfully, they at least knew enough to get the hell out of the shop when they saw the expression on Cache’s face.

Several of the worst hours of Cache’s life passed next, as they struggled to keep their beloved hybrid alive. Thankfully, they eventually succeeded after several awful scares, leaving her to rest and recuperate in the back room. After taking a moment to recover for themself, they stumbled back to the door and flipped the sign over to Open, secretly hoping that nobody would come in for the rest of the day. 

Pixel was currently in the back room, taking her own turn to watch the poor thing, but also more than a little on edge from their mood. They were too exhausted to do much else except sit at the counter, their thoughts swirling mercilessly.

They pulled on the hood of their jacket, pushing it low in an effort to hide the particularly brutal blend of despair and fury they felt at seeing any creature treated with such carelessness. Those parents should have known better than to keep dangerous foods in reach of either their pet or their children! Why did they ever have to make that sale in the first place?!

Suddenly, the bell over their door rang, and they shot upright, ready to yell at whatever sorry customer had dared to step inside now. They trained the full force of their glare at the person who’d just entered—and then they saw it was you.

“Shit, sorry…” they sighed. “Now’s not really a good time, shortcake.”

You frowned in concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

They hesitated, glowering at the floor. “If I do, I’m gonna get pissy again.”

“Maybe you just need to get all the pissed-off-ness out?” you suggested, giving them a faint smile.

Cache sighed through clenched teeth. “You better be sure about this, ‘cause it ain’t pretty.”

You nodded, giving them your most determined look.

Cache stormed around the counter and began to practically bark their impromptu speech. “Okay, so guess what? Some dipshit family thought it’d be a great idea to buy a pet that needs a ton of special care and stick in a home with their two-point-five children, who apparently have exactly zero fuckin’ restraint at any given time. Today, they come back with the poor girl, barely hanging on, and have the guts to ask for a goddamn refund! I just spent hours keeping her alive, and I swear, if I ever see those assholes again, I’ll tear them a new one and I will not hold back.” they spat, their hands curling into fists so tight it hurt. 

“Who the fuck does that? Who even thinks it might be a remotely smart idea to leave a new pet unsupervised with kids?! I just—I—shit! Ugh!” they cried, burying their face in their hands. “I just wish I’d seen it coming.”

Abruptly, all the fight left them, and they sagged backwards against the counter. 

A moment later, they felt your hand brush their arm lightly, and they startled away from you before they realized what was going on. Thankfully, you didn’t seem offended, just held out your arms with a sympathetic expression on your face.

Cache checked briefly to make sure Pixel wasn’t nearby, and then crumpled into your arms, fighting back tears.

“Cache, you’re always so careful with all the creatures you have,” you began, rubbing their back gently, “but nobody—and I mean nobody—can be on their guard all day, every day. That’s just impossible. You did everything you possibly could, saving her and making sure those idiots didn’t get their stupid refund. She’s strong, she’ll come back from this, especially with you there every step of the way. 

“You did nothing wrong, okay? They screwed up, but now it’s over, and you did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s all going to be okay now, Cache, I promise.”

They shuddered briefly, swallowing once before giving you a final squeeze and stepping back. “Thanks, shortcake.” they muttered thickly.

You gave them a small smile. “You want to get takeout and watch some awful movies at my place once you’re done with work?”

“Hell yeah.” Cache said, managing to muster up a slightly bittersweet smirk. “I’ll text you when I’m done, alright?”

“Text me before that if you need to vent some more.” you insisted, darting forward to give them one last quick hug. “See you later, Cache App.”

“That one was shit, pipsqueak! You hear me?” they cried (not meaning a word of it, of course) as you left the store. You merely shot them a grin in reply, waving your phone at them through the glass before taking off.

Cache sighed tiredly, pulling their hood off and running a hand through their hair as they turned to go sit back down behind the counter. And if Pixel gave them a smile later that was just a bit more knowing than usual, well, they sure as hell weren’t going to acknowledge it.

…

It had been a couple of months now since you’d first appeared in Cyber City—and in Cache’s life—and you were doing much better than you had been previously. Cache was happy for you, to be sure…but they still felt like you weren’t quite up to a hundred percent yet, and they had a suspicion as to why.

Sure, you had them and Lovebug, and maybe Pixel too, but at the end of the day, you were going home to an empty apartment with nobody to keep you company. And Cache figured that since you were too shy to do anything about it, they’d probably have to take the initiative.They even had a multi-step plan mapped out, because like hell were they leaving your well-being to chance.

Phase One: Figure out what kind of people you liked hanging out with (or even better, people you liked, period).

Phase Two: Get you to spend more time with them through any means necessary.

Phase Three: Integrate them into the friend group.

Phase Four: Get them to move in with you.

Phase Five: Enjoy seeing you happy.

Thankfully, not long after they’d made this plan, they saw the perfect opportunity to put it into action. Cache had dragged you out to a store that sold various music recordings, hoping to find something nice to listen to—and to get you to meet someone new.

After some carefully timed deliberating, they picked out an mp3 that they’d noticed within seconds of walking in the door, and strolled over to the register to check out. You hadn’t chosen anything yourself, much to Cache’s disappointment, but if they’d hung around any longer, you might’ve gotten suspicious.

As it was, they simply handed over their mp3 to the smiling violet Addison behind the counter. As he scanned the file, Cache glanced at his name tag, which simply read Exy. They’d heard about this employee in passing at the Cyber Grill the other night, and supposedly he was extra friendly and thoughtful. Cache hoped he’d live up to his reputation.

“Nothing for you today, miss?” he asked you politely.

You grinned sheepishly. “Sorry! I’m not very good at making decisions, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” the violet Addison insisted, smiling politely at you. “We’re open every day from eight to six if you ever have some spare time on your hands! Say, what kind of music do you listen to?”

“It changes from week to week, honestly.” you admitted. “I like just about anything!”

Exy finished charging Cache for their purchase, all while maintaining his conversation with you. “Well, stop by again soon, and I might have some nice recommendations for you!” He winked at you, and you colored slightly from all the attention. 

(Cache very nearly broke their neck turning to stare at you when that happened.)

The moment they stepped out of the store with you in tow, you smiled at them. “He was pretty nice, wasn’t he?” you commented.

In response, they gave you their most shit-eating grin imaginable. “Ooooh,” they crooned, “does someone have a crush?”

“Wh-what?!” you stammered. “No! I just—I haven’t met many Addisons who are that thoughtful, aside from you and Pixel!”

Cache scoffed. “Don’t slander me like that, shortcake. You’re changing the subject, though! Do you think he’s cute?”

You blushed again. “I don’t know, maybe a little? He was definitely dressed nicely, I guess?”

“‘I guess’?” Cache repeated. “You’re killing me! Next you’re gonna tell me that nobody’s caught your eye the entire time you’ve been here.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not true either! I have noticed one or two people, just not necessarily him.”

You immediately backtracked when Cache’s smile grew impossibly bigger. “I, uh, I mean…” you began, clearly trying to work your way out of the hole you’d just dug, but it was far too late for that now.

“No, no, no, sis. You can’t back out now. Spill! Who’s the lucky person that caught your eye?”

A more severe blush spread across your face at that. “You, um…you know the guy who works at the tea shop?” you mumbled.

“No way!” Cache exclaimed, still giving the Cheshire Cat a run for its money. “Him?!”

“Shut up!” you cried. “He’s just…he’s pretty, okay? That’s it.”

“Whatever you say, shortcake.” Cache said, pretending to drop it, but secretly moving on to Phase Two of their plan.

They managed to put it into action only three days later, which was sooner than expected. After all, if they’d invited you out to the tea shop too quickly after learning about your crush, you’d just assume they were making fun of you and refuse. 

(They were going to make fun of you, at least a little, but that was unrelated to the plan.)

In what Cache considered to be a truly amazing display of self-restraint, they didn’t let a single hint slide either on the walk over to the shop or while you placed your order. They couldn’t help a brief smirk when you ordered the ‘house special’, though. 

The minute they sat across from you with their own tea, though, they stopped even trying to hide it. “Sooo?” they began, giving you a look. “Is he as hot as you remember?” They at least tried to keep their voice low, for your sake.

You nearly choked on your tea. “What? Cache!” you cried, as soon as you’d finished coughing. “I thought we were just here to hang out!”

Cache did not soften a fraction at the idea that hanging out with them was better than eyeing up your crush. They didn’t.

“Well, yeah, that’s the main goal. But he’s a nice bonus, isn’t he?” they said, raising their eyebrows at you smugly.

You practically scoffed, turning back to your drink. “He’s a person, Cache, not just a ‘bonus’.”

They glanced over your shoulder and then smirked. “Why don’t you say that to him when he brings those pastries over here?”

At that, you sat bolt upright, twisting in your seat just in time to see the pink Addison beginning to head over with said pastries. Cache stifled a snicker, even as you glowered at them, the clear message behind it being If you say anything I will walk out right now.

That was okay. They could behave themself…mostly. 

“Here you are!” Pink said warmly, placing the plate on the table with slightly more flair than usual. Notably, he merely gave Cache a nod, but directed one of his most charming smiles directly at you.

So it goes both ways, Cache thought, but (for once) wisely said nothing. Meanwhile, you were smiling up at him as you thanked him politely for the food. “Your pastries are honestly the best I’ve had.” you added, and Cache bit their lip to keep from grinning.

“Oh!” Pink exclaimed, seeming quite flattered. “And you’re the best Lightner I’ve ever met!” he shot back, with a mildly flirtatious wink to boot.

You blinked, clearly startled. “Aren’t I…the only Lightner you’ve met?” you asked.

Cache internally facepalmed. Just take the damn compliment, pipsqueak!

The pink Addison shifted in place somewhat awkwardly. “Fair enough…I highly doubt any others are half as lovely as you, though.”

You blushed at that, giving Pink a small smile. “Aw, thank you!”

“Anytime at all.” he said warmly, before returning to his usual spot behind the counter. 

The moment he got back to tidying things up, Cache flicked their eyes between him and you several times, before whispering, “Damn, I didn’t know you were such a flirt!”

“I am not!” you hissed back. “I was just being nice, and so was he!”

“‘The best Lightner’? ‘Lovely’? Those don’t sound platonic to me…” Cache hummed, before finally taking a sip of their drink. It had cooled down slightly, but it was as nice as ever. A tiny, genuine smile flickered across their face (thankfully hidden by the cup) as the flavor hit them. Your tea was always just what they needed.

For your sake, they elected to shift the conversation to other topics, although they did continue to give you knowing looks and indicate Pink with their eyes every once in a while. Each time, you rolled your eyes or gave them a pointed look, but you didn’t seem too upset to them. 

Phases Two and Three were going to take some work, but Cache was sure they’d be able to manage it eventually. It was worth it, for your sake.

…

One night after Cache had perhaps overindulged slightly at the Cyber Grille, you’d helped them get all the way home without incident, even though you were clearly upset. They knew you didn’t love it when they drank noticeably, but they figured that they deserved to cut loose every once in a while. Besides, they were the older sibling-type here, not you!

Once they’d climbed into bed, they sent you a brief text, just letting you know that they were alright and going to sleep shortly. It took you a minute or so to respond, but when you did, you didn’t berate them, instead opting to tell them that you were glad they were okay and you hoped they slept well.

Cache sighed, switching off their light. What the hell had they done to have someone like you walk into their life? Even when they worried you, you didn’t ditch them. They knew they could be abrasive, and that was how they liked it. But to know that you were always beside them, through both the highs and the lows…

…well, it was rare to find someone like that.

On a whim, Cache unlocked their phone and clicked back into their conversation with you, taking a look at the most recent photos you’d sent to them and vice versa. Selfies taken from a variety of goofily unflattering positions abounded, along with plenty of pictures of them and you at various places.

A shot of them, holding up two movie tickets that they’d been particularly proud of scoring.

Another one, you and Cache side by side, arms around each other in the back room of Virtual Pets. (You’d only noticed the bunny ears they were giving you after the photo had been taken, and given them a good smack on the arm for it. You had still kept the picture, though.)

Now you, sticking out your tongue at the camera as you hold up a game controller. That had been the night you thoroughly trounced them at your favorite fighting game, and you’d insisted that Cache needed a memento to remember this night forever.

On and on the memories went, until finally—

—the first picture you’d ever sent them.

They’d wanted to have something for your profile picture, insisting that it just felt wrong to see a blank grey circle every time you messaged them. At first, you had protested, insisting that you were terrible at taking selfies.

“So send me a shitty one then. =P” they’d replied. And duly enough, you soon sent them a selfie, just of you smiling awkwardly into the camera.

They’d given you one back, feeling it was only fair, and then promptly set your picture as your profile image. Of course, it had changed many times since then—they practically updated it every time you took a new picture, with or without them in it.

But that…that was the first visual record they ever had of you. Sure, there were texts that came before that, but this was proof that it was you, that you had existed in their life.

And somehow, they were lucky enough to get more proof of that every damn day.

Abruptly, Cache realized that their eyes were wet, and flipped over to bury their face in their pillow. They hadn’t meant to get all cheesy and gross about you, but you just meant so much to them. Embarrassing though it may have been, they couldn’t deny the truth—you were one of the very, very few people to have made it past their defenses and into their heart.

Cache growled, pushing themself up just enough to swipe at their eyes. They were not going to get all weepy over you, that would be stupid.

It was just…fun having a friend like you. That was all.

(That definitely wasn’t all.)

[dansnaturepictures]

28/11/2022-Post 2 of 2: Lakeside at lunch time 

I got excellent views of a singing Goldcrest at the west of Kornwestheim lake at Lakeside at lunch time, a pure and tuneful sound and a striking and colourful bird its orange crest reminiscent of fruit salad sweets. This was such a powerful moment to connect to nature in the escape into nature in my working day. These were a packed and exciting few minutes as I saw a Kingfisher dash across the lake whilst watching the Goldcrest and it was a case of what to look at. A Green Woodpecker flew into trees soon after, then I saw a sweet Chiffchaff low down in vegetation above the water I saw Goldcrest and Chiffchaff well on a walk last month here too and got some brilliant prolonged views of Long-tailed Tits here after seeing them well in the garden as my last post about bits at home today mentioned. Long-tailed Tits are such breathtaking birds to see. There was a sprinkling of stunning water bird moments to make it a cracking bit of lunch time birdwatching with Great Crested Grebe, Moorhen and Coot seen the latter a nice couple seen in the oceanic blue beach lake which was special to see. I also enjoyed seeing one of the Mute Swans on this lake, the one I believe a younger one with some grey feathers which seems to have settled here without the adult I saw early last week. There is a sense of majesty and mystery about its misty dark bill. I took the sixth and seventh picture in this photoset of it.

The captivating moments of watching nature during my lunch break wasn’t as it can be at this time of year limited to birds as I was delighted to see two warm brown Roe Deers peacefully laid down in the northern fenced off area at a distance from the central path. They are always such charming animals to see and exciting ones to see in an urban setting so close to home. From the northern path the other end of the fenced off area you can’t quite get the angle to see them but I probably passed them quite closely coming out that way too. I’ve seen Roe Deers here a lot over the years but rarely more than one really. I took the third picture in this photoset of one.

There was also amazingly a Common Darter flying over the northern fenced off area, on this sunny day the first dragonfly I’ve seen in a while which might be my last this year. A lovely moment. Carrot, yarrow, daisy and gone over dock were plant highlights of my lunch time walk.

It was so inspiring and uplifting to be out in such a beautiful landscape getting exercise and fresh air, feeling good being out on a beautiful day on my Lakeside walk today. Dominating the landscape were fresh yellow leaves on trees behind beach lake and other bits of autumnal colour, and it was a brilliant day of reflections into the full lakes they looked exquisite with all the colours and even looked great on beach lake it’s normally the other two I see reflections well on so this was nice. The soft clouds which were stars of a strong day of sky scenes today made a great fluffy ceiling on the walk. I took the first with sun through trees something to see well again on this walk and second, fourth, fifth and final three pictures in this photoset of views here today. A great start to my wildlife and photography week. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Three of my favourite birds the Green Woodpecker, Kingfisher and Great Crested Grebe, one of my favourite mammals the Roe Deer, Mallard, Moorhen, Coot, Mute Swan, Black-headed Gull, Carrion Crow, Jackdaw including heard nicely at Lakeside, Woodpigeon, Goldfinch, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Long-tailed Tit, Goldcrest, Chiffchaff, possible Redwing flying high over Lakeside, Common Darter, Silver-sided Sector spider, beetle, bee and fly.

Part 1 of today’s posts about bits at home today is here: https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/702193201555111936/28112022-post-1-of-2-photos-taken-at-or-near

[thegendertoy]

I can only nod at your reassurance, lulled by the sound of your voice, so eager to please you. The glittering casino is so different now, so perfect in all its chrome angles and colorful lights. I want it all for myself, every glimmer. I want to feel it in my beak, hide it all away. I stop to stare upwards at a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, all gold and crystal, scattering light in beautiful color across the walls. My feathers rustle, my wings twitch. I'm starstruck for a brief few seconds, only keeping my beak closed to hold the coin.

And then I feel your hand slip under my tail, a finger penetrating my soaked pussy. Instantly, a sound halfway between a moan and a caw escapes my beak, then stops short. My gaze turns to you, flustered and mortified, as you pull me along. The sound I made was distinctly human-like, like a bird mimicking the sound, but the cawing? That was new, a sound I didn't know I could make, but one of the only I now can. It is going to take practice before I can use this beak to vocalize like a human again.

I finally fold my wings behind me as we make our way across the casino floor to the elevators. I am beginning to grow accustomed to this new body, to the way my claws grip the carpet and curl with every step, to the way I lean forward rather than sway my arms to keep balance. It is all becoming eerily comfortable. Most of all, your touch. Every grope, every caress between my feathers, and especially every time your fingers slip inside feels like heaven. I could stay here forever, kept by you, nestled amid all this. The thought does not even occur to me that I might someday wish to leave.

In the elevator, I finally see my new form in the mirrored walls. It feels so perfect, such a precious raven boy. Exactly as Ms. Toy wanted. It is hard for me to even picture what I might have looked like before. Certainly not as beautiful as this. I click my beak against the glass, just barely, and you sink your finger into my wet hole, directing my attention away. My sex squeezes your finger, greedy for more before you pull it out.

And then we arrive at the room. My eyes widen at the sheer size of it, at the art dangling from the ceiling. I could just reach out and grab it! And my hoard of chips, displayed across the foot of the bed, triggers yet more warm pleasure to wash over me in relief. I eye every empty surface, eager to fill them with anything that shines.

A low caw answers your question, then another as I wander across the room, peeking through the other archway into the bathroom before I meet your gaze, my tail ruffling with excitement. My pleased, clicking vocalizations echo off the walls.

That's excellent hun, I was hoping you'd think so. Maybe when I bring on the next trial boys, you'll get to share a room with them, only if you want. I know you also may want to keep your chips to yourself, on the other hand. I'll let you decide when that time but for now, it's time for another perk of your card, hun~

I lock the door and make my way to your bed, slowing taking off everything besides my necklace, earrings, and underwear. You notice with that now the sweet smell is back, and with your heightened sense it's much stronger than before. Not overwhelming, but almost... intoxicating. Laying down on your bed, I beckon you over with another golden coin.

I won't deny, I've gotten personal with a few non-card holders before. But for the ones I do have, it's a guarantee that they can get up close and personal with me whenever they so please. That's why this floor has only the living quarters for you adorable pets of mine, and me~

Of course, I am at liberty to deny them, but let's not talk legalese right now. Come over here, and be a good little raven for me and earn another coin~

Flipping the coin in my hand, you can see every refraction of light as it jumps into the air before landing, and I flip it again. And again. And again. And again. With my other hand I absentmindedly fiddle with my panties, it's always so exciting to break in a new kind of client.

[venkidu]

Amy Terasu's AmaArcade!

Summary: Yomi Hellsmile needs to find a way to rid Kanai Ward of the scourge known as the Nocturnal Detective Agency. He also needs to find a way to punish his idiot underlings for failing him so many times. The opportunity to kill two birds with one stone comes in the form of a closed-down arcade.

Rated T for language, humor and alcohol consumption

Cross-posted on Ao3

*EXTREMELY CANON-DIVERGENT FROM THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTER FOUR* *Slight spoilers for every chapter through chapter 4*

Chapter 6: Desuhiko, The Skee-Ball Champion

“IT’S HOW MUCH FOR FIFTY TOKENS?!” Yakou yelped.

“It’s two-thousand Shein,” Halara replied, gesturing to the machine. “It says right there on the machine.”

“Thank you, Halara, but I can read!” Yakou groaned (“But you asked,” Halara muttered). Yakou sighed as he dug around in his pockets for his wallet and produced a card that he slipped into the slot in the machine.

After tapping a couple of buttons, coins began to pour out of the machine and into a bowl.

Yakou snagged several plastic cups featuring cartoons of the arcade’s mascots and began dividing the coins into the cups.

“Alright,” he said, once the cups were full. “Everyone is starting with fifty tokens. That’s enough to give most of the games a try or two. If you absolutely need more tokens, come find me, but please, please, please, use this first batch wisely. This shit is way more expensive than it was back in the day.”

“Aren’t you coming with, Chief?” Yuma inquired.

Yakou waved him off with a smile. “Ah, maybe in a bit I’ll make the rounds and hang out with you all, but after seeing these prices, I think I need to just sit and have a drink. Go on, have fun, kid.”

Yuma nodded before stepping into the larger room where all of the arcade machines were. Bright lights flashing in a variety of patterns and music from different machines bled into one another. He had never seen anything like it.

“I wonder if I liked these sorts of places before I lost my memories,” he mumbled. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Yuma, my man!” Desuhiko called out over the noise.

“Oh, Desuhiko!”

“I saw you from across the room - you look a little overwhelmed,” the blonde boy stated.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Yuma chuckled weakly. “I can’t remember if I’ve ever been to an arcade before, so I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

Desuhiko slung an arm around Yuma’s shoulder and winked at him. “Well, why don’t we take a stroll around the arcade together? This place doesn’t seem too different from the place I went to growing up, so I can show you the ropes!”

“Really? That’d be great, Desuhiko, thanks!”

“Better the shorty detective than the sheltered skank or the flatty, I guess,” Shinigami grumbled.

Desuhiko led Yuma past a large meshed-in area filled with what appeared to be colorful plastic spheres.

“This is a ball pit, my man,” Desuhiko explained. “Think of it as a mostly-dry swimming pool.”

“Mostly dry?” Yuma asked.

“Sometimes, kids pee in it,” Desuhiko whispered.

Yuma gagged.

“And this right here is the entrance to the tunnels,” Desuhiko continued, gesturing to a set of stairs cushioned in foam.

“The tunnels?”

Desuhiko pointed towards the ceiling. Sure enough, a vast system of multi-colored tubes stretched out across most of the room - some had windows, some were connected by bridges made out of thick fabric, and some were even completely clear. A few had slides descending from them, twisting and turning and ending over soft foam mats.

Desuhiko studied a sign that was bolted to the nearby shoe cubby. “Aw, damn, looks like all of us are too old to go up there. Well, it’s probably for the best, I once got lost in a set of these as a kid, and I could totally see Princess getting lost up there too.”

“Yeah, I can actually understand how that might happen,” Yuma replied.

“Oh, here’s some target games,” Desuhiko said, pointing to a row of machines lined up against the wall.

Yuma studied them - “Pop-A-Shot” involved tossing some orange balls through a hoop with a net attached, while another game seemed to be a race between two figures that was decided by squirting water guns at at a target.

“What’s ‘skee-ball’?” Yuma asked.

“Oh, you’re talking to a skee-ball champion, my man!” Desuhiko exclaimed. He inserted one of his tokens into a slot near the bottom of the machine, causing several spheres to roll out into a tray. “Check it out - you take one of these balls and roll it up this ramp. You’re aiming to get the balls behind those barriers, and that determines how many points you get!”

To demonstrate, Desuhiko grabbed one of the balls and swung it up the ramp. The ball dropped behind a barrier that had the number “500’ painted on it in red letters. “Give it a go, my man!”

“Right!” Yuma said with a determined nod as he grabbed another ball. It was a little heavier than he expected, so he wound his arm a little further back before sending the ball up the ramp.

“Ouch!” cried a voice from within the machine.

“What the hell?!” Desuhiko yelped, jumping backwards.

Vivia Twilight had apparently wedged himself between the upper-most target and the plastic that covered the board. His head was now poking down from the top of the target board.

“Vivia, did I hit you?!” Yuma asked, watching in horror as Vivia rubbed his head.

“What the hell where you doing in the skee-ball machine?!” Desuhiko inquired, his voice cracking slightly.

Vivia shimmied out of the machine and dropped to his knees before standing up. He blinked at the two shorter detectives tiredly.

“I was trying to find a quiet place to nap in,” the pale detective sighed lazily. “This place is far too bright and far too loud.” He glanced around slowly. “I wanna die someday.”

Desuhiko and Yuma stared at Vivia as he shuffled off, presumably in search of another place to curl up in.

“That guy is so weird,” Desuhiko muttered, shaking his head. “Anyways, on with the tour!”

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Slow Down — Hawks x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Hawks was known as “the man who’s too fast for his own good”. Unfortunately, he lived up to that title in nearly every aspect of his life. Even during sex. So when he asked for your help, you just couldn’t say no.

Warnings: NSFW. Needy!Hawks (hints of sub!Hawks AND dom!Hawks). Premature ejaculation. Edging. Orgasm denial. Masturbation. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Blowjob. Breathplay. Cumplay.

Word count: 2.6k

“You need to relax, Hawks.”

The muscles on his toned thighs quivered lightly before loosening up under your palms. Beads of sweat pooled along his brow line and heaving bare chest. His golden eyes would settle anywhere but on you.

You two had been at this for only five minutes, but doubt started brewing inside you as to whether or not he’d last much longer than this.

As the young hero visibly calmed down, you decided it was time to resume resume what you had been asked to do: help pro hero number two Hawks from busting his load too quickly.

Your fingers curled around his cock once more, gaining a hiss from him as his hips lifted from the couch.

He was extremely responsive to your every touch, and while that might do wonders to anyone’s ego, it would all be over too soon if caution wasn’t exercised.

See, Hawks would often joke around with “the man who’s too fast for his own good” title that had been given to him. But the joke would fall flat now that he had realized his performance in bed was hindered.

A few more slow tentative pumps along his cock and you saw him balling his fists.

“Hawks... you need to look at me while I do this.”

An exasperated groan. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” you insisted, rubbing your thumb across his leaking tip. “Otherwise, you won’t make much progress.”

“I’ll fucking cum if I look...” he rasped through gritted teeth.

His scarlet wings twitched momentarily as you leaned in to place a butterfly kiss on the tip, gathering a few drops of precum on your lips as you did so.

“I wanna...” Hawks’ deep voice suddenly emerged. “I wanna fuck your mouth.”

You licked your lips and tasted him for the first time in a while. In all honesty, you yourself weren’t sure of what you’d call whatever this was. Friends with benefits was an overkill, but calling him just your friend didn’t fit either.

So you remained stuck in this limbo.

“Look at me first,” you told him, tightening your grip around him. “Keigo!”

The young man’s eyes finally locked with yours at the mention of his real name, and you seized the moment to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Fuck... you’re the best at this... your tongue...” he started off well, but his eyes quickly fluttered shut as one hand reached out to grip your chin tightly.

You yanked away from his, chuckling at his failed attempt at asserting dominance. “Flattery will get you nowhere, bird boy. You were the one who asked for my help, so do as I say.”

You had gone as far as to look up a few methods to extend his endurance, and this was the one you ended up choosing for convenience purposes. Hawks could just easily drop by your place for a quick session.

And even though the extent of your sexual experience with Hawks was limited to a few making out sessions, some blowjobs, and him eating you out from time to time, you knew from the get go that this cock wouldn’t last long inside a pussy.

But it was never your issue; at least he never made it to be, until he asked for your help, since it proved to be quite damaging to his male ego.

He was growing impatient by the minute, but you didn’t waver, even tough the growing damp spot in your panties served as a reminder of how badly you wanted to heed is request and just suck him off right then and there.

“You’re a meanie,” he pouted as he glared at the hand pumping him. “Fuck...”

Your lips curled into a devious smile. “You’re doing great, pretty bird.”

Praising Hawks was definitely the way to his heart — and apparently to his dick as it twitched under your palm.

Seeing that he was enduring your touch without breaking eye contact, you brought your lips to close around the head of his cock; his hips immediately jolted upwards, catching you off guard as he let out a sigh of pure bliss once he was halfway buried inside your mouth.

You promptly raked your teeth across the sensitive skin, which had him sliding out at lightning speed.

“Are you serious?” You scolded his boldness.

A boyish smile curled his lips. “100%.”

You smacked his thigh. Hawks and his damn percentages.

“No teeth!” he then protested, his beautiful features twisted into a deep frown.

“Then behave.”

He merely nodded, eyeing you eagerly as you wrapped your lips around him once again. The hand you had on his thigh felt him tense up, but he was definitely getting better at controlling his instinctive reflexes. You decided to take it up a notch and stare directly into his eyes as your lips parted to take more of him. Just as you’d expected, he bucked his hips into you, but this time you let him set the pace.

“Deeper... you can take more than that,” he said in between moans, pressing his thumb on your chin to have you open your mouth wider to take his thick cock.

You decided to indulge him for a while, testing his limit. Slowly, you allowed him to guide you all the way down on him with thumb now caressing your skin as his other hand clasped around your nape to keep you in place.

Thankfully, your breathing was trained enough to have him balls deep and grazing your throat without taking a toll on you. Your nose grazed the base of his cock briefly, and you swallowed.

Hard.

“Fuck-fuck-fuuuck!” he growled, wrapping his fingers around your neck to feel the faint bulge; his hips rising from the couch to make sure he remained buried deep inside you.

That was your cue. You instantly had both hands on his thighs and pulled away, earning a disappointed cry from him.

“Fuck no! I was not even close!” Hhe whined childishly, his back slumping into the couch in defeat.

You arched an eyebrow, noticing a string of saliva dangling between your owner lip and his tip. “Yes, you were. Stop trying to dom me and just let me help.”

It was in his nature, you figured. He had been raised by the commission to be one step ahead and not let anyone take advantage of him, so you weren’t at all surprised that this translated to his intimate side as well. But for someone who was so used to being told what to do and taking orders, Hawks sucked at doing so even when it was in his best interest.

He huffed in annoyance, but remained silent.

You glared at his cock momentarily, not being able to keep your pussy from clenching. This man was annoyingly pretty. Even his long and hard cock was pretty, having a slight curve to it and a nice and round bulbous head. Your eyes then shifted to his full balls, and you brought your fingers to fondle each one carefully, drawing delicious moans from him.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna suck it?”

You offered a teasing smile. “You shouldn’t make demands when I have you in my hand. Literally.”

Hawks’ eyes widened slightly. “Just let me cum.”

“You sure?”

He nodded before motioning you to shift closer with his index finger. “C’mere...”

Your panties were fully soaked by now, and as much as you wanted to resist him, it was getting harder to pull away from having him coming undone because of you.

Slowly, your tongue darted out to give his tip a short lick, but this time you let his cock slide all the way in without letting go of his balls.

He stuttered incoherently. “S-Slow... go—go... slow...”

You twirled your tongue across the protruding veins, letting his shaft reach your throat easily, strings of precum mixed with your saliva began pooling around the corners on your mouth and soon started dripping down your chin. Not wanting to go overboard, you stilled, not even daring to swallow.

His hands were gripping the edge of the couch so tightly that his knuckled were turning white; it was rather obvious that he was fighting off his impending orgasm with determination.

But as soon as you started swallowing around him, allowing your throat to ripple along his cock, Hawks’ mouth fell open in a profound growl.

“I’m... I’m gonna...” his wings were stretched all the way up to the ceiling, his long red feathers vibrating rhythmically with each roll from his hips.

Yes, he was going to.

His hips jerked in a broken rhythm as he attempted to fuck your mouth, nearing his orgasm rapidly. Once he started panting heavily and his moans became ragged, you slid off his cock.

“FUCK!” Hawks yelled in sheer frustration as his hips were left bucking against nothing but cool air.

You sat back, admiring how annoyed you’d left him yet again. It was always fun to tease him like that. He wasn’t used to not having things go his way, so you made it your mission to humble him down every once in a while.

The young hero groaned through gritted teeth, burying his face in his hands. “This is evil!”

“Deep breaths,” you chose to ignore his remark, placing your hands on his quivering thighs. “Calm down, Keigo...”

His entire body was shaking from the pent up tension. He might be a pro hero, but he was still human after all; even though he wasn’t used to being edged and overstimulated, you had to admit he was doing quite well.

Except for the strangled sobs that erupted from his throat and the few tears that slid down his flushed cheeks.

“Just... let.... me... no more....” he pleaded sheepishly, wrapping his own hand around his cock and pumping it a few times in desperation.

“Keigo... deep breaths,” you said, unhooking his fingers away from him.

He shook his head, eyes closed shut. “No... let me cum... please...”

“Hands off your cock,” you told him, placing them on the edge of the couch. “Don’t touch it. You need to cool off.”

This side of him proved to be unexpectedly alluring and empowering. Having a pro hero squirming and begging and completely desperate for release was something that you didn’t know you needed to witness.

A few long minutes rolled by.

Hawks’ breathing became more even and his beautiful face was no longer contorting from the pain of having his orgasm denied for the first time ever.

Your hands caressed his relaxed thighs with every ounce of affection you could muster. “See? You did so good, baby...”

Hawks brushed sweat-damp locks of golden hair away from his forehead, his eyes fixed on yours. “This hurts... real bad...”

His hard and veiny cock was slapped flat against his lower abdomen, precum still dripping from the tip.

“I think it’s time for you to cum,” you suggested with an understanding smile.

“You think?” Hawks chuckled sarcastically, his voice filled with annoyance.

Not wanting to summon a very angry Hawks, you massaged his sack for a few seconds, enjoying how his cock twitched with each stroke.

“Go on. Fuck my mouth.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, he lunged forward to grip his cock and have his hand grasp the back of your head.

His predatory instinct finally took over. “Open.”

You promptly complied, and he wasted no time shoving his cock inside you.

“Wider,” he grunted, forcing your chin down with his thumb. This sudden shift in his demeanor caused you to struggle to taking in all of it while trying to control your breathing through your nose.

Big mistake.

Hawks quickly caught on to what you were attempting to do, and he pinched your nose with his index finger and thumb.

“Told you,” he growled in satisfaction, watching you swallow his entire cock. “Deeper.”

Your eyes were stinging with tears from and you felt your swollen clit throb as he kept himself lodged in your throat. His other hand wrapped around your throat once again.

“Swallow.”

Your vision began to blur, but you told yourself to relax even though you struggled to breathe.

You swallowed once before he finally let go of your nose, fully enjoying how you were gasping around him and feeling his cock swelling up your neck through his fingers. You had tried breath play with him once, but this time it felt rougher an aroused you far more. He wasn’t usually this hungry, but then again you had never taunted him this much.

His hips rose at a fast pace as he fucked your mouth mercilessly, grunting and praising you. You weren’t able to keep the drool from spilling out and down your chin with each thrust.

“Touch yourself.”

You looked up in surprise, but readily slid one hand downwards and shoved it inside your panties, so you could finally relieve some of the tension that had built up in your swollen clit.

A low moan rippled through you throat as you rubbed yourself.

“Do that again... do...” he panted, completely lost in pleasure as his wings quivered around him steadily.

Sliding one finger inside your drenched pussy, you started fingering yourself, eyes fluttering shut from the overwhelming sensation.

“I’m gonna... fuck....”

Your other hand was gripping his thigh to keep yourself stable, and as he quickened the pace, you found out that he was defying your gag reflex.

“You gonna swallow all of it...” he grunted with a final jerk of his hips, burying himself so deep inside you that your nose was fully pressed against the base of his cock.

Tears streamed down your face as hot sprays of cum started spurting down your throat, and you struggled to keep it all down, the excess mixing up with your saliva and dripping from your mouth.

Hawks let out an animalistic growl as he emptied himself inside you, and you found yourself facing yourself with two fingers, riding after your on high as he massaged your throat.

“So pretty...” he panted, pulling his cock out and pressing your head to rest on his thigh. “Wanna cum, too?”

You nodded tiredly, feeling your spit running down the side of his thigh, but you just couldn’t help from keeping your mouth open as you gasped in pleasure.

“C’mere.” He ended up saying, helping you to get on your feet and to sit on his lap. “I’ll do that.”

He brushed his thumb across your chin to wipe off the mixture of cum and spit and brought it to his lips to taste it.

“Good?” You smiled in surprise.

He flashed you his trademark wide grin. “Amazing. Now, let me help.”

You welcomed his invitation, and lowered your head to rest on his shoulder, his hot body fully pressed against yours.

Two long fingers slipped inside your pussy and he started fingering you rapidly, making sure his palm rubbed your swollen clit. It didn’t take you long to get washed over in your own orgasm. It probably had something to do with how good he was with his fingers, but also because you had managed to edge yourself from edging him. How ironic.

Hawks planted a kiss on your forehead, enveloping both of you with his large wings. “That was quick. Maybe you need some help too, eh?”

A low chuckled rumbled in your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, Keigo. It was like 70% built up tension from edging you.”

“Just 30% from my fingers?” He feigned hurt.

You paused for a few seconds. “Maybe 20%?”

“And the other 10%?”

“From my fingers,” you shot sticking out your tongue to him teasingly.

He clicked his tongue. “So my fingers are better than yours. Noted.”

“That was not what I meant!” You laughed, not at all surprised by his deduction.

“Math never lies,” he winked adoringly.

Yes. You were definitely going to stick around to help him with this.

-

Masterlist

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[chevrolangels]

kiss me under the shit stick

deancas, christmas, ~700 wds

They’re in some old folks home, all decked out for the holidays. Sam’s doing his empathetic-puppy-dog-I-hear-you-face to the receptionist and getting all the info, which leaves Dean and Cas to hang back and wait for the go signal. 

Castiel’s drinking his third cup of coffee that morning, some Folgers that a smiling aide had pressed into his hands. He hadn’t the heart to say no.

Dean takes the cup from Castiel without asking, taking a generous swig. As he lowers the cup, he smiles, nudging Castiel with his elbow.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, nodding up towards the ceiling. “Look.”

Castiel follows his gaze. Above them, above the doorway of a small alcove, is a sad-looking plant, tacked limply to the wall. 

“Mistletoe,” he observes. Dean smirks.

“Uh-huh. Mistletoe.”

He sidles closer, fingers ghosting over Castiel’s back, down to tease at his waist.

“And you know what that means, don’t you?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“I do, indeed.”

Dean's grip tightens on his waist, bringing Castiel closer, and he’s already leaning in, despite them being rather exposed. It’s thrilling, to see Dean more comfortable with himself, with them—but Castiel isn’t going to pass up such a golden opportunity.  

“Strange, though,” he says, and Dean abruptly pauses, squinting at him.

“What?” 

Castiel shrugs.

“Strange that humans would choose mistletoe to kiss under.”

Dean looks at him suspiciously.

“Okay...and why is that?”

“Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and only propagates through bird droppings,” Castiel answers. “The word itself comes from ‘mistle’, meaning ‘feces’, and ‘toe’, meaning ‘twig’.”

He pauses, watching Dean’s expression spasm.

“You humans do have some strange traditions,” he says innocently.

“Wait a second—”

Dean holds up a finger.

“Are you telling me...people have been kissing—for years—under a literal goddamn shit stick?”

Cas nods. 

Dean gapes at him for a moment, then glances upward again. 

“Oooookay,” he says, grimacing. “ Never mind. I’m just gonna—”

In one smooth motion, Castiel grabs Dean’s coffeeless hand, pulling him back into the alcove, pressing him against the wall. Dean makes a small noise of surprise before Cas’s lips are on his, slightly dry, wonderfully soft, warm as he cups Dean’s jaw with his other hand.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” he says softly, nose bumping Dean’s. Dean blinks, a little dazed.

“You’re the one who brought up bird feces,” he mumbles, but his other hand searches for Castiel’s tie, pulling him closer. Castiel chuckles.

“I’d happily kiss you anywhere, even under the shit stick,” he murmurs, “But we might scandalize a few of the residents.”

Dean smiles.

“Better take advantage of this privacy, then,” he says, before leaning in again.

~

Rosa, at the receptionist desk, pens in another clue into her crossword. Sadie is still talking to the nice young man with the too-long hair, and across from her, the other two agents spill from the small room where they keep the brooms, straightening their jackets. The cute one’s hair is completely disheveled, and the other one has a smug smile on his face. 

Rosa shakes her head, and goes back to her crossword.

Dean clears his throat, his cheeks pink as their fingers tangle together, hidden behind the folds of Castiel’s coat. 

“Okay, Kris Kringle,” he says affectionately. “You got any other fun Christmas trivia tidbits?”

Castiel pretends to think for a moment, thumb brushing over Dean’s.

"Well, pre-Christian cultures regarded the white berries of the mistletoe as symbols of male fertility,” he says, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “The seeds representing semen, obviously.”

Dean nearly spits his coffee across the floor.

Rosa glares at him from the receptionist desk.

Dean wheels on Cas, cheeks flaming.

“Dude. You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, keeping a completely straight face. “Don’t you think they resemble testicles?” 

“Jesus, not so damn loud—”

“I’m just telling you your own lore, Dean.”

At that moment, ‘Agent Stills’ turns, giving them the signal. Dean claps Castiel’s arm, looking relieved. 

“Alright, buddy. Go time. Let’s leave the bedroom talk for...the bedroom.” 

Castiel nods soberly, hiding his smile.

“Of course.”

They pass by the receptionist, who gives the three of them the stink-eye as they leave. Castiel leans in, whispering into Dean’s ear.

“Just wait until I tell you about the orgies during Saturnalia.”

"Oh, for the love of—”

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 13

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Nick Fury and Maria Hill

Summary: Seems like that visit had quite the effect on you, enough to send you on a semi-bender. Should they step in? Should they leave it alone? Furthermore, what secret accidentally gets leaked to Yondu while this happens?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thank you to @allylin05 for the scene suggestion (where Reader couldn't reach something!) And thank you to all the others who have suggested scenes they’d like to see in this series! (I’m still working them in!) As always, if you have a cute little scene you'd like to see in this story, feel free to send me a request! It might take me a bit to work certain things in, but I’ll try to add as many as I can! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 21 of the Guardians living with reader.

Word Count: 5,635

The guardians were getting concerned.

This was different from the other times you'd get sulky and avoid the others. Ever since that night that the couple came to the house, you had barely said a word. All you did was curl up in your room, and when you weren't doing that you were drinking.

They tried a couple times to pull you out of it, to no avail.

For instance, they had decided to begin sparring practice again after Fury's last visit. Two weeks was enough of a break, and they couldn't just sit around going soft while they waited for the negotiations to finish. If they ever did. The first couple times you had refereed for them, seeing as you couldn't join in the actual sparring with your arm injured, but each time they tried asking if you'd like to ref again after the night the couple came, you had refused, not even looking at them as you lay staring at the ceiling or curled on your good side.

Mantis tried using her abilities on you, like she did to make you feel better when Fury punished you, but you barely let anyone near you, and you certainly wouldn't allow anyone to touch you. You either pulled away or sternly told the offender to leave you alone, or in Peter's case, when he got the 'brilliant' idea one morning in the kitchen that you might cheer up if he tried tickling you, a swift knee to the crotch.

Either way, Mantis knew better than to push it. She had a feeling it wouldn't work this time anyway. The effects of her abilities were only temporary, it wasn't a cure. She can ease sadness away for a little while, and if someone was just a little sad they might still feel better even after the effect wore off, but if that sadness was too deep it would only wash back in once the person was no longer subject to the effects of her abilities.

A few times you could be heard walking around the attic, and a couple of those times sounds could be heard like you were throwing things across the room. One of these times one of the gang finally got the courage to go check on you, but they found you had locked the door behind you.

It seemed the "attic is off limits" rule still applied even when you were up there.

This annoyed Rocket, who had been reminded by this recent development that he had never gotten around to sneaking up there to prove to Groot that there were no monsters up there. The fact that you had been throwing stuff around up there didn't help that matter, only convincing the little guy that the noises were in fact coming from the monsters. After a few times of this he angrily went into your room, intent on getting the key and going up there to yell at you for scaring Groot, only to be disappointed to find that the key was no longer in the drawer and annoyed with himself that he wouldn't have thought that you'd have taken it up with you.

The third day of this Gamora pulled Peter aside. They knew Fury would be coming the next day, and she didn't know if telling them would only make matters worse. Did they tell, or stay out of it? Unfortunately Peter didn't have the answer either, he only hoped that'd you'd sober up by tomorrow. He didn't know what was going on with you, but he'd hate to see you possibly get into more trouble with SHIELD because of it.

There was also a bit of a selfish concern for them as well. What if Fury decided you were unfit to look after them and keep them hidden? Would SHIELD remove them from your responsibility and need to split the team up to hide them?

Later that night you left your room and headed to the cellar to pull yet another bottle of whiskey up and take it into the kitchen. No one was in there, just as you hoped. Unfortunately that didn't last forever.

You were mindlessly scrolling tumblr on your phone when Yondu sat down in the seat next to you at the table.

"Mind if we join ya?" he asked.

You glance up to see Kraglin had also sat down, and you wordlessly scoot the bottle in their direction to indicate you didn't care and went back to scrolling and sipping from your own glass.

"So how long are ya planning on taking this bender?" Yondu asked.

You glance up with narrowed eyes and as if to spite him grabbed for the bottle again to top off your glass before putting it back.

Yondu looked displeased. "That ain't an answer." he said cooly.

"Best you're gonna get," you say, slurring a bit.

Yondu leaned back in his chair with an expression Kraglin recognized. It was the same one he used to wear when someone thought they could get away with mouthing off to him. The look of mild bemusement that usually preceded a whistle or a scolding. Only this time he didn't do either.

"Why don't ya tell us what's eating you?"

Your eyes flicked up but you didn't answer. You didn't want to talk. You were sleepy. It was none of his business anyway. What came out was an elegant, "Nothing... your face." This was followed by your also very elegant flipping of the bird before you reached for your glass again.

Yondu, seeing you were clearly past drunk, got to it first, sliding it out of your reach. "I think you've had enough, little lady."

You pout at him. "Give that back."

"No." he responded flatly.

"Dick," you mumble, lowering your head to rest on your good arm on the table.

"Yeah, sit there and pout. That's gonna help." Yondu snarked.

You didn't answer.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you, pipsqueak." Yondu scolded, sort of hoping that the childish name would get a rise out of you.

No answer.

"You think she passed out?" asked Kraglin.

Yondu reached over to grab your wrist, intent to do the whole lift and drop thing to see how out you were, but you only whined on contact and swatted him away, mumbling something about sleep.

"That answer yer question?"

Kraglin shrugged before nodding to the bottle. "I'm gonna get a glass, want one?"

Yondu nodded, not taking his eyes off you until Kraglin came back with a couple glasses and poured the two of them a drink. Something was definitely eating at you, and the way you were dealing with it just wasn't healthy. Even as a Ravager he still knew that. Sure, it hadn't stopped him from going on a few of his own benders over the years, but it didn't mean he had to just watch someone else go through one. Unfortunately he had no solution. Closest he had to one was cutting you off, which he'd already done, and getting you to talk about it, which you wouldn't, and if you were unwilling then there wasn't a whole lot more he could do.

He and Kraglin sat there for a bit, sipping their drinks and killing time with idle chit-chat. They could hear a movie playing loudly from the sitting room. Probably something from that Netflix Rocket had turned on. No matter. Didn't bother them any. Clearly wasn't disturbing you as you slept at the table.

That is, until the sounds of a crying baby sounded from the film.

Yondu noticed you groggily sit up and rub your eyes. You lightly smacked his arm and, still half asleep, mumbled out, "You fetch the baby, I'll make the bottle, ok?" With that you pat him on the shoulder as you sleepily went to stand.

Yondu's eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion. He shared a quick look with Kraglin. He had heard it too and his face shared the same sentiments. Baby? There wasn't any baby to fetch??

Before you could stumble away to prepare a bottle he was sure didn't exist, Yondu grabbed your good arm to stop you. "Hey there, where ya think yer goin'?" he said, his eyebrows knitted together. He really hoped this was just some sort of drunken sleepwalker dream on your part, and not you acting on some instinct he was sure there'd only be one way for you to have had. He tried gently shaking you.

You blinked a few times, finally seeming to wake up enough to remember where you were and who you were with, who had hold of your arm.

You didn't see your loved one's face, as you expected. Instead you saw a blurry blue that focused just enough into Yondu. You did still, however, hear the cry of a baby; but it wasn't- you knew it couldn't-

Yondu saw how you looked up and realized the sound, and how your expression changed from sleepy and confused to downright anguished. Your lip quivered and his eyes widened. 'No no no, none of that!' he thought, realizing you were starting to tear up.

You pulled your arm away and covered your mouth, turning so you wouldn't face him as pain tore at your drunken heart.

Yondu stood and caught you by the shoulders, spinning you towards the door at the far end of the kitchen, saying, "I think it's time fer bed! Someone's had a lil' too much t'night." He tried to keep his tone light-hearted, but he shot a glance back to Kraglin as he walked you out of the room. They didn't need words to convey what they were thinking. It seemed they might have just become privy to a bit of painful information you hadn't meant to share.

Yondu guided you up the stairs to your room, all the while he could hear you sniffing.

The clumsy opening of your door startled Mantis awake. She sat up and rubbed her eyes to see Yondu guiding a teary-eyed you into the room.

"Back to sleep, Bug." Yondu said. "Nuttin' to see here. She just had a little too much whiskey.

Mantis ignored him and stood from her bed, approaching the two of you as he tried to persuade you into sitting on the bed. Of course, being drunk and upset you weren't exactly very compliant. You kept trying to walk towards the attic door, much to Yondu's dismay and annoyance as he kept trying to tell you you needed to sleep it off.

Mantis watched the scene and knew what she needed to do. Before Yondu could say anything she had already reached out to your forehead and whispered, "Sleep."

Problem was you were a couple feet away from the bed and you fell backwards into into Yondu, who's arms shot out to catch your dead weight just in time with an 'Oof!' He sighed and maneuvered your now unconscious form to your bed, saying, "Ya couldn't have waited to do that until she was closer to the bed?" He wasn't angry, but a slight annoyance still coated his words.

Mantis twiddled her fingers sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

Yondu stood, having managed to lay you flat on top of the bed. "It's fine, Bug. I know you was only tryin' to help."

"Is she going to be ok?" Mantis asked. "That's the third time I've had to do that in as many days."

Yondu raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"At night, when she doesn't think anyone can hear her, she cries. It started after that couple came and said those things to her through the door. I put her to sleep so she doesn't cry." Mantis walked over to your sleeping form and placed her hand on your forehead. Her antennae glowed and she described to Yondu what she read from you. "Her heart aches. She's angry, she's sad, but mostly she mourns."

Yondu swallows. Remembering what had just happened downstairs, another memory came to him. That night under your tree in the forest. He had said something about you maybe settling down and having a few little ankle-biters and then you... oh no. He had a suspicion that he knew what you mourned, and the thought made his heart clench. He still didn't know how that couple showing up might have triggered this pain in you, but if what he suspected from the pieces he could put together was true, then that was a hell of a loss, and it helped explain to him a little bit why you were the way you were. You were in pain.

Before Mantis could say more he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's let her rest now, Bug."

***

You woke up earlier in the morning than you would have liked. You could blame it on your throat being dry as sand, the dull ache in your temples, and the feeling like your bladder was in a vice. Oh, the 'joys' of the morning after a night of drinking. Not nearly as fun as the drinking itself. Though, you were sure 'fun' wasn't exactly what you had had last night, even though you couldn't quite remember it.

No matter. Time to shower and get yourself presentable. Fury would be coming today for one of his weekly-check-ins and it'd be unprofessional to greet him wearing last nights clothes and possibly still smelling of alcohol.

Today you had a chance of being told you no longer needed the sling, so you tried to at least be happy for that as you gathered a change of clothes for your shower and thanked whatever higher-being that might be listening that the bathroom was free.

***

Fury showed up about mid-morning with the same doctor as last time.

You pretended to be a good little soldier and sat patiently as the doctor examined you, said you were free to remove the strap from your brace, and adjusted the hinge on your brace for the limited range of motion he would allow your elbow to move while it was still healing. You were given some therapy exercises to do and informed you were still under a weight restriction for that arm.

The first thing you did was utilize the full range of this new, albeit limited, range of motion, stretching your fingers and wincing as you tried to work a bit of the stiffness out.

Before the doctor had begun examining, Gamora quietly asked to speak with Agent Hill alone. They left the kitchen to speak in the hall mostly unnoticed.

"She took the brace off, didn't she?" Agent Hill assumed. "Knew it. She's so damn stubborn!"

Gamora shoot her head. "No, no. That's actually not it. It's something else."

"Really?" Agent Hill looked surprised.

"Yes. She followed all of Fury's orders. It's about something that happened the other day. This couple came to the house-"

Maria looked alarmed. "Did they see any of you? If you were compromised you shouldn't have waited this long to tell us."

"No, it wasn't anything like that" Gamora said, slightly frustrated with the interruptions. She explained that you seemed to know them, how you had closed all the curtains and shut off the lights just before they arrived and pretended not to be home. She told her how they had spoken to you through the door, and that you had been upset and closed off ever since.

Maria frowned. "Do you know what they looked like? What they said?"

Gamora shook her head. "I never saw them, but they said something about how something wasn't her fault, that they forgave her? I don't know what they were talking about, she wouldn't say, but she's hardly left her room since then and we're just a bit concerned and thought we should tell somebody."

Maria nodded. "I'll speak with her."

Gamora nodded in return. She got the feeling that Maria knew the significance of the couple's arrival, but wasn't going to say, so she didn't ask.

They returned to the kitchen just as the doctor was finished. Agent Hill requested to have a word with you in private while Fury briefed the Guardians on the lack of update on their situation.

You rose an eyebrow at her, but obeyed, and the two of you made your way out to the front garden.

Maria spoke first. "How long have we worked together?"

"Almost since I first started, you helped train me. Why?"

"And we've come to know each other decently well in that time, yes?"

You look at her, confused. "Yeah? What is this about?"

"You know you can talk to me, right? If something's wrong?"

"I don't need to talk-"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Oh yes. Ms independent. Ms 'I don't need anyone.' I get it. I do. But maybe letting people in every once in awhile couldn't hurt."

"Are you going to tell me what this is about or not?" you say irritably.

"One of your charges has expressed concerns."

You looked confused and surprised. "Who? Why?"

"Doesn't matter. And they told me that you had a couple visitors the other day. My informant didn't know who they were, of course, but I have a pretty good idea, especially after I was told what they said to you."

You look off towards the road bitterly.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Maria asked.

Your gaze shifted from her to the ground and back a couple times. Finally you relented. "They said they forgave me. What am I supposed to do with that?" Your gaze was hard as you looked into her eyes.

"Accept it?" Maria said with almost a laugh, her eyebrows knitted together. "Maybe take a page out of their book and try to forgive yourself?"

"But it was my fault," you respond.

Maria can see the pain in your eyes. Her eyes soften. "It wasn't, though. It wasn't your fault. You have to understand that."

"No, you don't understand," you say, pain present in your voice. "Put yourself in my shoes. Tell me, that if it was you, that you wouldn't believe it was your fault then!"

Maria didn't answer.

"That's what I thought."

"Look, I have the ability to see reason because I'm not in your shoes. I can see that it wasn't your fault. You can't hold yourself accountable for what other people have done to you."

You give her a hard look but don't respond. After a few moments you see Fury come out the front door with the doctor and you finally say to her, "Are we done?"

She follows your gaze to see Fury before turning back to you. You can tell she wants to say no, but she settles for, "I suppose. For now."

The two of you walk back towards the front door to meet Fury. He tells you that he's pleased to see you followed orders, but to make no mistake, he still has Gamora looking out to make sure to follow through with the doctor's orders until your arm is healed, or until he can trust you no longer need that type of supervision. Whichever comes first.

You begrudgingly nod and they leave, you heading back inside.

***

You had decided to not confront them about who told Maria about the couple. If she was right, and they really were just concerned, then you decided it was better to just not make them concerned anymore. No concerned Guardians, no one getting SHIELD involved with your personal life.

You decided to not head back to your room after Fury and Agent Hill left, rightfully convinced that it had been how you more or less hid away for three days that alarmed them. Probably the drinking too, but jury was out if you'd stop that or not. What were they going to do? Stop you?

Actually... you did have a faint memory of Yondu pulling your drink away from you last night... Oh well. You were sure they wouldn't do it again, but that was a question for later. Now, you were going to go check your neglected garden.

Only, when you got there, you found it wasn't nearly as neglected-looking as it ought to be considering you hadn't visited it in over a week. You cocked your head and raised an eyebrow. Who had kept it?

On cue, Kraglin spoke up behind you. "Um, hey."

You turn to face him.

"Hope ya don't mind. Kinda kept it nice for ya, while you were- you know..."

You were taken aback. "Oh- um. Thank you. You didn't have to-"

"I know." Kraglin said, rubbing the back of his head. "Back before we- Yondu an' me- joined Pete's team we were on a lot bigger ship. Lotta crew. We had an areas for growin' food on board, helped keep fresh stuff around so people didn't get sick. Anyways- used have to shifts in those areas some when I was younger. Still remembered how to do most of it. Figured I should make myself useful when you couldn't do it- Ya know, something to do."

You glance back at the garden. "I guess, um, if you like it, I could let you help me next time, if you want, then," you reply awkwardly. "You did a nice job- thanks."

Kraglin smiled a bit. "Sure thing. Beats sitting around."

You crack a smile at that and look to the ground briefly. "Well I guess I'll find something else to do now, since this is done." With that you walked past him and back into the house.

You get back inside to a commotion in the kitchen.

Mantis is crying and panting and fanning her mouth, Gamora is yelling at Rocket, and Rocket is laughing his ass off.

"What's going on here?" you ask, brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

"Rocket tricked Mantis into eating these," she showed you the jar of jalapeños, "and now she's in pain."

You sigh and glare at Rocket, who didn't look sorry at all. You guide Mantis to sit at the table and pour her a glass of milk, instructing her to drink it slow like you had Yondu when he ate them and informing her that it would help. At least you knew she didn't react to milk the same way he did. Gamora asked to make sure Rocket hadn't fed Mantis poison, but you assured her she'd be fine. It was food, just not something any of them were used to apparently.

Kraglin re-entered the house just then and took in the scene. A teary eyed Mantis sat at the table sipping some milk, and you stood behind her, rubbing a hand up and down her back comfortingly, yours and Gamora's eyes both shooting daggers at Rocket, who was still grinning.

You begin to scold Rocket. "What's wrong with you? I know you did that on purpose."

"You don't know that, how was I supposed to know she wouldn't like them."

Kraglin's eyes narrowed. He spoke up. "Now if I'd known you was gonna use them to be mean to Mantis there, I wouldn't have told ya when you asked me which was the hot things Yondu ate. She's too sweet for you to be mean to her like that."

Rocket gave Kraglin a look of betrayal. "Come on. It was just a joke. Did you really think I was asking because I wanted to eat them."

"I thought you was asking so you wouldn't eat them," Kraglin replied, annoyed. "not so you'd make the bug girl cry."

Rocket rolled his eyes. "Lighten up."

"What's with you lately?" Gamora asked. "You're not even this bad on the ship. You behavior has definitely gotten worse since we've been here."

"Has not!" Rocket denied. "If anything you guys have lost your ability to take a joke!" He crossed his arms. "And how come nobody says anything when Star-Munch and dumbass there-" he pointed at Kraglin, "-mess around, but I always get yelled at! It's like I'm the only one not allowed to have fun here!"

You tilted your head at Rocket, contemplating a bit before saying, "Are you trying to say you're bored?"

Rocket threw up his hands. "Of course I'm freaking bored! What do you expect!? There's nothing to do! I can't blow anything up, or make any weapons, or make weapons that blow up! This place is like prison!"

You hummed and nodded your head. "I see..." You had an idea. You were normally against rewarding bad behavior, but you saw this more as an.. olive branch of sorts. Maybe if you gave him something to do he wouldn't be so restless. Wouldn't be so... rude. Give him a toy to play with, more or less. You nodded towards the back door. "Come here."

"Fat chance. Like I'd go anywhere with you." Rocket scowled, crossing his arms petulantly.

You shrugged your shoulders. "Fine by me. I won't show you the workshop then." A smile tugged at your lips but you suppressed it.

Rocket narrowed his eyes. "What workshop?"

"You already know I built you that bed. Where did you think I did that? The bathtub? It's in the shed."

Rocket eyed you, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to trust you or not. Gamora and Kraglin exchanged pleasantly surprised glances, intrigued that you were offering an olive brach of sorts to the bratty raccoon.

"Ok, but any funny stuff and I'll bite your good arm off." Rocket said, moving towards you in an almost cautious manner.

You roll your eyes. "There's no reason why there would be any 'funny stuff.'" you say. You start to turn towards the door, but stop. "Oh, one thing before we go. Apologize to Mantis."

Rocket glared at you. It was clear he didn't want to, but after a few moments he made an attempt. In a sarcastic tone he said, "Oh gee, Mantis, I'm SO sOrRy-"

You cut him off. "Like you mean it, or I don't show you the workshop."

Rocket grumbled something you couldn't hear under his breath before begrudgingly uttering a, "Sorry, Mantis."

Mantis, whose mouth was now much less burn-y than earlier, told Rocket she forgave him and you headed back outside with Rocket to see the workshop.

Kraglin and Gamora watched as you went, completely surprised that that had worked.

***

You led Rocket to the shed and unlocked it, opening the door and motioning inside. Rocket hesitated, but eventually entered after you took the first steps inside to turn on the light.

A workbench ran along the length of one side of the room. On it sat a chop-saw at one end, and a vice as well as a small cabinet of little drawers where you sorted your nails, screws, and other fastenings. Above this workbench ran a series of shelves housing various drills and tool boxes and other odd-n-ends. Under the bench laid an old forgotten and broken step-stool you had never gotten around to fixing.

A smaller workbench sat on the wall opposite side. Above that was a pegboard where you hung different wrenches and screwdrivers and hammers, and above that hung a short cupboard.

In the middle of the room stood a table saw, and behind that, at the back of the room, is what caught Rocket's eye most.

You had a welding station set up, and he immediately walked back towards it.

"I didn't know you had this in here!" Rocket exclaimed.

"You never asked," you reply, slightly grinning at his obvious interest in the welding area.

Rocket looked the area over. It was covered in a layer of dust, showing that it had been awhile since anyone had used it. "This still work?" he asked.

"It should," you say with a little uncertainty. "I haven't used it for years, but I'm sure the tank still has gas in it. We could always find out. I take it you know how to use it?"

Rocket looked back at you. "Of course I know how to use it. It's just basic fire welding, not like it's a plasma welder or anything."

You raise an eyebrow. Apparently he knew his stuff better than you thought... "Ok then. Just let me find the striker..." You looked around the welding bench, but didn't see it anywhere. "Hm... must have misplaced it... let me look."

You walk over to the small workbench, looking in the drawers, but came up empty handed. You check the drawers in the long workbench. Nothing. You looked up at the shelves. Nope, didn't see it. You walk back over to the small bench to look in the cupboard above it. No striker. "I know it's in here somewhere." you sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

Then you see it. The edge of the striker glinting from on top of the cupboard. "Damn," you say, your gaze falling to the floor before returning to the striker.

You reach up in vain, knowing you couldn't reach it from the ground, even on your tip-toes.

"Need some help, shorty?" came Rocket's teasing voice. You obviously weren't short compared to him, but it didn't matter. You could have been seven feet tall and he still would have used the jab.

You throw him a look. "Like you're one to talk! And no." You try reaching again and sigh.

"Don't you have a chair or something to stand on?" He was chuckling at you now.

"No." you admit, gesturing to the broken stool under the other workbench. "Never got around to fixing it. Normally I just-" you cut yourself off as you tried to reach up again.

"Just what?"

You sigh. "Climb. Ok? Normally I'd just climb up there, but um," you gesture with your arm in the brace, "kinda can't do that right now." You try reaching again, but you give up. That tactic was obviously never going to work. You look around. "Maybe I can find something to knock it down..."

As you look around you see from the corner of your eye Rocket make a couple jumps to get on top of the cabinet, where he then grabbed the striker and hopped back down onto the workbench and held it out to you with a cheeky grin.

You exhale out your nose as you take the striker and say, "You could have done that this whole time?"

"Yeah," Rocket admitted. "but watching you struggle was funnier."

You ignored him and headed back towards the welding area. Yelling at him never seemed to do anything but encourage him anyway.

You attached a brazing tip to the line connected to the tank, turned on the gas, and clicked the striker up to the tip. It took a couple tries, but the flame finally caught with a whoosh and you laughed in surprise. "See. It works," you say to Rocket. "And as long as you don't burn the shed down or hurt yourself, you can use whichever tools you know how to use."

Rocket eyed you as you turned off the gas, extinguishing the flame. "What's the catch?"

"I just told you. Don't burn down the shed or get hurt." After half a second's thought you added with a slight grin, "Should I add 'don't break my tools' and 'lock up when you're done'?"

Rocket scoffed. "I'm not gonna break your tools. If anyone knows how to care for tools it's me! Hell, they'll probably be in better condition after I use them."

You shook your head in amusement. "Alright." Little guy could be so dramatic. "I know there's an extra key somewhere in the house, but until then you can use mine, ok?"

Rocket nodded but then asked, "Why keep it locked?"

You look out the open door. "Force of habit, mostly... keeps kids from getting in and hurting themselves too," you say, adding, "You know, like Groot. Wouldn't want him to go playing around the tools and getting hurt."

Rocket nodded again. He knew Groot mostly knew better from being with him not to play with tools, but he didn't argue.

"Anyway," you begin again, gesturing to the neat stacks of spare wood and metal material in the corner. "Knock yourself out." you placed your key to the shed on the small workbench. "Key's here. Lockup when you're done and leave the key on the kitchen counter after, ok?"

Rocket raised his eyebrow. "You're trusting me in here by myself?" he asked, sounding more suspicious than confused as you turned to leave.

You turn back to him, slightly grinning. "You said you know what you're doing, and I've already been told you used to work on the ships, so that claim has already been vouched for, so... yeah. Unless you're gonna give me a reason not to trust you, that is."

"No, that's all pretty much right," he said, eyeing you, still seeming unsure. As if he thought it might be a trap.

"Then we're good," you reply. You to leave again when you're stopped by him asking, "What's in this for you?" You didn't know whether to sigh or laugh, so you settled for a mix of both as you turn back yet again. "I figured maybe if you had something to keep you entertained maybe you'd be less of an insufferable asshole."

Rocket looked offended and you laughed. "Now can I leave or do you have anything else to ask?"

"Nah," he replied, taking his eyes off you to now look around the workshop. "We're good. Um... thanks..."

The 'thank you' honestly surprised you, but you only turned your look of surprise away as you exited the shed and said, "Don't mention it."

Rocket watched you leave before turning back to check out the welding bench some more.

Yes. This was just what he'd been needing. He could finally repair the device he smuggled.

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [7]: ‘night changes’ (remus lupin x reader)

a/n: i got rejected from my top choice university program today so if im gonna be unhappy, might as well make u guys happy and release parts 5 and 7

brief summary: y/n and remus are both teachers at hogwarts and this is his first transformation where he is under wolfsbane. y/n remains in human form as he transforms. werewolf or not, all y/n ever feels is him.

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

series masterlist here

join taglist here

7.

previously, in part 1:

“No, you don’t understand, it’s incredibly, extremely dangerous for a human to be around a were-“ Remus had tried to say, before Y/N had stood up and with a crack, disappeared. A single white dove hovered where she had stood, its wings flapping slowly to stay afloat.

“Y/N?”

With a crack, Y/N had appeared again.

“I didn’t know you were an Animagus.”

Y/N grinned. 

“What, you thought James, Sirius and Peter were the only ones to ever succeed at it?”

Remus still grimaced, shaking his head and looking down.

“It’s still too dangerous, I won’t risk it. I couldn’t possibly think of hurting you, I’m too dangerous-“

“Remus, stop it. You didn’t hurt Peter as a rat back in the day, you wouldn’t hurt a flinging bird either. Plus, I got a serious height advantage on you anyway.” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him teasingly, transforming back again into the dove and flying up to the ceiling. Lupin wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t-“

The dove reappeared as Y/N and kneeled between Lupin’s legs, taking his face into her hands carefully. 

“Please? Let me be there for you. Let me try-“

“I-“ Remus winced in his crippling self-doubt.

“I promise, if I ever feel unsafe, I’ll fly away. I promise.”

Remus nodded. “I love you.”

Y/N was taken aback, but surged forward to press her lips against his.

“I love you too.”

It was the first time they had said that to each other.

+

The first full moon of the Hogwarts term was now but a day away. As it drew nearer, Remus got paler and grew more irritable, as it always was. 

The students never noticed, as he remained their kind Professor Lupin to them. Remus valued the staff and Dumbledore in extremely high regard, so he mainly kept to himself to avoid conflict.

However, his short temper was not 100% appeasable. 

He was presently in his office, leg anxiously bouncing. He couldn’t help but jitter as restless energy coursed through him. The door opened, and he  jerked his head in its direction, to see Y/N walk in, slightly anxious as well.

“Hi, love.” She said, making her way to him.

“He’s late.” Remus muttered.

“It’s Albus Dumbledore, what do you expect- maybe he had a Wizarding War in Luxembourg to stop before this or something.” Y/N joked, dragging a chair beside her and taking Remus’ hand.

His leg stopped bouncing. 

+

1980.

Remus sat in an armchair in the House of Black’s library, attempting to distract himself before the night would come, a transformation night.

Loud voices reverberated across the walls, and he usually wouldn’t have minded, but the full moon made him more irritable.

“Will you guys stop yelling!” He called out across the hallway to the room where James, Sirius and a couple other Order members were talking over each other.

Sirius shared a look with James and they shrugged, making a motion with their hand asking the others to lower their voices.

“Hi, guys!” In came Y/N’s voice, as she walked through the door after a day of work, setting down her jacket. She joined the table for a few snacks, before inquiring, “Where’s Remus?”

“Ah, in the library.” James said mindlessly, shuffling the pack of cards they were playing with. He spotted Y/N head for that direction, and attempted to add, “But I wouldn’t disturb him if I were-“

But Y/N already walked in the library, wanting to see her boyfriend. She found him buried in a book, sitting slightly uncomfortably in his clothes, as if his body was having pre-transformation aches.

“Hi, love.” She said gently.

Remus peered up from his book and instantly smiled, uncrossing his legs and patting at his lap. Y/N took a seat on him, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortably.

“How was work?” He grumbled, mouth kissing up her arm and shoulder.

“Oh, just the usual.”

He listened to her talk about her day, hugging her as she sat in his lap.

James heard faint sounds of their light voices from the other room, and laughed. Sirius shook his head, both of them amused by their friend’s drastic change in demeanor.

“Little fucker.”

+

Dumbledore appeared in Remus’ office not long after Y/N joined, with a goblet of familiar-looking blue smoke.

“Remus, Y/N. I took the liberty of bringing you your last dose myself, Severus has already done so much. So, you wanted to talk about the logistics of your upcoming transformation.”

Remus nodded, leaning forward and taking the potion.

“This is your first time with Wolfsbane, so we cannot be sure on how it will affect you. However, I trust that it has been brewed properly, so it should do its function, which is to maintain your mental state when you transform.”

“So technically, he could just stay and hide here in his office and wait for the night to be over?” Y/N asked Dumbledore, thumb rubbing over Remus’ hand.

“Yes. If the potion has been brewed correctly, which I am sure it has, Remus should transform into nothing but a harmless wolf. Of course, because this is your first time, if you still wish to go outside and-“

“Yes.” Remus interjected, once he finished the last of the potion. “I wish to still use the Whomping Willow, just to avoid all potential risk.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore smiled, bowing his head. “I have complete trust in you, so you do as you please.”

“And I should… I won’t forget who I am, I won’t lose my mind?” Remus asked.

“No.” Dumbledore confirmed. “Your mental state will stay intact.”

“Then, I can technically be in human form with him.” Y/N gasped as the idea jumped into her head. She was immediately met with startled looks from both Dumbledore and Remus, Dumbledore merely intrigued and Remus looking downright terrified. “I mean, I could be with him. Me, a human.” She added hastily.

Glancing at Remus’ fervently opposed look, Dumbledore merely stood up.

“I will leave that between you two to discuss. Goodnight, and good luck.” He said. “Oh! And one more thing.”

His eyes twinkled. “I hear talk amongst the students since the start of term. About you two.”

Remus and Y/N looked at each other nervously.

“Something about spotting their Charms and Defence teachers always being present in each other’s offices…”

Y/N mouth dropped in shock, trying to figure out how students could even know where they spent their nights, before Dumbledore laughed heartily, shaking his head.

“I kid, I kid, I have heard nothing of the sort. All that has reached my ears are the raving comments about your classes and subjects. Keep up the good work, Professors.” Dumbledore chuckled, and vanished into the fireplace.

Y/N stared dumbfounded at the spot he disappeared, before letting out a laugh.

“I-“ She blinked. “He is so weird, and can you believe, I almost let slip that I’m an Animagus-“

She stopped once she looked at her husband, whose expression was grave.

“Wha-“

“You cannot stay in human form with me.” He shook his head.

Y/N stayed silent for a second. “Why not? If this potion works, and we know it will, your-“

“We can’t be too sure!” Remus sighed. “Werewolves, we hunt for humans. We look for victims to bite, to… to-“

“If the potion doesn’t work, then I’ll just transform into a dove, like always.”

Remus met her eyes in a worried gaze.

“I’ve been a bird countless of times on your transformations, you’re still gonna let me do that, are you?” Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You even said, werewolves look for humans, animal companions are harmless-“

“Which is exactly why you can’t be in human form, darling! The extreme danger that would put you in, you have no idea.”

“I have no idea?” Y/N pursed her lips, instinctively reaching out to her bicep, on which lay a tiny white scar.

Remus glanced at it too, with almost hatred and remorse in his eyes, as he sighed, hand tracing over it and kissing it.

+

“Maybe you should transform right now, my love.” Remus said anxiously as he, Y/N, James, Sirius and Peter walked through an abandoned part of the woods.

The sky was dark, and the clouds radiated a faint shimmer indicating the full moon would appear soon.

“I won’t transform until I absolutely need to.” Y/N said firmly, hand holding onto Remus’ tightly.

“She’ll follow our lead, Moony, don’t worry.” Sirius said.

Unintentionally, they stopped at a small hill, deeming the timing to be right.

“Y/N, it’s not too late, you could just Disapparate away, I-“ Remus said to Y/N.

“Remus. Stop. I’m not scared.” Y/N smiled at him, cupping his cheek. “You’re still you. And I love you, all parts of you. Nothing will change that, or you and me.”

Remus nodded, breathing quickly and pulled her in for a kiss, before the other Marauders beckoned Y/N to back away slightly as the moon started to peak.

The night changed in an instant.

The opal orb shone in the sky and in the moonlight, Y/N watched as Remus’ tall silhouette trembled, his body morphing into a werewolf.

Y/N was in awe. His body lengthened. His shoulders were hunching. Hair sprouted visibly from his head and neck and his hands curled into clawed paws. Straightening up, he howled to the sky, the sound echoing into the rest of the night.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The Marauders had transformed as she kept her eye on Remus. For a second, the werewolf’s eyes met hers, but before she could do anything, he lunged for her.

Adrenaline shot through her body as the werewolf made a swipe towards her, a big black dog jumping in between them just in time for Remus’ sharp claw to slightly graze her shoulder before she transformed with a crack, into a dove and flew up, batting her wings.

+

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that.” Remus whispered painfully, finger tracing over the small permanent scratch near Y/N’s shoulder.

“But I’m fine.” Y/N pursed her lips, eyes looking into Remus’ face imploringly. “Because I knew that it wasn’t you. And after the night ended, you cared for me so tenderly and lovingly. Gently. Because that is the real you.”

+

Remus soaked a warm towel for the millionth time as he sat Y/N on the toilet next to the sink to tend the small scratch she had acquired from him.

“Rem, it’s okay, do you realize that I’ve broken literal bones before! This is nothing.” Y/N said, letting him clean the patch of skin before taking both of his hands in hers. He kneeled in between her legs.

“I could never forgive myself for this, I’m so sorry-“

“Please. In the best way possible, shut up.” Y/N smiled, eyes welling up at the unnecessary look of remorse plaguing Remus’ face. “That wasn’t you. And nothing that I saw or felt last night changes who you are to me now.”

“You don’t…see me as a monster? You don’t even feel a tiny bit scared being with me right now?” Remus teared up.

Y/N smiled, eyes crinkling and letting tears fall down her cheeks. “I just feel you.”

+

Y/N woke up from her nap the night of the full moon to find Remus’ side of the bed empty. Eventually, she had gotten Remus to agree to let her accompany him as she always did, but in human form this time.

Getting up, she spotted Remus already at the door. She crossed her arms.

“Are you running away?” Y/N frowned, her husband jumping at getting caught.

“No, I-I figured I’d head out earlier.”

Y/N walked towards him, squeezing his shoulders.

“We talked about this. It’ll be okay.” Y/N reassured him. She saw the fear still in his eyes but he nodded, blinking some away and reaching to get Y/N’s coat for her.

They walked in the chilly night air, making their way to the Forest. Although this felt completely new, they had never done this at Hogwarts and they were expecting new results tonight, there was also a sense of déjà-vu present in the air.

Y/N had been helping Remus with every one of his transformations during their entire marriage and before, ever since she was 18. It’s been almost 13 years that they were in this together.

We're only gettin' older, baby

And I've been thinkin' about it lately

“Thank you for being here.” Remus said, squeezing her hand. “And I don’t just mean tonight.”

Y/N squeezed it back tightly, beaming at him. The moon was close to being fully out, and they stopped on a small hill overlooking Hagrid’s Hut where it would appear in full view.

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

“Remember, if I make any sudden moves, you transform on the spot, okay?” Remus looked down at her, eyes full of conviction. Y/N nodded.

They both stood there, waiting, anticipation through the roof. They felt nauseous, from nervousness. The clouds began to fade, and more moonlight shined onto them. Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands and took a couple steps back from each other.

Everything that you've ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

The first beam of light hit Remus as the full moon emerged.

But there's nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

His neck began elongating, thick hair growing from his head and covering his back. His shoulders hunched as he grew taller, breaking through the material of his clothes. 

It will never change, baby

Y/N watched from a short distance as Remus morphed into a towering creature. Her incantation was ready in her head, just in case she had to transform into the dove.

It will never change, baby

Slowly, the full-fledge werewolf straightened up from its hunched over position. His eyes met Y/N’s and her body tensed, remembering. Instead of lunging at her, he sat down, his human-like eyes expressing gentleness. Y/N took a tiny step towards him.

“Remus?” She said, voice trembling.

The werewolf nodded.

Taking steps closer, she shakily got down onto her knees to join him on the ground. She lifted a hand, tentatively, and inch by inch, approached it to cup his cheek. At the contact, they both breathed out in relief.

“I just feel you.” Y/N smiled, tears flowing from her eyes.

It will never change me and you.

to be continued

a/n: as always i’d love to hear what u thought or what ud like to see of the series:)

tags @bicyhot1  @pink-hufflepuff  @legitlaughingflamingo @brod16  @gerardonmyway  @blueleonor  @suranne-doesstuff  @rxmusblxck  @spxllcxstxr  @littleemo477  @just12randomfandoms  @svnkissdd  @norrreee  @m4r13l3y  @jess6578  @rorysreallyrandom  @the-nightingale-not-the-lark  @archeve19  @wolfstarslovechild  @pan-pride-12  @x4kai4x  @chrrybmb-mp3  @reggieluna  @happyslittlekitten  @missemilygilmore  @all-things-fictional @strangefirething  @abitofeverythinggg  @yeahshewayout  @imfreeeeeee123  @harold-pothead  @lunnybunny12  @ellieblack11  @tugabooos  @joyfulbiscuit  @justonemorechapter07 @wonderwoman292  @skateb0red  @secretsthathauntus  @siriusblackswhoree  @sabonbonn  @untraveled-road  @annabeljareau  @valiantobservationkitty @diffbeanofbrand  @theeicedamericano​  @spencerreidlove  @flannellover67  @wishiwasdeadric  @becks7401​  @katsav17  @emmy-kitty13  @purritoqueen  @girl22334  @monicafebyana​  @talsiaa​  @sierrax023​  @axva03  @uhh-dk  @nataliahgrace​  

[august-bleeds-red]

A Job Well Done - Part Two

Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair and Michael Myers wet their S/O’s whistle (NSFW under the line)

Part One (Brahms Heelshire, Thomas Hewitt and Vincent Sinclair) here

Jason Voorhees (2009)

Summer is dying, the leaves changing to auburn and yellow, and Jason’s machete lies forgotten against the maple trunk. The tree stands alone in a large meadow of long grass, painted gold from the fading season, its crimson coat of leaves like fire against the azure September sky.

 So many colours, yet the only shade you have eyes for is white.

 You trace the patterns of Jason’s mask with your fingertips, like you don’t know them by heart already, couldn’t conjure the image in your mind from anywhere in the world. His hand rests easily on your skirt, the tip of one finger just brushing your thigh. You take his hand in yours and press it against the swell of your chest, leaning forward to plant a kiss at the place on his mask where his mouth would be.

 “Jason.”

 He’ll never grow tired of hearing his name spoken in your sweet voice. You begin to push your fingers beneath the hockey mask’s edge, pausing to kiss the exposed skin when his body freezes in fear. You’ve only seen his face once before – the first time you met – so you understand his hesitation to allow you a second view. When you get to his mouth, you kiss his twisted lips with enough passion to still his breath, and his hands grip tightly to your upper arms, holding you so close you can feel his heartbeat against your chest. The mask falls to the ground, gazing with empty eyes at the romantic scene playing out next to it. You feel so small, so safe, wrapped in his muscular arms, the heart beating beneath his torn shirt pulsing with vibrant life for you alone. Your hand trails down the bulky layers of clothing and settles on the crotch of his pants, causing him to shift in embarrassment at the hardness beneath. He’s still not used to the idea that his attraction to you won’t be met with disgust on your part. You chuckle and rub a little harder.

 “It’s okay, baby.”

 Struck by a sudden impulse, you get to your feet and look around the empty field to check that it’s . . . well, empty. The only sounds for miles are the rustling of leaves and the calling of birds; not even the faintest rumble of traffic reaches all the way out here. You pull your dress off in one quick movement, revealing the modest bra and boy-shorts you’re wearing underneath. You’ve never been this exposed under open sky before, and your heart dances as you unlatch the clasp at your back. You stand before him exposed to the world, the sun on your shoulders, the wind gently ruffling your hair. He rises to his full, considerable, height, his eyes never leaving yours, and backs you up against the trunk of the tree. The bark presses into your bare skin, imprinting the soul of the woods onto you as Jason leaves his own marks on the side of your neck.

 “Hold still,” you whisper against his ear, dropping to your knees in the damp grass, your fingers already making short work of his belt buckle. He knows what you’re doing, although he can scarce believe it’s really happening. You, so pure, so perfect, blessing him with your beautiful lips and unconditional affection.

 He’s even bigger than you thought he’d be. There’s no way you’re going balls-deep with this one, that’s for sure.

 “A shower and a grower, huh?” you smirk up at him, appreciating the bashful expression that flits across his features.

 He tastes like the wild, of soft earth and clear spring water. He bucks his hips involuntarily and the back of your head bumps the tree behind you, making you wince and rub your scalp. Leaning over slightly, Jason cups the base of your skull, protecting you from further injury.

 “So thoughtful,” you smile, returning to your task, the shadow of his large torso now shielding you from any prying eyes. Not that anyone would need two guesses to know exactly what you were doing. You take him in as far as your throat will allow, and then a little further, so you gag a little on the thick head. He moans, deep and long, and you feel a surge of strange power – this giant oak of a man, brought to such tender passion by your hands, by your mouth. You run the flat of your tongue up the underside of his cock, feeling the bumpy veins against your sensitive taste-buds. You imagine how incredible it would feel to have this inside you, to have Jason pumping into you, spilling his seed into you, making you his and his alone.

 You can tell he’s trying not to lose control, but his knees are shaking from the exertion of it. You’re determined to snap that final straw. Keeping one hand on his shaft, you lick at his balls, sucking them in and rolling them between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. He braces his free hand against the tree and begins to rock his hips in earnest, and you let your mouth drop open enough for cockhead to slide in and out freely.

 He cums almost without warning, just two short spasms of his hips and your mouth is full of bitter-tasting seed, spilling out over your lips and dripping onto your exposed breasts. The sight of you coated with the evidence of his desires is almost too much for him. Swallowing what’s left on your tongue, you smile and wipe your lips as daintily as you can with your fingers.

 Jason’s fingers hover over your chest, clearly wanting to help with the clear up but unsure if fondling your breasts is the best way to do it. Collecting as much of the translucent fluid on your finger, you put it to your lips and suck, keeping careful eye contact with the stunned man the entire time. You laugh as he tackles you to the ground, his eager lips already working their way down your body, large hands pushing your legs apart.

 Looks like it’s your turn.                    

Bo Sinclair (warning: Daddy kink)

It’s not often that Bo condemns you to the garage basement, but when he does, you know its going to be a good few hours before you’re released. The man has the stamina of a jackrabbit and can go at least four times before he’s fully satisfied, or at least until he gets hungry and wants supper.

 You try not to think of how many less compliant girls Bo has restrained in the chair as he tightens the straps around your wrists. Now that he has you, any victims are given straight to Vincent for the museum, but you know there have been many who have passed through his room first. As you watch him secure your ankles in place, you marvel at how such a beautiful countenance can conceal such a dark and twisted history. But, for your sins (and his), you love him.

 “That not too tight for you, is it, sugar?” he asks. “Hate to mar this perfect skin of yours.”

 His large hands cover your wrists over the buckles, the sleeves of his shirt riding up just enough for you to see his scars. You shake your head and he flashes a wicked smile. The chair has a crank on its side that adjusts the height, and you can only watch as he turns it round and round, the entire mechanism dropping you further down towards the floor. Ah, so he was in this kind of mood. He’s already undoing his belt, the clinking of metal like an orchestral warm-up to the main event. Lifting one leg high, he plants it firmly on the other side of the chair so he’s basically straddling your shoulders, his head silhouetted against the ceiling light.

 “You go ahead and open those pretty lips nice and wide,” he says, stroking his cock languidly and rubbing the tip against your mouth. You know he likes to sing for his supper, likes to work for it a little, so you don’t give up the goods immediately, rolling your head to the side and keeping your lips firmly closed. Bo growls and cups your chin firmly between his fingers.

 “I said open,” he squeezes harder and your mouth opens a crack, giving him an in to force his cock onto your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. You cough and splutter a little, but he doesn’t want to break you when you’ve just started playing.

 “Y’like that, huh, bitch?” he moans. “Y’like taking daddy’s cock?”

 In this space, in this world of just you and him, the words send a thrill right down to your toes. He frames your head with both hands, keeping you in place as he fucks your mouth. The back of your head bumps against the chair and your fingers flex against their bonds.

 Bo hisses through his teeth, gripping and releasing your hair as he thrusts. “Fuuuuuck, babe. You feel so goddamn good.”

 Reaching behind him, he forces his hand under the waistband of your jeans, two thick digits probing your slit, coming away wet.

 “Such an eager slut,” he grins, sucking your juices from his fingers with obscene pleasure. “You’re so wet for my cock in your little whore mouth.”

 You whimper around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your tongue slick with precum. His rhythm is becoming more erratic, the dirty names coming thick and fast in the way they always do when he’s about to cum inside any of your holes. In these moments, he might call you a slut, a whore, a filthy bitch, but you’re his, goddamn it, and he’ll mark you as his territory a thousand times to let the whole world know it.

 You screw your eyes shut tight as he cums in the back of your throat, forcing his hips as far forward as possible to ensure you can’t spit any of it out. You’re gasping for air when he finally pulls away, mascara smudged under your eyes, your hair tangled from his grasping fingers.

 His eyes turn soft as he bends down to kiss you, fingers toying with the straps. “You want outta these?”

 You know the answer he wants to hear, and this time, you’re gonna give it to him. His grin turns wolfish as you shake your head.

 “That’s my girl.”      

Lester Sinclair

“No offense, sweetie,” you say as you pull away from Lester, “but you kinda stink.”

 He pulls a face and sniffs unceremoniously under his arms. “Ain’t no worse than Vinny.”

 Okay, not true – the worst Vincent smells like is an accident in a Yankee Candle shop. “Well, I don’t share a bed with Vincent. In the tub, mister.”

 Since you moved into the Sinclair family home, the extra efforts Lester had made during your courtships seemed to have slipped slightly. Not that you minded, really – you loved him anyway – but it was nice when he wasn’t sporting Eau de Man Smell.

 “Tell you what,” you purr, running your fingers down his shirt to rest over his belt buckle. “You hop in that tub, and I’ll do things that Vinny will hear from the House of Wax.”

 Like a racoon into a garbage can, Lester rips off his shirt and hops in the direction of the bathroom, one foot already tangled in the leg of his jeans. By the time he emerges, skin pink from the hot water, towel wrapped around his waist, you’re waiting on the bed. His dark eyes sweep over your body, naked and ready for him, and the bed practically bounces off the wall in his eagerness to reach you.

 “Lie on your back,” you instruct, pulling the towel apart to reveal his dripping cock. He watches you with thinly-veiled adoration as you start to lick the head, fingers squeezing and rubbing along the shaft.

 “Baby,” he strokes your hair and you raise your head to meet his gaze. “Turn ‘round.”

 A knowing grin on your face, you swivel to face his feet, giving him a front-row view of your soft, moist slit. His hands on your hips ease you backwards, far enough for his tongue to reach you, and you lean down to take his cock back into your mouth. At this angle, it slips easily to the back of your throat, just big enough to make you gag when you try and hold it there too long. You moan as his warm tongue licks at you, inside you, and the vibration of your voice sends a thrill running through his body. As you bob up and down, licking the head of his cock like a popsicle, he alternates between worshiping the folds of your pussy, and sucking on your clit. The sheer intensity of his administrations combined with the taste of him on your tongue has you almost whimpering with arousal. You take him in as far as you can and swallow around him, making his hips buck and drawing a choke from your throat.

 “Ah shit, baby, that’s feels so fucking good,” he moans, breath warm against your sex. You cum first. Lester feels the muscles inside you contracting again and again around his probing tongue, and soon after empties himself into your waiting mouth. Adjusting your position to right-side-up, you snuggle into his side, his arm holding you close, and breathe a contented sigh.

 Sure, it might be a little annoying having to remind him to bathe, but if this was the pay-off, it was fucking worth it.          

Michael Myers (warning: Michael likes it rough)      

As the door slams shut, every muscle in your body tenses in the fight-or-flight response you’ve grown to ignore when around your boyfriend. When he’s in a good or apathetic mood, you never hear him coming, but when his mood turns sour, the foundations of the house rattle.

 He’s dripping blood as he looms in the doorway, six-foot-eight of chest-heaving, seething anger. Usually an evening of mindless slaughter is enough to sate him in a dark mood, but when that fails, it comes down to you. You love him – you’ll always love him – but in these moments, you can’t deny the fear that spikes at the back of your neck.

 “Hey, babe,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “You . . . welcome home.”

 You try not to wince as the bloodied knife in his hand sails through the air to land with a deadly *THUNK* in the wall behind you, dark crimson oozing down the wallpaper. You’ll have fun trying to explain that to the landlord.

 “Michael—”

 He crosses the room in three long strides, grabbing you by the elbow and yanking you to your feet.

 “Ow! Hey, what’re you—”

 Grabbing the back of your head in one enormous hand, he smothers your lips with his, forcing his tongue in deep in a kiss that tastes of blood, his teeth grinding cruelly against your mouth. It has the desired effect, stealing your voice as he drags you through to the bedroom and throws you down onto the bed. Still trying to catch your breath, you watch helplessly as Michael rips down the zip of his jumpsuit, pulling it down over his shoulders. His mask is thrown into a corner of the room, his long hair falling loose around his face. You catch a brief glimpse of his hard, muscular body, straining against the fabric of the black T-shirt he wears underneath, before he grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches you onto your back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for you to know you’re to Stay Put. Your head hangs over the side of the bed and, from your upside-down perspective, you can see him working his long, thick cock into hardness.

 Oh boy.

 You just have time to open your mouth before he’s pushing inside, sliding easily to the back of your throat and then still further. Since you got together, your deepthroating skills have had to evolve quickly. Fisting handfuls of the bedsheets, you catch the smallest of breaths before his pace quickens, fucking your throat as he would your pussy, drawing out those deep, wet choking noises from you that get him even harder. He rumbles deep in his chest, hands wrapped around your throat to keep you in place, thumbs pressing on the spot where he can feel his cockhead bulging against your skin. He pulls out for a moment to let you gasp and cough before plunging in again, one hand at your neck, the other roughly fondling your breasts. You clutch at his thick wrist like a lifeline, nails digging in. Your eyes are streaming, your throat already raw from such a brutal attack, and you know this is just the first of many assaults.

 Michael swears under his breath, voice low and animalistic, his body tensing like a marble statue as he cums directly down your throat, the taste barely touching your tongue.

Sinking to his knees beside the bed, you take a moment to catch your breath before rolling over and reaching out a tentative hand. His strong fingers grip yours – to stop you or feel your touch, you can’t tell – dark blond hair obscuring his face. Slowly, he draws your hand to his mouth, not to kiss, but to simply feel against his lips. It’s not always easy, having Michael Myers be the owner of your heart, but you’ve no desire to claim it back. Not when you know, in your soul, that you own his in return. He doesn’t push you away when you stroke his hair, even going so far as to move a little closer.  

 “It’s okay,” you say, your voice hoarse. “You’re home now.”  

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed this! Also taking requests.

[blueskrugs]

Turning Out | Jack Hughes

long story short: I made myself extremely emotional with this song, told @nazdaddy about it, and together we made it worse. over two months later, this fic was finally born. title from the AJR song of the same name. (are we really surprised it’s a song fic at this point?)

tagging:  @marcoscandellas​ @stlbluesbrat21​ @dembenchboys​ @poltoncarayko​ @robthomissed​ @letmeplaytheblues​ @troubatrain​ @ayohockeycheck​ @blackwidowrising​ @aria253264​ @antoineroussel​ @starswin​ @glassdanse​ @ch-ristiane​ @majdoline​ @nazdaddy​ @hockey-more-like​ @thebestoffanfiction​

length: 3.6k

I thought I'd recognize when love was true But I'm confused

It was summer in Michigan, and you were laying in the hammock in the backyard with Jack. You could feel your nose getting burned, and you were sure his was already on its way to burnt, too. School was out, the summer stretching endlessly before you. 

Well. There was the matter of the draft. It was only a couple of weeks away now, and all conversations led back to it.

“I’m proud of you,” you murmured during a lull in conversation. Your head was on Jack’s chest, one arm draped around your shoulders and the other behind his head.

He laughed. “Wait until I actually get drafted by someone first, eh?”

You scoffed and twisted to look up at his face. He was blushing. “Okay, sure, whatever, Mr. Hotshot Top Prospect,” you teased, reaching up to poke Jack right beneath his arm where he was ticklish. He flinched, and the hammock swung wildly.

Jack grabbed onto your hand and wrenched it away from his side, tightening his other arm around your shoulders.

“You’re so mean to me,” he complained, but he was grinning at you. He didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I mean it, though,” you said.

“God,” Jack groaned. “Stop it.”

It wasn’t that the draft was a sore subject, exactly, but you knew Jack was getting more than a little tired of hearing about it constantly. You just couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more.

“Are you gonna forget about me once you’re off in some big city, being an NHL star?” you asked. 

Jack scoffed a little and wrinkled his nose at you. “I could never forget about you, Bug,” he said softly.

Bug. You called each other that, had for years, but you’d mostly grown out of it. It was nice to hear it again. You poked Jack again, for no real reason, just to get him to squirm, maybe.

“You mean it?” you asked, just as softly. The birds and cicadas were loud around you, but you two were in a little bubble of your own in your hammock.

Jack scoffed again. “You’re my best friend. We’re gonna be together forever,” he said.

Forever was a long time, but Jack sounded so confident, so sure of the future, that you let yourself believe him. 

Am I ready for love Or maybe just a best friend

You might’ve cried a little as you watched Jack get called first overall, but you were still in Michigan while they were all off in Vancouver, so there was no one to call you out on it. Jack texted you almost immediately, just a row of exclamation points, which made you laugh. He called you later, too, but you couldn’t hear much over Turcs and Cole yelling. 

With the craziness of it all, you ended up having to wait to have a real conversation with Jack until after he was back in Michigan, and he ended up at your front door, looking a little like he hadn’t slept since before the draft. 

“Hey, you,” you said, but Jack was already stepping forward and pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, despite the fact that he was definitely taller than you. “Wanna go on a walk?” you asked him. 

Jack grinned and nodded eagerly at you, which is how you ended up strolling through the familiar streets of your neighborhood, not really talking, just a comfortable silence between you. 

Until you got to the local park and Jack flopped down in the grass with a sigh. You laid down next to him, looking up at the white clouds skidding across the blue late-June sky. 

“I thought I’d feel different for some reason, you know?” Jack said finally. “Like being drafted first would change me somehow or something.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be our Jacky,” you told him, just for the way he rolled his eyes at you. Still the same Jack, same blue eyes and floppy hair, same kid you’d known for years. Jack was still looking at you, serious in a way he never was, and you just wanted him to smile again, because then everything still would be the same. “Jack,” you said, made him look at you. 

“You know I love you, right?” Jack blurted, and the words you’d been about to say died on your tongue.

You were going to say that nothing had to change, but maybe you were wrong. You’d fallen in love with your best friend a long time ago, but you’d long since resigned yourself to being nothing more than a best friend. It was easier to keep him in your life that way, rather than risk ruining everything.

“Duh, you’d be lost without me,” you joked instead. It made Jack smile, just for a moment.

Jack sat up then, leaning his weight back on his hands so he could keep looking up at the sky. “I wish you could come with me,” he said quietly.

You sat up and mirrored Jack’s pose. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” you tried to joke. It fell flat. You weren’t really sure you knew how to get through life without Jack by your side. Maybe it would be a good thing to get some distance, actually. 

Jack was staring at you. You couldn’t read his face. It turned out that you didn’t need to, because the next thing you knew, Jack was leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. It was a quick kiss, and you’d barely had time to react before Jack was pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, but he looked more apologetic than regretful. 

“Oh,” was all you could say. 

“It’s not fair,” Jack said, and you weren’t sure where this conversation was going anymore. “We’re gonna be so far apart, and you deserve better.”

You were at a point in your life where you were expected to be more grown up, but Jack had never looked younger. You had never felt more lost. 

“I just don’t wanna break your heart,” Jack said. It was a little late for that, you thought, but you didn’t say that. 

“Yeah,” you murmured finally, which didn’t really make sense, but Jack accepted it. 

He laid back down in the grass next to you, and after a minute of watching him yourself, you laid next to him again.

You say I turned out fine I think I'm still turning out

The first time you visited Jack in New Jersey was over Christmas his rookie year. He picked you up at the airport, wrapping you up in a hug like no time had passed at all. He took you back to his apartment, and it was like you were in high school again.

You went to the game the next night, and meeting everyone else was mostly a blur of names and faces.  It wasn’t until you were all heading down to the family room after the final buzzer that you realized that you didn’t know who Isabella, who’d been talking to you all night, was dating. You never quite got the chance to ask, either, but it didn’t matter in the end. Jack emerged from the locker room and made a beeline for you and Isabella. He gave you a quick hug before turning to Isabella and giving her a hug and a kiss.

Ah, so that’s how it was. You felt your heart stop in your chest, but you forced on a smile and let Jack wrap an arm around each of your shoulders. You’d been expecting this, you could handle it. 

You loved Jack, and he loved you, just not in the same way. He’d fall in love with someone else, and you’d get used to it eventually.

When Jack called you a few months later and told you they’d broken up, you comforted him, tried to pretend that you weren’t a tiny bit happy. You just reminded yourself that there would always be someone else.

I hope you stick around We're gonna figure it out Who can I turn to now?

Your phone was ringing. It was late, and there was only one person your phone rang for after midnight. You fumbled for it in the dark, eyes still heavy with sleep, and answered it without looking at the screen. 

“Hi,” you said, or tried to say. Your voice hadn’t quite woken up with the rest of your body yet. You rolled onto your back, blinked up at the dark ceiling.

You heard Jack let out a sigh on the other end of the line. “I woke you up,” he said. He sounded tired.

The Devils were somewhere on the West Coast, and you’d fallen asleep before the game had ended. You probably didn’t want to know.

“I hadn’t been asleep very long,” you lied. Jack made a noise like he definitely didn’t believe you. 

It was quiet for a moment. Then, “Did you watch?” 

“No,” you admitted. 

Jack huffed. It might have been a laugh, except you knew your best friend, and he was fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Good,” he told you.

“You should stay off Twitter,” you said mildly, and this time Jack did laugh at you, but there wasn’t any humor behind it.

You’d seen the comments, the tweets, the articles. You know Jack saw them, too, stayed up too late reading them, even when you all told him not to. Jack Hughes: first overall draft pick, USNTDP scoring phenom, underdeveloped, too small, and, well, a bust. 

“What if they’re right, though?” Jack said quietly. You wondered if he was in his hotel room, curled up against his pillows, trying not to wake his roommate, or if he’d wandered out into the hall, found somewhere to be alone. 

“Oh, Bug,” you said. It slipped out really, but you heard Jack’s shaky breath. You didn’t know the last time you’d called him that. 

“I miss you,” Jack blurted. You wiped at your eyes. The Devils had hit Detroit just before healing west, and you’d made the trip down to see them. It had only been a few days. But this was more than not seeing each other for a while. It was growing up too fast, the world changing whether or not you were ready for it, not realizing that everything was different until it was too late. 

You missed Jack, missed seeing him every day, trying to help each other with homework and then laughing too hard to actually get anything done. You missed hockey games and the certainty that you’d be friends forever. Forever was a long time when you were young and naïve. 

You tried not to think too much about forever these days, or how you’d still turn to say something to Jack, even though he hadn’t been by your side in a long time. He didn’t need to know any of that.

“I miss you, too,” is what you said, feeling it aching in your chest. Your eyes burned, and it wasn’t because you were tired. 

I'm a little kid, and so are you Don't you go and grow up before I do

He was always the first person you called. When you failed a test, when you were sick, when you got your heart broken.

You hadn’t stopped to think about where Jack might be, and you panicked a little when the phone rang endlessly. You were about to hang up and give up when Jack answered, just before it went to voicemail.

“What’s up?” He sounded like he’d been laughing, and it was loud around him. You were pretty sure you could pick out P.K.’s loud voice.

He was out with his team, having fun, and you were crying alone over a broken heart. You shouldn’t have called.

“Never mind, you’re busy,” you said, already pulling the phone away from your ear to hang up. You didn’t need to bother Jack with this, not now.

“Wait, wait,” Jack stopped you. He paused, and you heard a door close, and then it was quieter. “I always have time to talk to you,” he said, and you cried harder. “Hang on, are you crying? What happened?”

You took a steadying breath. Tried one last time to get the tears under control. “He broke up with me, Jack.”

Jack swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he told you.

It hadn’t been a great relationship to begin with, you’d always known that. There was no real future in it, but it had been fun for a while, something to distract yourself from the fact that the guy you really wanted to be with was on the other side of the country. But it had fallen apart, just like it always did. Somehow it had still blindsided you, in spite of the missed calls and blown off dates, which is how you found yourself shattered on your bedroom floor now.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could rely on Jack to pick up the pieces.

“Talk to me,” Jack said quietly, and you choked back another sob.

“I hate this,” you murmured. Hated being so far away from your best friend, hated crying over a guy you didn’t even love. “I miss you so much,” you added. You felt like you’d been saying that more than anything since Jack had been drafted. 

Jack hummed, distracted. You could still hear his teammates yelling somewhere on the other side of the door. “You should come visit,” Jack said after a moment. 

You laughed. There was no way you’d be able to drop your life and fly out to New Jersey, no matter how badly you might’ve wanted to. It just didn’t work like that.

“I should let you get back to the guys,” you said instead of answering. Jack made a protesting noise on the other end of the line, but you hung up before he could get a word in. 

I'm a little kid with so much doubt Do you wanna be there to see how I turn out?

Your cap and gown hung on the back of your bathroom door. You stared into the mirror for a minute before you reached to tug them on. It felt strange to be graduating college. You still felt out of your depth most days, and now you were being let loose upon the world. Supposedly you were ready for it now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be ready, really.

You searched the crowd for your parents as you made your way to your seat. You had hoped Jack would’ve come, too, but he’d hit you with some excuse about how he’d still be stuck in Jersey. You tried to pretend like it hadn’t hurt. 

The graduation itself passed in a blur. You hadn’t tripped over anything when you’d gone to collect your diploma, and honestly that was all that mattered. 

You were searching for your family in the madness outside when you heard a voice yell, “Hey! Bug!”

You spun around, clutching your cap to your head so it didn’t fall off. There was only one person who’d ever called you that. Jack was making his way towards you through the crowd, hair windswept and smile bright. 

“Jack!” you yelled back, already launching yourself at him. He caught you easily, sweeping you up in a tight hug. You buried your face in his neck, no longer caring if your cap fell off. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Jack pulled back to give you a look. “You didn’t really think I’d miss your graduation, did you?” You shrugged, and Jack frowned a little at you. He bent over to pick up your fallen cap. “You dropped something,” he said, but when you reached to take it from him, he just grinned and shoved it on his own head. It was crooked, and the tassel was falling in his face. “C’mon, your parents are over here,” he told you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you along with him. 

“I’m proud of you,” Jack said later that night, laying next to you on your bed. The TV was on, but neither of you were really watching it. 

“I’m supposed to say that about you,” you said, poking him in the ribs. The Devils had had a good season, led to the first round of the playoffs by Nico and Jack. (They’d gotten their asses kicked, but they’d made it.)

He squirmed away and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and resting them both on his chest. “Whatever,” he scoffed. “You’re all smart and graduated now,” he told you.

It was your turn to scoff. “That doesn’t mean I know what the fuck I’m doing.” Jack turned to look at you, one arm behind his head, and you were suddenly reminded of a moment just like this, so many years before, with the summer and the rest of your lives stretching out before you. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” you admitted. With life, but also right here, lying in bed with your best friend. 

Jack turned fully, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair flopped in his face, and you reached up absently to push it back. 

“You should come to New Jersey,” he said, face dead serious. It was far from the first time he’s said that to you. You’d always laughed or brushed it off, unwilling to admit that, while terrifying, back by Jack’s side was the only place you’d dreamed of being for years. 

“I-” you started. You didn’t know what was going to come next. Jack was still staring down at you. You reached up to poke the mole next to his mouth, just to see if you could get him to smile.

He did, but he batted your hand away before you could do it again. “I mean it,” he said. You rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said. You tried to roll away from Jack, away from this conversation, but he grabbed your wrist, settled his weight on your legs so you couldn’t escape. 

He was frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Jack’s frown deepened, and the crease between his eyebrows was frustratingly adorable. “I’m your best friend. And that was enough while I was in school, and you were still trying to figure out the NHL.” Jack did let you roll away from this time, and you curled up against the wall, not meeting his eyes. “But I don’t think I can be in the same city as you, watching as you find some pretty girl to fall in love with until you leave me behind. I don’t think I can watch as you become everything I want for someone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Jack said slowly.

You huffed out a sigh. “Not now, maybe. But there will be.” There always would be, for you and for him. 

Jack rolled his eyes at you, and that hurt a little. “There hasn’t been anyone else for me but you, not for a long time, not really,” Jack told you.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. You were pretty sure he’d had a girlfriend at the beginning of the season this year. It had been years since that day he’d kissed you in the park, long enough that you nearly forgot about it. You didn’t think his feelings had really changed after all these years.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jack said, flicking you on the leg. “I mean it. It just- we were still kids and then I was off in Newark, and one of us always seemed to be dating someone else, and I could never ask you to just fucking move across the country for me-” Jack was rambling, and you cut him off by poking him with your toes. He grabbed onto your foot and looked up at you. “I’m not sure I know how to love anyone else but you,” he admitted.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” you asked. You reached over to grab a pillow so you could hit Jack with it. He spluttered and looked offended. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Jack.”

Jack’s face softened. “Did you listen to anything I just said? I had reasons!” he tried, but he was grinning at you now.

“Please just come here and kiss me,” you said.

Jack didn’t need any convincing, and then he was leaning forward and tangling a hand in your hair to pull you in for a kiss. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours to catch his breath; you whacked him with the pillow one more time for good measure.

“Hey! What was that one for?” Jack asked, already trying to wrestle the pillow away from you.

“Got a lot of years to make up for, Jacky,” you said.

Jack gave up on getting the pillow away from you and settled for pinning you to the bed with his hands on your wrists. You kneed him gently in the ribs. 

“I hate you,” Jack sighed, but you knew him too well for that. The look on his face was just fond. You’d seen that look a lot over the years, and now you were realizing that there was something else to it. Love.

“Nah, you don’t,” you said.

Jack smiled at you and bent down to kiss you again. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “I could never.”