#He has this photo album just filled with pressed flowers

[echo-stimmingrose]

Annabeth is the type of person to buy Percy flowers whenever she leaves for a while or just whenever she feels like it and Percy absolutely adores it. He has a collection of pretty cases so he's always ready for a new bouquet, and even presses and dries the flowers before they can wilt so he can keep them forever.

[matchingbatbites]

I've seen posts here and there about Steve being done up in drag for fun, but please consider Steve discovering drag pageantry.

Drag pageants have been around since the 60s, and we already know that Steve is competitive, he played sports and he got jealous from Dustin just talking about Eddie.

So imagine Steve being done up by a queen because he's "so gorgeous, your bone structure is to die for, darling" and maybe he enjoys it, likes how it makes him look, likes the confidence he has while all made up.

And then he finds out you can compete? In makeup and dresses and be bitchy on purpose? He'd be all over that shit, and he'd be good at it.

Eddie would be nothing but supportive, and when Robin moves out they turn the spare bedroom into a second closet just for Steve's drag. He eventually gets a sewing machine and - after much learning - starts making his own competition gowns because he has a Specific Design that he wants to wear and can't find anything close enough to satisfy.

(Side note: I imagine his style being something like Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, something classy and feminine, possibly influenced by his mother's sense of style (she may be an awful person but by God is she fashionable).)

When Eddie's band makes it big, they plan all of their shows around Steve's pageants because Eddie has to kiss Steve good luck before every single one. The one time he didn't, the zip on Steve's dress busted and one of his heels snapped and while Steve isn't superstitious, Eddie certainly is and "The only time I didn't kiss you good luck, everything fell to shit. It's not gonna happen again, baby, I promise."

They end up getting a shelving unit just to hold the crowns and scepters that Steve has won, the sashes get pinned to the wall and are quickly filling the space available. Steve takes a flower from every winning bouquet and presses it, has a little album where he keeps them, along with a photo of him and Eddie after each win.

Imagine Eddie proposing after a pageant one night. Steve didn't win, maybe he was second or third, but he didn't come home with the crown this particular night, and he's standing in the bathroom, scrubbing away at his face and working over where he may have lost points, trying to figure out how to be better next time.

And then Eddie is there, ring in hand and a lovestruck look on his face and all Steve can think about is that he's being proposed to while looking like a mess. His hair is sweat-slick from being under a wig for hours, makeup half-off, and still wearing the chunky earrings he'd forgotten to take out again.

But Eddie tells Steve how proud he is of him, how much he loves this side of Steve that only Eddie gets to see. That he wants to see it for the rest of his life and "Stevie, baby, if you don't say yes I might cry," and then cries anyway when Steve does say yes and kisses him, and then they're laughing at the bright lipstick smeared across their mouths and Steve completely forgets that he didn't win that night.

[raspberryslushie]

Scrapbooking

Ft. Xiao, Kazuha, Itto, Cyno, Wanderer, Alhaitham, Albedo, Tighnari x gn!reader 

Warnings: Slightly OOC, a few grammar mistakes.

Xiao:

You first suggested the idea of keeping a scrapbook with him when confronted with the problem of your own mortality and the inevitability of fate that most of everyone had to learn to accept. Yet it wasn’t your own end that you were worried for, but rather how Xiao would handle it. Making an album of sorts like this was your way of memorializing all the moments you had together so that the two of you would be able to look back on them in future times.

He probably doesn’t like getting his own pictures taken, and would much rather turn the camera’s lens towards you, so if you either have to compensate by taking selfies with both of you instead, or play a few tricks and catching him by surprise.

Spending time with him doing activities more relaxing like cutting out little paper stars to decorate the pages would definitely be a new experience for Xiao. One time he tried to draw the two of you together but it turned out a little bit questionable ??? (you still pasted it in the book, though). 

When the qingxins begin to bloom, he would pick a few to press and dry for the book because the heart shaped leaves remind him of you. There would definitely be a few other kinds of flowers though, and when you asked why, Xiao would probably explain that they were the other yakshas’ favorites.

You found out that when Xiao thinks you’re not looking, he’d steal a few photos of you that you prepared to be pasted into the book for himself, so you always have to bring a few more pictures just in case.

Treasures the book and protects it with his life like it’s your child LMAO he may find it hard to admit, but really does care about the book especially since you put so much effort into it.

Kazuha:

Kazuha doesn’t mind doing something as domestic as making a scrapbook with you, and would probably suggest it first.

He definitely has a couple pages just full of leaves that he thought looked nice on his walks out.

Other times, you’d find new pages full of scraps of paper that Kazuha scribbled haikus down on, and they all share one thing in common: the subject is you.

Kazuha might begin collecting little rolls of decorative tape too, buying them from crafts stores back at inazuma. I imagine they’d have his signature leaf motifs and also the traditional inazuman ones on them. He’d probably find any excuse he has to use those tape rolls because of how colorful they are… like imagine little tanuki or foxes running across every page.

Contrary to some other people, Kazuha would have no problems taking photos with you, and would take a liking to bringing the camera along in all your travels. He’s very connected and in touch with the world around him, so being able to capture any moment he wishes is an appealing thought. Because of this, your scrapbook is going to be filled with photos of not just the two of you, but also stray cats on the streets, scenic views upon the Crux, firework shows in Inazuma….and the list goes on.

But of course, his favorite part of all of this is spending time decorating the pages with you! His favorite colors to use would of course be the colors of the leaves (they’re practically his brand at this point). If you happen to like those colors too, he’d be even giddier, gladly coloring in any blank spaces with colored pencils. Overall, Kazuha has a lot of time on his hands, but knows that his time is not eternal, so he treasures the book because it allows him to hold onto the past, reminding him when he forgets.

Itto:

Itto is definitely the type to go through all the trouble folding origami stars (especially with how clumsy he could be)…and then get sad when he realizes that they’re going to get crushed if he actually puts them in the book. So you also get him a little jar to put the stars in. Off-topic, but he probably also likes writing little wishes on the strips of paper before folding them into stars, so he gets really excited and thinks that the stars actually work whenever one of those wishes comes true. Who knows, maybe he’s right and there is a paper star god out there listening in on his wishes.

There would probably be a record of all the beetle duals that he has won and badly drawn images of his favorite beetles (like those posters in that one beetle event with Itto 💀).

And like his artwork, his handwriting probably isn’t the most outstanding, safe to say. Despite how enthusiastic Itto may be with the prospect of creating a scrapbook with you, there’s a slight learning curve when it comes to him. But in the end, it’s a good thing for him to try something new that doesn’t require so much energy to maintain. 

Unexpectedly, the book fills up extremely quickly with all kinds of photos (even a few blurry ones because Itto didn’t want to throw any of them out). But that’s all because his simple presence is enough to make the passing of time feel special.

Now that you’ve made one with him, he’s probably eager to share the craft with the rest of the gang too. Whether they pick up on it or not is a different story, but Shinobu is probably the most glad to finally have a way for Itto to sit down quietly.

Cyno:

Cyno might use the scrapbook to also store some of his limited edition tcg cards since he treasures them so much. You thought it was your shared scrapbook, but NO. It was all for Cyno and his card games 💀. All jokes aside though, he would agree to make a scrapbook with you without much hassle. He doesn’t have much free time on his hands between being the General Mahamatra and spending much of his breaks on winning Genius Invocation games, but he’ll somehow always have time for his lover.

Enjoys taking pictures a lot. During hangouts with his friends, he especially likes to photograph his victories…much to the “annoyance” of his colleagues. Still, not all the photos are of Tighnari or Kaveh malding. There are images of group get-togethers at fancy restaurants, birthdays gone by, and festivals spent with smiles. In this way, it shows that despite Cyno’s tough exterior, he does care a lot for his friends.

He probably has a stamp with his name on it with something strange like “CYNO CERTIFIED” and enjoys imprinting it on random pages that he makes. Especially on pages with your photos on them LMAO.

Other than that, he treats the scrapbook more like a photo album. He probably isn’t as heavy on the more artistic approaches to this kind of project, all that matters is that it serves its original purpose of containing your memories together.

Was eating and got tomato or whatever on a page. It's a treasured and framed piece of artwork now.

Alhaitham:

Alhaitham has probably already tried something like this before. Being that he is the scribe of the Academiya, recording the important moments in his life would only come as natural with the nature of his profession as well. However, he treats the whole thing as more of a duty and job that he must do rather than a simple past time. 

He probably has an assortment of pens and inks, so you can expect all kinds of scriptures written down in the book. Alhaitham himself isn’t picky, and most were likely simple gifts from occasions such as his birthday, so he’s even alright with you keeping a few (he’s keeping the set you gave him though–no take backs).

Sometimes you might find him reading the book like it’s some advanced piece of literature. Don’t mind him he’s just lost in his thoughts analyzing every single page. If it makes him happy, so be it.

Takes a photo of the two of you and fashions a bookmark out of it. It's his uncontested favorite now, and specially reserved for the scrapbook.

Loves watching you decorate the book, and especially loves watching you treat his photos like they’re some ancient artifact. It makes him feel all special and pampered inside.

Once he’s done with the first book, he starts another, and then another, and another… It only makes sense to keep the series updated as time goes on, but sometimes you wonder if the grind is getting to him LKAJSF;SA

Albedo:

THE artist. This man’s illustrations are PEAK. He’s one for perfection, striving to capture the world not only digitally with a Kamera but also by hand. In fact, he prefers to do it this way because the process of creating something with his own hands is more memorable to him.

One time he got distracted in the middle of an illustration of Sumeru’s fungi that you asked him to draw and gave them faces??/ that looked strangely like the two of you??? To this day you have no idea what was going on in his mind when he suddenly changed the drawing from scientific to horrific /j but its a unique addition to the book so that’s that ig

But of course, that doesn’t mean Albedo’s photographs are any less beautiful. 

The angles, scenes, framing, and even the filters that were applied were perfected. Sometimes you wonder what his profession would be if he wasn't currently under the Knights of Favonius.

Worries and applies a TON of varnish onto a few pages of the scrapbook. That way the art and photos would last longer.

Takes extremely good care of the book and makes extra caution when he realizes that it may be in danger of Klee (he has all his best work in there man).

Wouldn't tell you it, but he's super proud of having made the book with you, and loves looking over it in his free time as an energy booster LMAO.

Tighnari:

Just like Albedo, I feel that Tighnari would be pretty decent at this kind of activity. With the journaling that must come with his work as a forest ranger, his attention to detail is extremely keen. Not to mention the fact that drawing and taking pictures would be much more familiar to him as well. 

Tighnari would definitely prefer glue sticks to liquid glue, the reason being that there may have once been a small accident resulting in a bottle of runny adhesive spilling all over his fluffy tail. 

He might’ve screamed like a little kid and acted a little grumpier than usual for a whole week.

But with a lot of reassurance from you that all the “bad glue” had been sealed and locked up (“to never see the light of day ever again”), he was willing to try again. 

Unlike Cyno who’s pretty barebones with his work, I think Tighnari would like to dress up the pages that he decorates a bit more. Not too much to the point that it’s overbearing, but a couple ribbons and stickers would do.

The stickers in question are all of little squirrels and birds. THEY'RE sO CUTE KJJDDJLKD

Makes the squirrels stare at the pictures of flowers he took because it's more "accurate that way". In the same manner, he also likes putting stickers of birds around you like you're a Disney princess of some sort.

IM THIS CLSOE TO ENDING IT ALL YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND...... .. . . i kept clicking control z bc its closer than delete and its in my muscle memory and uh control z deletes the whole post haha kjrjkr i had to rewrite it 4 times but thankfully we coolin now lets GOO

[tiredly101]

A picture not ment to be seen part 3

Pairing: Wally Darling x Writer!Male reader

New Neighbor Masterlist

Summary: Wally's head was splitting. He could hear your laugh, your voice and he could see your face, your smile... He closed his eyes and saw...

Illustrated Au, picture is not mine but I wanna give this man a hug because- look at that sad face-

Wally was now simply staring at the photo album trying to understand what was going on, who was this M/n guy and why is he so damn handsome? If he had to forget someone why did it have to be a guy with god like beauty?

Wally was shocked but soon his beautiful black eyes filled with tears, why can't he remember M/n? The name is so familiar and he can't help but want to know where he was after all they are kissing in that picture which has to mean something more than friendly was going on between them, right? As questions filled his head he then saw it, right infront of his eyes he saw him, M/n was standing as clear as day in front of him and next to M/n was... Wally?

"Look love, we could decorate Home to be a mix of us! Your painting could go there and I could plant this flowers outside of Home?," Said M/n making Wally chuckle while hugging him front the back, placing a soft kiss in M/n's neck which made him giggle.

"I love you Wally, I know we said we would wait but I can't help it... I love you...," Said M/n while turning around in Wally's arm now seeing Wally blushing. M/n smiled and pecked Wally's lip.

"I love you too M/n so please move in with me," said Wally softly while M/n nodded happily and peppered his face with butterfly soft kisses.

Wally's head was splitting after that memory, M/n now mingling with the shadows of Julie's home. Wally felt his eyes start tearing up but he could only feel M/n; he could hear his laugh, his voice, he could hear the 'I love you's" and then he could see his face, his smile, his adorable little features that only he had the honor to memorize in the moment. Wally closed his eyes and saw Julie standing while looking at him with a shocked expression that soon morphed into one of pity while she ran to hug him.

"Get off me!," Said Wally rather aggressively which surprised Julie as she stumbled back. Wally pointed at the photo album before taking it in his hands, his free hand pushed his blue locks out of his face.

"You better explain when the time comes Julie...," Said Wally before walking out of Julie's door with the photo album held tightly in his arms. He went to his favorite painting spot and sat down while staring at the album until he felt a hand touch his face.

"You look so pretty with you hair down Wally, don't let anyone tell you otherwise because they are surely blind," said M/n while pressing a soft kiss on Wally forehead and before Wally could answer,just as he appeared, he was gone. Wally was shaking but he steady his hands with force before climbing up the apple tree. When he reached the top he hid the album in his secret compartment and then his eyes met a shocking sight that left him breathless.

"Wally Darling and M/n Cherry were here!"

Part 3 is done! Part 4 will come out so let me know if you want to join the tag list!

Tag list from New Neighbor because this is season two:

@farleyis @whynot5243 @fluffyart5000 @blueberricowboi @bonesbonesbonesuponbones @who-let-me-write-this @pr5is1ng @just-random-post @smiling-carcass @nettaw @sleepyscxry @theorchardcollective @thelostboys11 @darling-w @ametistacollinsworld @vampyrefay @cloudeecheer @lacunaanonymoused @waywardstardustcollector @welcome-home-puppets @redjeanjacket @fried-lotud @waywardstardustcollector @frindtheshapeshifter405 @lotusflowerexe @sleepyscxry @the-gayest-toad @mythjustiice @backyard-bear @beu-is-here0 @just-random-post @fic-fortress @elegantkidfansoul @eyesarefun @one-green-frog @beu-is-here0 @waywardstardustcollector @24-7lazy @azyimnothere @fluffyart5000 @chesterthejester12-blog

[mouthfullofmunson]

Rockstar eddie au, wife reader. Not wanting to be in the public eye but then one day a little snippet of your voice gets caught in the end of the track. You and eddie have a great time reading about all the wild speculations.

OMG YES I LOVE THIS

Like anytime shes knows the paps are going to be out she has her face covered, no social media (if we’re talking modern!eddie), the public has hardly ever seen her face beside part of it when she’s trying to hide

And they have never heard her voice

Not even in the back of an interview or anything

So when a soft, pretty laugh is in the end of one of Eddie’s songs

Along with his laugh and a single “Eddie” sighed out after both of their laughs die down

Well everyone instantly knew who it was

They went crazy over the little “Eddie” along with the pretty laugh

The most they have seen is a fourth of her face and a hand

So hearing the girls voice is absolutely crazy

Interviews, any press for the song the first question would be about the voice at the end of the song

“Eddie, the voice- along with yours at the end of your new single for your upcoming album- is that your wife’s voice?”

Eddie would think it was so funny and give the camera a little look, “maybe. Or maybe I just had a cold and my voice was pitchy”

And he wouldn’t confirm it until he had a long talk with his wife about it and the second he finally says it’s his wife’s voice everyone is going crazy

Headlines are filled with his name

And that, they don’t even know his wife’s name?!

But modern rockstar Eddie…

Plz

He would be such a tease

Posting little photos of his shadow along with a lady hugging around him- who is obviously his wife

Posting just their hands holding

And on their wedding night all he posts is a hand with a large ring on it holding a bouquet full of flowers

And teasing little videos of him pressing a kiss to someone’s cheek- obviously his wife

And after he releases the song he posts the video that he got the audio from

A big black heart emoji hiding the person next to his while they both laugh, her in his lap while they laugh after sharing a joint or two

Both of them would sit and laugh at all the posts and headlines about her voice

“Oh look at this one! Trying to say I don’t have a real wife and I just hired someone to pretend for attention.”

They laugh at all the crazy theory’s everyone makes up and all the wild articles people are writing

Or making random theory’s that the voice is another celebrity that Eddie hasn’t even properly met, trying to say that they were married

And he thinks it’s so funny to get her reaction, recording him, telling her the new wild theory someone made up

“Babe, someone said that I hired an actress to pretend to be my wife and I don’t actually have one”

Just another laugh “Jesus, Eddie”

And that’s the only other sound they get out for months and month

I think It would be interesting go get more into this 😢 but thank you sm for sending this in I love this concept so much!!! ❤️‍🔥

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

[cater + honmei]

"ah cater!"

i finally caught up to cater and has been looking for him for hours, but now that he's finally in front of me i feel like running away for some reasons. but of course i didnt. i handed him my gift.

"after learning that you don't really like sweet things, i figured i better give you other things so ,uhm, i made a photo album with our pictures together. i know you prefer posting photos than physical copies but i still hope you'll like them. happy valentines!"

Sweet on You.

He was among the roses when you found him. Heartslabyul students and roses—they went together like bees and honey.

His smile was laidback, as picturesque as the flowers in bloom. He propped his phone against his chin. “Hey, what’s up? Been lookin’ for Cay-kun?”

Your stomach did backflips and cartwheels as you approached. You were already a jumbled mess from searching for Cater all over campus. At this point, your feet were preemptively flighty and raring to take off again. It took all your willpower to keep yourself grounded, to focus on the task ahead.

You thrusted out a thick book.

“Huh, is this your Valentine’s Day gift for me?” The question was posed in a teasing tone, Cater slipping the tome from your hands. “Thanks for thinking of me and keeping my tastes in mind~ You know me so well!

“I’ll check it out now, okay? I’m dying to know what you put together for me!”

He opened to the first page, and was immediately greeted by a plethora of memories. The first shy encounter to your first kiss, and the romance that spiraled into a whirlwind from there.

“Aww, it’s us. All of it is us.”

You had taken care to curate and print out selfies from various outings, then added flourishes and extra trimmings. Lace borders and decorative tape lined photos, stickers embellishing the corners. Gel pen doodles filled in the space between frames, the gaps between your love story.

Pictures worth a thousand words, and many, many more.

Cater grew quiet as he scanned page after page. The smile he had once worn had melted to give way to something more serene, more thoughtful.

“It’s fun to post on Magicam and all, but I can’t exactly be online all the time! Riddle’ll have my head if it’s glued to my phone, and I can’t do much if I’m in a place with bad signal.”

He shut the photobook gently, keeping his hand pressed to the cover. There is something tangible, something meaningful, beneath his fingertips.

“This can last forever, and I can keep it close to my heart without getting into trouble with my dorm leader,” Cater joked, winking. “Plus, scrapbooking’s all the rage these days~ Who knows, it could be a cute date night in activity for the future!”

He leaned forward, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. Your hand flew to the area, which was still warm from his touch.

Cater pulled back, wearing a grin both sly and sweet. “Just promise me that we can make lots more happy memories together for the books, ‘kay?~”

[connie-taylor]

need to let more ppl in on the connie/maria agenda.

connie would go with maria to get pictures of flowers, they would pack a picnic for lunch and just find a nice field somewhere to sit and enjoy the quiet together.

connie being used to maria exploring alone, so her solo road trip isn't a surprise - but when the post cards and pressed flowers inside letters stop showing up at the dorm, she can't help but feel like something is really wrong.

julie being connie's first real girl crush when they meet at college, but she can see how julie looks at danny, and thats okay. maria heading out with her camera one afternoon and running into connie - maria asking her if she would like to tag along.

the two spending time together, connie confiding in maria about her parents and how she doesn't feel like the farm is actually her home. maria telling connie about her father - how he got sick, how she and her younger sister took care of her mother.

connie helping her press flowers into photo albums, sitting with maria as she worked on her art projects. maria cooking meals for connie during finals as she knows connie barely leaves the library and frequently forgets to eat when studying.

connie feeling the knot in her stomach tighten when ana shows up to the school with fliers, looking for her sister. immediately she offers her help and helps ana rally up the rest of their friends with julie and danny.

them finding maria, and connie feeling like a part of her has been taken away. a hollow feeling inside that she spends years and years trying to fill. they were never together officially, but maria was so special to her.

i just love connie's intricate relationships w her friends, they bring out the best in her and help her be more vulnerable <3

[averysmolbear]

Because @bnhxwks asked me to answer all the rest of those self ship questions it is time for a very long post and I apologize if it’s annoying. Thank you for enabling me! I also hope I caught all the spelling mistakes.

💌 Reiner doesn’t write anything too flowery but every single words is painstakingly thought out. He will agonize over every word, wanting to get it right. He’ll even rewrite it several times if he has to in order to get it right but in the end, they are the sweetest letters, filled with his thoughts and favorite memories of us.

🍷 Reiner was such a wreck. He was nervous because he wanted our first date to be perfect. We went to a nice restaurant — nothing too fancy — and then took a walk along the waterfront. He even made us stop for ice cream. We stayed out to stargaze a bit (but he stared at me more than anything else) and he made sure to take me home. He even asked before kissing me good night.

😘 Our first kiss was at the end of our first date. He asked for permission first and it was soft and sweet but Reiner was clearly nervous. He kept his hands firmly on my hips the whole time.

😳 Reiner will sneak up behind me and whisper the dirtiest things in my ear while holding my hips and keeping me pressed up against him. He’ll do it when we’re alone or in public. Either way, it gets me every time. The easiest way for me to fluster Reiner is to give him a firm smack on his ass. He blushes every single time.

😍 I knew I fell for Reiner after our first date. (Yes, that soon.) He sent me flowers the next day and showed up with a pint of my favorite ice cream. He tried to be sneaky and leave it at my door but I caught him. He swears he fell for me before he even knew my name. He saw me at the farmer’s market while I was shopping alone and he says he just knew we would end up together.

😴 If we’re sitting on the couch, I’m always cuddled in at Reiner’s side. At some point, he’ll pull me on to his lap though. Sometimes he’ll lay down with his head in my lap while I’m sitting down so I can play with his hair too. If we’re laying down together, I’ll usually lay half on him with my head on Reiner’s chest (he’ll play with my hair or nuzzle his nose in my hair) or we’ll spoon.

🥰 My favorite thing is how he tries so hard to remember the things I like so he can surprise me with them later, like bringing home my favorite cupcakes for no reason other than he saw them and they reminded him of me.

💭 He would probably be thinking about all of the little things he loves about me. Everyone calls him a lovesick puppy for a reason!

💋 He loves to kiss my fingertips and the crook of my neck, depending on if he’s just being sweet or if he’s trying to turn me on. (But that’s only if he’s not kissing my lips.)

{I’m dumb and couldn’t find the emoji} When I’m sad, he’ll hold me and rub my back and let me cry it out. Then he suggests we bake cookies together to try to cheer me up!

💐 Reiner loves when I get him daisies. Mostly because it’s what I got him once for his birthday and he had never had someone get him flowers before so they became his favorite. He loves getting me roses but he’ll often surprise me with stargazer lilies because he knows they’re my favorite.

🎄 Christmas Eve is spent with his family, having dinner and exchanging gifts. We go to my family’s on Christmas Day in the afternoon for an early dinner and gift exchange. But Reiner and I will exchange one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve/Day and then we open any other gifts after getting home from Christmas with my family.

🎁 Reiner is happy with practical gifts but he loves when I make him something, like a scrapbook or photo album. He usually gets me things that he knows I won’t get for myself, like a slightly expensive perfume or a first edition copy of my favorite novel.

🎟️ There’s a reason our movie dates happen at home now. Reiner will get distracted even when he picks the movie. He ends up with his hands under the blanket we’re snuggling under and the next thing either of us know, we’re having sex on the couch. We’ve been kicked out of movie theaters because Reiner can’t keep his hands to himself even in public.

[rotworld]

14: Nostalgia

a trip back to your small hometown leads to a long overdue reunion.

->explicit. contains discrimination, implied child abuse, murder, gore, blood drinking, terato.

.

.

.

It feels a bit like turning the pages of a singed photo album. A line of things frozen just as you left them, and then a scorch mark—a hole in the past. Someone has come and started little fires throughout your memory.

That’s the sweets shop where you’d press your grubby little fingers to the glass and watch Ms. Martz set out the day’s fresh cookies and fill up the candy jars, but the decor is different and there’s two teenage girls lounging at the register counter. The mattress place across from your old favorite coffee shop is gone, clipped out with hole punch precision. The empty building where it used to be has been stripped of all signage, nothing but dusty concrete and disembodied wooden beams for a storefront display. There’s the courthouse with its looming clocktower, the factory silos, the ice cream stand along the riverfront, closed for the season, and it’s all familiar, almost how you remember it, but not quite the same. 

People act odd at first, everywhere you go. You’re branded an outsider, held at arm’s length until it slips out at some point: “I grew up here.” It’s the strangest sort of homecoming, like showing up late to a funeral. Everything is warmth and wistful sadness. You keep running into people you used to know and everyone has news for you, updates and gossip that make you feel even stranger. Dr. Hanson passed a few years and nobody likes the new guy because he’s curt and quiet and doesn’t bother getting to know anybody. That deathtrap of an old sawmill you used to climb around as a kid is padlocked shut now. 

They found another body in Abbey Hill Park.

You hear about it from Mr. Simmons when you get behind him in line at the grocery store. He taught children’s soccer. He’s retired now, he says, in good shape except for a bad fall last winter while he was out shoveling snow. He mentions the body offhandedly, like something he forgot to pick up at the store. “This was five, six years ago,” he says. “It was just like the first one, if you remember it. You might not, you would’ve been real little at the time.” 

You remember. You were little but it was inescapable. It was hiding everywhere, an ugly thing everybody tiptoed around with whispers and curfews and nervous glances. Mrs. Werther’s class didn’t have to come to school for a week, and they had a substitute teacher for the rest of the year. You heard that the sheriff’s son got ahold of the crime scene pictures and started passing around copies, so everyone knew Mrs. Werther was half-eaten by birds. They’d plucked out her eyes and stolen the tongue out of her gaping mouth and a few of them had torn into her soft belly and started eating everything inside. Small bones and bits of viscera turned up in bird’s nests all around the park for a while. 

A freak accident. That’s what the official verdict was. There had been a construction project nearby, some unstable scaffolding and haphazardly piled debris. How a brick flung itself across the street, up the hill, and against Mrs. Werther’s skull remained a point of debate, as much as where it had gone afterwards. There wasn’t much to work with. No murder weapon, no fingerprints, no witnesses. Just a body in a flower field and a flock of opportunistic carrion eaters.

“That’s awful,” you say, the thoughtless, reflexive way a person does to any bad news. 

“Sure was,” Mr. Simmons says. “Nobody’s calling it an accident this time, though. They caught the guy. People are saying he dumped the body there thinking it’d get pinned on somebody else.” He says the words “somebody else” with sharp disdain. “That whole mess keeps me up at night. Everyone knew. You ask your folks, I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. We didn't used to pussyfoot around just to keep the peace and look progressive. Things like that don’t belong here, but they went ahead and let it get away with murder—”

“He was just a fucking kid!” 

Mr. Simmons’ jaw snaps shut. Everything gets quiet around you. People are staring. You fumble with your groceries and find a different line to stand in. Your face feels hot and your heart is pounding. It’s just another one of the things that hasn’t changed about this place. 

You take a walk to clear your head. All of the houses in your old neighborhood are the same. There’s still a big bump in the concrete where a tree root snuck underneath the sidewalk. Someone new lives on the corner and that big, beautiful garden you remember has shriveled up and become overgrown with weeds. The elementary school is across the street and classes must be out because there’s a long line of cars creeping through the parking lot and kids rushing across the lawn. Your eyes are drawn through the mass of people to an unusually tall man standing off to the side, a child huddled beside him.

They look startlingly similar. Both tall, both with thin, gangly limbs and dark hair, both with shockingly bright, yellow eyes. You haven’t seen the man in years but it’s him, you know it is. His face is like the rest of town, changed in uncanny ways and yet exactly the same. 

“Wes.” His name just slips out in a shocked whisper. You’re too far for him to hear you, a street and a parking lot away, but his head snaps up and those wide, piercing eyes find yours. 

He stares. He smiles. Your feet are tripping over themselves and you’re crossing the street without even looking. “Wes!” you call. Your excited pace quickens when you notice his hand is bleeding. 

He’s wearing a blue button-up and slacks, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Been a while.” 

“Your hand—” you stammer. 

“It’s fine,” he says. It’s not. There are awful bites all over, deep cuts and lacerations around the joints. Blood trickles steadily between his fingers and into the grass. “Could you grab the bandages from my bag?” he asks, lifting his shoulder. “They’re in the biggest compartment, right there. I don’t want to get blood on everything.” 

Just like when you were kids, he carries several boxes. Small adhesive dots, large, patterned ones with little cartoon animals, even some gauze and disinfectant crammed in beside books and folders. You see an elementary math textbook, a planner, a thin stack of printed handouts. “You’re a teacher?” you ask him. You mean to ask him, “You stayed?”

Wes gets it, though. He always does. “I thought about it a lot,” he says. You feel his gaze on you, that steady, intimidating focus. There’s fondness and gratitude in his eyes when you smooth a band-aid across his knuckles. “It would’ve been easier, in some ways. Getting a job somewhere else. But it occurred to me that I might be needed here. If there was ever another one.” 

The kid half-hiding behind him hasn’t said a word since you walked up. Just like Wes, he sticks out like a sore thumb, a head above his classmates with bony hands and big, owlish eyes. He clutches the straps of a Spider Man backpack and chews his lip as he watches you. There’s still some blood smeared on his cheek. Wes rests his uninjured hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is a safe person,” he tells him, nodding towards you. “Kind. Friendly.” 

You smile. The boy looks at his shoes. “...I’m Neely,” he mutters. “It’s…nice to…meet you.” He has the same high-pitched, hoarse voice Wes did as a kid, the same unusual cadence and long pauses as he struggles to find the right word. “Do you know…what I am?” he asks, whispering. 

“Yes, I do,” you say. 

He narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe you. “Mr. Lynwood said that…that lots of people make…they make, uh…” 

“Assumptions,” Wes says. 

“That,” Neely says. 

“I don’t,” you assure him. “I’ve known Wes—Mr. Lynnwood for a very long time. We both went to this school, in fact. We were in different classes, but we were best friends.” 

Neely gets quiet. He digs the toe of his shoe into the dirt restlessly, his eyes flicking back and forth from you to Wes. A car honks and you see a man and a dog in the front seats of a minivan. There’s no family resemblance at all, but the man waves and Neely trots over with a, “Byeeeee, Mr. Lynwood!” 

Wes waves with his good hand. He waits until Neely has climbed into the backseat and the car long gone before he tells you, “He’s had some trouble with teething.” 

“Ah,” you say. 

“It’s how he deals with his feelings. Mostly the bad ones. But the kids are good. They don’t pick on him. They understand he needs different things.” 

The last bandage wraps around his thumb. Wes thanks you. You shrug it off. You don’t leave. The pattering footsteps and shouts of small children filter out and fade, the rush in the parking lot thinning out. “I have a lot of work to do,” Wes says.

Your heart throbs painfully. “Right, no, of course—” 

“So come over.” 

You think you do an admirable job of looking casual and not shocked or flustered, jamming your hands in your pockets. “Like, to catch up?” you ask.

Wes’ gaze moves from your eyes to a little lower, your lips or maybe your throat. He watches the muscles in your neck flutter when you swallow, nervous and excited. He licks his lips. You feel like a teenager again, crouched behind the riverfront ice cream stand on a chilly autumn day, your hands in Wes’ hair and his lips crushing yours, grinding on each other like you’ll die without this. “Sure,” he says. “To catch up.”

Wes lives in a small, cute house near Abbey Hill. The driveway is half-cement, half dirt. There are flowering shrubs and wild berries growing under the windows, a birdfeeder and stone fountain in the front yard. A child’s drawing of big, smiling seagulls—signed “Neely age 7” in a crude hand—is proudly displayed above a brick fireplace. He gives you a brief tour—living room, kitchen, bed and bathrooms, a home office in a cozy, furnished attic. That’s where you are when you both start dropping the facade, you poking through his collection of house plants and teaching theory books, him standing beside a reclaimed wood desk and running his fingers across the surface. 

“Neely’s been the only one since me,” he tells you. “Seven years ago. His parents took it well. Better than mine.” 

“They’re good to him?” you ask. 

“They’re great. Had them at conferences. They ask lots of questions. They listen.” The floor creaks. You hear him shifting closer, coming up behind you. “They come over sometimes. It’s nice. Then it’s so quiet, after they leave.”

Your hand hovers over the spine of a psychology textbook. A wordy title, something about attachment theory and child neglect. “Are you lonely?” you ask him.

His hand slides up your arm to your shoulder, fingers caressing your jaw. “Are you?” he murmurs against your ear. “You came back.” 

He urges you to lay your head back and bare your throat. You do, your eyes fluttering shut. Wes’ lips trail along the side of your neck, kissing you, blowing softly on damp, shivering skin. His hands are gentle and fleeting, restless like he’s afraid to leave some part of you untouched. They caress your sides and your chest, one wandering teasingly down to your stomach while the other cups your jaw. You want to turn around. You want to see him. He never lets you look. Wes moves his body in a slow, sensual grind against you and you whimper, eager for more. 

“I thought about you,” you say softly. 

He hums in acknowledgement, sucking at the throb of your pulse. 

“I thought about—about her. That awful teacher you had. All those horrible things she did to you and nobody did anything.” It’s fucked up to bring her up, here and now, but you do. You can’t stop the words from spilling out. Wes slows his movements but he doesn’t stop, nipping at your skin as though chastising. “I think about it all the time. Did you know a psychologist came to our class? I think they talked to everyone, even if we’d never met her. I remember one time, Carrie—do you remember her? She started crying because there were a bunch of sparrows making a nest by the front doors. She thought they were going to eat her. Everyone was scared of birds.” 

Wes chuckles, every puffing exhale warming your skin. He’s not upset, but he doesn’t want to talk. He’s just letting you ramble. It’s only fair. He finds a spot he likes, where he can feel your heart beating and every pass of his tongue makes you flinch and shiver, head lolling back against his shoulder. “Everyone but you,” he murmurs. 

You laugh. Wes slips his hand into your pants and you buck your hips against his quick, talented fingers. He breaks away just briefly and you hear fabric shifting, his shirt hitting the floor. “I was lonely,” you admit. “I think about you a lot—” 

Your words break into a moan when Wes seizes you, trapping you against him, and bites you on the neck. It hurts and it feels mind-numbingly good. You push your hips back into him desperately and he humors you, grinding against your ass. “Been thinking about you, too,” he murmurs, the words slurred and muffled against your skin. 

“D-don’t talk while you’re—Wes!” The hand on your sex starts moving faster, his fingers working you into a shivering mess. He moans, tongue darting out to catch a bead of blood dribbling from the bite. He’s starting to get hard and rock his hips more insistently. You’re slammed up against the wall and you hear flesh tearing, his wings ripping through his back. 

“Think about you all the time,” he moans. “Think about high school—making out by the river. The first time you let me drink from you. Wanted you to stay so bad. Wanted to get married…”

The admission slips out with a breathy whine and he’s dry humping you so hard you can feel the outline of his cock through both of your clothes. You want him inside you but he’s too fixated on your neck, licking and kissing the shape of his teeth in your skin and sucking every drop of blood that oozes to the surface. This is orgasm for him, the peak of his pleasure. Fed and comforted and holding you in his arms, he sinks to his knees and brings you gently down with him. His wings, feathers wet and clinging together, fold around you. He keeps kissing and licking you even after he’s finished, nipping the bite affectionately. 

“Sorry, I…sorry,” he murmurs. 

You hold yourself back for a second. You’re wired, worked up and needy for him, drowning in every memory of the time you’ve spent together, but that doesn’t matter, you think. It doesn’t make this feeling any less real. “I wanted that, too,” you say. 

Wes’ cock twitches in his pants. “Can’t just say stuff like that—” 

“I mean it,” you insist. “I only miss one thing about this place, and it’s you.” 

His movements are shaky. His hands tremble as he shifts you around in his lap, allowing you to turn and face him. You look up at a face with a sickly, gray complexion and sharp features. A light speckling of feathers and slender quills poke out of his skin, clustered around his neck and shoulders. Wes’ enormous wings are folded, one draped against your back, the other curled behind him. His long legs are crooked, bent in the same strange ways as a bird with hooked talons instead of feet. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in full, not just a glimpse. He looks at you the same way he always has, his expression soft, his lips parted with just a flash of sharp teeth peeking through, fondness mingling with relief. 

You look at him the same way you always have—with awe and affection.

The sex is rushed and clumsy, not much different than when you were younger. You’re both worked up and impatient, clawing at each other, bumping noses. Wes bounces you in his lap and then seems to get restless, sitting up with his cock still deep inside you and his arms around you, lifting you easily to pin against the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist and his thrusts are slower for a while, a little less frantic. He leaves small, affectionate pecks on your cheek and collarbones, nipping at the bite he left earlier. 

“Not going to last,” he warns you. Sweet of him and totally unnecessary, because you’re so far gone after two orgasms and well on your way to a third. It doesn’t matter how hurried it is, how rough he gets with those sharp, taloned fingers sinking into your skin—it’s exactly what you wanted. There were lines he never let himself cross before. You never saw him, sweat-soaked gazing at you with those golden, lust-filled eyes, your name the only word on his tongue. It’s everything you wanted and more. He’s stronger than he should be with that fragile, willowy build, determined to keep you aloft as he fucks all the doubt and uncertainty out of you. 

It’s a kiss that finally sends him over the edge. Your lips on his, your tongue pressing into his mouth, fingers tangled in his soft, feathery hair. He keens, hips stuttering, and your shoulders dig into the wall from the force of his last, desperate thrusts. The ache is satisfying. You sink to the floor together again, sharing breaths, panting softly. Wes kisses you again, sharp teeth digging into your lower lip. It reminds you of being younger, but it’s not the same. It’s better. 

He makes dinner. You try to help but he pushes you out of the kitchen with his wings, blocking your view of the stove. You talk across rooms in short, disjointed thoughts, getting to know him all over again. There’s a stack of graded math assignments neatly arranged on a coffee table in front of a framed photo. It’s from high school. You’re in the woods, the old lumber mill in the background. Your smile is big and toothy. Wes is smiling, too, but he’s looking at you instead of the camera. 

“How long are you gonna stay?” Wes calls from the kitchen.

“Dunno,” you say. “A little while, at least.” You pass Neely’s drawing, chuckling. You pause, crouching by the fireplace. 

There’s one brick in there that’s a slightly different color from the others. You run your fingers over the bumpy, chipped texture and remember what it felt like against your palm.

[bsstories]

just thinking abt being in a poly relationship with eren and jean </3

even though it looks like they hate each other’s guts from another person’s perspective, you know better than anyone they love each other just as much as they love you (despite the fact they’ll never admit it in front of other people). you know they love each other when they wrestle each other on your ridiculously big shared bed until one of them pins down the other to give them the longest, deepest kiss; when communicate with only small shifts of their eyes or nudges of their heads about the exact way they want to take you; when jean slowly thrusts into eren, strong legs thrown over his shoulders, one hand entwined with eren’s while the other pushes your head to take eren’s cock deeper into your mouth; when eren takes jean from behind and purposefully grips on to his hips tight enough to leave marks for all of jean’s teammates to see.

eren and jean can be a rather abrasive pair from an outsider’s point of view. both are too headstrong and stubborn for their own good, not to mention remarkably loud. one would question how a relationship dynamic would even function between two people with such strong personalities, but the final piece of the puzzle for them will always be you.

you are the glue that keeps the relationship together, the person that never suppresses their bold personas but finds ways to help them control themselves. you’re the peacekeeper, the caregiver, and they could not be more thankful for how perfectly you balance them out.

in fact, they are so thankful that they downright spoil you. outings and dates, gifts and gestures, silly things like making you go out for a spa day only for you to return to a home cooked meal and a bubble bath, both fit for three. your lovers aren’t the best with words, so they find any way possible to show you how deeply they love and care for you.

you know how much they love you through little things; through the old habits that are unique to each of them and the new ones that develop between the three of you the longer you’re together.

eren is not shy with his love, nor is he stingy with it. he wants everyone to know what’s his at all times. there will never be a moment where eren isn’t touching you, whether it be holding your hand, throwing an arm around your shoulders, gripping your waist, grabbing your ass… you name it, he’s done it. he practically craves confrontation so he can profess his love and adoration for you for all to hear (and because even thought he’ll deny it, he thinks it’s amusing when people are intimidated by him).

jean is a bit more conservative. it’s not that he doesn’t want to be all over you every waking moment of the day, it’s just he doesn’t like the idea of people being able to see how beautiful you look when you’re flustered or turned on. he’s a bit more subtle, opting to link your pinkies together or hold your hand. he’ll leave hickies in places only you, himself, and eren will see, because the knowledge that they’re there is all he needs to remind him that you’re his and eren’s… no one else’s.

you each rotate who plans your dates together but generally, jean is the romantic of the relationship. eren will tease the fuck out of him every time jean so much as buys you & eren a bouquet of flowers (then he’ll secretly take one from each bouquet he receives and press it into a photo album he has filled with memories he has of his favorite people… the man is a closeted sap). but no matter what he says, eren feels his heart soar every time jean pulls another one of his endless streams of romantic gestures, from an anniversary that called for the whole apartment being filled with rose petals and white candles to a sunset picnic at the beach.

eren’s dates are a bit more practical. he doesn’t particularly care what he does with you guys as long as you spend time together. he loves the little domestic moments you share that span from picking out paint colors for your bedroom or grocery shopping. he absolutely lives for cooking meals together in the kitchen, upbeat music playing over your speakers turning dinner into a dance party. eren wishes he could bottle the feeling he has in his chest when you both fall asleep tangled up on the couch together, you and jean sandwiching him in the middle and creating the most comfortable scene he could ever hope for.

eren and jean don’t agree on much, but they both agree that you deserve the world and more. so they do their absolute damndest to give it to you :(((

[falcqns]

Can you do a Sub! Bucky where the reader goes all soft and tells him he's pretty during sex and he's all blushy

baby boy

pairing: sub!Bucky x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, sweet little boy bucky has my heart 🥺

a/n: this fic is set in fatws era but i used this gif bc bucky just looks so soft and cuddly ajjdksksksk. hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!!

it was quite common for Bucky to be down on himself after a mission.

but after watching John kill a Flag Smasher with the shield that is the whole reason he is in the 21st century, he really retreated in on himself, and it hurt you to see your usually happy boy become this sad and hurting one again.

the dam had finally broken when he was helping you clean, and he moved a photo album to dust the shelf underneath, when a picture of him and Steve at the Stark Expo the night before he went off to war fell out.

he seemed frozen, as he stared at it. you didn’t know what to do, so you watched. he sniffed, and then he let out a choked sob, the photo falling out of his hand. as you wrapped your arms around him, he confessed what was wrong.

“i miss him so much. why wasn’t i enough to make him stay? didn’t he know i needed him?” he choked out, his sobs becoming louder. you soothed him, and took the feather duster out of his hands and leading him to the bedroom.

“i know you don’t see it, but you’re more than enough. you’re perfect. he made the wrong choice, but you can’t blame your self baby. lay down, i’m gonna give you the loving you need.” you said, and he nodded before trudging over to the bed slowly before flopping down onto his back.

you quickly stripped him, and yourself of all clothes. you handled each part of him with love, pressing small kisses and hickeys where you thought they were needed.

you’d straddled him, and guided him inside of you, and were slowly rocking back and forth on him, relishing the feeling of his hard cock.

his eyes were squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, a crease forming in between them. you reached out to smooth it out, and he melted into your touch. you let your hand fall from his forehead to his jaw, rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

“my perfect boy,” you said, and he leaned into it, a blush tinging his cheeks. you leant forward and pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks, like a mother would to a child. his bottom lips trembled at the contact, but no tears came out.

“my sweet, sweet, angel.” you whispered against his smooth skin. he sighed and gripped your hand. “so beautiful, you know that right?” you asked, moving from his face over to his left shoulder. “such a pretty boy.”

your fingers traced the scars that lined his metal arm, especially the ones where, even though he never said it, he tried to pry the arm off. “should paint some flowers here, so you can see yourself the way i see you.” you whispered against his flesh.

“h-how do you see me?” he asked shakily. you chuckled quietly.

“a perfect little baby boy. that’s how i see you.” you said, and looked up as he burst into tears silently.

“what wrong sweet boy?” you asked gently, and he looked at you, his blue eyes filled with love and adoration.

“m-my mom always called me baby boy. it was the last name she called me before i left for war. the last thing she ever called me.” he managed out, the tears streaming faster.

you wiped away the tears and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “you are such a sweet boy, and i can totally see why your mom called you that. despite what you’ve been through, you’re still that sweet little boy that your mama raised. she’d be so proud of you, you know that?” you asked and he shook his head. you scoffed.

“she would. she’d be insanely proud of you. i’m proud of you, Sam’s insanely proud of you. i know he doesn’t say it, but he is. Tony would be proud of the man you’ve become, i know he would. but most importantly, Steve is so proud of you. what he did was selfish, but he is still, and always will be so proud of you, no matter what. all of us, all the Avengers, dead or alive. we’re all proud of you. you’re so strong. you don’t see it but you are, and you deserve the world.” you said, and he cried and melted into your touch further.

as you watched him take in your words and cry, you realized the man in front of you needed all the love, praise and adoration he could get, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

[bokebelle]

What type of gifts do you think the jjk guys would actually love and appreciate?

nonnie this was so cute to think about! I love my jjk men so much ❤️ (i put very vague manga references for getou but don't worry they aren't major spoilers!) More below the cut!

GOJO SATORU — i feel like he would love gifts that would he would genuinely like, so maybe something related to things he already likes! He loves his tried and trues and he'd never get tired of receiving them from you! He loves how you know exactly what makes him happy. (So I'd guess he'd love those boxes filled with his favorite foods and sweets)

GETOU SUGURU — based on the manga getou would love to receive things that you would enjoy too. He loves sharing his things with you so even if you get something, let's say a jacket, for him, he would like it even more if it was in a color that would look good on both of you, or size you two would find comfortable. What's his is yours and he loves sharing whatever gift he receives with the person he considers as his gift from the heavens.

NANAMI KENTO — i feel like nanami would love to receive sentimental gifts. He's a pretty straightforward and practical man but his heart melts when you gift him something that holds dear sentimental value. It could either be a framed picture of your first date, or the first flower he ever gave you dried and pressed into bookmark for him, but whatever it is nanami loves gifts that hold special memories of people he cares about.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI — i feel like megumi is similar to nanami in the sense that he prefers practicality, but loves sentimentality. He likes gifts he can use on the daily, but he cherishes the deeper meaning behind them. You could give him extra pillows for his dorm room and he'd love it because it makes him more comfortable than the ones he currently has, but he can't deny the softness in his heart when you explain you also got matching dog stuffed toys in place of his shikigami for when he feels lonely, because you know he feels a little more comfortable with his demon dogs around. And since he can't summon him all the time, you got him two miniatures hoping they'd provide just as much comfort.

ITADORI YUUJI — he would absolutely love anything that would remind him of the both of you. He loves the sentimentality behind gifts, so when you gave him a photo album of all the pictures taken during his time in jujutsu tech, he almost cried skdke my bb. He loves looking back at the memories he's made over time, with people he never thought would mean so much in his life. It's been pretty lonely for him growing up but looking back at all the good times with great friends, he can't help but smile at just how much better his life turned out no matter what the circumstance. He wouldn't change those memories for the world.

INUMAKI TOGE — because of his cursed speech, i think toge would love gifts that serve as a way for both of you to express your feelings for one another. Even if it's easier for you to verbally express how much you care about him, toge would love gifts that would help both of you communicate that without accidentally cursing someone. I think he would love curated playlists that have songs that you say remind you of him, and he'd play them when you're around because that's how he feels about you too. He'd also love books you've read with anecdotes and highlights you've made and he would definitely give you another book in exchange. He would also highlight phrases that remind him of you, and words he wishes he could tell you but instead he hopes that those underlined sentences are enough.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Halex fem!reader part 14

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

For the first time in a while, I woke up happy. Sure, the situation we were all in was no reason to be happy, but I would take waking up next to Derek over anything. In this moment anyway. 

Derek hummed in his sleep, nuzzling his face into my neck. I smiled, turning my head a little to press a kiss to his cheek. He opened his eyes that seemed to sparkle when he smiled. 

“Good morning.” He mumbled, pulling his arms away and sitting up. I turned on my back and pouted up at him. 

“Someone doesn’t like cuddling in the morning?” 

He got out of bed, getting dressed, “Any other day, yes. But I have something to do this morning.” He threw a shirt in my direction. I caught it, got out of bed and dressed myself. 

“I’ll remember that.” I took off my clothes that I had worn throughout the night and pulled on Derek’s shirt. It was soft cotton and it smelled like him. It was a little big so it would have to be tied with a ponytail holder. I looked over, seeing my jacket hanging up on the back of his door, “Mind tossing me my jacket?” He grabbed it off the door and tossed it my way. As it flew through the air, an envelope fell on the floor. Derek stared at the envelope and picked it up, looking it over. 

“Oh my god, I completely forgot about that.” I took the envelope from his hands. It had some water damage but the words were still readable on the outside. 

“The Lunar Circle?” His jaw clenched. 

“Yeah, do you know anything about this?” I asked, opening it up. 

“Your parents were a part of it.” 

“Really?” I grinned, opening up the very official looking letter. 

To (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), 

We send our condolences in the matter of your parents passing, all of us here at the Lunar Circle cherished your family and we think of them fondly. 

As two of our founding members, your parents were meant to travel to our facility to discuss relations between them and the clan of hunters in your area, the Argents. Since they have passed, this duty falls to you - the sole survivor of your clan. 

We will have a messenger arrive soon to bring you to Shetland, in the northern Isles of Scotland. Please pack warm. 

We look forward to meeting you, 

Sincerely, 

Praetor Lachlan McLeod

I read the letter aloud, Derek was becoming more and more stern. 

“I mean, it seems like they want me to go whether I like it or not. But I think they would be able to take the rest of the spell away so I could remember.” I smiled and looked up. The smile dropped, “But you don’t seem as enthusiastic as I do.” 

“Only werewolves who get invited can go. I can’t go with you.” 

"I mean, they probably wouldn't care. You're my partner."

“That’s not the point.” He walked back to his dresser, grabbing his leather jacket that he had draped there. 

“Then what is the point, Derek?” He didn’t answer, walking out the door and into the hallway. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” I called, storming after him. 

He stopped abruptly in the hall and turned around, “The point is that I can’t be there with you. I can’t stop any of those people from taking you away from me.”

“Are you insinuating that I would cheat on you?” I glared.

“No.” His face softened, “But they could use the spell against you. A condition that they could have would be to break our bond so you can get your memories back.” He held my face in his hands, making me look up into his eyes, “I want you to remember, but I want to be there for it.” 

“You said I’m stubborn. Maybe I could convince whoever is going to show up that I need you to come with me.” I smiled, “I’m gonna go home and look through some of the stuff from my house.” 

“I’ll call you after I get done here.” He kissed my nose. 

“And what are you doing?” 

“Erica’s getting Jackson so we can test if he’s the kanima.” He started walking again. 

“Uh and what if he is?” I asked nervously, “Listen, I am all for killing him on a good day but you can’t kill him. There has to be a cure.” 

“And if there isn’t?” 

Rubbing my temples, I thought for a moment. Pros: - No more kanima...No more Jackson... Con: Prison for Derek. Regardless of morals, the kanima was dangerous to everyone. 

“Make it look like an accident.” 

As I made my way out of the depot, Erica was walking in, dragging Jackson by his bicep. 

“Erica.” I nodded, smiling brightly. 

“(Y/N).” She smiled back. It seemed like after the kanima attack there was a silent understanding between the two of us.

“Wait!” Jackson called, trying to get out of her grasp, “Wait! (Y/N)!” There was a sick part of me that was going to think about his calling to me for help later and smile. 

-

It was late morning when I got home. Stiles had given me hell through text but that was just how he showed his love. The next thing was to stop staring at the cardboard boxes that held the remaining pieces of my life that had been stashed in my closet. Out of sight, out of mind since I really wanted to distance myself from the memory of my parents death and all of the fact that my parents had unfairly taken memories of my life away. I understand that they did it to protect our family, but at the end of the day... that didn’t seem to make much of a difference. 

Time to bite the bullet. I kneeled down in front of the closet and pulled out the box labeled: (Y/L/N) Evidence #24. I looked over my shoulder to make sure the door was closed, then grew a claw on my pointer finger to cut the tape on the box. Was that lazy? Of course, but I think anyone in my position would. I took a deep breath and opened the box. I wish that I was hit with a wave of nostalgia, the smells of home, but all I could smell was smoke. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the sides of the box, “Come on, don’t cry.” I sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Blowing out air, I opened my eyes again. Inside the box were photo albums. I took out the one I recognized most, it was a dark teal color with our last name in gold cursive font. I traced the letters fondly. Opening it up, I saw pictures with my parents from when they bought this house, bringing me home from the hospital, pictures of my parents and Stiles’ hanging out. They all looked so happy, they were laughing and having fun. I lightly touched Aunt Claudia’s smiling face. It was still hard to believe that she was gone, but she was sick... She couldn’t live like that any longer. I flipped through the book, watching Stiles and I grow up. Birthdays, slumber parties. Slowly Scott popped up in the pictures until we became a trio. But Stiles and I were always together. Which made me wonder how much of my life was missing if he was the only friend I could remember. 

The rest of the box was documents that had been found in the safe in the basement. It was a miracle that had found the safe since it had been hidden in the wall. Deeds, marriage license, birth certificates, social security. In the next box, there were some of my baby things. But this box has become more interesting. Family heirlooms that I had only seen once when they were being cleaned. At the bottom of the box was a wooden box that I definitely didn’t remember. 

“Jack pot.” I smiled and lifted it out of the box. It was a dark stained wooden box with intricate vines and flowers decorating the borders. There was a stamp burned into the top. My last initial in a full moon, stars randomly placed around it. 

I opened the clasp, lifting the lid open carefully. There was a glass bottle, sealed with teal wax. The neck of the bottle was wrapped in twine with a bronze charm, on the charm was a wolf. It was filled with dried herbs and what looked to be a lock of hair, my hair. I set the bottle aside, wanting to bring it to Deaton to figure out what was inside. But I was fairly certain this was the spell jar that took my memories away. The next thing inside that I pulled out was a scroll, sealed with the same teal wax and this time the crest was more visible, it was the same crest as on the box. 

I carefully removed the wax from the paper to not break the seal, unrolling the papers. The larger of the two was a family tree, more family that I could even imagine that I had, going back ten generations. But the tree got smaller and smaller until I was the last branch. I am the last member of my family. That made me feel more alone than before. 

The next paper was more recent looking and it was addressed to me. 

𝘛𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, (𝘠/𝘕).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘱, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩.

𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯. 𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 - 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘞𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦,

𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘥

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, making sure my tears didn’t smug the ink on the page. They acknowledged that they did wrong and they were planning on reversing the spell. And seeing my mother’s handwriting again? The best. 

In the bottom of the wooden box was a white package that had been faded yellow. The package was labeled with the name of the local pharmacy where you could also get photos developed. I took out the thick stack of photos and gasped. Christmas morning when I was twelve, I was looking up into the camera but my face was hidden by the glare coming from my eyes. Another picture had me with a wrist brace on, a thumbs up and a smile. Then the next pictures lifted my spirits. It was pictures of Derek and I. From the time we were toddlers until six years ago. Smiling, laughing. Some where he was in his basketball uniform, others when I was in my lacrosse gear. It seemed like Derek was just as much a part of my life as Stiles was. There were pictures of me with Laura Hale, we were on the floor cross legged while she sat behind me, braiding my hair. There was another where I was holding a little toddler on my lap, who I could only assume was Cora. There were even baby pictures of me with this woman I couldn’t recognize...but something told me that it was Derek’s mother Talia. Wait, Talia Hale. I never knew that name before. I was starting to remember. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to remember more. 

But these pictures were important to what I needed. I slipped them back into the package and grabbed the vial, putting them in my bag. 

I started walking down the stairs, feeling happier than this morning, but it all went away when Stiles’ text message. The first was a picture of Lydia at the front of Finstock’s class with someone help me written on the board from an hour ago. The next was a message that had come over that minute.

Stiles:

Isaac and Erica are testing Lydia to see if she’s the kanima... And I think she failed. 

I got downstairs and was stopped by Uncle Noah in the kitchen, his arms were crossed over his chest. I was definitely in trouble. 

“Hi, Uncle Noah-”

“Where have you been?” Straight to the point. 

“Busy. With work and stuff.” My lying was not getting better. I tried to walk past him but he called my name. 

“(Y/N)” I stopped, slowly turning around, “I know you’re an adult, but I promised your mom and dad that if anything happened to them that I would protect you. I mean, you’re gone all day and all night. I get vague text messages after hours.” 

“I’ve just been busy with work, that’s all. Believe it or not, Coach puts in long hours-”

“Now, why am I having trouble believing you?” He looked up at the ceiling as if the answer was written there.

Probably because I’m lying, I’m actually a werewolf, one of many in this town and we’re fighting a teenage mutant murder lizard that may or may not be Lydia, you know Lydia, the girl Stiles was in love with?

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been working long hours on four murder cases and overworking your brain.”

“Is this about that Lunar Circle thing you got in the mail? What is that thing anyway?” 

I sighed, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. If it were nothing, you would say that it’s junk.” 

I sighed, “It’s a group my parents were a part of and they want me to go there.” 

“To Scotland? No way.” He shook his head. 

“What? You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m an adult.” 

“You are apart of an open murder investigation where the murderer is still at large. I can’t in good conscience let you leave the state, let alone the country.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” I glared, “I am a legal adult, I am not a suspect, I can leave whenever I want.” 

“Not true. As a part of the agreement with your parents, if they were to be killed, I am to be your guardian for six months, no matter how old you are.” 

I pulled at my hair in frustration, “That’s ridiculous!”

“Call it what it may, but that’s what your parents wanted.” 

“Screw what they wanted!” I snapped, “They took everything from me!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He barked back.  I sighed in frustration, grabbing my keys off the counter and storming towards the door. 

“Hey! We’re not done talking!” I kept going, “(Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), you get back here!” 

I opened the door and looked back, “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD! STOP ACTING LIKE IT!” I slammed the door shut and hurriedly got into my car. I gripped the steering wheel hard, the plastic cracking against my palms. I shouted into the wheel, breathing hard to make sure I didn’t turn in the car. After a few minutes and a lot of breathing, the anger turned to guilt. Uncle Noah was just trying to make sure I was safe and what I said wasn’t fair. He treated me like his own and I should appreciate that more. I’m just relieved I didn’t see the look on his face when I shouted at him, I’m sure I would never be able to get his face out of my head. 

My cell phone ringing brought me out of my thoughts, I pressed answer and held the phone to my ear. 

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Jackson?” My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. 

“Duh.” He said in his usual douchey way. Just my luck, the last person I wanted to talk to was calling me. 

“What do you want, trust fund?” I put the phone on speaker and started driving. 

“Look, we need your help. We need you to distract Derek.”

“No problem.” I hung up the phone, driving the short drive it took to get to the depot.

-

I leaned against the doorway leading into the depot, grabbing Derek’s jacket as he walked out.

“Where ya goin’, Der?” He looked back at me, backing up. 

“I was on my way to see you.” 

I smiled, “How coinvent. I just got into a huge fight with my Uncle which I’m sure you felt and I found pictures of us together that I wanted to show you.” I held up the package of photos. 

We had gone back inside the depot, sitting on his mattress. Derek turned the bottle in his hands to get a look at all the herbs inside, “I can see monkshood, mistletoe, salt. Not sure what the rest is.” He handed the bottle back to me. I filled his empty hand with the package of pictures. He took out the stack. He stared at the pictures for a long time, almost like he was memorizing them.

“I lost all my copies of these photos in the fire.” He smiled as he looked through them, “Did you remember anything?” 

“Just one thing.” I handed him the photo and his mother holding me, “I remembered her name, Talia.” He stared at the photo, his face changing. 

“She’s so young here.” He whispered. I rested my head on his shoulder, looking at the photo. She was smiling at me in an exaggerated way, her dark hair tucked behind her ear. She was so beautiful. Derek looked over at me, then out the window. He set the photos down slowly and stood up. Shit.

“You were sent here to distract me, weren’t you?” He stared down accusingly. He felt betrayed, a feeling I didn’t like giving him. 

“I came here to show you the pictures.” I stood up to face him. 

“That may have been what you wanted to do originally, but on your way here they told you to distract me so I couldn’t kill that monster.” He gritted his teeth, moving towards the door at a determined pace. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm. 

“Derek, it’s not Lydia!” 

“How do you know that?” He spun around, his gaze was menacing, but he didn’t scare me anymore, “She failed the test, the kanima venom didn’t affect her. It has to be her.” He slammed the door of the depot open, walking out into the night with me hot on his heels. 

“And what if it’s something else? You told Scott to trust his instincts and I trust mine, it’s not Lydia.” 

“I’m doing this to keep you safe, keep them all safe. Isn’t that what you want?” There was a growl in his voice. I stopped following him, opting to get into my car and speed to Scott’s house. 

- 

I pounded on the front door when I got there, praying that they hadn’t completely padlocked the door yet. Stiles opened the door and pulled me inside, slamming the door shut behind me. 

“I thought you were distracting Derek.” He whispered. 

“I was. He saw through it.” I whispered back. Stiles looked out the window, a grim look on his face. I looked out the opposite window and saw Derek standing outside, with Boyd, Erica and Isaac behind him. I looked back and saw Allison standing in the hall. 

“You need to tell Scott to get here right now.” I looked back on the window, reaching over and touching Stiles’ shoulder. 

“It’s me. You need to get here right now.” 

-

Allison was staring down at her phone, her other hand occupied with a small crossbow. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. 

“I think...” She paused, “I think I have to call my dad.”

“Are you nuts?” I asked. I mean, what could the pack outside do without drawing the attention of the police, not much. Derek wouldn’t go that far... Or at least I hoped he wouldn’t. 

“But if he finds you here, you and Scott-” 

“I know.” She cut Stiles off, clearly frustrated, “But what are we supposed to do? They’re not here to scare us, they’re here to kill Lydia.” She said the last part a little quieter. Jackson and Lydia were upstairs doing... whatever it is exs did. I wouldn’t know, my ex was dead haha.... I wish there was therapy for people like me. Were there werewolf therapists? 

After staring at the pack for a while, Stiles spoke up. 

“I have an idea. Shoot one of ‘em.” Allison and I looked at him.

“Are you serious?” She asked. 

“Stiles, if they get in, I’ll handle it.” I said, not really believing myself. 

“You can’t take a whole pack by yourself. That’s literally impossible. I think.” He said, “We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it! Or at least give it a shot, right?” 

“Okay.” She sighed. 

“No, not okay, have you ever heard about how you’re not supposed to poke the sleeping bear. Shooting one of them would be like-like whacking a sleeping bear with a baseball bat.” I said, very not okay with the plan. 

"They don't think we're gonna fight, one of them gets hit, guarantee you they'll take off. So just shoot one of them."  Stiles said. In theory, yes. In practice, probably not. 

She peeked out the window, "Which one?" 

 "Ummm...Derek. Yeah, shoot him. Preferably in the head." 

“Stiles, are you trying to kill me?” I shoved him, having to pull my arm so I didn’t use my full strength. He yelped, holding his arm. 

"If Scott's able to catch an arrow, Derek definitely can." Allison said, looking out the window.

"Okay, um, just shoot one of the other three then." 

"You mean two." Stiles and I stared at her like she had three heads. 

"I mean three." Stiles said. We smushed our cheeks together to look out the window at the same time. Isaac was missing. 

“...Where the Hell is Isaac?" Stiles asked, looking around. Isaac had left his position besides Derek, probably when we were trying to figure out a plan. 

“I’m gonna go protect Lydia.” I backed away from the door and ran upstairs, I got into the room right as I heard the crashing downstairs. Isaac had gotten in. 

“Why are you here?” Lydia said, she breathing was quick and she was on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Me?” I looked around, “Where the hell is Jackson?” I saw Scott’s open window. That slim ball ran at the first sign of danger. I grabbed her hand, pulling her into the bathroom. I closed the door quickly and locked it. 

“What’s going on?” She whispered, tears falling down her face. 

“Someone’s breaking in.” I lied, “Just stay quiet.” I put a finger to my lips. I could hear growling and shouting, a body being slamming into the door hard. I pressed my body against the door, hoping my body could keep it there. 

“Hi-hi- I need the police.” I looked down, seeing Lydia on the phone with the cops. I groaned under my breath, blocking out her phone call to try and listen to what was going on outside. 

“Stiles! It’s here!” I heard Allison shout. My eyes widened. The kanima. It was here, it wasn’t Lydia. I backed away from the door and started to unlock it. 

“What are you doing?!” She shouted. I held out my hand.

“I’m gonna keep you safe. You have to trust me.” She stared at my hand, “Look, Stiles trusts me. And I know somewhere inside of your cold exterior you know Stiles would never let you get hurt. So if you don’t trust me, trust Stiles.” She stared a moment longer before taking my hand and pulling herself up. 

“You will not mention this to him.” She huffed. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I opened the door, leading Lydia through the house and out the front door. And when we got outside, I stared at all of them in confusion. 

Isaac and Erica were both on the ground, Derek, Boyd, Scott, Allison, and Stiles were staring at the roof as police sirens were getting closer. 

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!” Lydia shouted. 

"It's Jackson." Scott whispered. I stepped off the porch and looked at the roof, the kanima was on the roof, slithering just out of sight. 

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

Read part 15 here!

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[novelconcepts]

fic: something to hang on to

When Jamie buys a camera, she isn’t really thinking about it. They’re driving through Virginia, stopped off at a little gas station; Dani’s outside filling the rental Jeep, which puts Jamie on snack-duty. At the counter, she spots a display of disposable cameras and, almost without thinking, adds one to the pile of sugar and caffeine. It isn’t a plan. Isn’t for any particular reason. 

Dani, pawing through the plastic bag of their spoils, raises it from a mess of M&Ms and Pringles and says, “You like photography?” She asks it the way she asks everything, like every little detail she learns about Jamie is another brand-new color added to the shine of the world. Jamie shrugs. 

“Never was much for it, but this brave new land is pretty enough. Don’t mind keeping track of it for later.”

It’s more than that, she thinks as Dani raises the viewfinder to her eye and clicks a photo of Jamie behind the wheel, one hand steering, the other stretching across the center console to rest on Dani’s knee. I almost lost you once, Poppins. Wouldn’t have had anything but my own memory to remember you by. This...this will help. 

Later, much later, years later, Jamie will look back on that moment as one of her wisest. Later, on a bed she can no longer sleep in, holding a thick album between shaking hands, she’ll think some of the most important choices you ever make are split-second recklessness. A camera, tossed in at the last second. A habit, built on nothing more than needing Dani’s smile immortalized. 

Open the album. Take a breath. Flip the page. 

***

A photo: Dani sprawled on a red-and-white beach towel, chin propped on folded arms, gazing out away from the camera as though she has no idea anyone is watching.

They’re with Henry and the kids--the first time they’ve seen the Wingrave family since the events at the house, and, though they don’t know it, one of the last times they’ll see them all together--in Florida. It’s strange, Jamie reflects, watching Miles chase Flora across an endless strip of sand. Strange how much world can fit into one country. England was green, rolling with hill and fog and haunted by things older than any of them can imagine. Florida feels...young, somehow. Too warm, too bright, too perfect on a Saturday afternoon. 

She’s hugging her knees, seated on a blanket with Dani sitting just an inch further away than she’d like. It’s the safe thing, the smart thing, but she misses her--misses the way they sit in hotel rooms and empty bars, knees touching, pinkies overlapping. Dani, in a sundress that matches the blue of her right eye, is laughing as Miles grabs Flora around the middle and tries with all his ten-year-old strength to hoist her off the ground. 

“Miles,” Henry calls, his voice laden with the anxiety of a man who has only just begun learning how to parent. “Miles, be careful--”

“They’re all right,” Jamie interrupts, tossing a handful of warm sand toward Henry’s precarious perch on a plastic chair. "Have you been wound this tight the whole fucking time?”

He looks pained. “You’ll excuse me for never having raised two children before. They’ve been a bit...”

“Precocious?” Dani suggests brightly. 

“Demonic?” Jamie says at the same time. Henry sighs. 

“Adventurous, shall we say, to meet in the middle.”

“They haven’t been...” Dani’s smiling, the way Jamie has grown accustomed to over the last few months: a beautiful smile that never entirely reaches her eyes. It’s the way she smiles when she thinks she needs to wear a mask of stability, when she needs everyone to think she’s doing all right. 

Henry frowns. “Haven’t been what?”

Dani shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Scared? Having nightmares? I don’t know...”

She’s asking-not-asking about that night, like she told Jamie she wasn’t going to do. They don’t need me bringing it up, she’d said back at the hotel, holding tight to Jamie in a way that said she very much needed to talk about this against her own will. They deserve to just live their lives. 

Henry looks puzzled. “Strange, but no. No nightmares. Flora had a few at the very start, before we left London, but...no. Not since arriving here.”

Dani nods like this is all she wants to hear, and rubs her cheek with one slightly-sunburnt hand, the moment passing into obscurity as Flora shrieks and Miles trips directly into an oncoming wave. It’s all good here, all sunshine and ease of temper, and Jamie watches Henry stand. Brush off shorts that look truly insane set against his pale legs. Go awkward-jogging into the surf to lift a giggling Flora heavenward. 

“They make a fine little family,” she says, pitching her voice so only Dani can hear. Dani nods. There’s a tightness to her mouth that says she’s only half here, only half able to let the sun bake away the shadows. Jamie touches her ankle lightly, wishing they were somewhere less requiring of distance. 

“I’m all right,” Dani says. Not a lie of intent, at least, though Jamie suspects it’s more that she wants to be all right. She watches Dani roll onto her front, eyes on the endless ocean, the children tumbling around in its gentle grasp, the man doing his best to keep up. 

Could watch her forever, Jamie thinks, knowing it’s far too early to say something so catastrophically huge. She’s been having these thoughts more and more, wild notions of turning this brand-new adventure with Dani into a lifetime event. It turns a key somewhere deep within her chest, some far-off engine making a deep rumbling sound that sends her tripping toward a very real, very powerful feeling of terror. 

Her hand slips toward the bag of sunscreen, paperback novels, sliced oranges. A camera, small and yellow and used mainly in moments like this one, emerges. Dani never notices as she brings it to her eye, frames Dani’s blonde ponytail and sun-pink skin, snaps a photo. 

Later, when the pictures are developed and spread out across a hotel bedspread, shots of Miles with an orange-peel grin and Flora standing before a monster of a sandcastle intercut with Dani’s far-off pensive expression, Dani will touch the print. Lingeringly, fingers trembling just the slightest bit.

“Why this one?”

Because I loved you more than words could capture, Jamie will know it’s far too early to say. It’d be reckless. It’d be testing the bounds of something still fragile, still one-day-at-a-time hopeful. 

“Why not?” she’ll say, and tuck the photo safely back into its sleeve. 

***

A photo: Jamie and Dani, backs to the freshly painted Leafling sign, standing carefully apart with shoulders back and a small bouquet of flowers clutched in Dani’s hands.

They keep to themselves, mainly, but some of the nearby shopkeepers have been kind as The Leafling goes from mad late-night concept to brick-and-mortar reality. They bring welcome-to-the-block plants and casseroles that are mostly-edible, and Dani accepts each one with true Midwestern courtesy. Jamie leans back, watches the art of neighborly behavior being painted before her eyes: older women who compliment Dani on her earrings, young men bullied into helping move heavy boxes into storage by their mothers. Dani, in the middle of it all, wearing a soft pastel sweater and a smile that has finally remembered its own strength. 

She wasn’t sure how this would go, if Jamie’s honest about it. She’s been telling Dani not to worry for weeks, telling Dani they don’t need to know much about a business to run this one. I grow, you arrange, we make out like bandits with all the nice Americans who value pretty things. It’ll be perfect, Poppins. She’s been saying it, and she thinks she even believes her own words most of the time, but there have been dreams. Anxiety running its red thread through her sleep, telling her she has no skill in this arena, no education to speak of, no idea how to survive in American business while hiding her relationship with her “business partner”. 

The day the shop finally opens, Jamie has been saying “it’s going to be great” for so long, she almost surprises herself by rushing into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet. Dani, expression warm and just the tiniest bit teasing, leans against the doorframe.

“You all right?”

“Perfect,” Jamie gasps, staggering to the sink and thrusting a toothbrush into her mouth. “Jus’ great.”

“Too late to turn back now,” Dani points out. “What would we do with all the business cards?”

Jamie groans, spitting mint foam and rinsing out her mouth. “You could show just the slightest bit less glee, Poppins. I’ve just run us into a brick wall of imminent failure.”

Dani laughs, coming up behind her to hug her tight around the middle. “We should probably at least unlock the doors for the first time before you decide it’s time to shutter them again.”

She’s good today, Jamie senses--not the fake-good where she tries her best to pretend she isn’t listening for some deep-down movement Jamie can’t register, but truly happy. Her body is relaxed, her hands certain as she tips Jamie’s cheek and kisses her calm. 

“How,” Jamie gasps when they break, “are you not out of your bloody mind right now?”

Dani shrugs. “It’s like the first day of school. Spend all summer planning and worrying, but now it’s happening. Just gotta jump in.”

There are already people waiting when they arrive, to Jamie’s mingled horror and delight. Most of them are their fellow shopkeepers, waiting with the brilliant smiles of people who have already lived this particular nightmare themselves, and just want to pay forward the relief of customers actually turning up. They’re kind, these people--they don’t know Jamie in the least, don’t have the first idea what shadows lurk behind Dani’s eyes, but they take their hands, squeeze, and congratulate them all the same. Jamie thinks they even mean it, most of them. Americans are complicated, boisterous, scandalous people--but they can have such heart. 

One woman, old enough to be Jamie’s grandmother, presses a bouquet of peonies against Dani’s chest. “For luck,” she says croakily, patting Dani’s cheek like she’s known her since Dani was three feet tall. “Dry ‘em, hang ‘em somewhere in the back. Remember we’re all rooting for you.”

“Rooting,” a man who owns a nearby pizzeria hoots. “Good one, Carol!”

Jamie almost rolls her eyes, but Dani is beaming. When the others make flapping get in front of the sign gestures, they can’t help but obey, standing with a perfectly-maintained half-person between their shoulders. She wants so badly to reach over, to take Dani’s hand, to kiss her with all the terror and relief she’d never known she could feel at once. Instead, she smiles as professionally as she knows how for the camera someone produces. It’s enough.

Later, tapping a finger against the print the photographer drops on their counter, Jamie says, “Look like I want to pass out.”

Dani glances toward the window, takes note of the empty street, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’d have caught you.”

***

A photo: Jamie, sitting just behind Dani on a plush couch, arm wrapped around her waist, cheek pressed to flyaway blonde hair. Dani, grinning her widest, cheesiest grin, leaning back like she knows there is no world in which Jamie would ever let her fall.

There are parties, occasionally--usually thrown by other under-the-radar couples they get along with well enough for drinks, not so much that they truly build relationships. They like the quiet life, the two-person road trips, the easy silence after a long day. But, sometimes, life is grand and big and loud, and on those nights, they venture out into the world.

There are a pair of men maybe five years their senior who have been together for “a decade”, if you ask Mike, “a century”, if it’s Paul telling the tale. They’re good people, and their home is a safe space Jamie doesn’t anticipate finding. 

Friends are hard, she thinks. Always were, but they’re so much harder once you’ve lost a couple.

Still: when Mike and Paul are set to celebrate a round ten years together (”An eternity,” Paul clarifies, leaning against the Leafling counter to invite them over), they go. Dani wants to, and it’s good seeing Dani want things like this. It’s been almost a year together, almost a year of exploring the map and one another, and Dani’s been getting softer around the edges, less prone to jumping at shadows. The Dani Clayton of a year ago wouldn’t want to attend parties, lest the beast inside leap while her guard is lowered; the Dani Clayton of tonight is holding up a dark green dress, brow furrowed. 

“Too much?”

Jamie hums a moment to buy herself time. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’d like to actually leave the house tonight.” Jamie wiggles her eyebrows, buttoning a black shirt and searching for a good pair of suspenders. Dani laughs. 

“I think you can keep your hands to yourself for a few hours.”

“You,” Jamie points out, sidling up behind her and kissing her neck, “have always had entirely too much faith in me, Poppins.”

Dani is, however, a woman of her word when it comes to accepting social invitations, and soon they’re sitting on an exceptionally soft couch in an exceptionally loud living room. Jamie glances around, reading the environment, registering the two women holding hands by the coffee table, the men dancing near the kitchen, the way even the male-female pairs seem not to see anything odd. Mike and Paul have been doing this a long time. This is as safe a space as their own home. 

She likes the way Dani relaxes, a little more with every drink tucked into her hand, a little more with a lit cigarette pulled from Jamie’s, a little more still when Mike nudges her and mutters, “Your girl looks good tonight, Clayton.”

She likes, most of all, the way Dani doesn’t flinch away when a Polaroid comes out. These are good people, brave people, smart people. If there are photos taken tonight, they will be pressed straight into the hands of their subjects, gifted away before the chemicals have even processed. 

Dani presses back against her, seated on her lap, laughing at some joke Jamie hasn’t really been paying attention to. She’s too busy watching Dani’s profile, the way her head tips back when she’s really laughing, too hard to care what she looks like. Too busy reveling in how it feels to hold Dani in a setting so much more public than usual, her fingers stroking the soft material of Dani’s dress, her body burning and the most comfortable it’s ever been. 

Later, with the Polaroid on the nightstand, the green dress on the floor, and a sheet tucked up against the fall chill, Dani says, “We should do that more.”

Jamie chuckles against her shoulder, kissing a patch of freckles. “This?”

“Yes.” Dani wriggles a little, giggling. “But also that.” She’s gesturing to the photo, propped between a lamp and copy of some old Shirley Jackson novel. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Not...”

“Hiding,” Jamie supplies. Dani makes a humming noise soft in her throat. 

“I like not hiding you.”

***

A photo: Dani, eyes dark with a smolder only Jamie ever sees, a cigarette between her lips, hair loose around her shoulders. 

Nights spent home with Dani, nights where there are no groceries to pick up, no accounting to be done, no errands waiting to be noticed, are Jamie’s absolute favorite thing in the world. There’s just something about this sense of home they’ve been building together, this sense of locked door and secured window and no one else invited to partake that gets Jamie the way nothing else does. 

Especially Dani. Dani at home is less reserved, less careful. With every month that passes quietly, no sign of anything but her own mind, Dani gets a little less tight. A little less prone to gazing off into the middle distance. A little less likely to disappear from an otherwise-normal conversation, emerging several minutes later like she’s pulling herself out of a dream.

And, some nights, she’s not just here--she’s utterly present, every atom of her tuned to Jamie like they have no need of space between them, no need of separation. These nights, the nights where Dani strides into the room on a mission, are Jamie’s favorite of all. 

“Why,” Dani says, leaning back in a kitchen chair with legs spread and head tilted to exhale smoke toward the ceiling, “are you looking at me like that?”

“Me?” Jamie teases. “You’re the one gazing at me like I’m some terribly interesting new buffet.”

She’s half-joking, but there’s something about the way Dani looks at her on this very particular sort of night, with every line of her body tuned toward Jamie’s, that makes her feel a stupid kind of brave. A reckless kind of excitement unwinds outward, until her fingertips itch to grab at Dani’s hair, her knees weak with the desire to pull Dani close. 

She’s doing it now, smoking that cigarette with all the languid energy of a woman perfectly at home, watching Jamie with a faint smirk playing around her lips. No one else sees that smirk, Jamie understands, and it makes her a little faint every time she thinks it. To have something of Dani, some integral comfortable part of Dani that belongs solely to their apartment, their life together, is still a good fortune Jamie can’t entirely parse out. 

Her hand moves toward the camera, small and plastic and containing some of the best memories of Dani she desperately needs to keep. Dani lets her snap off a shot, shakes her head when Jamie lowers the camera.

“That’s going to be one of yours.”

She says it every time Jamie tries to capture the white-hot energy of this kind of evening. Dani doesn’t like to see herself through this particular lens, gets fidgety and embarrassed at the sight of her own face etched with such a confident hunger. Jamie asked the first time if Dani wanted her to stop taking the photos altogether, and Dani had shaken her head.

“I don’t mind. But they’re yours, okay?”

She sets the camera aside, moving to take the cigarette out of Dani’s hand, taking a long drag and dropping it in an ashtray. The rest doesn’t need anything in the way--no lens, no embarrassment, nothing but the way Dani’s mouth opens beneath hers, hands already roaming. The rest is not Jamie’s, but theirs, a joint ownership of soft moans and soft skin and soft assurances that this is still, always, home. 

Later, with Dani asleep, one hand thrown loosely over Jamie’s hip, Jamie will look at the photos that are hers and hers alone. Dani, mouth wet and swollen from a night spent confined to their bedroom around their anniversary. Dani, grinning and half-asleep, glancing over her shoulder to coax Jamie into putting the camera down, joining her among the blankets. Dani, smoke-haze around her face, wine glass in her hand, looking just past the camera at Jamie’s own desire. 

Dani’s choice to share a life with her, Dani’s decision to share every inch of herself with Jamie, is more than Jamie feels anyone deserves. 

***

A photo: Dani in front of the Eiffel Tower, sunglasses on, arms spread wide.

A photo: Dani kneeling at the Grand Canyon, gesturing bewilderment at the sheer scope of the place.

A photo: Dani standing before the alleged largest ball of twine in the world, looking rather like she regrets letting Jamie pick the destination this time.

They travel until Dani can’t stomach it anymore, can’t take the uncertainty of unknown roads and unmapped hotel beds--but, first, years of travel. Years of postcards and rental cars, of Jamie turning maps upside down and Dani being shockingly savvy in small-town situations. 

These photos, more than any other, feel like they have to be taken for someone else’s idea of posterity, and Jamie feels a little strange, at first. Dani’s already seen much of Europe by the time they meet, and has no photos whatsoever to show for it. Jamie, who started turning up in photos for the first time as an adult, says, “It’ll be good to show ‘em off,” while never quite bringing herself to the edge of an unspoken follow-up question: to whom, exactly? It isn’t as though she and Dani are having children, isn’t as though there will be grandkids tottering around down the line to tune out their stories. Who, exactly, are these mementos for?

Dani is far too kind, far too pragmatic, to put the question to her. Dani only poses, grins, lets Jamie take all the pictures she wants, and then--camera tucked safely away once more--grabs Jamie’s hands and leads her into living it: the food, the outdoor markets, the snowstorms, the sun-kissed hikes. As the years go by, Jamie takes more and more photos, never quite able to explain to herself why it’s so critical. Never quite able to look away when Dani finally covers the lens with one hand and brings her close, kissing her like it’s the first time. 

They stop looking at these photos together, after a while. Stop trying so hard to go back, as the days grow shorter and the exhaustion begins to steal the warmth from Dani’s smile. At first, it’s about moving forward--always one foot in front of the other. At first, every photo taken is set aside as a gift to another life. And then, finally, it’s about the moment they’re in, nothing more. Jamie sets the camera on a shelf. Refuses to look at Dani through any barrier but her own two eyes. Dani doesn’t like the snap-click of the camera anymore, anyway--each time, she flinches, like Jamie is about to show her a glimpse of whatever horror she’s been seeing in the mirror. 

I only see you, Jamie promises, the ache in her chest so great, she’s sure it will swallow them both. But Dani can’t bring herself to look. Can’t bring herself, just in case Jamie is wrong. 

Later--so much later, with eyes stinging and arms empty--she flips through the album and remembers Spain, California, Minnesota, Greece. Later, she finds Dani sticking her tongue out, spinning like a deranged nun out of musical, sitting quietly in a cafe with a small cup of coffee warming her hands. Dani, stiff-shouldered and trying not to laugh as Jamie made faces the one time they ever ventured back to Iowa. Dani, hair blowing back into her face, arms looped around Jamie at a terrifying, exhilarating first Pride parade. 

And, in the back, the photos of Dani as only Jamie knew her. The sly grin a second before pinning Jamie to the couch. The sweet surprise from Jamie coming home early with dinner. Shot after shot of no make-up, or smudged eyeliner, or ruined lipstick, of Dani in pajamas on Christmas, or Dani in bed after a shower, or Dani laughing herself silly at nothing Jamie can remember now. 

They’re all here, and they’re all Dani--all of Dani Jamie’s got left now--and still, they’re wrong. They sit, plastic and unyielding, beneath flimsy protective sheets, and they don’t laugh like Dani, don’t breathe out against her skin like Dani, don’t smell like Dani’s shampoo or swear like Dani tripping over a shoe in the dark or look at her with that solid, palpable love like Dani did and should still and never will again. 

Jamie sits, album in her lap, staring down at Dani with paint smudged on her cheek and their then-new bedroom behind her, and suddenly can’t remember how to breathe. Had she known? Somewhere in the back of her mind that day in a gas station, picking up a little yellow disposable camera, had she known that one day, this would be all she had left of Dani? Surely not. Surely, she hadn’t believed it would go this way, all the way back then. Surely, it was one day at a time, and we’ll have time, and any day with you, Poppins. 

Had she known? No. No, of course she hadn’t.

And yet, the idea of not having these in front of her--the idea of Dani’s face slowly, surely, washing away over time as Jamie fails to find her in a world so uncompromisingly cruel...

She touches a shot of Dani with her left hand covering her mouth, her ring gleaming gold against her smile, the day the state had legalized civil unions. Dani as gold as sunshine, in one of the last truly clean moments, before old ghost stories dug rotting fingers into their life. Her vision grays, her head suddenly too heavy to hold up. 

She hadn’t known. But she’s glad. She’s glad she has, at least, this much to hang on to.

[katzkinder]

Sorry about my garbo handwriting

Of course it is!!

Um, lessee... This is super mundane, but I like thinking about what their rooms look like!

Otogiri's room is full of just, like. soft surfaces. Lots of fuzzy, fluffy, cute things and comfortable places to lounge. It honestly looks like a preteen girl from the 90s puked her memories all over her room and she loves it. There’s also one of those swinging basket chairs situated next to her reading nook, and a ceiling swing. She likes to be up high

Higan's is a disaster area that none but Shamrock are brave enough to venture into. He calls it organized chaos. Everyone else calls it a mess. No one but him seems to know where anything is? But it works for him. He’s got tarps all over the floor, palette knives sticking out of random boxes, boxes of charcoals and paints and soft pastels... Not to mention half finished works littering the place. Honestly a fire hazard in there.

Shamrock has plain, boring, beige and white minimalism. It’s boring af but he likes it. There are plants in his windowsill and on his shelves, along with lots of books. The only remotely messy area is his work desk, which always gets away from him before he knows it. Closet full of clean, pressed suits, and a little space on his nightstand for his eyepatch. It’s the first thing he puts on every morning. He really hates being seen without it.

Tsubaki's is traditional Japanese style, or about as traditional as you can get in a hotel. Futon on the floor that he rolls up and puts away on the daily, not much in the way of furniture. He’s got screen dividers that are painted beautifully. Closet is filled with kimono and accessories he purchased from family owned shops. Ledgers for his company are neatly organized and kept in his desk drawers. Not uncommon to find him opening his doors for any new additions to the family who haven’t found their footing yet, especially if they’re young teenagers and need to comfort being near their Servamp can provide.

Sakuya's has band posters covering every square inch and an acoustic guitar sitting on its stand in the corner. Western style bed, manga and light novels on his shelves, a little bit messy but not a trainwreck. The guitar was a gift from Tsubaki for his birthday one year and it’s one of his most cherished possessions. He’s completely self taught. He's also got a photo album hidden under his bed. It's filled with pics of the other Melancholies and his friends and the few photos he managed to salvage of his sister. Sometimes he likes looking at them, just to remind himself of what her face looked like. ... Her uniform sits in a plastic bag at the bottom of his closet. It’s long lost any trace of her it once held, and he knows he’s doing himself more harm than good by keeping it, but he can’t bring himself to throw it out.

And Belkia's room? He's got those glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling. His bedspread is bright ass pink with yellow stars, and he has one of those constellation projectors because he hates the dark. Like, seriously, the whole thing is shockingly pink.

Everyone has their own personal mug in the cupboard with their flower motif on it, because Tsubaki is a sap.

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

The Intern

The Intern: A Luke x Reader One Shot

Luke Patterson x Reader

Title: The Intern

Words: 2,755

Summary:, Sunset Curve are posing for the photos for their new album. Y/N is the photographer’s intern who catches Luke’s eye.

TW: None

Author’s notes: This idea popped into my head after Charlie posted the photo of him being photographed. It kinda got away from me and went on a bit of a tangent, but I quite liked the outcome. I hope you do too.

“Guys, this way please. That’s right, just there. Perfect.”

Your boss, Caleb Covington, photographer to the stars, filled the large studio with his vibrant voice and even more vibrant clothing choices as you sit behind the laptop making sure the shots coming through are suitable for use.

All you’ve ever wanted is to be a photographer, and this internship was the first step on the ladder to the career of your dreams.

“Hey, Y/N, can you do me a favor sweetheart?” You stand and walk over to where Caleb is adjusting the lighting as the guys of Sunset Curve go for an outfit change.

“What’s up, boss?”

“There’s a thrift store a block over can you run over and grab whatever scarves they have?” He hands you a handful of money. This was common, Caleb would start a shoot, get hit with a vision, and then send you off to chase down obscure props. “Also, as many fake flowers as you can. I’ll make sure everyone takes a lunch break while you’re out, so you don’t need to rush.”

“Sure thing. Give me an hour?”

“Take your time.” Caleb reattached the camera to the tripod in front of him. “Also, take the small canon with you. There’s some great street art that could be used for these guys.”

“Thanks, boss.”

You grab the bag containing a small point and click camera and shoulder the strap. As you leave the studio, you realize how supportive Caleb is of your dreams despite the bad rumors that are constantly floating around about him. He’s never given you occasion to doubt him and he allows you to use the equipment in the studio whenever you want, and often encourages you to take photos from behind the scenes.

Walking along the sunny New York streets, you take photos of the amazing architecture and as you near the thrift store, you see the street art Caleb told you about. It’s gorgeous. Six feet tall, bright blue angel wings cover a brick wall and you take a few shots, change angles and take some more. Eventually, you lower the camera and enter the thrift store.

Within ten minutes, you have a bagful of scarves and a handful of fake flowers and are ready to head back, not before stopping off at your favorite delicatessen to buy your lunch.

Back at the studio, Caleb and the guys are sitting around a round table, chatting.

“Where do you want these, Caleb?” You ask waving the flowers at him.

“Oh great you’re back. Just hand them over to Kayla in props, we’ll work out what to do with them after lunch. Come and join us.”

It wasn’t very often Caleb invited you to mix with his clients, so you jump at the chance. You pull out a chair and sit down as Caleb introduces you to the four guys that are around your age.

“Y/N, this is Reggie, Bobby, Alex, and Luke.” Each of the guys give her a wave in greeting, but there’s something about the last guy, Luke, that has you locking eyes with him for a moment. With a cough, you look away and take a bite of your sandwich, but you can still feel his hazel eyes on you.

:: ::

Once lunch is over, the guys head back into make-up for a touch up while Caleb rearranges the while space, placing the flowers you bought around the space. The scarves are hung in the window, which is opened to let in a breeze, moving the material in waves.

As he works, you upload the photos of the street art you took and begin to edit them.

“Wow, those are amazing.” A voice behind you makes you jump. Turning around, you see Luke staring at the screen in front of you. “Did you take those?”

“Yeah, I did. Thanks.”

“Y/N, are those street art shots ready yet?” Caleb calls out as he walks over to join you and Luke. “Oh, honey. These are fantastic and will look amazing as a backdrop for the guys.” He turns to Luke. “What do you think?”

“Hell yeah. This album cover is gonna be gnarly.”

You feel your face heat up from the blush that’s creeping over your skin at the compliments you’re not used to receiving. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, you turn away and focus back on the screen, allowing the sounds around you to fade into a pleasant buzz as you work.

“Girl, you have an admirer.” Flynn the make-up artist Caleb always uses creeps up behind you.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to concentrate, but the guys of Sunset Curve are in your direct eyeline above the lip of the open laptop and they all look amazing.

“That guy, Luke. He can’t stop looking at you.” At her words, you can’t help but look over at him where he’s standing on a windowsill, made into a silhouette by the sunlight flooding through the glass behind him. You lock eyes for longer than is necessary. “Oh, you like him…” Flynn nudges your shoulder with hers.

“Shut up,” you hiss, worried people will hear her.

“Nuh uh. I’m making the most of this. Can I just say, the guy smells gorgeous?” With a laugh, Flynn retreats back to her corner of the studio and begins packing up her equipment. You watch her and when she turns to wave at you, you can’t help but flip her off, making her laugh even harder.

As the day draws to an end, you’ve packed away all of Caleb’s gear and locked it in the huge safe in his office, apart from the camera he’s been using all day. Sunset Curve are with Flynn having make-up removed and have changed back into their own clothes.

As you and Caleb upload the photos to his laptop, you can’t help but stare at Luke’s bare arms exposed by the cut off band tee he’s wearing.

“I’m just gonna grab some air, boss.” You tell Caleb, suddenly needing to be out of the studio.

“Why don’t you call it a day? I can finish up with these later this evening.”

With a grin, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek before going to grab your bag.

“Hey, Y/N,” Flynn called out from her corner. So much for a quick escape. You head over to where she’s putting the last of her stuff away in her huge case on wheels.

“What’s up?” You ask, feeling four pairs of eyes on you as you approach Flynn, avoiding looking at the guys watching you.

“Are we going for a drink?” she asks you, finally looking up at you.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it.” Immediately, you regret saying the words as Flynn’s face screws up. It’s Friday, you’ve both been working crazy hours for Caleb, and you know you both need to let off steam.

“Oh, come onnnnnn. Julie’s meeting us.” Julie, the third in your trio of friends, worked as a studio musician nearby. “First round of shots is on me.” Flynn was in wheedle mode and knew you couldn’t resist. You heard chuckles from behind you and turned to look at Sunset curve seemingly enjoying the show. You’d forgotten they were there and felt your blush return.

“Oh, go on then, but I need to go home and get changed. I’ve been in these clothes all day.”

“Honey, no. You forget where we work.” Flynn grabbed your hand and pulled you behind a changing screen where an outfit was already laid out for you.

“This looks suspiciously li-” Flynn held a slender finger against your lips.

“Just get changed.” She disappeared, leaving you alone, You could hear her chatting as you pulled your clothes off and pulled on the ones she’d picked out for you, knowing there was no way she’d let you get away with wearing anything else. As you pulled on the cut off band tee, you were glad you wore on of your favorite bras – a black lacy number – as the arm holes were crazy huge.

The skinny jeans had been rolled, but because you had on heavy duty combat boots, you unrolled them then pulled your boots on.

“You look great.” Flynn reappeared, armed with a few essentials. With a sigh you let her attack your face with eyeliner, mascara, and a bright red lipstick. “Perfect, even if I do say so myself. Fluff up your hair, then get your booty out here.”

When you finally emerged from behind the screen, the conversation between Flynn and Sunset Curve – why were they still even there? – paused as all five of them turned to look at you. Reggie, at least you thought that was his name. Beyond Luke, you were a bit fuzzy, let out a low whistle.

“Dang, girl.”

“I hate you.” You hissed under your breath at Flynn who was grinning like a fool.

“No you don’t.” She linked arms with you and led the six of you out of the building.

“You could have told me you’d invited them.” You spoke softly so you weren’t overheard.

“Would you have come if I had?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s why. Now, I need to call Julie, make sure she’s on her way.” Letting go of your arm, Flynn pulled her cell out of her bag and held it up to her ear.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke appeared next to you. Flynn had been right he did smell good.

“Yeah, I’m good. I was looking forward to a long bath, but Flynn likes to get her own way.”

“I noticed.” Luke laughed as the girl in question linked arms with Reggie and Alex behind them. “She’s a force of nature, huh?”

“She’s something alright, I’ll decide later once I’ve had a few drinks.” He laughed again.

They arrived at their favorite bar where Julie was waiting outside for them.

“Y/N, you look amazing.” She soke as she hugged you.

“Thanks, I’ve been ‘Flynned’”

Flynn rolled her eyes as she made introductions as they entered the bar. Instantly, the smell of beer and floor polish assaulted your nose and you felt yourself relax. This bar had been like the fourth friend to you, Julie, and Flynn while you’d all been at college.

“Shots?” Flynn asked, making her way to the bar while the rest of you found a booth big enough for all of you.

“Shots, and lots of them.” You called out as you slid in, Luke following you, his firm thigh pressing against yours, heat flooding through you.

:: ::

A few hours later, you’re nicely buzzed from the alcohol and when the music starts, you drag Julie and Flynn out of the booth and onto the small dance floor in the corner of the bar.

For most of the night, the seven of you have been chatting about nothing in particular, and you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of how close Luke was sitting next to you and how much attention he paid you as you spoke.

“Girl, you and Luke. That’s some chemistry going on.” Julie spoke loudly over the music. Automatically, you look over at the booth where you see Luke watching you while his friends are talking amongst themselves. It isn’t unpleasant being watched by a guy that good looking.

“Right? I saw it earlier and had to sort out this little excursion.” You glared at Flynn playfully as the three of you moved to the music surrounding you.

“Oh, Nick’s here.” Julie ran off the dance floor and leaped into her boyfriend’s arms, peppering him with drunken kisses. You and Flynn grin at one another at the display. Usually, Julie was more subdued, but tequila had a habit of helping her lose her inhibitions.

“Ten bucks that they leave within five minutes.” You say to Flynn who laughs and gives you a high five. True to form, less than four minutes later, Julie waves her goodbyes and leaves hand in hand with Nick. Flynn hands you the money which you tuck into your pocket.

“I need the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Flynn slides away, leaving you to dance alone. It doesn’t bother you feel the beat of the music throughout your entire body.

Looking back over at the booth, you see Luke is sitting alone, still watching you. You can’t help but smile at him as the song changes from something upbeat to soft and slow. People begin to leave the area around you and you look around for Flynn, unable to see her.

“She bailed.” Luke spoke directly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. It makes you shiver, and the feeling isn’t exactly unpleasant.

“Of course she did.” You groan, thankful for the bet you won which should just about cover an uber home.

“I guess I should do the same, then.” You can’t help but look up into Luke’s eyes, still swaying to the music – or is that due to the tequila?

“Before you go, can I have this dance?” he asks. Nodding, you step into his arms, noticing how firm and warm they are wrapped around your waist. Your own arms snake around his neck and the two of you move to the sounds of Ed Sheeran singing about his Perfect girlfriend.

“I never expected you to dance like this.” You say to Luke, not quite sure where it comes from.

“It’s easy with the right partner.” He smiles down at you, making your heart feel as if it’s about to short circuit. He really does have a pretty smile.

“Smooth talker.” Is all you can think of in response as you both continue to sway. As the song comes to an end, you reluctantly pull yourself out of Luke’s arms. “I guess I should call an uber.” You murmur, not moving off the dancefloor, enjoying the feel of Luke’s bright eyes on you.

“Sure.” He doesn’t move either. “Wait, how far do you live? Maybe we can share one?”

“Four blocks.” You shrug.

“How about we walk? Why pay for an uber for a ten to twenty minute walk?” He wasn’t wrong, but you rarely walked the streets alone after a night of drinking.

It’s cool, but not cold when you both step outside, the doorman giving you the thumbs up, making you roll your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this.” You tell Luke.

“Y/N, I want to.” He holds out his hand for you to take hold of. You oblige, a jolt of electricity running up your arm. “Which way?”

You start walking in the direction of the apartment you share with Flynn, Luke falling into step next to you, still holding your hand. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and you keep your gaze in front of you. The feel of Luke’s hand clutching yours is sending your body into overdrive and your brain doesn’t quite now how to process it.

Sooner than you’d like, you stop outside your building.

“This is me.” You can hear the disappointment in your own voice and see a flash of something on Luke’s face.

“Well, I guess I should say goodnight then.” He says, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

“Maybe you should.” Neither of you have released the other’s hand. You simply stand on the sidewalk, looking at one another.

Your brain is screaming at you that you don’t know this guy, that you only just met him, but your heart is telling you to do something to stop him walking away. It’s been a while since you’ve had this kind of connection with someone and it’s been even longer since you brought a guy back to the apartment,

The pink tip of Luke’s tongue pokes out and runs around his plump lips, attracting your attention. His deep chuckle makes you aware he knows you’re thinking about more than saying goodbye. Without a word, he bends his head and places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Before it started, it was over, and he pulled away. Using the hand not holding yours, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his cell.

“Can I get your number?”

You enter your number into his phone before he places another soft kiss on your lips, lets go of your hand, and begins to walk back in the direction you came from.

“Hey, Luke?” you call out, trying not to worry about the morning. He turns to face you, a question in his eyes. “Want to come up… for coffee?”