#because a new polish store opened up nearby

[historia-vitae-magistras]

On at least one occasion, Matt has woken up, wandered into the kitchen like the ghost of a Victorian child, flicked on the lights and had a minor crisis. He's picking everything up and squinting at it because he can't read anything. How many rips did he take off the bong he can't remember getting out last night? Then he finally wakes up enough to realize he's not brain-damaged or baked, it's just all in Ukrainian and Polish because Katya did the shopping last. And he can read it.

[maxillness]

Girls Like Girls || S.S x Wolff!Reader

Warnings: 18+, cheating, fingering, oral, multiple orgasm, nipple play, google translate Polish, jealous!toto, sub!susie, biting, overstimulation, minimal aftercare

Wordcount: 1.6k

The moment she saw her face she knew she had to get with her

But she was his

She is his

At the time they met, she had just started dating her brother, and now they’re married with a kid

She still wanted to get in her pants as much as all those years ago

He knew about this. She told him, but he trusted her not to do anything now that they were married and had Jack, so he didn’t think about it all that often

He also didn’t forbid them to be in the same room, which prompted them to be as good friends as they are now

He might think that she wouldn’t do anything about her little crush, but damn was he wrong, she just waited for the right time

And that might just be now

It was race week, and to not get herself bored, she asked Susie if she wanted to go out

“Sure. Where?” She had responded as her sister-in-law stood in her hotel room

“I don’t know. We can find a Café or we can window shop- anything really to not get bored” She chuckled slightly, knowing it was because she just wanted to be close to her and in her presence

“Okay. Give me two minutes” She said, disappearing into the bathroom

They found a little comfy café nearby, deciding to sit down and enjoy a hot drink and a pastry each

They made a few small talks talking about everything and nothing before they were finished and decided to go and look at shops

They didn’t buy anything as they didn’t find anything they liked or wanted

They eventually walked by a jewellery store, where a necklace caught Susie’s eyes

“It’s so beautiful” She said, eyes shining like a child in a candy store “But, it’s so expensive” She sighed, looking at the price tag beside it

“I’ll buy it for you” She said, making Susie turn towards her in surprise

“What? No. I can’t possibly accept that” She said, but her eyes kept drifting back the the green emerald in the chain

“Why not? You want it and it’ll look beautiful on you, and if you buy it for yourself, it’ll be a gift from me” She smiled, seeing the way her mouth hang slightly open hearing her words “It’s a gift, okay?”

“Okay” She nodded, too stunned to speak as she was nearly dragged into the store by her hand

They both sat on the small couch in Susie’s and Toto’s hotel room, both with a cup of coffee in their hands

Both their heads turned towards the door as they heard the door unlock

“Hey” Toto said as he saw them on the couch “What have my two favourite girls been up to today?” He asked, placing a soft kiss on Susie’s forehead

“Went to a café and window shopped” Susie answered, taking a sip of her coffee

“This doesn’t look like window shopping” He said, taking the charm of her new necklace in his hand “Looks expensive”

“Um-“ “It was a gift” She interrupted her sister-in-law, looking up at Toto whose eyes were soft with anger

“A gift, huh?” He said, letting the charm go, letting it fall back to his wife’s chest

“Yeah, generous, right?” She said, standing up from the couch. They watched as she went to the bathroom before Toto turned to his sister

“Czy to jest twój sposób na dostanie się do jej spodni?” Is this your way of getting into her pants?. He asked, switching to Polish knowing damn well Susie could German

“Oczywiście nie. To tylko pieprzony prezent, Toto. chciała tego, ale uważała, że ​​jest za drogi” Of course not. It’s just a fucking gift, Toto. She wanted it but thought it was too expensive. She stood up discarding her coffee

“Boże, zrobisz wszystko, prawda?” God, you’ll do anything, right?. He said, not noticing Susie had stepped out of the bathroom

“To moja szwagierka, mogę jej dawać prezenty, jeśli chcę, i nie będzie to dziwne. robisz to dziwnie” She’s my sister-in-law, I can give her gifts, and it won’t be weird. You’re doing it weird. It was then they both noticed her standing in the room

“I’ll see you tomorrow” She said, leaving the hotel room

It was later the same night, and she sat on the bed, still in her clothes from earlier, scrolling on her phone

She heard a knock on the door. She put her phone on the bed, standing up from the bed

She opened the door see Susie standing there, changed into comfy clothes; a tank top and sweats, socks without shoes

“He was mad at you about the gift, wasn’t he?” She asked, hands in her sweats “Why?”

I wanna get with you “Don’t know” She shrugged her shoulders “Must be that time of the month” She chuckled “You wanna come in?” She asked, taking a step to the side

“I shouldn’t” Her accent was heavy, obviously tired

“But you want to?” She asked confused

“Mhm… He’s still mad. I don’t want to be there” She said, stepping into the room, the door closing behind her

“You can stay as long as you want” She said, sitting back on the bed, softly tapping the bed for Susie to sit

She walked over to the bed, but instead of sitting beside her, she got in her lap, startling the other woman

She looked up into her brown eyes, her hands landing on Susie’s waist as hers were on her shoulders

“Thank you for the gift” She said softly, leaning in closer to her

“You’re welcome” Her eyes drifted from her eyes and down to her lips, and back to to her eyes

“Can I kiss you?” There were shock in her eyes as she heard the words

“You’re married-“ “Please” She leaned in closer, lips almost touching. She nodded softly at her plead, feeling her lips against hers immediately

Susie’s hands tangled in the hair of the woman under her, tugging at it lightly, drawing out a groan from her

Her hand came up to the blonds face, pulling her slightly away, put not enough for them not to feel each others breaths

“We shouldn’t” She said, caressing her cheek with her thumb

“But we both want to” She leaned back in, lips connected again

The Austrians hands pulled the others top over her head, throwing it some where in the room, revealing her braless torso

Her lips trailed from her mouth and down to her exposed breasts. She loved the whimper she got out of her as she circled her nipple with her tongue, her hand playing with the other

“Please, fuck” She moaned, feeling her teeth graze her nipple “Please, I need your fingers. Please, I-I’m begging you”

She quickly turned them around, laying the Scot onto her back, kissing from her breast and down to her stomach

She giggled slight, hearing the whimper as she pulled down her sweats and panties, throwing them away

She kissed the sensitive skin on her inner thighs, feeling her body squirm under her touch, aching for more

“Please, need you so bad” She yelped as she felt cold fingers pressing on her clit, lips still on her thighs, getting closer to her core

She started moving her fingers, rubbing circles into her, pulling out a mixture of whimpers and moans

Her sounds were like music to her. So much prettier then she had imagined

She looked up at the blonde through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with lust seeing the arched back in front of her

She sped her fingers up, her whole body shaking under her, so close to her orgasm she could taste it on her tongue

“Please, ‘m so close- please” Her moans were loud, but she didn’t care

“Nobody’s stopping you. Come for me” She smiled, teeth sinking into her thigh softly

The sensation of her teeth in her skin sent her over the edge, clenching around nothing as she came, her name rolling of her tongue

She slowed her fingers down, soothing her out of her orgasm. She replaced her fingers with her tongue, hearing whimpers and whines fall from her lips

“N-no. Too much, please” She pleaded, feeling two fingers tease her entrance, slowly pushing into her

“I think you can give me one more, no?” She teased, purposely thickening her accent, her voice going deeper

“Mm- please, ‘s too much, c-can’t take it” She said, trying to kick her away as she started moving her fingers

Her tongue sped up as she started curling her fingers as well, pulling moans from her again, body shaking under her as a result from the overstimulation

“F-fuck- feels good” Her back was arched off the bed, eyes screwed shut, seeing stars behind her eyelids as she hit just the right spot

“Fuck, right there- yes, please. Don’t stop” One of her hands tangled in her hair as the other were in the sheets, gripping on for dear life, knuckles turning white

“I’m gonna- fuck, so close” She almost cried out, feeling the pleasure all through her body, her second orgasm nearing the edge

She rapidly clenched around her fingers, whole body shaking again as she came for the second time

Her body was limp as she pulled out and away from her. She laid down beside her, pulling her naked body into her clothed one. She tugged them both under the sheets, her breath still uneven

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #1: Heartless

Masterlist

content: lab whump, kidnapping, gun violence

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The fact of the matter was that Heather required a human heart, and those weren’t easy to come by. She knew that there were ways to buy one, but where would she start asking? It was a waste of money, in any case. Of course, she had considered asking the butcher for a pig’s heart, or simply abandoning the experiment, but that would mean giving up. That would mean cowardice. Heather was not a coward. She would acquire this heart through any means necessary, legal or not. 

To get into specifics would kill her plausible deniability, but that was doomed from the start. The heart would stop beating as soon as it left the body. The experiment simply tested whether certain drugs could replicate those electrical impulses that kept it moving. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, and she had mulled over this for long enough. 

It was not particularly noble, or even helpful to the human race, but it would be interesting. Perhaps it would help some people, those who could not be implanted with pacemakers. And if that failed, like she mentioned, it would be interesting. Heather was getting bored. Bored of testing on parakeets and hamsters, or on the occasional dog. Bored of animal anatomy, of moral limits, of common sense.

These thoughts circled on and on, like a fish in a bowl too small, as she watched the stranger attempt to light a cigarette. Lucky Strikes, she noticed. He clearly had never smoked before, or he was just an idiot, because he fumbled with the lighter for five minutes before giving up. Smoking would impede her results, so this only reassured Heather that he was the perfect candidate. 

She had been following him around for a while now. Watching for a month. Stalking was the correct word, but it was undignified. Stalking was for vexed lovers and private investigators, not chemists. Then again, not many chemists kept a pistol and a length of rope in their coat pocket, waiting behind a gas station like a fox by a rabbit hole. That’s what it felt like, at least—flushing rabbits. Waiting for a flash of fur, of beady eyes. 

In the air seeped the dense smell of gasoline and rain, hot and rubbery. The sky loomed over, a mottled gray only a few shades lighter than the concrete. Was that a bad omen? Oh, what was she even thinking? Omens were for the indecisive. She would do this now.

She stepped closer, then closer, then close enough to see his face. Close enough to notice chipped black nail polish, his black boots, the dark color of his eyes, the curls of his hair. He was young, perhaps the same age as her, perhaps fresh out of college. Maybe still in college. Or university. He was wearing a varsity jacket, but it was store-bought and not tied to any institution. His clothes weren’t particularly expensive or new. His boots were scuffed on the sides. 

As far as she had observed, he wasn’t much of anybody. He lived alone in a small apartment. He was friendly to his neighbours, but they replied with only the necessary politeness. He had not gone to work this week. He was using his vacation days, she figured, or he was recently unemployed. He came to this gas station every Friday, usually only for bread and eggs. He had no close family, no nearby partner. His disappearance would go unnoticed. That was all the reassurance she needed.

“Hey, lady, do you want something?” 

She blinked. “Yes. I—” He really seemed like a nice guy. She felt bad. But feeling bad was for philosophers, not chemists. “I need help with my car. I’m out of town. It’s my husband’s car, and I don’t drive a lot…” She clasped her hands together, made her eyes go wide. “I can offer money. Fifty bucks?”

Just as she’d rehearsed. The stranger pocketed the lighter and cigarettes. “I’m not a mechanic, but I’ll take a look. Keep the money, by the way.”

She led him to her car. The trunk was open. She let him walk in front of her. She reached into her pocket, feeling for cold metal, feeling for rough twine. He let her keep the money, too. She could have gone after a criminal instead. But the public would notice if a criminal went missing, especially in a neighbourhood with so many families. It was too late to change her mind, she told herself, too late to back down. Now or never. It was now or never…

“What’s the problem, anyway? Does it not start, or—” 

“Don’t move.” The barrel of the gun hovered inches away from his head. That cold, heavy steel. What turned a normal Friday afternoon into a crime scene. “Hands up, or I’ll shoot.”

He froze. “What?”

“You heard me. Hands up.” She made an effort to keep her voice soft. Polite, even. Nice and slow, just like that, and she’d get him hook-line-sinker.

He lifted his hands in the air, his motions slow and steady. “I don’t have any money.”

He used pocket change to buy the cigarettes. Money wasn’t a concern for her, though. “Get into the passenger seat.” 

With her free hand, Heather reached into her other pocket and unlocked the car. The noise set her on edge—she needed to be as quiet as possible.

“What…?” He hadn’t understood a word. Blanked out like an actor without a script. Hadn’t moved, either. Smart guy. That’s what they always said—don’t get into the car. Don’t let them get you trapped. Heather never imagined being on the other end of that exchange. The figure in the black ski mask. The girl with the gun. What a strange thought.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

“No?” He really looked at her now, searched her expression for rhyme or reason. 

“Fine. Just don’t make any noise.”

But he braced himself instead. He was going to scream, Heather was sure. He was going to yell, or call for help, or otherwise foil her brilliant plan. He was going to ruin the whole thing. All with a loud sound, a few words. 

The handle of her pistol quickly took care of that issue. She advanced, and he staggered back, but she raised her weapon before he could bolt. With the first hit to the side of his head, he merely fell off balance with a small noise of surprise, and by the second he was unconscious. He fell ungracefully across the pavement, head slumped against a tire, limbs sprawled out.

Heather had a good aim, and a strong one at that. She had been on the baseball team way back in university. If that didn’t kill him, it definitely gave him a concussion. Indeed, as Heather put her finger to his neck, she could feel his pulse. But that was only a concern until she could retrieve his heart. He would die anyway.

She didn’t have time to think about that. She needed to keep the momentum going, keep herself moving, or the whole plan would fall to pieces like a wet biscuit. Where would that get her? Jail. And how could she do her experiments from a jail cell?

Heather leaned forward and searched through his clothes. Keys, scraps of paper—there, a wallet. Identification. She scrambled to open it. Inside were some receipts, a five dollar bill, a penny, and a driver’s license. She read his name. Jackie Rockwell. 

With the rope, she bound his wrists behind his back. Then, she dragged his body off the ground and rolled it into the trunk. As she glanced behind her, there was nothing and nobody to witness it. No other cars in the dilapidated parking lot. Not a sound or a single bystander in sight. These were early hours. Nobody could be bothered to check.

Well, Jackie, she thought just before shutting the trunk, you’re going to be put to good use. Congratulations.

[bumblebeerror]

Hey buddy!!! I have a few embroidery hoops, needles and thread, but aside from YouTube, nobody I know nearby does it often enough to give firsthand experience. I embroidered a thatch of lavender and a little bee on one of my battlejacket pockets, but it was with regular thread and a regular needle. Can you offer any insight when it comes to the actual hoops themselves, what material works best, any insider tips?

So I’m not a regular embroiderer because it hurts my hands really easy, but I AM a moron who does everything the hard way first so I do have some tips:

If you’re using regular thread, it will help the design if you a) use an embroidery needle [I think you can get them separate from other sewing supplies for like a buck or two, and I recommend getting some kind of needle polisher as well bc then it will last 538463936472 years] and double up the thread 2-3 times to bulk it up and 2) use a smaaaalll bit of glue mixed with water [or spit, I’ve done that too] to twist together the threads along their length. It just helps them go through smoother and lay flatter with less overall fiddling, and if you use School glue or spit it will wash out 👍

If you’re using bulk dollar store quality embroidery thread, you have to be *gentle as fuck* with it while youre working the design. So, work patiently in small sections and try not to yank it too much, just generally be aware that its not gonna stand much abuse until it’s actually stitched in. Also, it’s totally possible to take a pulled end, tie more on, and keep on a-truckin - just make sure you pull a few previous stitches to get to a more sturdy bit, and tie it real close so you’re not trying to pull the knot thru. It’s strength when pulled on leaves something to be desired, but it IS infinitely cheaper than buying every color ever individually for a few bucks each, so pick your poison on that one. If you wanna use good thread basically you need to have planning skills and the patience to wait till stores are open to drive out and go get shit, neither of which I have :D

As for hoops, they are So, So helpful oh my god. You can use them for darning, you can use them for embroidery, you can use them for cross-stitch, you can use scrap fabric to make patches, you can even use them to hold fabric taut to hand-stitch on patches if you need to.

Basically, If you need fabric to stay where the fuck you put it while you work, an embroidery hoop is a godsend. Most are also pretty adjustable - though you may have trouble using them with really really thick or stiff fabrics like fur or denim seams. in those cases you can always use scrap fabric to embroider your design, and then iron on or sew on your new patch.

In order to use one, you just need a bit of fabric that can reach to every curve of the hoop. you place your inner hoop under the fabric, plop your untightened outer hoop over it, and then tighten it up. in order to make the fabric taut, you can leave the hoop a liiiitle loose, and then pull at the fabric till it feels kind of like a drum. then tighten the outer hoop as far as it'll go :D Once youve done that, youre good to go.

I'd advise sketching your design in chalk/charcoal/pencil/washable marker before starting, and if you feel like it you can also mark out a grid pattern of dots using a ruler to keep your stitches the same length, but thats not super necessary.

As for fabrics that work best for embroidery, tight-woven felt is a nice backing for patches but you will struggle to get a clear sketch of your design. Cotton is gonna be easiest to use for a sketch, but its gonna be flimsier. If you can layer both inside the hoop, that would probably work out pretty well, tbh. I wouldnt use stretchy fabrics if you can help it- the resulting patch will likely shrink and the fabric itself is going to be difficult to work with especially if you arent using more expensive thread or a sharp, polished needle.

TLDR: Bulk up your normal thread and smooth it with watery glue, use an embroidery needle and make sure it stays polished, embroidery hoops are lovely, make any threadwork easier, and work best on non-stretchy fabric like denim, cotton, non-spandex poly blend, plastic leather, and probably natural leather if its thin enough.

[frankanthonyiero]

sorry i NEED to know this story. stranded at sea???????? political exile AND street performer???????

i've been having more moments lately where i reflect mid-scenario and realize i'm doing too much and have put myself in serious or life-threatening danger or otherwise like bizarre or discomforting and totally avoidable situations. i maintain composure through damage control because there's obviously no other option but what the fuck man.

my immediate family lives on a tropical island which for the barest pretension of privacy i will not name, and for some reason has only been able to befriend the street performers and vendors that make a living down in the main town square. one of whom i met five years ago at his wedding reception, where i was also a witness at the wedding to his high school dropout bride, even though i met both of these people hours prior. i discover he is attending my family's christmas dinner and we reconnect here. i am hitchhiking down an open highway the following day in the blazing sun and he scoops me up and i ride in the trunk of a soft-top doorless jeep next to a tumor-ridden pitbull and his owner, who is ex-military and has a machine gun tattoo the length of his full calf. we enter random yards and harvest their coconut trees to sell later. i ride in a dinghy out to his boat, which is anchored in a public mooring field and where he also lives, to eat daal. while selling in the town square, i befriend several cuban nationals and one girl who lives in a homeless commune on a nearby island helps me download beat makers on the app store and we make beats. later, the man i earlier harvested coconuts with drives me to the housing authority-operated complex to acquire molly rocks, and i fully intrude on somebody preparing dinner in their home. across town, i walk up onto some guy's porch and engage him in a lengthy conversation about siberian dwarf hamsters. i enter his next-door neighbor's house where there are three total strangers eating spaghetti. they make me a plate and pour me a glass of wine and i rail off their counter. i have to stress that these were perfectly normal people, like a retired guy from new hampshire and two lovely polish women. i am here for three hours essentially hostage, as are our hosts, obliteratingly high while my companion recounts the most traumatic moments of his life in excruciating detail -- to come full circle to the original post, one of these relayed an assassination attempt on his life by a high-ranking communist party member that drove him into exile. on my end, i am just now beginning to perceive red flags. i go back to the boat because i have no idea how to get home at this point, but begrudgingly knowing that this will probably entail sexual favors. anyways, redacted. in the middle of the night a monsoon rolls in and by the time i come to in the morning i am trapped on the boat by foul weather. after a few hours, i become violently and perhaps psychosomatically seasick and am shlepped off on the dinghy, buffeted by four-foot waves the entire ride into the harbor. the monsoon by the way was so violent in the early hours of the morning that the mooring ropes of the surrounding boats had been shorn off by the friction and were wrecking themselves around us

[hypmic-translation]

Hypster Magazine Vol.1 Q&A

Q: What is your morning routine?

Ichiro: In the morning? The first thing I do is open all the curtains and windows in the house, to let in some fresh air! I’ll wake up my bros while I’m at it, too. Saburo in particular doesn’t like to get out of bed, sometimes…

Jiro: “Morning routine”...? Oh, the stuff I do when I wake up in the morning! If I wake up early enough, I like to go on a run around the neighbourhood to work out! (TL note: He's confused because the question was written in such a way that he struggled to read it.)

Saburo: Have you got a reason behind asking me something like that? If you’re going to so blatantly invade my privacy, I’m refusing to answer unless you tell me why it matters.

Samatoki: Huh? What people do when they wake up varies from day to day, yanno. ...well, I usually have coffee, I guess.

Jyuto: I take care of my glasses and shoes first, I suppose. It is only by paying attention to the details of one’s appearance that people can be dignified.

Riou: I drink a cup of water, then check the camp for any signs of something unusual. As soon as it is safe to do so, I’ll go and see if any prey has been caught in the traps I have set in the forest, immediately prepping them if so. Then… (the rest of this answer has been omitted.)

Ramuda: Mm, well, I usually end up pulling all-nighters, so it doesn’t really matter if it’s the morning or not ☆

Gentaro: After a good night’s sleep, I wake up refreshed and enjoy a cup of tea that isn’t too hot. With my mind calm, I collect the morning dew from outside, rub it into my ink, and begin to write. ...of course, that’s all a lie. To a novelist, morning is merely the final goal after a long night.

Dice: Checking the change slot on vending machines, obviously! There's always that thrilling moment when you stick your finger inside! Oh, and I make sure to check underneath every time, too! There's loads of loose cash you can find lying around!

Jakurai: In the morning… I try to measure my pulse, blood pressure and body temperature in order to surmise how my health is faring that day.

Hifumi: The morning? That’s when I get home! Anyway, I like to take a bath, do my skincare routine, do some laundry, and then make breakfast~

Doppo: Morning routine... well, I wake up every morning from nightmares, so I guess that’s what my routine is…

Sasara: The morning, huh… to be honest, I’ve been feeling kinda unwell after waking up lately. So I’ve been politely asking my manager to come wake me up, and then going straight to work regardless of how I feel!

Rosho: Simple breakfast. Preparing for class. Watering the plants.

Rei: Everyone thinks I’m too old to wake up early, yeah? But then, I guess I did sleep until noon. Sorry I can’t answer your question.

Kuuko: Cleaning the temple, obviously! I’ve reached an entirely new level where I can polish the hallways just by walking around!

Jyushi: Fufufu... I am an inhabitant of The World of Darkness... as light and sound begin to invade my senses, I bury my face deep in soft linen and return to my jet-black abode.

Hitoya: Obviously styling my hair comes first. Once that’s done, I’ll go to my usual coffee shop and order what I always get. The owner is a skilled guy, and I like his work.

Q: How do you spend your holidays?

Ichiro: On days when we haven’t got any requests, I like to take my brothers shopping or out to eat!

Jiro: I help nii-chan out, or I go play football with my friends. Lately I’ve been getting into skateboarding, and I’ve been practising at the nearby park a lot! Saburo sneaks off to go play in card game tournaments, but I like playing outside!

Saburo: Haah… another stupid question? I seriously don’t know why you expect me to answer these.

Samatoki: ...tch. I like visiting thrift stores. You got a problem with that?

Jyuto: I like to visit art museums. Of course, the artwork is the main attraction, but the buildings themselves are also art. So enjoying the beauty of architecture is another reason to go.

Riou: Soldiers don’t get days off. However, when I venture into the city to procure supplies such as seasonings, I am relieved from the tension of my mission and am allowed a moment of peace.

Ramuda: Inspiration comes from all kinds of places, so I like to go all over~ ☆ Just looking at other designers’ works and the fashion of people on the street is fun! ☆

Gentaro: I participate in a grass baseball game in my neighbourhood, of course. I throw right-handed, I hit left-handed, and my position is shortstop. Surprised? Despite my appearance, I have fast initial speed and a wide range of defences... just kidding, I like to go on secondhand bookstore tours.

Dice: Gamblers don't get time off, you know! In the game of life you either live or die, and it's not easy to find a place to sleep!

Jakurai: Ah, that’s… I have been visiting a particular bookstore lately. It has an entry fee, but the books chosen for me by the concierge are all quite interesting, and I find myself pleasantly stimulated by unexpected encounters with people.

Hifumi: I love going to beauty salons, personal gyms, and taking different baths like enzyme and bedrock~ As a host my body is most important, so I do a lot of maintenance on my days off!

Doppo: Eh, holidays...? I never get those, so I don’t really understand the concept myself…

Sasara: Oh, I like going back to the restaurants I’ve performed in for TV shoots and actually trying out their food! Taking my time to examine the menu and eat whatever I like… yeah, those are the best kinds of holidays!

Rosho: Preparing for next week’s class. Making handouts. Watching sports programs in the evening while drinking a bottle of beer.

Rei: Hey, there's only one thing to do while on holiday, right? Visit a public bath and then go bar hopping afterwards, heheh... or something like that, anyway.

Kuuko: For monks, training is their entire life. That’s why I don’t get time off! When I do, though, I like to go to the mountain behind the temple and listen to punk rock music at the highest volume.

Jyushi: Amanda and I take a perilous journey together in the outside world to search for the Ancient Silver Disk... as soon as we have uncovered our treasure, we return home, listening to the beautiful sounds while trembling with joy.

Hitoya: I like taking my bike out for a ride. If I don’t let the engine run every once in a while, it’ll start going dull.

[ta0ken]

LITTERA SCRIPTA MANET (the written letter lasts)

❝𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮❞ — atticus. 

have you ever felt what it was like to dream? to even vividly remember the dream? how does it feel; does it feel nice? you wonder and wonder, but the dreams are always there (only with a few changes). you're only reliving a dream.

                                                         in books, freedom →

TAPPING RESOUNDED THROUGHOUT THE ROOM, yet there's a silence that fills the room you sat in as well. It's noisy, yet it's not. It's quiet, yet it's not. It's contradictory, in your opinion, as you leaned onto your chin, resting it on your fist. You hummed, unsure of what would happen. A small huff left your lips, blowing out strands from your hair, continuously bothering you from your work (though, you weren't really working).

Your pen scattered dots all around your lined paper, yet nothing was written on it. "This isn't some connect the dots game..." you softly sighed to yourself, raising a brow at the paper, disappointed and obviously unamused.

Glancing out the window, you stared, watching the sun rays light up your dim-lit room. You closed your eyes, reminiscing the times you were in high school (were you?), not really having any friends, only focusing on smarts and academics, though you weren't weak.

Too bad you had gotten into too many fights that caused your school record to drop at the lowest of low.

The dreams you've had were weird. You, at first, thought that you had grown older, done different things, lived a different life, but all of those were dreams; lucid, but merely dreams (but they only occurred two times, so, perhaps they don't count). Your eyes scanned the dots once more, still unimpressed with what you've gotten. Head drooping down, you let out another sigh, one full of frustration and exhaustion - you wouldn't be able to write a poem at any rate, would you?

"Oh, how this wounds me," you said to yourself. "Woe is me, woe is me... I guess."

Leaning back in your seat, you stared at your ceiling, blinking. The ceiling remained the same, nothing had changed. Maybe, I can just write about dreams or something... Gah! I hate this... You sulked and sulked and sulked, but nothing would change the fact that you couldn't write anything—

Ah. Now you know why. Someone had been murdered, you remembered. Not someone you knew, but for some reason, you felt like you recognized the person who had murdered the random nobody. Still, you weren't sure, and it didn't matter.

"...Weird," you muttered, balancing a pen between your lips and nose. "Really weird."

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft sigh, slowly sinking into your seat without a care. You felt tired, and you didn’t want to do any more work, though you weren’t doing any work anyway.

“Oi, [Name]!”

Your eyes open, and you blink. Slowly taking the pen between your lips and nose, you stare at the ceiling that shouldn’t have changed, yet it did. You slowly lower your head, still blinking, and looked at the person in front of you that had long hair, yellow eyes, and sharp teeth (though, that was his original appearance; the one you weren’t used to seeing).

”…Baji,” you acknowledge, expression forming into one of boredom. “What do you need, more tutor lessons?”

He gives you a scowl, before grinning, jutting his thumb behind him, exclaiming, “Nah, I wanted to hang out with ya. Me, you, and the others!”

A grim expression replaces your bored one, and you wave your hand in the air, other hand in your pocket. Leaning back into your seat, you twirl the pen in your hands, and you simply tell him, “No.” You didn’t want to hang out; there was no need to. “We’re not friends, Baji; I’m only your tutor, or whatever.” You ignore the feeling that this wasn’t a dream (but you wished it was).

The boy lets out a breath, crossing his arms. “Man… You’re a guy, ya know that?”

”I… I’d hope I’m a guy—“

”That’s not what I meant!” he barks. He turns his head, a frown appearing on his face. Upon your expression, he frowns even more. “Listen, I’m only asking you anyway because of you helping me out with school and shit.”

Your hand twitches and your brow furrows, a crease forming. This scene feels like it’s repeating, going on and on and on and on—why? You didn’t realize you were staring at him, until he waves a hand in your face, obviously impatient. “…Uh,” you blink, “sorry—No, I don’t… want to go.”

A small huff.

You only shrug in response, slowly getting up from your seat. You glance down at the floor, noticing your bag beside the leg of the chair. Why? You stare at it with narrowed eyes, distressed, but you hid it; the boy before you didn’t need to know what was happening, anyway. Grabbing your bag, you slung it across your shoulder, sparing Baji a glance. “…Why are you still here?” you ask, raising a brow, “Don’t you have your gang to go to?”

“Anyway, I’m going home. Bye,” you mutter, shuffling past the long-haired boy.

✎______

“You’re very selfish, Baji.”

”Huh? And you’re acting like you’re not?”

You rest your chin on your hand, lips in a thin line. You were with Baji and Chifuyu, who was technically his underclassmen, but he got held back a lot of times. You cock your head to the side, slowly gazing over towards the blonde, “How d’you manage to hang out with him? He’s a brute.”

”The hell did you say?!” Baji’s hand slams down onto the table booth you all sat at, glaring at you. “I’m no brute!”

You give him a blank stare. “…I can assume that your ma said you were a ‘handsome fellow’ or somethin’?”

Chifuyu coughs at that, hiding his snort. “C’mon, [Name], do you really think a guy like him is handsome?” He has a grin on his face, leaning back into his own seat, amused by the bickering (or maybe exhausted, who knows?).

You raise a brow, glancing over at Baji, who was fuming. Rubbing your chin, you hum in thought. “He’s pretty…” you say, trailing off, ignoring the suspicious look from Chifuyu and the arrogant look from Baji, and continued, “…for a girl.”

”Wh- I’M NOT A GIRL!”

”PFFFT—“

You grin, amused. Leaning back into your seat, you look back up to the ceiling, the grin dropping slowly. As fun as it was, can this dream end? Your hand raised up towards your face, pinching it as hard as you could, but it only left a mark.

It left a mark.

You lower your head once more, eyes staring at the wooden table that seemed too polished for its own good, the light showing your reflection. You were back in your 15-year-old body, still in middle school, though it made no sense. Shifting, your eyes darted towards the other two, one older, one younger, and they seemed the same from middle school; laughing, smiling, joking around.

Your hand clenches, gripping your uniform pants.

”…Am I dreaming?” you whisper to yourself, “Is this nothing but a mere illusion, to hinder my dob- doubts—? Fuck.”

“Did you stumble over your words again, [Name]?” Baji teases, leaning over towards you.

Your face flushes red, and you narrow your eyes at him. “No,” you say indignantly, “I did nuh- not. I did, not.”

”But, you did, just now,” Chifuyu points out. “Right, Baji-san? He just stumbled over his words?”

”…I said—“

”No, yeah, he did.”

”I SAID I FUCKING DIDN’T—“

✎______ [Name] occasionally stumbles over his words, despite knowing so many. And he ends up getting mad over it.

You rest your head on the table, grumbling profanities. Despite being smart, despite all of this, you were still foul-mouthed, and you were still a ‘child.’ You muffle out a small, “One day, I’ll kill the both of you, just you wait.”

Baji lets out a snort, patting your back harshly, “Sure you will.”

“I will.”

Chifuyu nods sarcastically, finished with his noodles. “Yes, of course, you will.”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “Well, fuck you guys, too.” You glance over at the pair, before you looked away, not wanting to deal with them. But, you continued to pinch your arm, not caring about the pain, for you just wanted to go back to your regular life.

"Hey."

I want to go back. Let me be a poet, once more, you sigh wistfully, leaning onto your fist, zoning out. I need to be a poet, once more; I graduated, did I not? I did, I did, so then why, why can't I wake up?

"[Name]."

This is all a dream.

"[Name], wake up!"

You blink, eyes wide. Turning your head towards the pair, you stare for a few seconds, before blinking once more. "...Sorry, what?" you say with a smile, ignoring the aching pain in your arm now, "Did you need something? Or were you guys planning on bothering me again."

Chifuyu narrows his eyes at you, suspicious of how you were acting. "...No, you were just pinching your arm really hard and not saying anything about it," he remarks, crossing his arms. "Are you some sort of masochist?"

Baji raises a brow, checking you out as he leans forward, "...I wouldn't put it past him to be a masochist. He gives off that sort of vibe, you know?"

"Oi, what's that s'posed to mean?" you scowl, pushing yourself away from the two. "I'm no fuck—I'm not a masochist." Despite you saying all of that, Baji only laughs, hand ruffling your hair.

"...I hate you all."

"Sure you do."

✎______

You weren't sure if you had this feeling that you were going to insane or if you were lucid dreaming (it was probably both), but it was slowly getting to you. Each step felt like it was pulling you towards the ground, keeping you there from moving on, from trying to back to the present (or was it future?). But was it even the present if you're you now?

It didn't occur to you, that you were back in the past. Every dream, every time you close your eyes, every time you open your eyes, there's a new view.

But there were no views this time, as you stared, blankly wandering around on your own. Baji left to do his own thing, as did Chifuyu. You weren't sure what they were doing, but you didn't want to get involved with gang fights anyway.

Instead, you chose to go back to the store nearby your old apartment (well, technically, your current one, huh?). You haven't met the rest of the Toman members except for the 'Founding Members', but even then, you didn't want to join. They weren't your friends (well, in the past, you didn't consider them friends, but they probably considered you a friend), and you didn't want to be their friend.

Well, maybe you did.

It gets lonely, anyway. Having to repeat life over and over again, without knowing who's the cause (once you find out who's causing it, though...).

You look at the cashier, hands in your pockets as you slump over, eyes drooping due to exhaustion. You could feel yourself beginning to tire throughout the day, yet it was only the afternoon still, almost evening.

"Can I have one pack of cigarettes?"

✎______

You lean back against the wall, looking off into the distance, sighing. You had the pack of cigarettes in your hand, glancing around the area, putting a cancer stick in your mouth, letting it hang off from between your lips. Tilting your head, you let out a huff. You were only 15-years-old, yet you were originally 26-years-old at the start (or was it at the original? You weren't sure, too many things ran through your head, really).

Drip.

Ignoring the dripping sounds that slowly grew into pitter-patter, you didn't bother to light the cigarette, simply satisfied with the feeling of it on your lips. A small sigh was drawn out, your eyes gazing at the droplets of rain that splattered on the cement, sometimes getting onto your boots.

Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip—

Rubbing the back of your head, you glanced away, pushing yourself away from the wall. You begin to walk, not caring about the rain that made you damp, your hair flattening on your head. Ignoring it, you clench and unclench your fists, trying to still wake yourself up from this dream that seemed all too real (you wish you could wake up, but you never will).

You look up at the rain, humming, sometimes squinting due to the droplets hitting you straight in the eye. Your face twitches, but you shrug your shoulders.

"Rain's a bad sign, ain't it? Especially if it's heavy like this..." you say to yourself, walking on the sidewalk. "August 3rd... Huh. The day of the festival... Hm."

You close your eyes, shrugging once again.

Looking up at the rain once more, you say to yourself quietly, voice barely near a whisper, "...Is this a dream that I can wake up from, or is this a dream that I'm stuck in forever? Hm... I wonder..." you look back towards the road, "...if the world just hates me after all."

A small laugh left your lips.

"Yeah. The world hates me, for sure."

[theonewiththefanfics]

Would You Be My Little Quarantine (one-shot)

Synopsis: As the mandatory quarantine hits, the Reader is stuck in a cabin in Utah with the boys from 5 Seconds of Summer. Turns out another person is stuck in a hotel nearby. Hijinx ensue as does romance. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x f!Reader

Genre: fluff pretty much just pure, teeth-rotting fluff.

Warnings: it’s my first time writing for Harry as I was never really part of the fandom, but damn does Watermelon Sugar do things to a person, so please be kind. This is defo not my best work, but I’m slowly getting back into the groove of things, so bare with me :D

Word count: 6061

        TikTok had become Y/N’s new obsession. She’d stayed away from it as long as she could, being a true Vine generation child, she felt loyalty to the deceased app. But one night, after a long recording session, she caved. And then stayed giggling on it until the early morning when the birds started to chirp… or until Calum had taken her phone and threatened to throw it in the jacuzzi if she didn’t go to bed. 

        The girl and the four guys from 5 Seconds of Summer had been renting a cabin in the middle of the Utah woods to help them escape the distractions of the city as they recorded their respective albums, and given how they were good friends, they decided to collaborate on a few songs, and it made sense to just chill together as well.

        Which had started off Y/N’s own TikTok series, having ‘borrowed’ the idea from the Irishman living with two girls.

        “Alright, gentlemen.” She slid inside her bathroom pulling the focus of her camera on the reflection in the mirror. “I live with four guys, and I have some things to say. Why do you always, and I mean ALWAYS, leave your socks around the house? The dirty ones. You know you could just throw them in the wash… there’s an idea.”

        “We do!” Calum yelled

        Y/N turned her face to the door and hollered, “Only after I’ve asked you to!”

        “Do not!” he countered.

        “Do too!” she exited the bathroom and into the hallway only to be met with the man standing there with his hands on his hips. “Then how.” Y/N pointed the camera towards the living area you could see from where the hallways overlooked the room. “Do you explain that?” And when she zoomed in, there, in a small pile laid two brown socks, all crumpled up and almost pushed underneath one of the three couches, as if someone was trying to hide them from sight.

        Calum stammered for a bit. “Those are NOT mine.”

        Y/N flipped the camera and looked at it like they do in the Office. “Help me,” she mouthed and finished the TikTok, pointing with her hand at him. “Ya disgustin’!”

        Just as maturely as she had reacted, so did Calum by crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out, but their little bickering about whose socks they were and whose job was it to put them in the dirty wash (they were Ashton’s, and it was his job), Luke poked Y/N’s side as he came out from his room. 

        “I know might seem weird, but is there any chance another person could join our quarantine group?”

        Y/N’s eyebrows rose. Sure, the house was giant, mostly because whatever production she was a part of on Broadway, after a successful season, she invited all of them there to get away from the bustle of New York and just chill. It was in the middle of the forest, encased by gorgeous mountains and at the side of a lake where they’d go jet skiing and cliff diving.

        “I thought people can’t visit one another?”

        “They can’t,” Luke confirmed. “That’s the point. The unfortunate soul just got stuck at a hotel not too far from here, and all the flights are cancelled. Two weeks of quarantine without symptoms have been concluded, but, knowing how impossible it’d be to get to London, when you know, as I said, there are no flights, I offered a place to stay.”

        “So,” Y/N dramatically rolled her head. “You already offered to stay before asking me?”

        “Well, I knew you’d say ‘yes’ because you’re a kind, generous, amazing, smart, talented, compassionate person and wouldn’t leave someone on the streets when you know you could help.”

        “Mhm, keep talking.” Y/N squinted her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

        “Incredible, best musician I’ve ever met, how you haven’t won all of Tony’s I’ve got no idea. Your acting skills are impeccable and the movie industry is missing out on a once in a lifetime kind of a talent by not castin-“

        “Alright stop.” Y/N busted out laughing. “As long as you promise I won’t wake up with an axe in my head, ‘s fine.” 

        “Promise.”

        “Good. Also, could you please get me three bottles of that wine I like?” Y/N hollered before skipping downstairs and to the kitchen where Ashton was brewing the tenth cup of coffee. “I have a deadline in two weeks and have literally no idea where to go with the story.” She referred to the second book of her series she was writing, and now with the lockdown going on, her literary agent was breathing down her neck, and it didn’t help she hadn’t written anything in like a month and didn’t remember half of the already exiting story.

        Luke lifted a brow and hissed through his teeth. “That bad?”

        “You have no idea,” she sighed and left for the living-room where she could harass the boys for their fries and procrastinate some more. 

***

        The few hours, while Luke was away, were quite uneventful. All of them sat around on the couch pit, wrote some music, lil bit of lyrics and Y/N almost cried seeing as her characters had decided to live their own life and not obey to her story.

        “Why do you have to be such an idiot,” she mumbled under her breath and furrowed her brows as she wrote herself into a new plot hole.

        Right as Y/N was about to delete the whole chapter, the door slammed open and she heard grunting. “We’re here!” Luke hollered, and the thought of wine made her giddy, making her leap over the edge of the couch, and rush to the front door only to stop dead in her tracks. 

        Y/N’s mouth hung open, not because of who the person joining their quarantine group was, but because of what the person was. “A fifth GUY?! You didn’t tell me it’d be a guy!”

        “I didn’t think it’d matter!” Luke yelled back.

        “There’s already four of you!” She pointed back to the living room hearing loads of ‘hey!’ being shouted back.

        “Would you leave him on the streets if you’d known he was a dude?”

        “No, of course not!” 

        “Why are we yelling?”

        “I don’t know!”

        “I mean, I can leave.” Harry Styles said pointing at the door, not really knowing what to do. He certainly hadn’t expected that sort of greeting. “But I do come bearing gifts.” He lifted a black bag where a clinking of glass could be heard.    

        “No,” she sighed.  “It’s fine... I just… I just miss the company of vaginas.”

        He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Vaginas?”

        “People I can rant to. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter if you have a vagina, as long as we can have a good rant. Especially about the gross things like having all of your dirty socks thrown around the house.” She threw Luke a look that screamed ‘I know you pushed all of them under your bed, and it’s stinking up the whole place.’

        Harry shook his head. “Ya not gonna find me leaving my clothes like that. Besides, ‘s disgusting.”

        “No,” Luke whined, “come on, man! You’re supposed to be on our side!”

        “It’s two against four,” Harry snickered, throwing his hand around Y/N’s shoulder, who gave Luke a smug grin, and it made her mimic the same expression.

        “It’s evening out. Maybe you should actually invite some other people to quarantine with us. Say, Harry, is maybe Niall in need of a place to stay?”

        Luke rolled his eyes, and shook his head, going into the kitchen and placing the food bags he’d been holding. “I hate you so much.”

        Y/N’s smile just widened.         

        ***

        “Yes, I’m still stealing your series Irishman.” Y/N zoomed in on her face. “Because now…” she looked up at the ceiling in a manner ‘someone please save me’, “I’m living with FIVE dudes. Yes, FIVE. We have an addition. And if someone doesn’t come and kill me, I will kill them.”

        “We’re not that bad!” Michael hollered form out of frame, to which Y/N yelled back, “Yes the fuck you are! Boys are gross. You do realize you’re allowed to have more than one towel. Like you DON’T have to wipe your face with a towel that’s soaked up your ball juice.”

        “It’s economy.”

        “It’s disgusting! Also.” Y/N turned the camera to Harry who was climbing up the stairs with a cup of coffee in hand. “Say ‘Hi’ to gremlin number five. He’s stolen all of my nail polish.”

        He gave a cute wave with an adorable smile, muttering an unintelligible ‘Hello’ as his mouth was stuffed with a piece of bread and a very muffled ‘You don’t even use them.’

        “Yes, but that’s not the point. Anyway,” Y/N pointed the camera at herself. “Tune in for an update whenever, as long as I haven’t strangled anyone, and pray to the heavens you don’t see my face in the papers cause the next time you do, it’ll be my mugshot for a quintuple homicide.”

        “Is that a threat Y/L/N?” Harry smirked, as Y/N walked past him and took away his cup of coffee.

        “No, it’s a promise.” She threw him a wink, leaving the Brit with his mouth open at the woman’s audacity, as she stopped the recording of the TikTok.

        “That was my coffee!”

        “Not anymore!”

        He shook his head, turning back around and going to the kitchen, seeing Y/N perched on one of the stools, neck stretching over to where Ashton was watching a video on his phone, the black liquid in his cup now a creamy beige. Harry smiled. Maybe quarantine wasn’t going to be so bad.

***

        Y/N’s head popped from the side of the door, bringing all of their attention to her. “You guys need to record anything right now?”

        Luke shook his head, signifying the band was alright before turning to Harry who mimicked him, the tapping of his pen stopping. “Why?”

        “Just got a call from Laurence, he said something’s wrong with the ‘Candy Store’ audio from yesterday. Need to rerecord it and send it over. Something about a faulty export or whatever.”

        “ ‘S all yours.” Ashton motioned to the recording booth. “Oh, but can I be Heather Duke?”

        “And can I be Heather McNamara then?” Luke piped in.

        Y/N chuckled. “Not to burst your bubbles, but you do know you won’t be in the final version?”

        “No, but we could be in THIS version. It’d be for our private files. And it’d help you.”

        “That sounds so wrong.” She grimaced. “How would that help me?” Y/N plopped next to Harry on the floor. “You’re the biggest distractions I’ve ever met.”

        Luke scoffed. “How dare you! We offer you our services of being backup singers, and you… you’re such a meanie. You’re such a Heather Chandler!”

        “It’s 2020! If Leslie Odom Jr. can play Aaron Burr, then I can play one of the Heathers! Don’t be sexist, Y/N!”

        “I never said a dude can’t play a Heather, don’t put words in my mouth. I just said last time we tried to record anything together we ended up playing SIMS for like seven hours, but… come on you two divas, get your asses inside then. But I swear if Laurence or Kevin call because one of you whispered something dirty in the background of MY parts, I will strangle you in your sleep.”

        “How little trust do you have in us?”

        “Very,” Y/N deadpanned, showing the two men inside, leaving Calum, Harry and Michael to man the production table. “If you mess with anything, your asses will be grass.” She pointed at the three and all of them put their hands up in surrender. “ ‘S bad enough you ruined my single.”

        “It’s called giving it flavour,” Calum said through the microphone.

        Y/N just responded by sticking her tongue out.

        Michael lifted his fingers, counting down from five to one, giving her the cue to start.

        “Are we gonna have a problem?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, already immersed in the character of Heather Chandler. “You’ve got a bone to pick? You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my dick?”

        Harry swallowed hard. 

        “I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch,” she slightly motioned with her head to the audience behind the screen, a mockingly sweet smile on her lips. “But I’m feeling nice, here’s some advice, listen up biatch.”

        When her hips started moving from side to side to the rhythm of the song, Harry swore he’d never found someone being mean (even though it was mock mean) so hot.

        “I like,” Y/N raised her voice before dropping it. “Looking hot, buying stuff they cannot.”

        There was no sight of the sweet and bubbly girl Harry had met. This was Queen-B of Westerberg High in flesh. He was transfixed. 

“I like drinking hard, maxing dad’s credit card.”

She didn’t need anyone’s credit card to pay for her things, given how she was one of the top paid Broadway singers of their generation, and something in Harry skipped a beat at how confident she looked.

        “I like skipping gym, scaring her, screwing him,” Y/N rolled the ‘r’ deeply in her throat, and he had to collect himself before his thoughts went to an unsavoury place.

        “I like, killer clothes, kicking nerds in the nose!” With a smile, Y/N pointed at Luke who only rolled his eyes. “If you lack the balls, you can go play dolls, let yer mammy fix you a snack,” she emphasised the ‘K’ after having mockingly sung the bit before. “Or you could come smoke, pound some rum and coke, in ma Porche with the quarterback.”

        As weird as it was to have the two boys be her fellow Heathers, Y/N hated to admit it did help her. It reminded her more of what it was like to be on stage before the pandemic had started and the production had to be shut down. And she missed them. All her fellow actors just as much as she missed the rush of getting on stage and losing herself in the role and atmosphere. 

        “You can join the team –“

        “Or you can bitch and moan,” Y/N’s ‘Heathers’ sang in a nasally voice

        “You can live the dream.”

        “Or you can die alone.” 

        Harry snuck inside the recording booth, picking up a pair of headphones by the drum set.

        “You can fly with eagles,”

“Or if you’d prefer,”

        “Keep on testing me,”

        “And end up like her!”

        And that’s when Harry joined in, reciting the lines of both Veronica and Martha, and when he saw Y/N keeping a palm over her mouth as she tried to keep a mean face while inevitably hiding a smile. The whole of the song, despite how Ashton, Luke and Harry had tried to make Y/N break character (she came close a couple of times), the woman stayed on the line, not missing a beat, and especially enjoying the moment where she looked at Luke, who was about to hit the high note and screaming ‘shut up, Heather!’

        Harry couldn’t help the smile splitting apart his face. When Luke had first picked up his call, having known he and the gang were somewhere in the Utah region, he had thought he’d be living with just the guys, and when he found out it was actually Y/N Y/L/N renting the cabin, the girl he’d admired for so long for how brave and utterly unapologetic she was of being herself, Harry had just thought he’d gain a new friend, not have romantic feelings spring up.

        And all of it had happened in the span of two days, not even that much. He’d arrived the evening before, had met the woman, and now it was three PM on day two and was already in love. 

        It was an exhilarating and terrifying feeling all at once. Some studies said it takes men eight seconds to fall in love, which Harry now could pretty much confirm, while it takes women generally fifteen days to fall in love. And he could only hope Y/N might have some feelings for him as well, otherwise, he’d have to scold his heart for falling quickly once again. 

***

        It was the middle of the night, wind slamming against the windows when Harry got awoken by people talking behind his door. At first, he was ready to fight, thinking immediately that intruders had come into the house, but when he heard a ‘fuck off Michael’ and a ‘you fuck off, you’re gonna ruin this’, he understood everything was fine. And he was just about to lay back down on the soft pillows, but as the saying went – curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, so he threw off the covers and lightly went to the door, where a bleary Harry appeared on the stairs making Y/N and Michael whip their heads towards him and freeze on the spot. 

        “What are you two do-“ but he didn’t get to finish the question as the two co-conspirators shushed him.

        “You’re either in,” Y/N whispered harshly, “or out. Choose Styles.”

        A beat. “What kind of trouble’re we getting’ into?”

        The smile which spread on her face was nothing short of wicked. “Revenge,” Y/N hissed.

        “Be quieter than a mouse,” she whispered to him, and now the trio moved downstairs.

        “Who are we getting revenge on?” Harry spoke as quietly as he could, as they rounded the corner and exited the cabin through the back door. It was colder than he thought, seeing how the wind wasn’t warm at all, and he was grateful he’d fallen asleep in his favourite rainbow cardigan. How Y/N and Michael didn’t even shiver in their barely-there pyjamas he didn’t understand. 

        “See, Luke here thought it was a good idea to not heed my warning about not messing with my recording.”

        Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up. “He didn’t.” He knew Luke hadn’t, he was there the whole time and listened back to what they’d sung with everyone together.

        “No, but he did rename a different file with the same name I had for the 'Heathers'' recording, on MY computer, mind you. And well, let’s just say, it was not what anyone wanted to hear.”

        Harry had to swallow, as his mind went to unsavoury places, and as Y/N shimmied open the lock of the window to the studio bathroom part of the house, she looked over her shoulder to see his expression. It would seem, despite him being in ‘Dunkirk’ and having been confirmed to play Eric in the live-action ‘The Little Mermaid’ he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought.

        “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she snickered and pulled herself inside the house through the window, Michael handing her a black duffle bag Harry hadn’t first noticed. “It was a conversation I had with my friends while we were all drunk. Some tea, some very personal tea was spilt, and so.” She unzipped the bag slowly and took out a whipped cream can. “I’m going to spill something else.”

        Canned cheese was one of the most disgusting things ever created by a human in Y/N’s opinion. So, squeezing nine cans worth of the stuff inside all of Luke’s socks, jean pockets and everywhere else possible was good enough revenge for her.

        “Why are we in the studio though?” Harry asked as the trio crept towards the bathroom door and peeked through the open sliver. It was pitch black. 

        “Because Luke teds to forget his favourite things here,” Michael explained and motioned for them to follow as he checked that the hallway was clear. It was go-time. 

        Together they all snuck back inside the recording studio, and much like Michael had said – Luke’s favourite jean jacket, a woollen jumper, three pairs of boots and shoes were all scattered around the place. He hadn’t even noticed it while they’d hung out there, but now Harry understood what Y/N was talking about while whining about the boys being messy.

        She uncapped the can and squeezed, the artificial smell of cheese wafting through the air, making her almost gag. “That’s for being a bad friend,” she muttered while filling up one shoe. “That’s for making bad jokes.” She filled up another. “And that’s for saying ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ is an overrated song.’

        It was hard for Harry to contain the giggles, as he uncapped his own can and started filling up wherever Y/N pointed to. Did he feel bad? Sure. But was it fun to feel like a teenager in a university dorm during a prank war? Abso-fucking-lutely. And it didn’t help that he was desperately falling in love with Y/N with every second they spent together. Like she could’ve asked him to hide Luke’s corpse, and he’d say he’d take the blame for the murder if it came to it.

        “Why did we have to sneak around the place like that?” he suddenly asked, brows furrowing in concentration as he squeezed the smelly contents inside the inside pocket of the jacket. “Why couldn’t we have just walked through the house?”

        “Because Luke always and I mean always comes to the studio at 3 AM,” Y/N stated. 

        Harry looked at the clock. It was 2:45 AM already. 

        “But before that, he goes into the kitchen, makes himself a double espresso, a sandwich and eats it before going into the storage where we keep all of the instruments, which is where he is in right now. Had we snuck through the normal way, he would’ve seen us and stopped this. And that just wouldn’t fly.”

       However, it was like Luke had a sixth sense as right at that moment the light flipped on, and like deer in headlights, the trio’s heads shot up and eyes widened.

        “What the fuck!” he whispered hand extended in the direction of the already six empty cans on the floor.

        Y/N snapped out of the adrenaline induced frozen state and shrugged. “I told you not to mess with the recording.” She put her finger back on the squeezable part. “And you. Didn’t. Listen.”

        The cheese squirted out with a splutter, and all of them stood still as the final bits dropped into Luke’s black boot. “And that’s payback.”

        With a sway in her hips, Y/N exited the room, leaving the three men to gawk after her. 

God was she a hurricane, Harry thought to himself. And he’d never been as happy to be caught right in the eye of it all.

***

        The next few days all of them spent lounging around the house, recording a few songs, most of them by Harry seeing as a huge wave of inspiration had hit him, making him write more than one love song. He even asked Y/N somewhat shyly if she could do some of the backing vocals, and he swore the song went from a 3 to a 100 the second he heard her voice weave his lyrics into a symphony. 

        By that point, they’d been quarantining for a week and a half together, and a heatwave was coming up. The cabin had both an inside and outside pool which they’d all had to learn how to maintain, seeing as no one could come and do it for them, and a jacuzzi tub on the terrace. As much as the boys tried to prove they knew how to keep the places clean, ultimately it was Y/N who saved all of them from chlorine poisoning and algae overgrowth. 

        So, it was right when she pulled out the pH indicator and said it was good for use when with a scream, Luke rushed forward Y/N, rugby tackling her by the waist and plunged both of them down to the water below. 

        “You asshole!” She splashed at him, laughing and choking out a bit of water as they resurfaced. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

        “That’s payback for the cheese.”

        She went silent for a second, but then shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. But you did deserve the cheese.”

        “So,” Luke extended his hand for a shake. “Do we call this even?”

        Harry exited the cabin right as both of them completely soaked to the bone jumped out onto the wood floor. He stopped mid-walk if only to control where his eyes went seeing as Y/N’s white shirt clung to her body and well… didn’t leave much for the imagination anymore.

        “Do I wanna know what happened here?” He raised a brow.

        “Retribution.”

        “Though I do gotta say, you have a funny way of getting revenge.” Y/N smirked at  Luke, making him squint down at the girl. 

        “What do you mean?”

        “I mean,” she drawled out, a mischievous smile on her lips, “that when I filled your clothes with the cheese, my stuff didn’t get stinky. And yet, from your end… I’m not the only one wet.”

        A beat passed.

        “God fucking damn it.”

        “Hey!” She pointed a finger at him. “We called a truce!”

        Luke waved her off. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” but Y/N grabbed Luke’s hand right before he went inside and squeezed it. 

“We good?”

        He sighed and smiled. “We good, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gave Harry a quick ‘see ya later’ as well and disappeared through the glass doors. 

        Harry didn’t know what’d happened to him. He’d always been a helpless romantic, falling in love, and maybe a bit too hard at that, but this time, even without Y/N knowing about his feelings, his heart felt safe. 

        Sure, the side of her he’d seen was a complete headcase, and she had more energy than a bull with a red flag in front of it, but the utter love exuding from the woman, even while she complained about her four, well five counting him, housemates was palpable in the air. The way she hugged and made sure everyone had whatever they needed, the way she let them know if anyone needed to have a chat, she’d be there to listen, and the small little things of how she always knew what preferences they’d have for their pancakes or breakfast in general, made his heart melt. 

        “Luke’s a lucky guy.” Harry swallowed before saying that. As much as seeing Y/N be affectionate with everyone, him included, made him feel all fuzzy, a little jealousy monster did bubble up in his stomach when he saw her snuggled next to the lead vocalist of the band. He didn’t have any right to, but no matter how much he tried to repress the green beast, it still lurked somewhere deep in his heart.

        “Hm?” Y/N lifted her head where she’d been looking at the water as she squeezed it out of her shirt and up at Harry.

        He motioned with his chin to where Luke had disappeared. “He’s a lucky guy to have someone like you.”

        “Oh, we’re not together if that’s what you’re implying.”

        “I –“ he stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend y-“

        But Y/N waved him off. “You’re not the first nor probably the last person to say that. I get it. They asked me one time to surprise their fans at a concert in Connecticut, I think, and when their photographer sent over the pictures, I kinda saw what everyone kept saying, but I’ve never looked at any of them as more than a friend. Best friends, brothers maybe, but nothing more.”

        “How’d ya get so close?” Harry enquired, his chest feeling a bit lighter.

        Y/N huffed and plopped down to the ground, patting the place beside her which Harry took. “When I first went solo, right after being on ‘Beetlejuice’ I was fucking terrified. Didn’t really know anyone in the music industry like that. Being on Broadway’s different.” She shrugged. “And the award shows are different as well. Like with ‘Tony’s’ or ‘Oliver’ awards it’s you know – musical and theatre geeks. My people. But the first time I went to VMAs I almost shat myself.” She chuckled, and Harry did the same. “Didn’t know anyone at all, was petrified to even find my seat because someone told me I’d have to sit between Lady Gaga and Rihanna, and my heart was not ready for that. Ashton saw me at the edge of the carpet, creeping around the entrance and kinda…” Y/N bit her lip looking for the right words. “I dunno. They kinda took me under their wing, in a sense – if you need a friend in the industry, we’re here, that sort of thing. And ever since then, we’ve been best friends. Luke and I just got the closest because we got stuck in an elevator once for like eight hours once, and well, boredom and thinking you’re gonna die in a four by four-foot box brings people closer.”

        Harry almost choked. “Eight hours?”

        “Yep.” Y/N popped the ‘p’ and gave him a sarcastic smile. “It was like soooo much fun,” she said sarcastically.  “I totally didn’t think the elevator was about to drop from where we were up on like the sixtieth floor, and both of us were gonna get our bones smashed to pieces, and I only had two protein bars, and you know how I get without food,” she stated. He nodded.

        “Cranky.”

        “Exactly. But.” Y/N chuckled. “We didn’t die. Which’s great, not complaining, and I gained one of my all-time best friends.”

        “Well, I’m glad you didn’t die.” Harry gave her a warm smile and nudged her foot with his. “Wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet you otherwise.”

        She nudged his foot back. “ ‘M glad I didn’t die either. And I gotta say – you’ve made this whole quarantine bearable. Sometimes it’s like fighting with four toddlers, and that’s always a futile battle. Happy to have another wrangler with me. Also an accessory to my crimes.”

        He inched his hand towards hers, and when Y/N didn’t pull away instead liked her pinkie with his, a warm feeling rushed through him.

        “Happy to be of help.”

***

It was two nights later or full two weeks since the six of them had been together when things took a turn. 

Y/N’d always been a light sleeper, especially when her life was mainly placed in New York, but now, living in the middle of nowhere, she’d been able to catch up on some sleep. That was when the sound of her door being opened made Y/N shot up in her bed, sheets clutched at her chest in a panic. “What? What’s wrong? What did Calum set on fire?”

        “Nothing.” Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up, but he decided not to ask. There was the morning for that. “This might seem weird, but could I uh could I possibly sleep in your room?”

        She blinked a couple of times, because her brain was still processing his words and if they were even English, but once they registered, Y/N nodded, pulling back her blanket and scooting over. “C’mere.”

        “Again, I’m sorr-“

        Y/N shushed him, as Harry climbed in the bed, placing the duvet underneath his arm and twisting to see her, as she mumbled, “less talk, more sleep.”

        He hummed in agreement. His eyes were heavy, in fact, they’d become heavy the instant his head had hit Y/N’s pillow, but it was like his heart, the same poor heart that’d had to deal with the newfound emotions for the whole time he’d been there, the same poor heart that didn’t know better and always gave itself away to the person it deemed to be worthy, no matter if in the end it ended up broken, took over the control of his eyes and mouth, and while slamming against Harry’s ribcage, he whispered his confession. 

        “I really like you… As more than a friend.”

        A second passed. He felt Y/N stir as she turned towards him, brow furrowed. “Sorry?”

        “I said…” He let out a shaky exhale. “I like you. I fell for you pretty much the second I entered the house and you threatened to throw me out because I was a guy. And then I fell for you when I saw you let loose in the studio. And then once more when I witnessed what your wrath entails.”

        Y/N chuckled. “Cheese.”

        “Yeah…” He let out a little laugh. “Cheese.”

        A gentle palm went to brush away the hair stuck to Y/N’s face and he swore he could just melt as she leaned into his touch. “And then I fell for you when you said yes to singing my song… when you sang the lyrics, I dedicated to you… and every second I fall for you even more… I just… I thought you should know…”

        “Well, I can only hope that you’ll take this as a compliment then, when I say I kinda like you too, Styles,” she mumbled snuggling deeper into her pillow. “Though I didn’t think I was your type.”

        “What’s my type then?” he mumbled back, letting his arms wrap around Y/N’s waist when she shuffled closer. Not only was he now fully in heaven because he was covered by the softest duvet in the world, head resting against a literal cloud, but also because his nostrils were invaded by the gentlest of smells, and the body against his was the warmest of comforts. 

        “Well, not girls like me.”

        “You mean talented, beyond funny and absolutely breath-taking?”

        “Introverted, house hermits who don’t wash their hair unless they have to go somewhere with a perchance of self-destructive behaviour. Unintentional that is.”

        Harry’s eyebrows lifted. “Would’ve never taken you for an introvert.”

        “Mmmh,” Y/N sighed, feeling his fingers skim her skin. “That’s because I’ve known those guys for years, and they’re like my brothers. Couldn’t be uncomfortable even if I tried with them. We’ve seen too much of each other. But I’m definitely an introvert. Almost had a panic attack the first time I had to make my own doctor’s appointment.”

        “You didn’t seem shy with me.”

        “That’s because for some weird reason I… I didn’t feel awkward around you. And I mean, you did bring wine.”

        She could feel Harry’s chest rumble as he laughed. “Well, I hope it helped with inspiration.”

        “Ugh, don’t remind me,” she huffed, but opened her bleary eyes and were met by Harry’s green already staring back. She couldn’t contain the giggle, and it only grew in power as he chuckled himself, making her bury her head in his chest.

        “What?”

        “Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just never thought I’d date someone from 1D.”

        “Are we below you or something?” There was no trace of malice and hurt in his voice. He knew Y/N wasn’t like that.

        “No, ‘s just my boy band phase was ‘Good Charlotte’, ‘Panic at the D!sco,’ ‘My Chem’ and the sort.”

        “So, you weren’t fainting while listening to ‘You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful’?” Harry mumbled in Y/N’s hair, sleep slowly overtaking him.

        She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Panties definitely weren’t dropping then.”

        “Are they now?”

        “According to ‘Watermelon Sugar’ you’re the one pulling all of ‘em off.”

        “Damn. Guess it’ll have to be my new challenge.”

        Y/N’s eyebrows scrunched up as she looked at him before promptly falling asleep. “Making my panties drop?”

        “Yep. But this time because of me, not Gerard Way.”

        “Bold of you to assume it was just Gerard Way. I’m a slut for all of those wizard dads.”

        By the time she slurred out the last sentence both of them had drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

***

        “They were right!” Harry shouted jumping up in the bed, startling Y/N awake once more as if something was breaking down on their heads with how urgently he jolted. “It does take women two weeks to fall in love and men 8 seconds.”

        A pillow met his face. “Fall back asleep.” 

        He leaned over her still horizontal form, a smug smile on his face. “Are you gonna make a TikTok about it?”

        “Probably ‘bout how I murdered the boyfriend I was with for three hours if he doesn’t let me sleep.”

        He didn’t argue. With a smile on his face, Harry drifted off once more. Who knew that getting stuck in a hotel somewhere in Utah would lead him to the love of his life? 

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): 

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A/N: So... I know I’ve been gone for quite a while, but that’s because I have a job now (I’m trying to get a different one that actually would involve my degree, because this one is absolutely killing me), so please be understanding with the spare posting. I still love writing fics, and as evident, I’m kina branching out into other fandoms :D

There’s a lot of things going on in my life, so if you wanna follow me you can do that on Instagram @dinnusa or @read_with_dee or on my blog dinnusa.wordpress.com :) I also have a TikTok @dinmasters

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[sunshineandcybertronians]

Buffer - Knock Out x reader

Word count: 2, 503 Warnings: none A/N: Was washing a car, decided to write this and did a TON of research.

"(Y/n), you need to wash me and buff out these scratches. Earth is fun to race on, but can be a pain when dirt gets all over my finish!" Your friend, Knockout complained while brushing himself off as he entered the medbay. "And it doesn't help that the Autobots have to scratch me whenever I'm just doing my job.”

A while ago, when you were minding your own business, simply walking on the outskirts of Jasper, you spotted a fight. But not a normal fist exchange, giant robots who you would learn were called cybertronians. Knockout was in that fight. Before the other bots could, he grabbed you, transformed into an Aston Martin, and pulled you through a green-blue, swirling portal.

When he changed back when on the Nemesis, you, being the perfectionist you were at times, pointed out a nasty scratch and that he'd need to get that buffed out. To that comment he agreed. He told you that he captured you so you wouldn't run and tell all of your human friends about him, and later when their leader, Megatron questioned keeping you alive, he also said that you would be a good bargaining chip if the Autobots had something they wanted. Now you weren't a hostage. You helped Knockout with injured Decepticons, which you noted that he was actually a fairly good teacher. And, of course, you aided him with his cosmetic needs.

You smiled upon seeing him again, but it faded to a look of concern when he came closer and you could see the marks. The worst spot was above his right headlight. It had several small, horizontal cuts where the pain had been stripped off as if someone had taken a rock and swiped while dug it into that area.

"You're right." Then you remembered your act. "But I just buffed you two days ago," but even as you stated it, you were already getting out the wash mitts and buckets. The truth was, you loved Knockout's appearance and his paintjob, and would do anything to keep it looking as shiny and clean as Knockout always kept it. Plus, he was your friend. Even so, you would often pretend to resist because if he knew how willing you were to help him, he would have you doing it every three hours.

"Three days," he corrected. "And you're my assistant, thus you help me when I need it. Plus you never seem to mind once you're doing it."

You rolled your eyes playfully and made your way down to the floor, using the makeshift human sized stairs, holding a bucket of soup and water. "I think you forgot to mention that I'm your friend," you didn't even pretend to be upset in anyway.

"I didn't think I needed to." He lifted an optic ridge slightly and gave you a look that made your face faintly warm up.

"Okay, transform now so I can actually wash you," you set down the buckets and loosely cross your arms.

He complied and you got to work. Letting the blue, soft wash mitt around your hand soak into the soupy water, your thoughts wandered to when you got it.

You were standing at the counter with a wash mitt that had soft tassels covering it, along with soup and various other objects.

"That's a lot of stuff for washing a car," the balding middle aged man in the store's uniform commented. "It's going to look like you have a furry paw with this thing on," he joked, holding up the mitt before setting it down again.

"Maybe, but it's very absorbent and has chenille microfibers, making cleaning more efficient and will not scratch like a sponge or cloth would. Plus, wearing it will make it easier to move and get the correct motion," you blurted out a fragment of what you learned while googling the best materials to make Knock look even more perfect.

The man whistled and shook his head. "Wow. That's a lot of research. You must really love your car."

You thought about it for a second and nodded with a smile, "Yes, I do."

Now, you focused on the present, wiping the mitt full of soup smoothing over Knockout's hood. It was a task you always poured yourself into, being sure to clean every part of him aside from the undercarriage. You took care and extra time on the scratched area, absent mindedly admiring the paint that was still flawless, soup suds now adorning it.

"Is that good enough?" you asked, slipping off the wet wash mitt and setting it into the bucket. Although you were fairly certain you had done well enough, you wanted his opinion. The hand mirror that was sitting nearby was picked up by you and you held it up so Knockout could observe your work.

He hummed in approval. "Not bad, but I think I'll judge after you rinse and dry me."

"Will do," you agreed. You quickly grabbed the hose. Water spouted from the nozzle poured over him, washing the bits of white soup off of him and onto the floor. Once the bits of white disappeared, you twisted the hose until no more water leaked out of it. You stared at the paint intently to make sure you didn't accidentally leave microscopic scratches when cleaning him. The result satisfied you. Without any further delay, you whipped out a towel. Not just any towel, you couldn't use a normal one for drying off a car, especially not Knockout. It was a microfiber waffle weave towel. You began blotting off the water like you always would. Wiping could result in picked up dirt and scraping it along the paint, which was the last thing you or the medic wanted.

As soon as the rest of the water was picked up, you draped the towel on your arm and said, "Finished with the washing." Your mind was already making a list of what you needed next to buff him out.

He transformed back into bot form to inspect your work while you spun around to get the rotary buffer and other supplies."Not bad. Like always." He turned his arm over to check the door with its gray pattern. "And to think I once thought a human could never do something like this."

"Well I had to learn. I can't do a mediocre job on the great Knockout," you added with a playful smile.

"Where did you learn all of this? You certainly didn't know at first."

A lot of time on the internet, you were tempted to say. And you meant A LOT of time on the internet. Instead you settled for with a shrug, "I just picked it up."

His optics caught the area where the paint was torn off from the battle and he scowled. "But now it's time to get rid of THAT."

"On it," you carried the buffer, compound bottle, and bucket of paint as best you could. "Now that it's clean, I can reapply the paint."

Since Knockout would have to face the possibility of his paint getting ripped off whenever he encountered an Autobot, he had tons of his paint, so you wouldn't have to jump through hoops to find the right color and make sure it was made out of the right material so it wouldn't react badly with the rest of the paint.

You began to mask the headlight below the area you would repaint, as to not get anything on it that wasn't supposed to be there. There was no scratches in the primer, so you didn't need to add primer. With Knockout always keeping himself in prime condition, you didn't need to remove any rust since there was none. That removed two possible steps. You applied the wax and grease remover to the gray area before using a 220 grit sandpaper to smooth out the area for the paint to stick.

While doing this, you heard Knockout grunt from the slight pain caused by the sandpaper. "Sorry, are you alright? Should I be more gentle?" you asked with concern.

"Yeah. It's just a little uncomfortable. I'll be okay, just keep on doing that," he answered as his lights flickered at his words.

You nodded. Once you were done sliding the sandpaper back and forth, you washed that spot again to remove any debris. Next was the actual painting. The can hissed from the seal being broken as you slowly and delicately opened it. After mixing it, you painted on several thin layers. While waiting for each layer to dry, you would either talk to Knockout or he would transform to get some work done if it was semi dry.

When that was done, you pulled out three pieces of sandpaper to even the new paint that stuck up a little. Starting with the 1,000 grit sandpaper to get off the majority, then moving to 2,000 and after 3,000 as you got close to the level of the rest of the paint and needed more fine sandpaper. The next step was to add top coat, which was easier then the previous step.

In other words the whole thing was a long, tedious process. You understood completely why Knockout got so irritated whenever his paint was scratched. Especially since you were the one to fix it most of the time. Plus, you knew it made Knockout upset and you wanted him to look his best.

"Okay." You wiped off your forehead with your wrist. "Now time to get to the actual buffing. Would you like to do this part?" You sincerely hoped he said yes, because no matter how much you wanted to help him, you were getting tired.

"Mmm, I think I'll let you do it," his smooth voice answered. You could tell by his voice he didn't need time to think about it at all.

Sighing, you shook your head with a smile. "Of course. I'm just glad most of the time I'm polishing you and, less frequently, washing you."

"I'm sure you want my paint to look perfect just as much as I do, considering how much effort you put in."

"Maybe," you replied, tongue in cheek.

Now you needed to cover the windows and anything you didn't want compound on. Choosing the appropriate buffing pad and compound, you got right to it. You got the soft circular piece wet and squirted the cream onto it. Slowly and carefully rubbing the spinning pad in circles, making sure you got every spot. It took little effort for you to keep the pressure constant, considering how many times you had done it. The only time you had to think about it was when you reached an edge.

It was beautiful the way it made light swirls at first and make it disappear to reveal shiny paint. You absent mindedly tuned out the whirring of the motor as your brain wandered. Mostly thinking about Knockout, his finish, and how great he looked.

When that was over, you sighed and bent over with your hands on your knees, knowing you had to rinse and wash him all over again. If it weren't for the fact that there were lots of times you had to wait a certain amount of time after a step, you would have been completely winded.

"You're doing a great job, doll," he softly encouraged. "After you wash me off again, I can dry myself."

"Really?" you looked up and smiled at his kind offer that was much appreciated.

"Yep. Although, you'll need to get the parts that are difficult to reach."

"Deal," you almost laughed and felt your smile grow and energy returning.

You practically skipped to the hose. Once you finished spraying the crystal clear water onto him, wiping suds onto him, and rinsing him off all over again, you began to walk over to the corner to relax. A sharp, cool object touched your shoulder and you turned around to see Knockout with his helm tilted.

"I believe I need something." A smirk adorned his handsome face.

You remembered the towel. "Oh." You rushed to get it and bolted back over to him.

He held out his servo for the waffle weave towel. You smiled and nearly fell into a daydream as you stared up at him and handed it to him. Your heart skipped a beat when the edge of your hand brushed against the cool metal of his servo. After a few seconds, you managed to snap yourself out of it before he noticed. You turned, paced over, and flopped into your chair.

Sitting down in the bean bag chair, you bit your lip while you admired Knockout reaching all around his frame to dry himself off. You wished that you could wash and buff him while he was in bot mode, but then you wouldn't be able to reach very far with how small you were.

The daydream and staring session only ended when Knockout tossed the towel to you. It softly hit you in the face and dropped into your lap, leaving a shocked expression on your face.

"Now it's your turn." Knockout winked and shifted back into an Aston Martin.

A low laugh vibrated in your throat, but never left your mouth. You quickly inspected him and got any spot he missed. After that was completed, you got another pad and wax. You set it on low speed and smeared and smoothed the wax onto him. It took a good amount of time, but it seemed faster with you spacing out. As a final touch, you wiped him down with a microfiber cloth to take off any extra wax that didn't need to be there.

When you were finally, completely done, he looked absolutely gorgeous. His paint was a thing of beauty. You had gotten a lot of practice at that kind of thing by being around Knockout, and it showed. You could see your reflection on him. He seemed even more attractive and shiny after transforming.

He whistled while admiring your handy work. "You're a master at this."

"Why would I give you any less except my best?" You threw your extra hand into the air as you used the other to put the rotary buffer away.

His optics looked it over another time. "This is nice. Can you do this again another time?

You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. "No. I just did it." part of you was exhausted and never wanted to do it again, but another part was completely okay with it because, well, he was Knockout.

"C'mon, you know you love me." He set a servo on his shining hip, showing off his signature, amazing grin.

A smirk crept onto your lips. "Yes, I do."

Extended ending: "Argh!" you heard Starscream's voice from behind the door after Knockout walked out. "Your finish is so bright, it's hurting my optics! Did you make (Y/n) buff you again?!"

You gently held your hand over your mouth and giggled.

[cozy-neko]

The Cherry On Top • 01 • 02 | The Cherry On Top • 03

“Kozume, are you even listening to me?” Akaashi sighs and closes his laptop. He was only halfway through his scheduled agenda for today’s meeting, but there was no point in continuing if his client was just going to ignore him for the whole hour.

“I am, I am,” Kenma mumbled, eyes fixated on something that was hidden under the table.

“What did I just talk about for the last ten minutes then?” Akaashi challenged.

“We’re changing my video uploads from Tuesdays to Fridays, and Black Sheep wants to do a sponsorship with me in my next stream,” Kenma replies without skipping a beat. His feline eyes are still glued to his phone, unblinking, as his fingers tapped away at one of his games.

Akaashi sighed once more. “And you’re fine with the upcoming changes and sponsorship then?”

Kenma nodded. “Akaashi. I trust you to make the best decisions for me.” He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head to look his friend in the eye. “I didn’t hire you as my manager for no reason.”

“If I knew working with you was going to be this difficult, I would’ve stuck with my previous job.” Akaashi flashed the male a wry smile.

“Hey, if you want to hand in your resignation letter right now and go back to your previous life of disgusting convenience store food and cigarettes for lunch, by all means.” Kenma smirked and extended a hand out, palm up as if waiting for an actual resignation letter to manifest from Akaashi.

Akaashi cleared his throat and reopened his laptop. “Moving on...”

“TOORU!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as soon as she spotted the fashion editor from across the courtyard. Lunchers nearby stared at the loud girl before turning their heads to look at the unfortunate boy on the receiving end of the shout.

Oikawa contemplated ignoring his friend and instead considered turning around to head back inside TK Mag’s office building. He would rather eat with his annoying suck-up intern than his embarrassing friend. Unfortunately for him, said friend yelled his name once more and beckoned for him to come over.

Oikawa’s eye twitched and he reluctantly trudged across the courtyard and towards Y/N.

“Don’t be so embarrassing, Y/N-chan,” Oikawa grumbled as he took a seat across from her.

“Oh please, as if that airplane tie you’re wearing isn’t embarrassing,” Y/N shot back, eyes flickering up once at the cartoon-printed tie before back down at her laptop screen.

“They’re UFOs, for your information,” Oikawa mumbled through gritted teeth, “and besides, Ayame-chan said it was cute, so your opinion is invalid and unnecessary.”

“Enough about your tie. I’m about to literally combust from nerves.” 

“What is it this time?” Oikawa rolled his eyes and lazily sipped his latte. 

“I’m about to schedule my first blog post for tomorrow.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Who’s the unlucky victim?” Oikawa scooted closer to Y/N, their elbows touching as he leaned in to read off her screen.

“You know, for someone who looks like she’s about to shit her pants from nerves, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Cherry’s online persona,” Oikawa hummed and nonchalantly commented. 

Y/N smacked his shoulder once in response. 

“That’s the whole point, Oinkawa. No one’s supposed to know that Cherry is me, and that I am Cherry.” Y/N sighed and brought the tip of her thumb to her mouth. She nibbled on her fingernail nervously as she clicked on the draft of her blog post. “Well? Can you tell who it is?”

“I would say Miya Atsumu, the MSBY setter, but I wouldn’t exactly call him beautiful, Y/N-chan.”

“It’s not Miya Atsumu and you take that back! He is beautiful, but that’s besides the point; it’s Kozume Kenma, the professional gaming streamer and content creator.”

“Well that’s subjective,” Oikawa sneered. Iwaizumi once had the opportunity to interview Miya Atsumu for an editorial, and Oikawa had tagged along much to Iwaizumi’s headache. Having played as a setter as well during his time in high school, Oikawa had some differences with Atsumu’s playing style, and the two did not get along too well that day.

“How’d you even get this dirt on Kozume Kenma anyways?” Oikawa made a face and smacked Y/N’s hand away from her mouth. “That’s disgusting, Y/N-chan, and you’re getting nail polish in your teeth.”

“I stalked his fan accounts on Twitter. It’s amazing what you can find with a little digging, to be honest.” Y/N scanned her draft. “And a little scary,” she added as an afterthought.

“Ugh, kami, I can’t do this, Tooru!” Y/N whined and shut her laptop, taking her head into her hands. “This is the most disgusting line of work I’ve ever imagined myself having to do.”

“You know no one is forcing you to take this promotion, right?” Oikawa leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is Y/N and TK Mag we’re talking about here.” Oikawa and Y/N turned around at the new voice. “If you were over $100k in student debt and a well-known and well-paying company offered you a promotion, wouldn’t you take it?” Iwaizumi and Hanamaki walked up to the duo and took a seat at their table.

“You’re literally talking about the girl who’s dream is to become a princess and find a rich prince charming to take care of her,” Hanamaki added.

“Hey!” Y/N interjected, but was ignored. 

“But she also didn’t graduate as a journalist with an emphasis in fashion from UTokyo to become a gossip blogger,” Oikawa pointed out.

“Okay can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Y/N pouted. “And you all have valid points.” 

She sighed. This was a tough decision. Y/N does have a lot of student debt to pay off, and the pay raise that came with the promotion was definitely enticing and worth drooling over. On the other hand, Oikawa was right in which Y/N didn’t graduate with over $100k in debt with a journalism degree to become a gossip blogger. But one thing that Y/N also had to think about was that this promotion would’ve been her opportunity to become a full-time employee at TK Mag, her dream company. And then there was Hanamaki, who was there just to out her (slightly) embarrassing and (very much so) unrealistic dream.

“Why’d you even take the promotion anyways? You could’ve just stayed an intern and wait for staff writer positions to open up.”

Y/N knocked twice before entering the Editor in Chief’s private office. “Good afternoon, Chief! You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes, Y/N, come in. Please, take a seat while I finish up this email.”

Y/N grinned and skipped over to the loveseat that occupied the middle of the office. She crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse. Y/N was buzzing, and it wasn’t just because of the three cups of coffee she had stomached throughout the day.

“Judging by how you can’t sit still, I’m assuming you know why I called you in here.” 

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today,” Y/N responded sheepishly. “But I hope you’re gonna tell me what I think it is you’re gonna tell me.” 

It was hard for Y/N to keep the smile on her face from growing as she watched her Chief pull out a folder and place it down on the coffee table in front of her. The smile on Y/N’s face grew bigger as the Chief pulled out a piece of paper and slid it towards her. It was exactly what Y/N was expecting: a contract for a full-time position at the company.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed these past few months you’ve been at TK Mag as an intern, and we’d like to extend our offer to you as a full-time employee.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I accept!” Y/N squealed and eagerly looked through her tote bag for a pen. “I don’t even care what staff writer position it’s for -- although my first choice would be for the fashion department since I did go to school for fashion journalism -- but I’m so excited!!” Y/N was already picturing herself attending fashion shows with Oikawa.

“Y/N, wait. Before you sign, I just want you to know that the full-time position isn’t to become a staff writer for the fashion department.”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped riffling through her bag. “...What is it for then?” 

“TK Mag is going to try something new. We’re going to branch out to a sister site and run a gossip blog called The Cherry on Top. I want you to take on the alias as Cherry and run the blog.”

“Gossip... blog...? The Cherry on Top? Me?” Y/N could hardly comprehend what the Chief was saying.

“Will you accept? I know it’s a brand new position and something we’ve never done before at TK Mag, but we have high hopes and I know you’ll do well as one of my best employees.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’m a fashion writer. I write about fashion week and the latest trends in the fashion industry. I don’t write gossip nor do I want to slander anyone. It’s not my cup of tea.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the Chief wanted her to do such dirty work.

“I had a feeling this might be the case.” The Chief sighed, and all signs of pleasantries disappeared. “Listen, Y/N, if you don’t want this promotion, I’ll give it to the next intern in line. But just know that if you don’t take this position, you’re going to have to clear out your desk by end of day and find a new company to work for.”

Y/N was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her career was getting threatened. Her grip on her pen tightened as she stared at the document in front of her. The words Full-time Employee Contract for: Cherry, The Cherry on Top seemed to glare at her. 

“There will also be a hefty raise included in your promotion,” the Chief added after witnessing Y/N’s hesitation. “You did just graduate from UTokyo, did you not? Surely you don’t want to be riddled with student debt.”

Y/N was torn. What was she going to do? TK Mag was her dream company, and if she refused the promotion and got let go, she would drown in debt. Surely being a gossip blogger wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Y/N swallowed her pride and uncapped her pen. With a quick flourish, she signed her signature on the contract and forlornly shook hands with a now-smiling Chief. 

I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision...

“You made the right decision, Y/N. Welcome to the team.”

Y/N gulped. She couldn’t tell her friends that her job security had been threatened if she didn’t take the promotion.

“Well maybe it was time for me to grow up. I don’t need a rich prince charming to take care of me. I’ll take care of myself with my new pay raise.” Y/N grimaced on the inside. She hoped that was convincing, but judging by the silent stares she received from her three male friends, even she knew they weren’t too believing of her.

“Anyways, Cherry promised her 500 followers the first post will be up tomorrow, and she isn’t one to break promises, so... let’s queue this baby up.” With a swift click of her trackpad, Y/N’s first gossip post as Cherry was scheduled.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki shared a look.

Kenma was unfazed. He really was. Even when his Twitter notifications blew up with mentions, he simply ignored them. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to them in the first place anyways. And when he was in the middle of streaming and his Twitch chat started spamming the link to the blog post, he simply told his mods to delete comments that had anything to do with it.

Kenma was unfazed. Simply because it just wasn’t true. And even though the readers didn’t know if it was true or not and the article was currently trending in the Esports vertical and being repurposed for other articles, Kenma knew it wasn’t true and therefore did not care.

Except Akaashi was getting on his nerves as his manager continued to try to bring it up in conversations. 

“Kozume, you have to say something.”

“Why?” Kenma sighed. He really didn’t see the need to say anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kenma had been the subject of a rumor. It was all going to die down soon anyways.

“It’s been three days already and people are still commenting on it. Your fans are upset, and I think you owe it to them to explain your side.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Akaashi. If fans are that upset about a rumor of me boosting League accounts as a side business, they probably should get a job and hop off Twitter once in a while,” Kenma mumbled and continued to click away on his game controller.

“Well it’s not just your fans that are upset, Kozume. Your sponsorship with Black Sheep is also on rocks right now because of the rumor.” 

At that, Kenma’s fingers slowed, and he watched his character get headshot by the enemy on the TV.

“You’re telling me that they believe some stupid rumor that was probably written by a jealous 13-year-old?” Kenma scowled, and Akaashi finally felt his friend getting serious about the situation. It wasn’t often that Kenma showed his emotions other than his usual aloof self, but when his projects started to get affected, Kenma took things really serious.

“It’s not that they believe it, but they haven’t been as responsive to my emails as they usually are ever since the post was published. It seems they might be taking your silence as the truth.”

Kenma sighed and tossed his controller to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to game anymore. Instead, he stood up and trekked down the hallway towards his game room. Looks like he had a fire to diffuse if he wanted to keep his sponsorship alive.

end notes:

→ student debt and job security is no joke 😢

→ mattsun did not join y/n, oikawa, iwa-chan, and hanamaki during lunch because he was away on a photoshoot assignment

→ kenma did boost league accounts back when he was still in college and barely starting out as a streamer... except the accounts he boosted was kuroo’s and hinata’s because they wouldn’t stop begging him to until he did

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[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?”

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar. 

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground. 

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping. 

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him. 

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too. 

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail. 

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away. 

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself. 

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.” 

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay. 

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.” 

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door. 

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.” 

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

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

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion. 

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock. 

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck. 

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.” 

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

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

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet. 

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so. 

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks. 

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.” 

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam. 

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes. 

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses. 

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

[asthmark]

❝ among the stars ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “Would you be willing to give me the amulet, my prince? Or will I have to rip it off you?”

word count → 6.9k

a/n → when i say i cannot believe i did this i MEAN THAT like i started this in FEBRUARY and here we are, wow! ok on a real note i’m not proofreading because, like always, it is 4 in the morning and i want to get 3 hours of sleep at the very least D: anyway i’ll rest well knowing this is done so plz enjoy!

“Do you ever get tired of looking for a treasure that could be fake for all we know? ‘Cause I sure do.”

“Quiet.”

You slouch down in your seat. “So mean, captain.”

Taeyong turns to glare at you, hoping it’ll get rid of the smirk on your face. “This mission is hard enough on its own, your commentary doesn’t make it any easier.”

You roll your eyes. “Would you rather we just sit here in complete silence ‘til we find the… gem or jewel or whatever it is?”

“It’s an amulet,” Taeyong corrects. “And yes, definitely.”

“Would you two knock it off?” says Jaehyun from the passenger’s seat.

“I say let them go at it,” Yuta murmurs, staring out the window, into the vast galaxy.

Jaehyun raises a brow. “Is watching your teammates argue amusing to you?”

Yuta shrugs. ‘We’re in the middle of space, what else is going to entertain me?”

You see Taeyong's grip on the steering wheel tighten. He was serious about this mission. His team? Not so much. The only person who seemed to back him up on everything was Jaehyun but that was given seeing how he was his second in command.

“Yuta.” Jaehyun's tone could rival a disappointed mother’s. “Could you at least try and be a little professional?”

The redhead scoffs. “There's nothing professional about this team. We’re a bunch of criminals.”

That was true. You all had bounties over your heads, a consequence for having committed countless crimes all over the galaxy. Taeyong was probably the one that was most serious about what he did, always doing things with vigor and determination, no matter how illegal it was. Jaehyun was the same way although he was a little more detail-oriented, focusing on little things rather than the big picture. He always polished Taeyong’s plans to perfection. They made a great duo and, in fact, for a while it had just been the two of them. Then they realized they needed a team to be able to execute their ambitious plans.

That’s where the rest of you came in.

They had told you they found Johnny first. That was no surprise. He was tall and muscular, impossible to miss. If Taeyong and Jaehyun were the brains, he was definitely the brawn. When they had first met, Johnny was doing nothing but getting in fights. He was always the bigger man, he always won. It seemed to give him a rush, defeating his opponent with ease. Taeyong and Jaehyun stroked his ego to no end, telling him he would be a perfect addition to the team they were forming. The praise was enough to convince him to join.

They found Yuta second but you were never told the full story. From what you had gathered, he had attempted to pickpocket Taeyong. You had no idea how that would've led to him joining the team but you found it incredibly hilarious. You assumed your relentless teasing was the reason why Taeyong wouldn’t tell you about it but it didn’t matter to you; everytime Yuta references it, you still laugh.

Lastly, there was you.

Meeting the boys was probably the most memorable thing that had happened to you. You still remember how Taeyong had wordlessly walked into the gas station—where you were working at the time—and held you at gunpoint with his face shielded only by a black ski mask. Before he could even demand you give him all the cash in the register, a dark blue haired male had rushed in. You can still remember the sequence of events like it was yesterday.

“Taeyong, what do you think you’re doing?”  

“I thought I told you to stay on the ship, Jaehyun! And where’s your mask?”

Jaehyun ignores the second question. “I thought we had agreed to always form a plan before we steal something!”

Their argument is cut short by the bell on the door ringing as a tall, brunette male and a shorter bleach-blonde enter. You catch the way Taeyong sighs, “you have got to be kidding me” under his breath.

“Hey, Taeyong? Yuta and I were wondering if you could buy us some snacks.”

“Johnny and I have been on our best behavior so you owe us.”

“Jesus Christ.” Taeyong pinches the bridge of his nose over the fabric of the mask. “This is you on your best behavior? Interrupting my robbery for some snacks? The plan was I come in here, get the money, and you all thank me for being a good leader!”

“No wonder you need my help making plans, they're so unrealistic,” Jaehyun mutters.

Taeyong shoots him a glare. “Look, we’re running low on fuel, we barely even made it here. I thought if I acted fast I could just get the money and we'd be on our way.”

“Let’s just try that corner store a couple galaxies over. The guy behind the cash register is young. You think that kid will really say no to us?”

“That’s low.”

“Hasn't stopped us before.”

“I’m with Johnny. It'll be hilarious to see him pissing his pants the second Taeyong aims a gun at his head. Easy money.”

“You guys need serious help.”

“And yet you still hired us.”

“I’ll give you the money.”

Your statement ends the bickering between the four males. They stare at you in bewilderment and they’re stunned into silence as if they’re certain you’re pulling their legs. To prove yourself, you spin around and grab a brown paper bag that you usually used to put the customer’s liquor in and begin stuffing it full with all that was in the register.

You hear them whispering and mumbling but you just continue bagging the money as calmly as you would groceries. It takes only a couple seconds before the brown bag is overflowing with the pink bills that were only valid currency on the planet you were on. You wordlessly hand it to Taeyong.

He grabs it, holding it close to his chest and peering down at it, his eyes seeming to widen the longer it was in his arms. Jaehyun’s eyes darted between you and the bag like he was waiting for some sort of catch. Yuta and Johnny both cracked a smile, as if the unforeseen chain of events was comical to them.  

“Happy?” you ask.

They all turn to you, the look in their eyes still skeptical but Taeyong, ever the leader, speaks for the team and gives you a nod.

“Good. Now I get to come with you.”

Johnny is the first to react, erupting into long and hard laughter. “Is that seriously what you want in return? To join a group of outlaws and run from the police?”

You give him a firm nod.

His laughter dies down. “Whatever you say. It’s your life, babe.”

You all watch as he walks out of the gas station, putting his shades on (despite it being pitch dark outside) and you’re sure he must feel like a million bucks knowing that you actually wanted to stick around them.

You turn back to the three others. Yuta grabs a handful of snacks from the shelf behind him, cradling the assortment of sweets, chips, and more. “Can I take these?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He smiles and you can't help but notice it’s healing aura. “Good to have you on the team.” He also makes way for the door.

You’re almost positive that his willingness to have you join their group came solely from you granting him permission to take the food.

Taeyong is the next to leave and he does it silently, offering you nothing but a small smile as he held the bag of money as tightly as he could and used the side of his arm to push the door open.

“Why do you want to come with us?”

You turn to Jaehyun. It was just you and him. By staying back he had once again proved to be the only one who truly thought things through.

“Believe it or not, robbing gas stations seems better than picking up another late shift for a lazy coworker on this dull planet. The thrill is a bonus.”

You catch a pair of dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Yeah, well with that thrill comes three idiots, myself excluded.”

“I’ll manage.”

“In that case, welcome to the crew.”

“It doesn’t matter that we’re criminals!” Jaehyun shouts, bringing your attention back to reality. “That doesn't mean you get to be a pain in my—”

“Hey!” All of a sudden, the door that leads into the cockpit slides open and Johnny’s head pops in. “I need a new toothbrush. Can we stop by a gas station or something?”

“Just use hers.” Yuta jabs his thumb in your direction. “Work’s for me.”

“Wait, what?” you ask, mouth agape. “You better be joking.”

He just shoots you a smile, displaying his pearly whites, as if to tease you. You whine and make a face that expresses all your disgust.

“Relax, I rinse it off when I’m done like, almost every time.”

“Almost?”

Taeyong speaks up before you can go off on Yuta. “Alright! Next stop, gas station!”

Your ship lands on a nearby planet and when you land, you can’t help but gaze out the window in awe, the luxurious ships and opulent buildings catching you off guard. Even the people that cruise down the streets—that practically shone and didn’t have a trace of litter—are draped in flashy clothing.

”We’re gonna look so out of place,” you grumble to yourself but Yuta’s ears pick up on the comment.

“Cheer up.” He points to the civilians below you. “Just think about how easy they’re gonna be to pickpocket.”

“No pickpocketing.”

A chorus of displeased groans fill the ship. You notice that even Jaehyun seems a little bummed out by Taeyong’s reprimand.

“We’re only here to get what we need. The amulet is our top priority, remember?”

Yuta unbuckles his seatbelt. “The amulet is your top priority. Mine is stealing some filthy rich dude’s fancy watch.”

“Well, just think about how much the amulet is worth. You’ll be able to have all the stupid watches in the world.”

“Yeah, once we find it.”

Johnny’s comment reminds each and every one of you of your current struggle—actually locating the amulet. It was undeniable that finding the treasure’s whereabouts had been your biggest obstacle so far. In fact, the idea of it being nonexistent had been tossed around, much to your captain’s displeasure. In fact, the only reason any of you had heard about this item was because of Taeyong.

According to his grandfather’s tales, it was so valuable that it could turn someone from rags to riches but the mystery of where it was prevented him from finding it himself. It was clear the amulet was something special to Taeyong and his dedication to attaining it was probably sparked by his grandfather’s own desire to do so and only fueled by his death.

He was always on the hunt for it, resulting in the rest of you doing the same, even if you didn’t match his vigor. You scoured the galaxies in pursuit of it but Taeyong’s determination never once faltered.

“Just get in and get out,” Jaehyun commands, siding with Taeyong, as per usual. “We’ll stay here with the ship.”

“Are you afraid someone’s gonna steal it?” Johnny teases, standing from his seat. “Because I wouldn’t worry about it.”

You snicker. “What a polite way to say it’s a hunk of junk.”

“Might I remind you that someone begged to be on this,” Taeyong makes sure to make in-air quotes, “hunk of junk.”

“She was so innocent and naive back then,” sighs Jaehyun, hand placed dramatically over his chest. “What happened?”

“You guys did. Practically drove me into insanity.”

“I’m sure you would’ve gotten there yourself,” counters Johnny.

You can’t seem to argue with that so you simply shrug. “Probably.”

“Get a move on, you guys.” Taeyong stretches his limbs out as far as they can go and then comfortably places his hands behind his head with a yawn. You had never thought about how tiring piloting the ship was for him. “We’ll be waiting.”

With that, you, Johnny, and Yuta exit the ship, receiving some of the nastiest looks you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing as soon as you step foot on the planet.

“What’s with all the staring?” you mutter as you make eye contact with a seemingly disgusted woman dressed in gold from head to toe. “You would think that with all that money they could pay for some good manners.”

Johnny agrees only mumbling, “If looks could kill.”

Yuta lets out a frustrated sigh. “All I want is something expensive. I’ll even take a ring at this point, I don’t care. How am I even supposed to get my hands on anything when everyone is too scared to get within five feet of us?”

“Guess we don’t meet their standards.”

“Having that amulet would come in handy right about now,” you comment.

Johnny snorts. “Oh. Right. The prized amulet.”

“You mean the one that only exists in grandpa’s head?”

“Say that Taeyong’s face, Yuta, I dare you.”

“No thanks. I might be stupid but I’m not an idiot. I know he’d knock me out cold.”

Johnny shakes his head. “He’s so set on finding it. I still remember the day he finally brought it up to all of us. There was this fire in his eyes. He seemed so determined that I would’ve followed him across galaxies to get the stupid thing.”

Yuta chuckles. “We all did. But it’s been, what? A year now? Seems kind of impossible at this point.”

“I wish we’d just go back to doing all the fun crimes that he and Jae would come up with when we first met. Remember those?”

You can’t help but smile at the memories, remembering the feeling of adrenaline racing through your veins as you continue listening to Johnny and Yuta talk.

“Yeah. Those were the good days. Now our lives are just a huge wild goose chase.”

“We’re here,” you announce, steering the conversation away from your misfortunes.

The three of you peer at the building before you, its windows are shiny and from the glimpse you catch of the inside, everything is stocked up and organized. The sign above it reads ‘Purveyor’ in bold letters.

“This is the closest thing they have to a gas station?” Yuta asks, mouth agape.

You nod. “I think so.”

“I don't wanna go in. Nice things scare me.”

You ignore Johnny and take the first step forward. The cashier glances up from counting money when the bell on the door rings, alerting him of your presence. He almost drops the currency when he gets a good look at you. Although, he doesn’t seem judgy. In fact, he seems more in awe with you than anything else.

You stuff your hands into your cargo pants as you awkwardly walk past him and roam the store. You hear the door open and soon enough Yuta joins you as you skim the shelves, grabbing the necessary items.

“Pick your toothbrush,” you tell him as you grab one for yourself. You had immediately gotten rid of the one you two had shared. “And please stick to it this time.”

He cracks a smile as he eyes his options. “Do they have those ones that light up? And play the songs so you know how long to brush?”

“You mean the kid ones?” You’re ready to laugh at Yuta’s joke but he seems serious enough as he nods his head, vigorously.

“Uh, well, they’re probably around here somewhere. Keep looking.” You hold back a chuckle when he goes back to searching intensely. “Which one does Johnny want?”

“Not sure, he stayed outside.”

“Oh god, he was serious about being scared?”

“Probably just wants us to do all the shopping.”

“Well, go tell him that if he doesn’t come in here and pick a toothbrush, I’ll be taking the liberty of getting him this one.” You hold up a fuschia pink one with a cute princess character on it. You assumed it was from some cartoon that was popular with the children of the planet.  

Yuta obeys and seconds later, Johnny magically appears to grab a solid blue toothbrush off the shelf and give you a glare. After grabbing a couple more items, you check out. Johnny fishes into his pocket for money, mumbling about how he knew it was in there somewhere. After much digging, he pulls out a crumpled wad of cash that you’re pretty sure isn’t even valid on the planet you’re on. He smiles proudly at you and Yuta then the cashier but the expression quickly falters.

“Wong Yukhei?”

You glance between him and the man behind the register—Yukhei, according to Johnny.

“Johnny Suh!” Yukhei’s voice is loud but filled with excitement. “I thought I recognized you! But I told myself there was no way!”

Johnny laughs, breathlessly. “I could say the same thing! What are you doing here, man?”

He casts his eyes downwards. “As soon as you left with those two guys, I realized I didn’t wanna street fight for the rest of my life either. I wanted to start over and I thought, what better place than here? So, I picked up a job at the palace—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Johnny interrupts. “You? In a palace? Never would've seen that coming.”

Yukhei grins so wide it seems like second nature. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I just worked as a guard.”

“That’s still something!”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

Your question seems to bring his spirits down once again. “I quit. They kept telling me to ‘work harder’. But it was just about impossible, I was already running around like crazy for the royal family. They’re so demanding, I swear. Only person who didn’t drive me crazy was the prince.” He sighs. “I didn’t have what it took, I guess.”

“Sorry to hear that, Yukhei,” Johnny sympathizes. “You still made an effort, though.”

He nods. “Yeah. But it doesn’t always work out. So, here I am.” He forces a weak smile. “What about you?”

“I turned things around—not for the better, though.”

Yukhei raises a brow, offering you and Yuta a glance. “I’m guessing your new friends have something to do with that.”

Yuta chuckles. “Hey, he joined the team before me or her.”

“Team?” Yukhei echoes.

Johnny nods, half heartedly. “Yeah. Long story short I basically live on a ship with four fools, commit crimes, and look for imaginary treasure.”

Yukhei looks dumbfounded but his lips curve upwards in amusement. “Sounds… fun?”

This produces a laugh from Johnny. “Sometimes.”

He leans forward on the countertop, curiously. “And what’s this treasure we’re talking about?”

“Some amulet. Our guy in charge—you’ve seen him, he’s got pink hair—is wild about finding it. We’re just along for the ride.”

Yukhei nods in understanding. “I see… and this amulet, could you describe it for me?”

Johnny shares an uncertain look with you and Yuta, obviously expecting one of you to come forward. You both return his stare.

Yukhei chuckles. “Okay, lemme ask again. Could you bring me someone who can describe it?”

Not even a minute later, Taeyong has been forcibly dragged out of the ship joined by Jaehyun who insists on filling his duty of backing up the older male.

“Yukhei, this is Taeyong. Taeyong, Yukhei. Okay, now that you’re no longer strangers, can you give our friend here a quick description of your beloved amulet?”

Taeyong is taken aback by Johnny’s strange request but does so anyway. When it came to the amulet, you all knew he would do anything. “Well, it can fit inside the palm of your hand. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous, too. So gorgeous it could be mistaken for a piece of fine jewelry.”

The five of you stay silent as Taeyong continues reciting what he had heard from his grandfather so many times. Once he’s finished, you notice that there’s a satisfied expression on Yukhei’s face.

“I think I know what you’re talking about.”

Taeyong smiles at the declaration, teeth making a bright appearance. He had never met someone other than his relative that knew of this treasure. “Are you serious?”

Yukhei nods, positively sure. “Oh yeah.”

“Do you happen to know where it is?” You can hear the hope and fear in your captain’s voice. You could even feel it. The cruciality of this moment weighs in on you; this could be a turning point in your hunt or another dead end.

“It’s on this planet.”

Your entire crew stays silent, too stunned by this new piece of information to say a word so Yukhei decides to continue.

“In the palace. Around the prince’s neck.”

This is followed by another moment of silence. Each of you celebrate internally, happy to finally have found a location. All that was left was a plan. How were you going to get it in your hands? As if he’s reading your minds, Yukhei speaks up.

“I know how to get it for you, too.”

“How?” Taeyong nearly pleads.

“Johnny?” He directs his attention to the older male. “How do you feel about becoming a palace guard?”

Johnny’s face gives away his answer before his mouth has the chance—his nose scrunches up and his eyes widen ever so slightly. Taeyong stares up at him, filled with a newly found ambition. That seems to pressure Johnny into agreeing to whatever Yukhei was scheming and Taeyong must surely know it.

“I… guess I could.”

“Alright then, go to the palace immediately. They must be desperate to find a replacement for me but they’re always open to more defense. They believe in power in numbers over there, they don’t care where you’re from or who you are. They’ll settle for anyone as long as they look like they can take and give a good punch. And, you know what Johnny? You’re the strongest guy I’ve ever met. It’s impossible that they won’t hire you.”

Johnny smiles at the compliment before asking, “What do I do once I’m inside?”

“You wait. Complete the tasks they give you. Don’t make yourself stand out. Just… don’t be suspicious.” Yukhei seems pleased with the nod of understanding Johnny gives him. “Once night falls, Johnny will wait by one of the backdoors and let somebody in using the keys they’ll give him along with his armor and sword. This will make sneaking inside the palace way easier. Once that person is in, they’ll have to steer clear of any other guards and head to the prince’s room. The amulet will be wherever he is.”

Taeyong purses his lips as he thinks of a candidate to do the sneaking. “Can’t be Yuta—”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll end up stealing stuff instead of staying focused.”

Yuta can’t seem to argue with this statement so he simply nods and keeps quiet.

“Can’t be me, I’m the getaway driver. Jae?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I stay with you. If we get found out, you’ll need defense.”

Five pairs of eyes end up on you and you sigh. “You don’t even have to say it. I got it.”

Taeyong places a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You give him a genuine smile. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get this amulet… finally.”  

You file into the ship and Yukhei joins you to serve as a guide. He tells you the ins and outs of the castle and informs you of important details as you take off. You can’t help but feel your heart thump as you listen to him. You certainly did not think you would be getting anywhere near the amulet today and yet here you were—about to break into a castle for it.

When you land nearby the palace, that anxious feeling only intensifies. You know you won’t have to do anything risky until later that night but seeing Johnny getting ready to leave makes you realize that it was really happening. You were finally going after what you had spent the last year of your lives seeking. You couldn’t afford to slip up despite all the things that could go wrong.

“Nervous?” you ask, approaching the brunette.

He runs a hand through his hair and gives you an honest shrug. “Kind of. But then I think about how good life’s gonna be once we get that amulet.”

You admire his positive outlook. You decide that you’ll match his mindset instead of bringing him down with your worries. “True. We’ve been waiting for this. It’s kind of exciting when you think about it.”

He nods. “We can do it.”

You’re sure his certainty is supposed to boost your confidence as well so you reply, “I know.”

With that, he leaves the ship, walking into the bustling streets, towards the palace Lucas has described to him. Although, he assured him it’d be impossible to miss. You watch his figure become increasingly harder to track before he disappears completely, becoming just another someone in the crowd. You back away from the window with a sigh.

All that was left to do was play the waiting game. But you had been playing it for the last year, right? What would another couple hours do?

It was true what they said about sunsets being more beautiful on certain planets. You decide that this specific planet is one of them. Everyone onboard the ship takes a pause from worrying to gaze at the sky, painted with warm oranges and yellows before setting into a cool purple and blue hue. Stars begin to appear and you see the outline of three moons in the distance. Night time was near and you would be needed on the field soon. You prayed that Johnny had successfully made it inside the palace or else your mission would be over before it even started.

“You ready to go?” asks Taeyong as you retie your laces.

You glance up at him and nod, tightening a knot. “I hope so.”

He doesn’t say another word but continues to stand above you, even when you begin to work on your other boot. You suspect he’s trying to find the proper words to tell you not to ruin this for him and simultaneously boost your morale so you stay silent. When you stand from your kneeling position, Taeyong still doesn’t say a thing. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Please be careful.”

This is a command you certainly didn’t expect but you’re not disappointed at all. You carefully wrap your arms around him. “I will.”

“I want you back in one piece, got it, young lady?”

You feel your heart tighten along with the knot in your stomach but you only chuckle. “Yes, captain.”

The three others who sit in the cockpit yell encouragement your way and wave you off before you slip out of the ship, engulfed by the darkness. You had never been afraid of it. It was always more of an ally to you than something to fear. You were grateful—it shielded you away from everyone and everything else whenever you found yourself doing unsavory things which, for the record, was often.

You follow the path Yukhei instructed you to take. You had been ordered to go around the castle, through the nearby woods that would hide you away from any guards patrolling the perimeter. As you tried your best to dodge prickly shrubs and low hanging branches you can’t help but envy Johnny who simply had to knock at the front gates to be let in.

The prospect of seeing your friend again motivates you to keep walking. You might have secretly cursed the castle for being so large as you trudged along, your legs already starting to feel slightly sore and a thin layer of sweat forming on your forehead but you didn’t let yourself feel too discouraged. You remind yourself that Johnny is waiting for you on the fourth door behind the castle, as Yukhei had ordered. You had to make it to him.

For Taeyong.

For your team.

For you.

After what seems like an eternity, you reach the door. Just to be sure you scan it up and down. Wooden? Yes. Scratches on the bottom? Many. Rusty doorknob? Definitely. It seemed to match Yukhei’s description perfectly and if everything was going according to plan, Johnny should be right behind it as well. Without any further hesitation you knock as softly as possible. You don’t expect it to be audible but to your surprise, it opens almost immediately. His figure is poorly illuminated but you can still see the shine of Johnny’s metal armor and the reflection of a moon in his sword.

You give him a quick once over. “Looking good, John.”

He shushes you but you still manage to catch his smile. “Just get in here.”

You obey and he closes the door behind you as soon and quickly as possible. You barely get a chance to look around what you’re sure to be the nicest place you’ve ever been before Johnny’s ushering you towards a large set of stairs. You both rush up them and upon reaching the second floor he grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to stare directly at him.

“Go left, right, down the hall, and through the door. It’ll be the last door to your right.”

He’s referring to the location of the amulet and you nod, hoping he can’t see just how nervous you are. These directions are sacred. They were what you had been looking for.

“There’s no guards up there so just worry about getting the amulet and getting out. I’ll be here in case anyone decides to come by.”

Without further ado you dart up the stairs, the carpet on each step preventing you from making a noise. You glance down at Johnny who is posted at the bottom of the staircase. He smiles warmly over his shoulder and gives you a subtle thumbs up just as a pair of guards pass him by.

You move fast and without hesitation, your friend's words still clear in your mind. When you finally arrive in front of the door that holds the amulet you take a shaky deep breath. Your trembling hand twists the doorknob completely before pushing it open enough for you to take a peek inside.

A boy, around your age, sits cross legged on a king sized bed with satin sheets, acoustic guitar in hand. His fingers fiddle with the strings and he pushes a pair of specks farther up the bridge of his nose as he examines sheet music sprawled all over his mattress, attentively. You hear him hum to himself, tongue poking out of his lips as he concentrates on the melody. He sighs in frustration before leaning back on his headboard. He briskly runs a hand through his black locks before his fingers land on something on his neck. Your eyes widen as you catch a glint of green.

He was still wearing the amulet.

You refrain from groaning. You thought it would be on his dresser or bedside table and that finding it would only take a little rummaging. Then again, you also thought he was going to be asleep. It seemed like this guy just wanted to make things difficult for you.

You find yourself to be at a loss. You ask yourself what Taeyong would do before concluding that pondering it was useless. Obviously, Jaehyun would be right by his side as backup. You had no one but Johnny at the bottom of the stairs and you couldn’t call for him. What about Yuta? He would probably charge in, gun cocked and loaded. You couldn’t do that either.

You decide that all you can do is your best.

So, you knock. The humming ceases and you hear the bed creak. You press yourself against the wall, holding your breath as his footsteps near and the door flies further open.

“Donghyuck, I know you’re a servant but I already told you that you don’t have to knoc—”

The prince isn’t given a chance to finish before your hand is clamped firmly against his mouth. Your other hand grips his shoulder with such force that he wails in pain. You feel him struggle to escape your grip and his cries come out muffled. You push him against the door, eyes boring into his caramel brown orbs.

“Would you be willing to give me the amulet, my prince? Or will I have to rip it off you?”

Your every word is laced with venom and if anything, he should feel more threatened but you can’t help but notice that his screams have stopped. He mumbles something that you can’t understand so you part your fingers so he can get a couple words in.

“You’re a girl?”

You shut your hand over his mouth again, rolling your eyes. “Yes, I’m a girl. Problem?”

He shakes his head, furiously.

“Great. Amulet, please?”

He raises a hand to grip the string that binds the precious emerald green stone to his neck. He removes it and places it in your outstretched hand. You refuse to let the sheer excitement that blooms in you show. You needed to maintain the upper hand.

“Very good. You’re a smart thing, huh? Glad to see they taught someone around here some common sense.”

You inspect the amulet and allow yourself a smile. Just a small one. You tuck it into your pocket before turning your attention back to the prince.

“What’s your name?”

“Mark. Mark Lee.”

“Alright, Mark Lee. You’ve been very cooperative with me tonight, surprisingly so. I want you to keep it up, can you do that for me?”

He nods and you drag him towards his bed, forcing him to sit down on the edge. He gazes up at you, eyes slightly watery. You feel a pang of guilt at his fearful look but then you remember the gem in your pocket and suddenly a couple tears from Mark don’t seem like such a bad price to pay for it.

“Sit here. Don’t move until I’m gone. No screaming or calling for help either, got it?”

He nods once more. You back away from him, watching to make sure he stays still in his place. He does, eyes still following your every move.

“Okay, Mark, um. Have a good night?”

With that you all but fling yourself at the door. You run back the same way you came, containing any celebratory laughter or dances. You had the amulet. You were set for life. Your friends were, too. You’re convinced that nothing can bring you down.

“Hey! Burglar girl!”

Scratch that.

You spin on your heel and there stands Mark, charging towards you. You debate whether or not to keep running. You were so, so close. The stairs were right there. But then you catch sight of an object in his hand, one that shines even in the dark of the hallway. It’s green and hangs by a string. You pat your pocket, making sure if you really even had the amulet. You feel it, it’s with you. Then what was it that Mark had?

Against your better judgment, you wait right where you stand, allowing the boy to catch up to you. He wordlessly holds the second amulet up for you to take. You grab it, Mark having seemingly no problem with that.

“That’s… a decoy,” he pants, pointing to your pocket, doubled over as he inhales air.

You feel yourself become even more confused than before and this time you have no control over your facial expressions. Your eyebrows furrow and you hold the real amulet close to your face, staring at it carefully with uncertainty. All you can ask is, “why are you doing this?”

By this point Mark’s caught his breath and he stands up straight. “I wanted you to have the real one. I mean, you went through all this effort, right?”

“I don’t buy that. What are you gonna do? Turn me in? Is this a trap?”

Before you can speculate any further, Mark entraps your wrist with his hand. You kick yourself for even stopping in the first place. If you had made a run for it, at least you could go back to Johnny and Taeyong and the rest of your friends even if the amulet you held was fake. Now you were going to get consequences, for sure. You prepare for him to call out for someone but he never does.

“I want to go with you.”  

You’re sure your ears are deceiving you so you don’t even bother responding and for a moment there’s just silence. He clears his throat.

“Did you hear me?”

“Oh, so you really did say that, huh?”

“Um, yes, I did.”

You shake your head. “Sorry, I’m just in a shock, I’m sure you can understand.”

He nods and releases his grip on you. “Yeah, this must be pretty confusing but I promise I’m being serious. Royal life is not something I’m cut out for and running away with a pretty stranger seems like my best bet right now.”

You blink a couple times. “Wow. So, this is how Jaehyun felt that one time.”

Mark tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing. Let’s just go. But only if you’re sure about this.”

“I’m positive.”

“Alright then.” You begin to go down the stairs before you pause and look back at Mark and the amulet in his hand. “That is real, right?”

He can’t help but give you a lopsided smile. “Yes, it is.”

“Just making sure.”

BONUS:

Taeyong is a loss for words as his eyes dart between you and the dark haired boy besides you. Jaehyun matches his confusion, arms crossed over his chest. Yukhei seems equally amused and worried, glancing at Mark, tentatively. Yuta smiles wickedly, interested with how things have gone and surely excited to see you attempt to explain yourself.

“Um, Johnny?” Taeyong says, hoping the oldest one onboard will have some kind of explanation.

He shrugs, a tired expression on his face. “I have no idea. The kid was set on coming, I wasn’t gonna say no. I just wanted to get out of there.”

Taeyong nods, staring at Mark, intensely. “Uh-huh. And you’re here because?” He leaves the question open-ended and Mark rubs the back of his neck, giving you a lingering look.

“Well, she kind of just appeared in my room and started bossing me around and like, I freaked but it was also the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years so I didn’t want to lose her so I gave her the amulet—the real one, by the way—and told her I wanted to come along. Now I’m here in front of you all and I’m kind of uncomfortable, I won’t lie—”

“You got the amulet?”

You’re grateful for Taeyong’s interruption; you’re sure that without it, Mark would rant the entire night.

You shake your head. “He has it, actually.”

Mark steps forward and places it around Taeyong’s neck without a second thought. On the way back, you had briefly explained to him how long he had been looking for it and how much it meant to him. Mark found his dedication incredible and seemed even excited to give Taeyong his long-awaited prize.

Taeyong’s hands delicately trace the outline of the accessory and you swear he tears up.

“I’m glad it’s yours now,” Mark comments. “Even if you do sell it. It just sat around back at the palace, another ridiculously expensive thing nobody really cared about.”

Taeyong nods with a sniffle, overcome with emotion. Jaehyun reaches over to rub his back. Yuta begins to clap slowly but you nudge him and he knocks it off. You hear Johnny thank Yukhei for his help, to which he only shakes his head, humbly.

You lock eyes with Mark and he glances around the ship, looking suddenly nervous. You smile at his antics, motioning for him to come closer. He slowly obeys and you extend your hand towards him. He stares down at it, hesitantly.

“I don’t bite,” you promise. “I just want to start over. I don’t think I made the best first impression.”

He grips your hand back with a chuckle. “I beg to differ. I know you were trying to rob me and everything but you still seemed nice enough. That’s stupid to say about the person who had me pressed against a wall like, half an hour ago but to be honest, I was fine with it. It was kinda hot—”

A chorus of too loud to be real coughs fill the ship and the culprits are none other than your crewmates. They all eye Mark, as if to give him a warning. Even Yukhei gives him a nasty look.  

“Um, so, anyway, thanks. For getting me out of there. Might not seem like it but it really sucked.”

You understand him completely, having been in a similar situation yourself. “No problem. Glad to have you around.”

The sudden sound of sirens prevent you from saying anything else. They’re incredibly loud and you press your hands over your ears to try and shield yourself from the horrendous noise. To add to the commotion, a couple cop ships speed by in the near distance.

“The sirens are from the palace!” Mark exclaims. “They’re probably looking for me!”

“So are the cops!” you respond.

You laugh at the way his face drops with worry. Being on the cops’ bad side was still foreign to him. You place a reassuring hand on his back.

“Don’t worry! You’ll get used to it!”

[brideofcthulhu10]

The Lost Boys Find Out Their Fem!S/O is Pregnant [4/4]

SUBJECT WARNING: PHYSICAL AGRESSION, SEXUAL THEMES AND A WHOLE LOT OF SWEARING. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Alrighty then, my lovely fang babes! Here we are, we have the last of the first edition of the pregnancy saga! Worry not, dearest readers, for there is hope! I plan on doing a separate series about going through the pregnancy, and maybe even going through the childbirth with how the boys are as new dads. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see more, and by tomorrow night we'll have a whole new set to love!

It was such a blast writing Paul's, I'm not gonna lie I got lost in the magic! We have a cute little character cameo for all you 80s movie nerds, lemme know if you can figure out what it is! So, without any more delays; here he is. The gorgeous, the goofy, the one, the only:

PAUL

Today had been an unexpected challenge. You barely got through your shift at the record store, every time you were in light it made you dizzy. Hangovers had nothing on this! Did you drink too much the night before? No, now that you thought about it any attempts to drink had you hugging a toilet. Not to mention your period was late as hell! Well, not the cramps, go figure. Just no blood. None at all. 

You never let on to your beau, Paul, though. The party boy vampire would become overly worried if you told him you were sick, and you weren't about to spoil a good time with a bit of nausea. So here you were, stumbling about the day into the late afternoon absolutely miserable. Your manager Iona offered you some crackers and ginger ale during your lunch break. No dice, within an hour you were running to the bathroom again. 

"Gosh hon, I dunno what ta tell ya. Maybe you ate something nasty, I told you that boardwalk food was fishy," Iona sighed, poking at her own lunch with a fork. Currently your coworker Andie was watching the front until you were feeling better.

"Kill me now, Iona," you groaned, chin resting on the table with your arms laid over your head. Then there was a smell. The greatest, most flavorful, mouthwatering scent you've ever experienced. Like a honey baked ham and a New York sirloin had a glorious new baby drizzled in ecstasy. Glancing over, your stomach growled at whatever it could be. If this were a cartoon you'd be flying to what it was.

Oddly enough, it was coming from Iona. Well, whatever black stuff was in her little plastic tupperware dish. Who cares what it was, it smelled incredible.

"Hey uh..," you asked, leaning over towards the sticky, mysterious delicacy calling your name. "You wouldn't mind if I had a bite, would ya?"

"You sure, hon? This isn't exactly your average dish, it's kinda weird," she tried to explain. God you couldn't take your eyes off it! Finally, your merciful manager pushed it your way, and you couldn't resist any longer. 

"I don't even care, this is the first thing in the past two days that hasn't made me nauseous," you muffled between cosmic bites.

Oh shit, this was heaven! It had to be some sort of meat, it reminded her of a nice spicy kielbasa, a slow roasted brisket, every second it changed to some new world of food you had never tried. What it was didn't matter by this point.

"Wooow. I've never met someone who liked black pudding that much."

Pudding? "I thought it was meat or something? It doesn't taste anything like pudding," you insisted, polishing off the very last specs of it. "Got any more?"

"No, no, not like chocolate pudding or stuff like that, kiddo. black pudding. It's this dish from the UK my new boyfriend made me. It's congealed pig's and cow blood mixed with spices."

You made a face. Blood? Like, blood blood? The cow equivalent of what Paul drank on a daily basis? Yet this was the first time you didn't puke, in fact, you kinda wanted more. Even knowing what is was made of.. for some reason you craved more. Meanwhile Iona continued to talk on and on, until one phrase caught your ears. "Yea, ya know my mom was so into for the longest time. Said she craved it her whole pregnancy, I never got a taste for it honestly."

A single thought popped into your head. A dangerous, foreboding thought that your intuition said was very much a possibility. In a flash you jumped up, nearly slamming your hands on the table. "I gotta go. Oh shit, I gotta go! I'll be right back, I swear, I'm so sorry, I swear to god I'll be right back," you shouted as you bolted out of the store.

"Wait what-?!"

You'd make it up to her once you got back. You had to know! You had to be sure..! Please just let it be paranoia! Please let it be anything, anything at all besides what you thought it was!

Once you reached the nearest CVS you made a B-line to the women's health section. Your hair clung to your face, your lungs stung like crazy but all you could think about was getting answers. And cue the disapproving glare of some old bat picking out a box of pads. Alright being 17 in front of the pregnancy tests looked bad. You weren't just a high schooler, you looked it too. "What're you looking at, " you snarl. Immediately she clutched her pearls, startled by this abrasive youngin' in no mood for dirty looks. God why'd there have to be so many options? Pink boxes, purple ones, bright yellow insisting it worked the fastest. The heavy fluorescent lights were no help at all, it made your head spin. You had no time for this crap. In a sweeping motion you grabbed three different brands and threw them into your basket, all you needed was….where was your wallet? Shit... Glancing around you checked for any nearby cameras or staff. Karma be damned, it was an emergency! Five finger discount it was. 

Once again you made a mad dash back to the record store as the sun finally set. All three boxes were crumpled in your hand, your boots running so fast it you hit a rock that'd be it.

But getting back to the record store was your best bet. You weren't about to pee in some dirty, old, nasty pharmacy bathroo- oh fuck. There was something that finally slowed your steps, nearly making you trip in the process. Four bikes parked right outside. Three of which were occupied by by Dwayne, David and Marko all talking amongst themselves.

Shiiiit, shit, shit! All you could do was swear repeatedly. Before they could spot you, you practically dove into the alleyway behind the store, rapidly disabling the alarm. If that went off it'd be a dead giveaway. Quickly you looked left and right before you slammed the door shut behind you still trying to catch air.

But there, right past the door to the employees lounge, over by the counter you could see a mass of blonde hair chatting away with Iona about Led Zeppelin's best album to date. Paul, gorgeous as every, laughing. It made your heart flutter, but then it sank. What if it was a-... He was never the type to run away from a challenge. But then again, a kid wasn't a challenge, it was a massive ordeal. It would take a huge chunk of his life- well, afterlife! Boozing and cruising would be switched out with drowsy days and busy nights. You weren't sure if you wanted him to know if you were, it would take all that from him. Unfortunately, he must've smelled you or sonething, because immediately he turned around like a puppy being called.

"Babe," he cheered with delight, rushing over to hug you. Rather squeeze you by your hips and lift you four feet off the ground. Quickly you stuffed the skinny boxes into your back pocket, now smushed up against his chest. "Where were you? Ion's said you just bolted mid-shift, we were worried sick! Well, I mean, I was more worried though, cuz I can't stand you bein' gone, kitten."

"Well, yeah uh, I forgot something I had to get at the store, and I forgot what time I got off," you hesitated, still antsy to escape to the bathroom. Truthfully you didn't actually want to, you had to! If you could, you'd just kiss him and ride off into the night to raise some hell like you always did. But this was too big to ignore.

Paul raised a brow. You weren't known for being this jumpy. You wouldn't look him in the eyes, they just kept darting towards the bathroom. Boy, you really did look sick, though. Pale, almost greenish with dark circles under your eyes. You even felt colder than usual. "Am I uh, interrupting something, babe?"

You managed to work out if his arms, giggling nervously. "Actually I-I had some of Iona's lunch earlier, and I just, gotta- be right back!"

With that, you bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Again, weird. Paul just shrugged, maybe you had some bad Mexican.

 Iona wasn't convinced. Little miss jumpy-pants skipping out on her, you owed her an explanation. While Paul perused the albums she sunk over to the bathroom, rapidly tapping on the door. "Y/N! Psst! You good in there, hon?"

You were most certainly NOT good! Your hand shook, the third test finally finished. Not like it mattered! They all said the same thing. Every fucking one of them.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

No, no, no!

"Shit," you hissed. "Shit! Oh shit, oh fuck! Fuck-fuckity shit fuck fuck! Dammit." That's all you could do! You swore over, and over, and over, rapidly kicking the wall in front of you. Stupid pink plus! Why? Why did it have to be a plus?? Immediately you threw it in the trash and scooped up the other two. Maybe they were all flukes? Maybe only a doctor could tell you! You had to get home. Like now. Right now, you just had to rush home, make an appointment at the doctors, maybe hide in shame for a few days just until you could figure out what the hell to do with all this! Once again you wedged the tests in your back pocket and nearly tripped, cracking open the door to face your boss. "Iona, I gotta get home."

"Seriously, Y/N?? Why? What is with you?"

"Please, I swear I will make it up to you, I'll take a double shift, I'll wash your damn car-"

"Oh no, nuh-uh. Not until you tell me why you're being such a spaz," she practically shouted in a hissing whisper, absolutely exasperated. You teens and your drama, when she always said she wanted to fell young again this is NOT what she meant!  

"Listen i-... iyay amyay egnantpray," you whispered. Pig latin. It was a little code you two usually reserved for secrets. Well, that and talking smack about snotty customers. But wow was this a big ol' secret. 

Iona covered her mouth. Oh, you little idiot! You poor little idiot. Looking over at the unsuspecting boyfriend she sighed, looking you in the eyes. She wanted to just tell you to come clean to your man. The boy hung around you constantly, you two were the ultimate it-couple, there wasn't even sparks it was like watching supernovas. Something this big.. it shouldn't be left in the dark!

But that pitiful expression on your face just begged her to keep quiet, and frankly it wasn't her place to tell you what to do- well, at least in this regard. "Alright, alright. This saturday you're taking my night time shift, there's a big concert I wanna go to. And you gotta wax my car, it's gettin' nasty. And you better write the best damn apology note in the history of apology notes, sweetie. This is huge, you better come clean to him eventually, or I'll kick your little butt you hear me?"

"Yes. Absolutely, fine, deal. Just please, please keep him busy, I'm not ready to tell him," you whined, clutching the door. Frankly it sounded like a piss poor plan, but it couldn't be helped, not right now at least. You didn't have the strength to confront the situation head on, you were barely keeping it together. You wanted to cry all over, jump into his arms and come clean now, but this was neither the time or place.

As soon as Iona went to go over to Paul you stuffed the tests into your purse and bolted out the back door, only this time stealth was not on your side. Right at the mouth of the alleyway, just as you were about to be home free- you ran smack dab into a particularly lithe blonde that felt like a brick wall. You went flying onto the ground, your purse crashing onto concrete with a hundred pieces of your privacy going every direction. In a panic you began to rapidly stuff it all back, barely able to hide the first two tests as you threw some half baked apology Marko's way. Honestly he deserved a better one than that, but you were too frazzled to be fair at the moment.

"Oh shit, Y/N," Marko exclaimed, immediately kneeling down to help you gather the scattered remains of your purse. "Sorry, I didn't even see you, I was coming back for a smoke. Big Ed is such a douche, can you believe theres no smoking on the-..." His words trailed off, and you shortly saw why. Grasped between his pointer finger and thumb was the little pink strip, and a look of complete disbelief. All you could do was snatch it from him, a heavy moment of silence magically muffling the wild noise and shouts of the busy boardwalk. 

"Do...D-Don't worry about it. Look, I gotta get home, I'll see you arou-," you started, trying to jump up, maybe catch him off guard and make a run for it. Not this time. 

You hadn't even noticed he grabbed your wrist, it was such a blur. He stayed silent, standing up and looking right into your eyes with hidden malcontent. You swore if you answered wrong this mischievous cat would tear your throat out. After all, you were his best friend's girl. If you did anything, ANYTHING, to hurt him... Well, let's just say a pregnancy would be the least of your worries. "Why are you running, Y/N? What the hell is this thing," he asked quietly, eyes flickering between red and blue. "Did you…?"

"Oh don't fuckin' even," You snapped, smacking his arm, yanking your hand out of his grasp. "Of course not! You butt! God, are you serious? What do you take me for- No! I- fuck I just- no!" You kick the tin trash can beside you, watching a plethora of trash fly into the air. "I am freaking out! Of course it's Paul's. Oh fucking god, it's Paul's and I don't know what to do!"

Marko's expression softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I didn't mean to make it sound like that, Y/N. Paul's my friend, I just had to be sure you weren't sneaking around, you know?"

You sighed, pushing back your mess of a hair with misty eyes. This was perfect, a real big screw up from start to finish. All you could do was look over at Marko with pleading eyes. "You can't tell him yet. Please, just please please PLEASE, Marko, don't tell Paul yet!"

"Tell me what, babe?"

Shit. Shit on a stick. You looked behind to see Paul halfway out the back door with a look of concern, one that he rarely carried. You and your dumb mouth, go figure.

The blonde pushed through and let the door close behind him, looking over at his best bud standing alone with his girlfriend who was begging him to keep something secret, from him no less.

 "Marko?"

"Nah, nah, don't look at me man, this is all on you guys," he sighed, hands up in a shielding motion. "Good luck buddy. Gotta go, Y/N." with that the young vampire excused himself from this melting pot of drama, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You just stood there, keeping the little strip tightly grasped behind your back. Paul was silent, but glancing at his hands you saw they were balled so tight his knuckles were white. "P-paul…," you hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip. "I should really… get home.."

Paul only raised a brow, glancing at your arms still tucked behind you. This wasn't like you to hide from him, and that alone frightened him. Nothing had ever frightened him before. And he didn't like the taste of it one bit. "What's behind your back, babe?"

"What?"

Again his spoke, this time his voice lowered into a low growl. "What... do you have... behind your back, babe?" The way he said it was so firm, it made you shake a little. You didn't like stern Paul. They way he hissed the word "babe", practically spoken through clenched teeth

Your throat ached, eyes darting across the ground struggling to think up a good excuse. Anything. A book, your purse, a surprise for him! Anything!

"N-nothing." Apparently, you failed to find any excuses. Great.

Paul's knuckles began to crack, jumping forward to try and snatch it from behind you. When you dodged him, he grew even more furious. You both began to struggle, pushing him away, insisting he just stop and let you leave. But every attempt to reject him only upset him further. Why were you hiding things from him?! How could you just ditch him at the record store when he was worried sick about you??

The struggle built up until finally he had enough. His eyes turned white with rings of fire, brow looming heavily over his eyes and fangs jutting out where his incisors once were. In a flash he grabbed you by you wrists, pinning you so hard to the wall it shook. You still tried to struggle. Thrash, kick, squirm! Steel wished it could be so strong, your muscles ached. This probably wasn't even his full strength, but it dwarfed you in comparison. This terrifying side of Paul you had certainly seen before, but never had you been on the receiving end. It was in all sense of the word, predatorial. He'd never try to kill you, but you still felt that horror build up inside. Rapid, sharp breaths made your chest heave, too afraid to look up at those red eyes still fixated on whatever you kept hidden from him. He continued to pry your stubborn fingers open, ignoring your shaking whimpers. He squoze your wrist, the tendons aching and contracting until your fingertips began to lift up. Any resistance was pretty much useless at this point, but dammit you still tried everything to worm out of his grip. But he had finally had it, you weren't gonna be keeping secrets from him. Now your last finger was pushed off, and he could see what was so damn important that you physically fought him to keep it secret. It was almost slow motion the way the strip spun to the ground, clattering down and landing beside his mud caked boots. He froze, slowly looking down at it. That's it? That's all you-...

You could barely read his face, so many different emotions flashing across it all at once. Occasionally he'd look back up at you, then back down at it. To the point you almost got annoyed that you were still being stuck to a wall while the reality set in. After all, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know what that was, just put you down already!

Paul looked at you still pinned beneath him, horrified at how he lost his temper and immediately released you. Still rubbing away the pain across your wrists, you watched him pick it up. A wave of guilt swarmed your body, you didn't know whether to hug him or punt him in the chest.

Hell, a massive tidal wave of guilt overflowed him too. It'd been such a long time since he got that angry.. but worst of all he'd never been like that with you. Never grabbed you so forcefully and ignored your pleas, it was a dark side of him he never wanted to display in front of you. Glancing at the little pink plus at the end of the stick, his mind swirled with a plethora of questions. But slowly he stood up, looking down at you still really trying to process everything that had happened in the past few minutes. "I don't… I don't understand.."

"You- You are such an ass," you shouted out of nowhere, enough that it made him jump. There you were. That's the fiery girl he knew, not the one he exactly wanted to be on the opposing side of at the moment, though.

Paul wasn't surprised you were pissed, but he definitely didn't expect you to start punching his arm. Again. Then again, and again you just kept hiting his arms, his chest, pushing and crying, you were so mad you wanted to chuck him in the ocean! It didn't really hurt that much, but he felt awful he drove you to that point.

Tears blurred your vision as you lashed out on him. All you could do was yell names between sobs, even whack him with your purse. "Paul, you absolute jerk! Butt! Jackass! You smarmy, half wit, blood-sucking tool! You said you were packing blanks, you absolute liar! I was gonna tell yo-! I mean, I know I shouldn't have run-! But you just couldn't wait- and then Marko- and you! You ! Jerk ! Butthead !"

"Hey, ow! Ow! Ow, dammit! I know, I know I went to far-ow not the hair dammit," he demanded, grabbing your arms before you could lay another mighty blow. "Babe! Babe, stop! I thought I was! I swear I didn't know- I-..I never thought that I could get you...." His hands slowly released your shoulders, moving to your hips. "I'm so sorry, baby. I swear, I didn't know.. I'm so sorry."

The way his voice softened only made you want to cry more. This whole day was a mess. You didn't mean to try and run.. You never should've tried to in the first place. God, you were so tired. All this running around, all this secrecy, the fighting, it was exhausting. Paul was the last person you wanted to fight. Sure you had spats and a few heated arguments. Every couple did, even vampires. But this, it was just so.m draining. With a firm thud you plopped your forehead on his sternum, your fingers tightly clinging to the upper sleeves of his jacket. "Wh-what am I supposed to do-… what are we supposed to do now..?"

Paul pondered his options with a solemn face, but there was only one that made him happy. Only one that sat right in his heart. What else could he possibly do, there was only ever going to be one answer even if you told him right away. Most of all, he couldn't stand the sorrow in your eyes. A frown never suited such a beautiful face. He never expected there to be anything to come from your heavy sexcapades, it never seemed like there was any risks in it. He'd never seen a vampire munchkin, least of all he'd never even heard of a vamp conceiving with a human. All he knew now is you, crying in his arms, terrified of what you were carrying. What it could mean. In that moment, he steeled his resolve and came to a final decision.

Silently he tilted your chin up, using his thumb to brush away all those tears staining your cheeks. Those blue eyes, you could get lost in them. Swallowed up by the sea. It wasn't hard to read his mind when he held onto your hip with one hand, while the other that pushed away salty droplets now cupped your cheek. Within moments you crashed your mouth into his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

Warm. A surge of heat filled your body. It was the first time you felt truly alive all day. You could feel your chest heave against his, you didn't want any space between the two of you and only pressed tighter until there wasn't anything left. Each kiss gave momentary breath before you dove in for more. Neither of you could stop. You didn't want to pull away, not even for a split second. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he touched you, the way he felt beneath your fingers; it made your head spin. His hands began to wander, you clutched at anything you could get a hold of. Your body burned, so sweet and long. In those moments the world stopped, it just melted away in streams of light. No one was there but you two. 

It was over too soon, both of you rapidly panting for breath still intertwined. Oh, how you could stare into his eyes forever.

That frown was long gone, replaced by a tender smile. The one he had come to cherish. Paul chuckled softly, breathlessly nuzzling against your collar bone. Slowly he leaned in close to your ear, his disheveled blonde hair brushing up against your cheeks. Lips trailed up flesh, reavhing just beneath your ear. And then you heard those three forbidden words. Such sweet, tender words, you hadn't expected him to say. Although he whispered them so softly they might have gotten lost in the wind, to you they were as clear as the moon on a cloudless night.

"Y/N.... I love you."

It made your heart throb, you thought you might even faint. A lifetime of struggles led up to this beautiful moment. You never expected it to be a half-undressed heavy make out session with your vampire lover, the father of your unborn spawn, in the back alley of a record store on the Santa Carla Boardwalk. But here you were, nestled between him and an old brick wall. Paul loved you, he had said it, he finally said those words that could destroy any doubt you had. And more than anything in the whole wide world, you knew once and for all, you loved Paul.

[stones-x-bones]

Funerary Wrongs || Solo

TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Bex attends her mother’s funeral. CONTENT: Parental death, Child abuse (in the form of memories), Domestic abuse, Homophobia, transphobia mentions (both these two are marked for which sections they’re in in order to be skipped if needed), Heavy Alcohol use

---

Bex did not attend her mother’s funeral. 

The idea of it made her sick, to be standing among people who could actually mourn the loss of such a monster. She could not fake a sorrow she didn’t feel. There would be whispers, rumors, stories about why she didn’t attend. Some would say it was because she was looking after her father. Some would say it was because she resented her mother. And some would say it was because she orchestrated the death. None of them were entirely wrong, she supposed, but she cringed every time she heard the whispers as she signed all the appropriate documents to make her mother’s death official. They had no idea her mother was a monster.

Bex stood at her mother’s grave later that night, staring down at the headstone. Odell Ohpelia Oxendine. February 23rd, 1979- July 31st, 2021. Mother, Leader, Lover. Non ducor, duco. Bex sneered at the inscription. None of it was true. Odell loved no one, led nothing except a vindictive life, and she certainly was no mother. Still, Bex set the bouquet of roses down in front of her “mother’s” grave and wondered if it should be changed to “aunt” or ���legal guardian”, and if it was possible, even, to get it changed. It was at her discretion, after all. She owned all the power of attorney now. It was the opposite to how her entire life had been up until this point.

When Bex was five, she remembered sitting in the living room with a cup of tea in front of her. Her first time with real tea in real company-- visiting ambassadors, who were looking for legal representation, after a mishap at a luxury hotel they were staying at. Bex didn’t remember what had happened, but she knew it had been bad, looking between the faces of her mother and father, and the other couple that was sitting across from her. They had a child, too, about her age. A boy with dusty hair and tan skin, who was looking at her curiously. He, too, had a cup of tea in front of him that he hadn’t touched.

“Why are you wearing a dress?” He’d asked. Bex did what she was taught and didn’t move or look over at him.

“Because I like them.”

“But aren’t you a boy?” He’d asked, and it hadn’t been cruel, like so many other times to come in her life, but curious. “My dad said boys don’t wear dresses.”

Bex shrugged, but kept looking at her cup. “I don’t know,” she answered, “I don’t think so?”

The boy was quiet. “Oh,” was all he said, and after that moment, he’d called her a girl and she’d liked it. He even let her be the wife when they played “house” later. 

Her mother had noticed, and later that night, she’d sat down with Bex on her lap and refused to look at her. Her voice had been soft, though, and Bex remembered it had felt nice, her mother’s hand combing through her hair, nails gentle on her scalp. 

“You can be whatever you want, darling,” she had cooed, “but if this is what you want, then you must promise me something.” 

Bex had looked up at her with anticipatory eyes.

“Promise me you’ll always be good for me. This is so much to ask of a mother, but I’ll do it for you, if you can do that for me.” 

Bex was a child. She hadn’t known better. She’d nodded, enthusiastically, and the next day, her mother had bought her an entirely new closet of clothes and pulled her from her current school to be put into a new one, and she had also made Bex promise to behave only like a girl. To make sure no one knew her secret, otherwise they would hate her, be mean to her, and be mean to them, as well. 

Bex had nodded in agreement. She didn’t want anyone to hate her or her parents. She didn’t want to be the reason people hated her mother.

(Transphobia tw)

Bex was not ashamed of herself anymore, not really. She was proud to be trans. But, sometimes, she still paused outside the women’s bathroom and wondered if someone inside would look at her and know. Sometimes, she’d stop and hear her mother’s voice in her head, chastising her, telling her no one could love her, not like this. So she had to keep it secret, until she could be a real girl. Her mother had taught her to be shameful, and she had believed her.

But it hadn’t been true. Just like everything else her mother had told her, it wasn’t true. Bex had always been a girl, and no one ever questioned her when she went inside, dressed in her floral skirts and low cut tops and tights. Bex had always known she was a girl, and she’d fought-- the only thing she’d fought for-- for the chance to be her true self. And her parents had relented, because what else could they do? It wouldn’t do for them to have a son who misbehaved and acted out. Much better a daughter who was complacent. And Bex had been proud of herself, despite everything. But still, sometimes, she hesitated. Because fear remained. It would always remain. 

(Transphobia tw END)

It was nothing compared to the first time she’d awoken from a night terror, screaming in her bed. She’d curled into a ball under her blankets and cried until the housekeeper had come inside and pulled them back and shushed her. Something had happened, Bex remembered, because the housekeeper was looking around with shock and horror on her face. And in the morning, when her mother had come to wake her, she’d found an already awake Bex trying to put a shattered lamp back together.

That was the first time she’d been punished. She’d only been six. Her mother’s anger had manifested in acrylic nails raking across her face, digging into her shirt and flinging her onto the floor in front of her bed, a cold demand on her tongue. “What did you do?” 

“I-I-I don’t know! I had a nightmare and then I woke up and it was like this! I just had a n-nightmare and--”

Bex didn’t get to finish. That was the first time she had picked out an outfit to cover up the bruises. That had been the first time Bex had learned how to put on cover up to make her black eye look normal. 

She’d only been six.

She’d only been a year older when it happened in public for the first time. They’d been at a store, a big store, and Bex had stopped to look at a doll she wanted. She had pretty rosy cheeks and long black hair, just like Bex, and the next thing she knew, she’d lost her mother. Bex had fallen to the floor in panic and wailed, crying out for her. Her cries had shattered an entire row of glass candles and cracked the nearest window. Someone nearby had gotten a bloody nose, and the doll she’d wanted began to crumple. It was almost half folded in on itself when her mother had rounded the corner, a crazed look in her eye, and scooped Bex up, racing out to the car with her. 

Bex hadn’t had time to be happy to see her mother. Hands at her throat made her quiet, a palm sliding across her cheek. Nails digging into her jaw as her mother held her head still and made sure Bex was looking her in the eye when she said, “If you ever do that again, you won’t be leaving your room for a week. Do you understand me? Tell me you understand me!”

“I understand,” Bex had croaked. Her mother had lifted her by her arm and thrown her into the car before snapping at the driver to take them home. She’d have to finish shopping tomorrow.

Bex had hidden in the backseat, curled up small. And when they’d gotten home, she’d raced to her room and hid in her closet, stuffed in the corner behind her jackets. She’d heard her mother come in looking for her once, but she’d given up quickly and slammed her door. Locked it.

That was the first time she’d learned being small and unseen was safe.

Bexley looked at her mother’s gravestone again and noted how polished it was. They’d bugged her about specifics-- what kind of rock, what color, how big, how wide, what shape-- but Bex had deferred all of those decisions to someone else. The family attorney. She hadn’t wanted to think about it, but, now, she wished she had. She would’ve picked something tacky for her. This headstone was too nice, a smooth, white granite that looked like a pearl among the other headstones. They were all of her ancestors. The plot of land reserved for her grandmother was still empty, waiting for her body-- as was the plot of land for her father. But both of them were beyond legal sanity, one with dementia, the other with a magically jumbled memory. 

Behind her mother’s grave, up the hill, Bex spotted the mausoleum that held the bodies of the first Oxendine’s in White Crest. Beckley and Finneus. Her middle name-- her name-- was taken after her, the first Oxendine in White Crest. The true matriarch. She’d started the family business and built the manor and established herself as a town resident before she’d even married. And when she had, to a traveling man with political riches and a duke from England, she’d kept her name and made him take her own. And from there, the name had been passed on through the women of the family. They were revolutionary.

Bex didn’t know why her mother had kept her middle name. She’d found her original birth certificate, signed by an Odette Rosenberg (with no name written under the father’s section), and found that her name had been something completely different. River Bexley Rosenberg. It had a ring to it, she supposed, but she wondered, now, just how many names she had had. River, Oded, Odelia, Bexley. And who was she, now? An Oxendine? A Rosenberg? Or something else, someone else? 

Who was Bexley?

She didn’t know.

Her hands skated over the cool tomb of her great-great-great-and many more greats, grandmother. 

“Why did you do it?” she asked the dead rock. “Why did you make the first deal?” 

Of course, no one answered. There were no answers for her here. Of course there weren’t. This place only left her with questions and open wounds.

Unlike her parents, who had always been careful, after those first few times, to never leave a trace behind on her.

She’d been nine when she’d been called into the main office, and two concerned faces had greeted her. 

“Please, Odelia, have a seat,” the principal had offered, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Bex had sunk into it stiffly, hands folded nervously into her lap.

“A-am I in trouble?” she asked. She didn’t think she’d done anything to get herself in trouble, but maybe one of the kids had said something, or one of the parents had found out and told the school they were uncomfortable. It had happened before.

“Oh, no, no, sweetheart, no, we--” the younger man exchanged a worried glance with the woman standing next to him. Bex recognized her as the counselor. Her face looked soft, sad.

“No, honey, you’re not in trouble. We just have some--” she’d contemplated the word, and Bex had waited, perfectly still-- “concerns.” She moved around to Bex’s chair and kneeled to her eye height, looking at her with something Bex had never really seen before. “Some of the other kids have noted that you seem to...come to school with a lot of bruises sometimes.” 

(Transphobia tw)

Bex recalled how, just a few weeks ago, a boy had tackled her to the ground, wrenching at her shirt, cackling the whole time and asking her what she was really hiding under her clothes. If she was really actually a girl. Instead, he’d seen the bruises and he’d immediately jumped up off of her and shouted, “I didn’t do that! It wasn’t me!” before the mediator had come running over and pulled her up and away and led her off into the nurse’s office. 

Funny, she thought, how they were concerned about the bruises, but not the boy who had tried to tear her shirt off.

(Transphobia tw END)

“It’s nothing,” Bex had said back quickly, just like her parents had told her to say, “I’m just really clumsy. I fall a lot, especially at home. We have a lot of stairs. My mom says it’s because of my health, I don’t have good balance. It’s why I’m sick all the time.” 

The two adults exchanged a look again. The woman reached out and put a hand over Bex’s, who looked down in shock and confusion. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re safe here, you can tell the truth. Do your mom or dad get mad at you a lot?”

Bex looked from the woman to the principal, and back. Was this a trick? 

“N-No. She just likes things d-done a certain way. And sometimes I mess up. But it’s okay, because she loves me.” 

The concern on the woman’s face grew and Bex scrambled. Had she said something wrong? “It’s okay! It’s okay! They don’t hurt me! They just need to teach me a lesson and sometimes I don’t get it so they have to make sure I understand! It’s okay!” And she’d started sobbing and she didn’t know why and the woman-- the counselor-- had pulled Bex into a tight hug but all Bex had done was cry.

The next day, social services had shown up at Bex’s house.

The day after that, Bex had been pulled from yet another school. This time, they sent her to an all girl’s Christian boarding school up North. “Maybe,” her mother had said, “you’ll learn some values, and how to appreciate all you’ve been given.” 

Bex hadn’t learned anything there, except that she was supposed to be ashamed of herself, and that she might like kissing girls.

(Homophobia TW)

Bex had really had no reason to believe her mother wouldn’t approve of her liking girls. So when she’d come home, giddy and smiling, after kissing one of the girls in her class-- they had been friends for a while and her name was Jess and Bex liked her freckles and her red hair-- her surprise was palpable when the news was met with shouting. Her mother was suddenly asking what she’d done wrong, how could she have let this happen, why was she being punished this way. She asked Bex why she was doing this to her, did she want to hurt her? Was she trying to hurt her? All she’d wanted was for Bex to be good for her, why was that so hard for her to understand?

Bex hadn’t known what to say. She’d said sorry. She’d apologized over and over and over again, groveling at her mother’s feet while her mother kicked and kicked and hit and with each strike told Bex she couldn’t be that way. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. She wasn’t going to let Bexley ruin her reputation. She was wrong, she was bad, she was wrong, she was wrong. She was wrong.

Bex hadn’t gotten out of bed for a week after that.

Her mother told the school she was sick. The housekeeper brought her regular meals and helped her to the bathroom while her bruised and broken ribs healed. It would be almost a decade before her mother hurt her this bad again. 

The dumpster had been worse, Bex thought, remembering the feel of it as her head made contact with solid metal. 

(Homophobia tw END)

Bex looked across the grounds to the manor, which sat atop a hill surrounded by a grove of trees. The perimeter wall, built of old brick and rod iron, looked pristine, outlining the property as if it were a cut out. It looked so wrong against the crop of trees, jagged stone against gentle forest. She wanted to burn it down. 

Or, at least, have it demolished. 

Unfortunately, she still had to go through everything inside. She couldn’t just have it all destroyed, as much as she wanted to. There were legal things, important things, maybe even nostalgic things that she wanted to keep. Plus, some of her clothes were still inside. The small box of trinkets she’d dug up as a kid, when she’d been out in the gardens, pretending to be an archaeologist. Fingers full of dirt, stuck under her fingernails, the most freeing feeling in the world at the time. Sometimes she didn’t even mind the aggressive baths her mother gave her after, scrubbing at her dirty skin and staring at her with a cold silence of disappointment.

Bex stood on the front stoop now, staring up at the ornate doors, doors that had stood for almost three centuries now. Placed a flat palm against the cool bronze metal of the embossed decor on the panels. Detailed designs that were supposed to show off the family’s wealth, but to Bex, they were just shapes. They’d always just been prison bars. 

She pushed through the door and stepped inside and heard her footsteps echo. The house creaked and moaned around her, reminding her that it was haunted-- not by ghosts, but by memories. And there, a new one, at the foot of the staircase. The blood stain was gone, but Bex could remember exactly where it was. She could remember exactly what her mother’s dead body looked like. 

Bex walked past the spot where she’d killed her mother and up the staircase. When she reached the top, she waited, but no one came. The house was empty. She went down the hall to the right.

The door to her father’s study was open and she slipped inside, heading to his desk. She opened drawer after drawer until she found what she’d been looking for-- personal records. All the records they’d kept of her, medical or schooling or otherwise, and tore them to shreds. She ripped drawer after drawer out of his desk and threw the folders around the room. Finances, receipts, client files, she decorated the room with them and screamed at them and at what was left of her father in the office. She took his cane from the wall-- the same cane that had whipped her back countless times-- and snapped it over her knee before throwing the pieces into the unlit fireplace behind his desk. She tore books from his shelves, the personal library of law resources they’d amassed over centuries, and tore pages from them, shredding them like confetti and throwing them up in the air. 

They fell around her like ash.

She wrenched open the cabinet in the corner-- his liquor cabinet-- and grabbed whatever bottle hit her hand first. A fifty-year-old bottle of whiskey. She let it pour down her throat and let it burn and relished in it, before she turned and held the bottle upside down and let it pour out onto the floor and mess of papers on the floor. When it was empty, she shattered it against the fireplace wall.

She yanked out another bottle, vodka this time, and took a large swig before she stumbled from her father’s study and back down the hallway, tipping paintings that hung along the wall and smashing sconces with the angry magic that boiled beneath her skin. 

Her mother did not have a study in the house, she hated it almost as much as Bex did. Well, had hated it. You couldn’t hate anything when you were dead. Instead, her mother spent her time in the lounge, watching old movies, reading old books, or going over cases and papers. Bex remembered the first time she’d seen her mother sitting on that ugly, green couch, pouring over some case that was going to net them a large pay increase for the company. She had awoken from another nightmare, this time containing the damage only to the mirror in her room and the lamp that had already been shattered once.

She stood in the doorway, which was only partially cracked, and called out to her mother in a quiet, raspy voice. Her mother hadn’t looked up from her papers, but had beckoned Bex to her with just a hand. Bex scurried inside and climbed up onto the couch next to her mother and wondered if she would be scolded again. Instead, her mother had set the files aside and pulled her into her lap, leaning back, curling the child against her chest. Bex stayed perfectly still in her mother’s arms as she stroked her hair and Bex listened to her heartbeat. It never faltered.

“I wish you were better,” her mother had sighed, languishing, “I wish you were mine.” 

Bex hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but she did now.

She took another long sip of the vodka before she jabbed the letter opener she’d snagged from her father’s study into the green upholstery and ripped. Again and again and again, until couch cotton spewed from it like blood from a wound and the chair was no longer recognizable as such. 

Bex continued a little further down the hallway until she reached the end, and she reached a door that she’d never walked through. In all her twenty-one years, she’d never walked through the door to her parents’ bedroom. She hesitated and wondered why, as she looked at the pale wood, pristine as ever. Took another sip and waited for the wood grain to turn into prison bars, but they never did.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It looked almost identical to her own room, save for the larger bed, and the two bedside tables on each side. Bex blinked, and in an instant, she saw the future her parents had always wanted for her, sleeping beside a man she did not love, living in a world she did not want, and living a lie that she could not tell. 

Bex was sobbing by the time she made it over to the bed and crawled onto it, vodka sloshing onto the manicured comforter. She took one last sip before she sank onto the bed and curled up, cradling the bottle. They had stolen her life from her and created the holes inside of her that she did not know how to fill. They had deprived her of love and happiness and everything in between. They had created a prison for her and kept her locked up and isolated until she’d turned into an obedient, quiet machine.

They had ruined her and yet she missed them.

She missed them so much. 

When Bex fell asleep that night, curled up in her parents’ bed for the first time, it was not Odell and Daniel Oxendine who she imagined wrapped around her, comforting her through her grief, because it was not them she missed.

It was the parents she never got to have that she missed. It was them who she wept for. 

---

When Bexley would wake the next morning, it would be to too many missed calls and texts. 

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Bex, I’m worried.

Please just let me know you’re okay?

And many more. She didn’t read them all. She sent one reply: i”m oKY. Homr soon

Sun bled into the room from the window above the bed and Bex lifted a hand to block it out as she turned to look around the room. It was no different in the daytime than it had been last night, still as stiff and wooden as the doors that stood between each room. 

When she moved to sit up, her hand knocked the still partially full bottle and she glanced down at it through a haze. Blindly grabbing for it before downing the rest of it and leaving the bottle in the middle of the bed as she crawled off and stumbled towards the bathroom. Her cheeks felt crusted and stiff and her eyes were so dry. She splashed water onto her face and hoped it would soothe her, but found it only relieved the numbness on her face but not the rest of her body. 

When Bexley looked up into the mirror, her mother’s face greeted her. 

Bex leapt back, throwing the towel she’d been holding at the mirror as her back hit the wall. Memories began to flash in her mind, things she knew weren’t her own. She cried out, clutching at her temples, pressing so hard she could feel her knuckles turning white. “GO away!” she shouted to nothing, to no one. The mirror cracked. “Get out of my head!” The sink split, water sprayed from a busted pipe onto the floor. “You’re dead!” The shower doors began to worble, groaning as if under pressure. “You’re dead!” 

The world shook around Bex, she didn’t care to contain the tendrils of lilac that leaked from her and snaked around the room, burning its essence into the tile, the wood, the glass. She could feel her soul trying to separate from her body, trying to escape the pain, the grief. “You’re dead!” she screamed again. She wanted to fly away and disappear into a plane where none of this existed. She almost let herself.

Then, a familiar voice whispered in her ear, “I’ll never die, as long as you’re alive.” 

Bex slammed back to reality and turned fast enough to hear her spine pop as her fist made contact with the solid tile of the wall, snapping under the pressure, knuckles splitting. The sudden shock of it pulled her back to the moment, pulled in her magic, and she stared at her bloody knuckles as they dripped onto the immaculate, white floor. The red stood out against the pearl colored tile and Bex watched, memorized, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. It never would, but, eventually, it calmed enough for her to take in a large gulp of air and not feel so dizzy.

Slowly, as to not make anything return, she stood, braced against the wall, blood smearing up the side of it. She made her way over to the cabinet next to the sink and pried it open, cradling her bleeding hand to her chest, grabbing the first roll of gauze she could find. She picked the towel up again and wet it in the water leaking from the burst pipe before wrapping it around her hand to staunch the bleeding. 

Hand still cradled to her chest, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall, back to the study. Feet crunched on crumpled paper and broken bottle bits as she grabbed another bottle of whatever was inside-- more vodka, premium, top shelf brand this time-- and unwrapped her hand. Poured some of the liquid over it, whimpering and flinching, but containing herself enough to clean up her knuckles as she drank from the bottle. She just needed to stay numb for now.

She moved, almost mechanically, from the study back down the hallway to the staircase, where she sat on the bottom step and stared at the spot where her mother’s bloodstain should have been. She stared until the shadows crept up the stairs and bit at her feet and she realized she’d told Mina she was going to be home soon. Soon had come and gone.

Bex looked down at the bottle in her hands, then to the floor. Once again, she lifted it, took a sip, then held it upside down over the spot where her mother’s dead body had lain. Sometimes, she could still see it there. The alcohol trickled onto the floor and splashed onto her legs.

“I think I was supposed to write a speech about you,” she muttered over the sound of trickling liquid. “You know, like how people get up during a funeral and go up front and talk about the deceased. They’re s’pposed to be nice,” she slurred, “talk about what the person did in life, how they touched everyone around them. How they’d be missed ‘n shit.” She tipped the bottle more and more as it emptied, the expensive liquid now running down the tile as if racing to escape. “I don’t think I coulda faced them, though. All those people. All those people who thought you were, like-- good. A good mother, a good lawyer, a good citizen.” She hiccuped. “But you’re not-- weren’t. Any of those things. You were-- I dunno what you were. You were the opposite of all of those. Or-- the sideways of all of those. And even though I knew that, I still loved you, you know. I think I still do. I don’t know how to stop. You were the shittiest mother a girl could ask for, and you’re not even my real mother, but I still love you.” It was quiet, then as the bottle was empty and Bex had stopped talking. 

Silently, she set the bottle down on the last step and stood up. She scrunched her brows as she looked down at the spot, as if still looking at her mother’s body. “I think that’s what I learned from you, ultimately,” she decided out loud, “I don’t know how to stop loving someone. Even you.” The house groaned around her, as if it, too, were crying. “Even a monster.” 

And then Bex wrapped her still bleeding hand and hailed a cab to the ferry, and went home to her loving girlfriend and loving guardian who had always been more of a mother to her than Odell.

And on her way back, she only wondered, once, if this was all worth it.

[middleinthenight21]

DamiRae Week 2020- Day 1

Costumes

His disguise is horrible, he knows that. Damian Wayne spends most of the night strolling among the guests carrying a glass of champagne and a grimace under the black band that covered his mouth.

He was glad that he chose a costume as little revealing as it is, it fits the uniform he used to wear in the league of the shadows, being a pair of pants, jacket and black hood, in conjunction with a band that only left his eyes on view; he was not interested in being recognized. His brothers would have complained about bringing a replica of a uniform and his father would not be happy with the association, however, he bought wings in a small costume store whose wings simulated bone, joined by a porous plastic that gave the impression of being cartilage. When the owner of the store offers him the wings, he thinks they are small, that a structure like this could never support the weight of an adult, but he says nothing.

He can be anonymous.

His father had dragged them to an event commemorating the Wayne companies anniversary, Damian thinks his father is anticipating that some Gotham villain would attack the tower, but he hasn't said anything and it's not as if Bruce Wayne was very communicative with the information he shares in the family. Sometimes he understands it, most of the time he doesn´t, because he hates walking blindfolded.

He had been taught since he was a child that preparation is a prerequisite for victory and that faith is a waste fools allow themselves. He definitely hates it.

He glances at his older brother, flirting with a red-haired woman, she's attractive in a revealing pastel dress and there's a white mask holding up a chin. He rolls his eyes when his hands come dangerously close.

He does not understand what women see in Richard Grayson, the man can be a complete idiot.

"Don't look so angry" Emiko Queen appears next to him. He is surprised that she managed to recognize him. "Tim Drake tagged you in his photo. "

Growls.

He had hoped to go unnoticed. He observed her out of the corner of his eye, the young woman was dressed in a shirt that read "I wore a costume" and some casual jeans, she looked disinterested as if she did not want to come and her statement on the shirt was a sign of rebellion.

"Are you here for your brother?"

She growls.

"Yes. He likes to attend these elegant parties, he left me no choice" Emiko reaches for a glass of champagne as a waiter passes by with a tray. "A toast to the fun? "

Damian looked at her.

A few months ago, they had been dating, nothing formal, since neither of them liked the idea of ​​romantic relationships, everything was casual. He thought Emiko was great, someone who proved to be more than what was seen with the naked eye. They are both people who had a strict upbringing and gave themselves to protect the innocent, however, the similarities are just that and it did not mean that two people worked together.

They are still friends.

He bumps his glass with hers.

"My God, could you smile, even once?"

He rolled his eyes.

The night flows slowly, although Damian stays next to his friend, he does not get the fun and he does not feel entirely comfortable around all these wealthy people; The laughter echoed throughout the room and is as elegant as it is empty. He is used to formality, but if he is sincere expecting a villain to break in, then he would have something more interesting to do.

Emiko is not happy either, but she pretends and when she is with her brother a smile slips over her lips, the weight disappears from her shoulders and she moves lightly. Now, they dance around the dance floor and he thinks Oliver Queen's archer angel costume is too revealing, it leaves his torso visible through a maya and his feathered wings take up a lot of space.

Both siblings move lightly.

He looks around him, Tim and Stephanie are talking to their group of friends, Jason talks to Roy, his best friend and can see how malicious smiles are born on their faces. The two of them act like it´s their private club.

Cass is talking to her father.

Emiko ran to her side, a smile on her face and she seemed illuminated by a new aura. Rarely had he seen her so excited, she carries a camera that hangs in her hands and waves it at him, like a flag.

Damian frowns, he does not understand his emotion.

"We have to take a picture of ourselves!"

He was going to reply, but she quickly requested help from someone who was passing, it is a girl; She is disguised as a witch, her bluish black dress falls to the ground and her pointed cap covers her hair revealing short dark strands that caress her shoulders. A mask over her eyes, the patterns are like a black spider web and it has an elongated shape.

Damian nicknames her on his head as "Witch Girl."

"Please take a picture of us."

Witch girl opens her mouth to answer, but the camera was already in her hands and Emiko would not accept a denial, she stands next to him and gets close to him. He tenses up when he feels pressured by Emiko to take this photograph. He doesn't like to see himself in photos, he had grown up differently, although he knows everything he needs and more, he still finds it strange to use technology for entertainment.

"It is for my brother."

As if that clarifies something.

Emiko straightens up next to him, a smile slipping across her face and he seems more like a soldier than a casual civilian who wants to capture a moment. Damian doesn't know where to put his hands, so he laces them behind his back and squares his shoulders, lifts his chin and ignores the smell of champagne in his mouth. The murmur and the sound of the orchestra shouting in the room, along with the knock on his friend's foot.

He focuses his gaze on the girl who points the camera at them. The device falls from her hands a few centimeters and she murmurs:

"He looks sad."

She says it to him, he is sure of that. He wouldn't have heard a thing will all the loud sounds, but he learned to lip read a few years ago, a skill that he found useful especially when you have to spy undetected. He wants to tell the witch girl that it's not true, and he's fine, everything is very good in his life. There is nothing he wants, he can snap his fingers and have what he wants, he surrounds himself with the most powerful people in the world, he observes things many would only dream of and found a family. She does not know anything.

A smile glides across his lips, the muscles in his cheeks tighten, unaccustomed to smiling, and he can feel his eyes take on small lines of expression.

The camera snaps back into place. It is as if the witch girl knew that he was smiling, despite not seeing the smile she feels he exhibited, but she had not given him the reason and that makes him happy for some reason. The witch girl was not right.

He doesn't look sad.

He can feel her eyes piercing him behind the contact lens, he distinguishes a dark color, like a purple beta, he has never seen a tone like this and he remembers that his father spoke of an actress with violet eyes, but that she had already died.

Elizabeth Taylor is the only person in the world with violet eyes, he had said, but he was wrong.

Now they look like wise eyes, like a rare diamond. Damian cocks his head trying to make out the face behind the device, only to have a piece of information to brag about in front of his father.

The flash blinks and the photo is captured.

"They look great together." The witch girl approaches and places the camera in Emiko's hands with a small smile. She leaves with her head down without looking back, the cloak of her dress rushes in midair and for the first time she notices, it catches the light in small flashes, in shiny blue stones.

Emiko speaks, but Damian barely hears what she is saying, because he still wants to see her face.

He does not like to remain in doubt.

"Do you think I look sad to you?"

She gasps, looks at him as if a horn had grown "I don't understand what you want ... "

He was no longer with her.

She does not see him for the rest of the night, so she simply shrugs and takes the opportunity to take photos with her brother and her fiancée. She would enjoy the night with or without Damian.

***

Later, Emiko would wonder what his eyes see when she looks at the photograph in the gallery, she and Damian are standing behind that old painting next to a plant, smiling happily for the moment. However, the attitude of friend distracted he shows signs of a smile and observes a point as if it were very interesting, a topic to talk about for hours, it seems that he is treading on another planet.

Damian could smile?

She had never seen him roll his eyes.

What had he seen?

"Oh no," Dinah leans on the sofa, looking at the photograph. She realizes she had zoomed in on the photo framing Damian's face. "I know that look. "

"What look?" She asks, interested.

Dinah Lance sits down on the sofa seat and smiles "He's in love. I know that look because I see it every day. "

Damian in love? That's ridiculous. It is impossible, there is much doubt in that equation, since their relationship ended a long time ago and they split quite well. Besides, he had never had those eyes for her.

"From who? "

The blonde laughs "From your brother. "

And Oliver is an idiot now.

***

Extra.

Damian walked around the room. He ignores the callers, including his brothers who want him to meet their groups of friends. Dick calls him as he wants to introduce him to his new conquest, Jason probably wants to annoy him, Stephanie wants to show him something (He wasn't going to talk about Tim Drake, because he doesn't count) and Cass frowns when she sees him walking through the crowd aimlessly.

He is looking for someone with a pointed hat, it is impossible to have more than one people like that.

Finally, there is a figure nearby having a glass of champagne, he only sees her back, but he would recognize that costume anywhere. His feet stop on a small slip on the polished ceramic floor and his heart hammers anxiously in his chest. He would have his answers.

He gives her a better look.

The witch girl has a costume in bluish tones, it´s smooth and hugs her slim figure. Gloves of the same color reach her elbows, and there is a small bracelet around her wrist in gold tones. What stands out the most is the pointed hat with a brim that brings shadows to her face.

Other girls had chosen mind-blowing costumes, elaborate hairstyles, and elegant outfits that were made to attract attention, but this girl is not flashy or flamboyant, she is simple. Damian finds something puzzling in her aura of mystery, but he has never been someone who will leave the mysteries unsolved.

He gulps and walks to her side.

She pretends to be interested in the snack table. Her eyes sweep over the food and he can see how she struggles to decide if she is going to eat those canapes or the miniature cakes, finally she chooses the cakes.

She has a sweet tooth.

He looks askance at her. He notices new details about the witch girl. Like she has a small red crystal on her forehead and gold star-shaped earrings falling down the sides of her face.

She has a smooth profile, as if she had been sculpted by delicate hands: A rounded chin, an upturned nose and soft skin, perhaps it she too pale, she probably does not like the sun very much.

She reaches for a chocolate bar and bites it "Chocolate makes me feel better."

Damian gulps again. He is not sure why; he does not like it.

He wants to end it all at once.

"Why do I look sad?"

She opens her eyes, turns to look at him and is amazed. Now, they are face to face, even with the mask on, you can see her surprised expression and the witch girl has more violet eyes than he had seen, and now she looks embarrassed.

"Sorry." Her voice is soft with a scratchy note. It´s unusual "It was just a thought that crossed my mind. "

He raised an eyebrow.

"You said I looked sad." He crosses his arms. "Why? "

She looks like she's about to run away, but she does something more puzzling to him, squares her shoulders and takes a firm stance. She is proud.

"You weren't smiling."

That's why?

He had looked for someone in an entire room where there are more than two hundred guests, only to be answered in this way. He wants to hit his forehead criticizing himself, but not everything is so bad. The witch girl watches him with attentive eyes, waiting for a sharp response, but instead a smile of amusement appears on Damian's face.

He slides the band that covers half of his face. They look at each other face to face, she decides to slide up the mask and they smile, because both are aware that this is ridiculous.

"I'm Raven." She extends her hand and he reciprocate.

Her nickname as "Witch Girl" slips into her name. He observes her eyes fascinated by the color of violet so rare. Despite the abnormality of the tone and her fresh face, he can feel as if he had met her at another time. He is aware that he has never seen her before, he does not believe in good first impressions, but he had the feeling that there was nothing to fear.

"Damian."

Not everything is so bad. He has the impression that his night can improve, he did not wear this costume anymore.

´´With you I feel alright

It´s been a long night´´

(THANK YOU @ravenfan1242 ❤❤ )