#the way i lined up the shoulders is true art

[mushed-kid]

wow the editing skills are through the roof with this one

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

“Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo. 

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you. 

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

“There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

[bisayawa]

freckles & blades & helping hands

✎___ husband!diluc × spouse!reader

✎___ a/n: domestic fluff (literally just a soft scene of diluc shaving his scruff), i aged diluc up a bit i think. use of the pet name honey. somewhat inspired by @/mmmairon's art of beefy, gentle, kind diluc :> 730~ words, not proofread; art by ary scheffer.

"do you need any help?"

legs swinging on the counter top, you lean in & stare, eyes glazing over the handsome lines of your husband's face on the mirror. he has a few crow's feet near his temples. whenever you point it out, he'll always say the wrinkles are evidence of you, you who make him smile & laugh & chuckle until his stomach hurts. it's evidence of a life laughter, he'd say.

the sharp stipple of the razor cuts through the silence.

"no, honey," he says, turning his head & angling the blade to the scruff on his jaw. "it's alright."

the words are spoken softly. it was jarring a few years ago, hearing words of buttercream & sweetness come from a man such as diluc, hulking, dignified, broad-shouldered, almost always with a dour expression on his face.

there was a handsomeness to the gloom before. the sharpness of brows, the bite of his frowns, the particular wrinkle when he scrunches his nose... but you have to admit, the allure is multiplied tenfold when he's all honeyed & dewy-eyed, softer than a cloud.

"i could do it for you, you know?"

his eyes never leave the mirror.

"i still don't understand this... fixation you have," he angles his face in an almost-quarter turn. "i'm just shaving, hon. it's no event you have to witness."

"of course, it is." you lean a little closer. "it's like an unveiling. my husband is showing his true face, one without scruff or stubble."

"an unveiling― ?" his shoulders shake & he puts down the razor for a few moments, small bouts of giggles floating through the room.

he rights himself.

"behave. i'm never gonna finished in time." his stern voice is all for show. he's smiling as he says the words.

a beat passes.

"but isn't it though? they'll finally see all your face. happy wrinkles & all."

he's struggling to fix his lip into a line, unable to stop it from curling into a smile. he's repeating your last few words, mouthing them out as he brings down the razor.

the silence after then is sweet, filled with curious looks towards his face filled with foam & other little chuckles.

"so..." your voice cuts through.

"so...?"

"could i do it for you?"

he taps the razor on the marble sink, shucking hair & foam off the blade.

"you don't know how..." another swipe of the razor.

"you could teach me." tap tap.

"i've..." swipe. "already started." tap

"just the basics." swipe. "an impromptu lesson, yeah? against the grain & all that?"

"it's with the grain, honey."

"right, yeah... i knew that... so are you gonna teach me?"

"hm..."

"oh? usually it's a big, disapproving hrrrnn..."

"you've catalogued my grousing?"

"yup yup, because i am a good spouse who tends to the needs of my husband."

he laughs at that, quietly. another wrinkle on his temple.

"alright, alright... here..."

he gives the razor, grasping it in your hand. he's gentle, careful, righting your hold of the blade.

"okay... here's how it should be..." he guides your hand towards his cheek, speaking in soft murmurs. "just like how my father taught me. listen."

he pulls down, a swipe against his face. hair & foam give way for his pale skin.

"there. let the blade do the work, honey. don't push too harshly."

he makes another swipe, his hand still guiding yours.

"here, just like this." swipe swipe swipe. "you wanna try?"

your small palm finds the back of his neck, pulling him close. brows furrow in concentration as the razor anticipates the next swipe.

"careful, honey, okay?" the warmth of his hand leaves. "i trust you."

shaking fingers steel themselves. the blade goes still before landing on the softness of his skin. it coasts across his jaw, cold metal kissing warm flesh. the line is carved against the shaving foam, no longer obscuring his face.

the swipe is finished. the trust was not betrayed. the result of your work is there upon the blade, as patches of coarse hair & crisp shaving foam.

"how was that?" you murmur.

"wonderful." he's staring into your eyes, not at the razor like you expected. "would you like to keep going?"

"yes, please." you poke at his newly shaven jaw. "i've never noticed your little freckle here."

"i have a few." he pinches your nose. "let's keep going. maybe we can find a few more."

[mrpenguinpants]

Green Slumber

— "Ah, look! Is Alhaitham taking a nap?" "Shh...You're too loud, Paimon." "Th-That's not true…Paimon was definitely whispering-wait, who is that beside him?"

— Alhaitham

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Traveller & Paimon lines are taken from the official Genshin Twitter post. [Masterlist]

Congrats Alhaitham, your birthday postpones the fic where I tear you apart for scamming me. I usually don't write birthday fics but pretty art. Can you tell I'm not used to writing second pov and rushed again :)) I don't know how to end fics.

"Ah, look! Is Alhaitham taking a nap?"

Lumine looks in the direction of Paimon's voice, her floating companion peeking through a room with a giddy face. No doubt hatching some sort of plan to get back at the scribe for his words during their quest to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali. On one hand, she should probably scold Paimon for immediately jumping to payback since the reason both of them are here is to wish the man a happy birthday before departing to the next region. But on the other hand...

“Shh…You’re too loud Paimon,” Lumine whispers as she tip-toes towards the door and gently pushes it open further. She's pointedly ignoring the face Paimon is throwing her for acting just as bad as she is. If anyone asks, she'll make an excuse that she was just being a polite guest and if Alhaitham was sleeping, she would excuse herself quietly. In no way is it her curiosity to see the ever-serious Alhaitham in any mode that's defenseless and relaxed. So with Paimon’s head hovering above hers, they both poke their heads into the room. Alhaitham doesn’t look any different from the last time they met, although asleep, he looks far less intimidating. He’s leaned back in the wooden chair, arm propped up to hold his lolling head in place. Calculating amber and teal eyes are closed as his chest falls up and down slowly with each breath while the gentle sun paints him in warm yellows and soothing whites. If Lumine had never met Alhaitham before, she would have thought he may have been the Dendro archon with how serene the scene itself is. Something that almost makes her want to reach out and touch him just to check if he’s real or not.

"Th-That's not true…Paimon was definitely whispering-wait, who is that beside him?" Paimon’s voice tapers off at the end, eyes alight with confusion. Lumine tears her eyes away from Alhaitham to look at where Paimon is pointing. Seated on the desk right in front of Alhaitham’s sleeping figure, a stranger hums softly with their ankles locked as they swing their legs ideally in the air. In their hands appears to be the beige book Alhaitham usually carries around, the one about physics and motion if she remembers correctly. Now that she’s looking - she can't believe she missed an entire person because she got distracted by the image of a sleeping Alhaitham - the stranger looks far more comfortable in the room than she is. Maybe they're another roommate? Although Alhaitham doesn't seem like the type to have an extensive list of friends and she's positive she's met most if not all of the people Alhaitham could call close enough to have them in his home. She shares a look with Paimon who returns it with a shrug of the shoulders. Neither one of them has ever seen this mysterious person before.

"Haitham, this section here about..." the stranger's voice brings blue and yellow eyes back to the room. Lumine watches intrigued as the stranger finally looks up from the book to see Alhaitham fast asleep. A soft sigh escapes their lips as they close the book, shoulders dropping into something more relaxed, and they just sit and look at the man. They have the same look in their eye but instead, their hand slowly reaches out until their fingertips meet the tips of soft silver hair. Pushing strands away from his face before waltzing down to caress his cheek. It's an intimate touch and Lumine isn't sure whether she should be here interrupting the moment. The stranger surely seems to be having fun as they return to playing with silver strands. Through it all, Alhaitham remains asleep yet, his body seems to lean into the touch naturally. As if these practiced movements have happened before.

Oh. Oh, she understands now.

“Hey, Paimon…” Lumine starts as she slowly picks herself off the floor as quietly as possible lest she disturbs the peace. "We should leave."

"Huh? But why? We've never seen this person before right? What if they're one of those bad guys that are after Alhaitham because he's the acting grand sage!" Paimon adamantly nods, small hands clutched into little fists. It would be cute if it weren't for the fact that Paimon has no sense of volume. Before Lumine can reach out and press her palm against Paimon's mouth to stop her from shouting again, a light chuckle rings out. They both freeze in place, flicking their heads back inside the room.

"You know...if you talk any louder you will actually wake him up," the stranger drops their hand as they turn to face the duo. There's mirth dancing in their eyes and Lumine has enough decency to look embarrassed at getting caught red-handed. Paimon on the other hand has no such reservations.

"Ah, sorry! We didn't mean to! Wait-Hey! Don't turn this on Paimon. Who are you and what are you doing in Alhaitham's house?!" Paimon stomps her feet in the air, crossing her arms as she pouts at the stranger. Her frown further increased by the stranger laughing harder.

"I basically live here. There's no need to be so on edge. I doubt Haitham could sleep so easily if a stranger was in his home," they say, gesturing to the still peacefully unaware scribe who hasn't moved a muscle since they arrived.

"Ohh, so you're like that blond guy from before! Ka-Ka something? But wait, why were you touc-"

"Ahem, sorry for barging in. We just wanted to say Happy Birthday to Alhaitham. We'll visit again some other time when he's awake," Lumine cuts Paimon off, successfully managing to slap her hand against Paimon's mouth. She can feel the back of her ears turning red as she bows and practically sprints away and out of the house. She'll just write a note to the scribe instead.

+

You blink a few times before chuckling again. Wow, that girl sure can run fast. You've heard stories about the Traveller and this "Paimon" character, patiently waiting for your turn to stumble into their journey. Although you wish you had met them with better first impressions, they seem like a lively bunch. Your eyes slide over back onto the sleeping figure in front of you, and there's a slight nudge of his lips. The smallest of smiles threaten to burst before it placates into something more neutral. A small detail that hasn't escaped you.

"I know you're awake Alhaitham," you state blankly, your gentle hands reaching back up before suddenly turning harsh and tugging at his cheek. Pulling the skin so he has a lopsided smile. True to your words, teal and amber eyes open without an ounce of shame. "Weren't those your friends? Don't be rude and ignore them when they came all this way to say happy birthday."

He offers a half-hearted shrug before the hand supporting his head moves to take your fingers still tugging at his cheek. Intertwining them together until his face is free. His smile is still small but his eyes shine with fondness that you're forced to look away. Sometimes you forget just how pretty Alhaitham can be.

"Weren't you the one that said I should indulge on my special day? Is it so wrong that I want to spend it with you and you alone?" He adds to his point by brushing his lips against your fingertips before pressing a kiss to your palm. There's a small smile as he extends his other hand out, eyes taking in how pink your ears become. "So let's indulge."

“For such a pretty face, you sure are…” you trail off but you take his hand and let him move you onto his lap. It's unfair how fast he can turn the tables on you and how easily you let him do so. It was fun being able to poke and prod the man to your heart's content since he had to hold the disguise of being asleep, even if you do feel a bit bad that the Traveller had to postpone their greeting, but now it's his hands that roam over your body. Slipping under your - his - shirt and rubbing small circles into your hip before growing bored and moving onto another patch of untouched skin until there's nothing left to take. Lip hungry as he kisses away your words because every breath that isn't mixed with his is worthless. Perhaps it's a blessing that you need to take a proper breath because you're sure that Alhaitham would keep taking until there's nothing left. Disregarding how tightly your hands cling to him and refuse to let him stray too far away.

"Greedy."

"Pot meet kettle."

---

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[murdrdocs]

been having a niche thought of marrying patrick sort of for the benefits and access that comes with it.

no one knows if you and patrick married for the right reasons. there were suspicions at the engagement party, jokes made by the people who knew you best. "i never thought these two would settle down, much less with each other". laughter followed, but everyone knew there was truth in the statement. why in the hell would you decide to marry patrick zweig?

love, is what you tell everyone. according to both of you, you're soulmates. and yeah, in most regards both are true. you and patrick share a love for each other. but that love is shared with others, too. you know each other better than most. but there are two others who know you both just as well. sitting at the end of the table during the engagement party. sitting just close enough to you and patrick during the wedding reception.

the donaldsons are maybe the real reason why you and patrick married. it started as a joke, really. a deluded, elaborate bit created by a drunk art (finally allowed to indulge now that he's retired) and a barely-tipsy patrick (put on a strict regimen by his new coach).

"if you two married, no one would suspect anything between us," was art's reasoning. it barely made sense to you at the time, but not much could make sense when you were struggling to stay awake, being lulled to sleep by the rumble of patrick's chest beside your ear where you lay, and the sweet waft of tashi's perfume carrying in the evening wind.

"think about it," art had continued. "people won't be suspicious over two married couples being close friends. they already probably think i'm cheating with," art slurred your name and you distantly acknowledged how nice the sound was like that. it reminded you of when he was fucked out and he called for you. "and they think tashi's cheating with you, patrick. but if you two were married..."

and art didn't have to say much else. because on a fresh mind the next morning, standing in art and tashi's kitchen, wearing patrick's shirt and waiting for freshly cooked eggs while looking at the sunspots covering art's back and shoulders, you began to understand the logic in art's argument.

married couples were friends. close friends. spend the night at the others house and hosts birthday parties for each other type of friends.

maybe that's why after that day, you and patrick started seeing just each other more. maybe that's why the two of you started dating. maybe that's why patrick took you to a nice place, had art help him set everything up, and popped the question with a ring that tashi assured him you would like. maybe it's why you went through with the wedding, why you bought a house together, why you became mrs. zweig in every sense of the title.

and truthfully, it's a nice life.

it's nice seeing patrick walk downstairs shirtless, his body on display for you to ogle. it's always been like that between you two, yes, but something's different. he has hickies on his shoulders, two from art and then one from you right beside it. there's scratches on his back from you and tashi. he's always wearing his wedding band, and the gold glints nicely against his tan skin. sometimes, you pull the ring up his lithe finger and admire the way he has a tan line now. a permanent reminder of you, even if your presence in a shared space is the same.

he looks cleaner, too, from work of you and tashi. his body a healthy mix between lean and toned. his skin glowing from the inside out. his beard shaped up nicely, a light brown that works well with the burnt orange sprinkle in his eyes. curly hair kept short, more and more greys growing day by day.

it's nice sitting in tashi and art's backyard on patio furniture the four of you had a say in, sharing drinks and old anecdotes before you all went upstairs to entangle your bodies upon the king-sized bed.

even without the legalities, you and patrick would've remained intertwined in tashi and art's lives. but it feels right like this. it feels more secure. like you're committed to each other in the same ways that you're both committed to the dolandsons.

plus, patrick seems to be more bearable as a husband than he was as a friend (the term used loosely of course).

[bunniesanddeer]

Hi! I hope you’re having a wonderful day or night.

I saw your asks are open and I had an idea. What if it’s a protective Alastor x Reader who is the daughter of a protective Lucifer? Maybe she kept in contact with her dad so they are closer and she is older than Charlie. When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel him and Alastor cause some drama

Thanks!

W.P💚

I hope this is what you were looking for? I am very new to doing things like this!

Daddy's Girl

Pairing: Alastor X Lucifer's Daughter! Reader

Tags: Sisterly love, some sexual connotations, spoilers, some angst maybe? idk, swearing, Mimzy.

SPOILERS FOR "DAD BEAT DAD"

Word Count: 1,775

The hotel was eerily quiet when you awoke, so you made your way downstairs to see if anyone was awake. All you could hear as you made your way down the stairs was your quiet footfalls and weird murmuring. As you turned towards the sitting area, you realized the muttering was coming from your younger sister, Charlie.

Charlie was pacing back and forth in front of a pin board covered in colorful papers, and strings. She tugged at her hair, her muttering growing more frantic. As you took in the scene, you realized there were a few people standing and watching her. Niffty was bouncing on the couch, her face full of a strange glee. Husk and Sir Pentious were watching with mixes of bafflement and curiosity.

“Hey, Char Char? Are you ok?” You asked, walking around the couch to get a better view. You saw Angel and Vaggie approach from your peripherals as Charlie whipped around frantically.

“Nope! No. Not really! Haha. Hah…” Her false smile falls as she rips a page off the board. “I have been up all night trying to figure out why the hotel isn’t working! We’ve done every single trust exercise and arts and crafts project I could find! We’ve talked about our feelings and… nothing is working!”

You frown. You knew that things taking so long would eventually get to her, but it was sad to see just how severely. She needed more help. 

You walk up to your sister, and set your hands on her shoulders. “I think…”

Her expression collapses. “Please don’t say it.”

“We should call dad. And ask for his help.”

She winces. She clearly doesn’t want your dad’s help. You can’t exactly blame her, either. The two of you were raised a little separate, and it had affected her relationship with Lucifer pretty badly. Although, you were older, and it had afforded you time with Lucifer before Lilith had started to separate herself from him. Charlie had only had a handful of years before their relationship went south. It showed in her anxiety with him, and Lucifer’s inability to talk to Charlie openly. It made you sad, but you weren’t sure how to fix that rift.

“He’s the reason the extermination happens to begin with! He just let it happen! He doesn’t even like sinners! Why would he help me?” Charlie hugs herself, looking off to the side. “He’s always preferred you anyway.”

You hear some audible winces from the audience by the couch, but you ignore them. You pull her into a tight hug, her taller frame putting you at her collarbones. “You know I would change that if I could, honey.” You squeeze her tightly and say, “We can at least see if he can get you a meeting. Anything to give you the advantage, Char Char.”

She sighs, and hugs you back. “Yeah. I guess we can at least try.”

You pull back. “I think you should call him. I bet he’s dying to hear from you, even though he sucks at showing it.”

Charlie rubs her arm and nods. “Alright. I’ll do it!”

As she struggles to start the phone call, Husk makes comments about her having ‘Daddy Issues’, and you blanch. How rude! (Even if it was true). The others make comments about meeting Lucifer, but you and Vaggie just keep your eyes on Charlie. She seems so nervous, and it makes your stomach twist in knots. 

She finally calls. It rings three times before a faint, “Heyyyy bitch!” rings out on the other end of the line. You facepalm. Good going Dad.

When all is said and done, Lucifer announces he is visiting within the hour, after much cajoling and guilt-tripping on Charlie’s part. Although, from what you could hear, he seemed excited.

Charlie is excited, and so is everyone else in the hotel. You cheer for her, and then the realization hits you. 

Alastor. Fuck.

As the final touches are finished, you sidle up to Alastor with a small grin.

“Please, please don’t start shit. Charlie needs this to work. And I need this to work for Charlie,” you murmur to him. 

He barely glances at you. “Worry not, sweetheart! You know I would never do anything to risk the reputation of the hotel! Charlie will get the help she needs!” His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he squeezes you into his side. For just a moment, his head ducks down, and he whispers into your ear. “Just need to make it clear whose little girl you are now.” Then he perks right back up like nothing happened.

Your face burns hot. How dare he! But you don’t get to do anything in retaliation, because Charlie is opening the door.

“Chaaaaarlie!” Lucifer exclaims, immediately pulling her into a tight embrace. Your sister’s face is full of shock, and you just want to laugh. Ha! You were right! He continues talking to her in the slightest baby voice, and you can’t help but let some giggles escape you. Your dad could be just so silly! “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

He lets go of Charlie as she welcomes him to the hotel. He spots Keekee first, and pets her. Then greets Razzle and Dazzle. You watch from the sidelines with a small smile. It was nice seeing your dad outside the home. He had been holing himself up for so long… You look up at Alastor, who hasn’t moved an inch since your dad came in.

You elbow him gently. “You okay?”

Alasotr’s expression is tight. His eyes flicker to you for a moment, before landing back on your father. He merely hums in response, making you frown. How odd… You knew the two wouldn’t get along, but for Alastor to dislike him already?

 Then your dad spots the bar. “Oh! What in the unholy Hell is that?” 

Alastor immediately shadow-walks to the other side of the room, and you know it’s time to intervene.

“Oh! Just some of the renovations we’ve made.” Alastor gestures with his mic, before continuing. “Adds a bit of color, don’t you think?” 

You wince, and make your way to Alastor’s side. 

“Hey, Dad,” you say, trying to prevent your dad making any further comments on the decor. That's a good way to piss off Alastor.

“Sweetheart!” Your dad runs up to you, and tries picking you up. You laugh at the tights squeeze. “How’s my girl?” His hands squish your cheeks, making it hard to respond.

You giggle through the ministrations, and finally push his hands back so you can respond. “I’m doing great, Dad. Figured I should introduce you to Alastor here.” You gesture to Alastor, who looks the closest to not smiling that you have ever seen. It makes your stomach feel like lead, as you keep talking. “He’s our facilities' manager, and my…”

Your voice trails off, and you look at Alastor, as if hoping he has the word you are looking for.

“I’m her lover!” Alastor exclaims, quite loudly. His static drops for a moment and then bursts back up in volume, making you wince. Great. He just announced that to everyone in the room. The ‘everyone’ being everyone who didn’t know. You can hear Charlie ‘whoop!’ in the background, and several variations of ‘what the fuck’. “She’s quite the darling. I just couldn’t resist this sweet face!” Alastor grabs at your cheeks, similar to how your dad did, and squishes them. “See?”

You risk a glance at your dad. He looks ready to kill. Fuck. This is absolutely not how you wanted to tell your dad. He nearly killed the last partner you had for ghosting you. You can see your dad’s horns growing, and you push Alastor back.

“Haha! Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I would have told you before now, but we’re kind of new! We were trying to keep it on the down-low for now but…” You glare at Alastor, but he just has this shit-eating grin on his face, and you know he doesn’t care. 

“Right.” Your dad continues glaring at Alastor. You wince, and decide to go over by the snack table. Angel is just giving you this look, and you know he will be asking about Alastor’s dick, which you have not seen, later. Husk seems disappointed in you, and you absolutely know why. You just give him an apologetic shrug, and watch as Alastor and your dad seem to start a pissing match. 

It ends with Alastor in his face saying, “Fuck you,” and your knees nearly give out. Holy shit. 

Charlie finally intervenes, and Lucifer, after some more glaring at Alastor, get her to introduce him to the rest of the residents.

Alastor lays a hand on your shoulder as your dad greets both the guests and the staff. You can feel his thumb rubbing back and forth, and it sends shivers down your spine. You look up at Alastor, but his gaze is still locked on your dad. Annoyed, you roll your eyes with a huff, and look back to the meet-and-greet. Your dad is looking back at you, his frown deep, and a barely audible growl making its way to your ears. Your dad is fucking growling at Alastor. What the Hell?

A rumble builds up in Alastor’s chest, and you can feel it against your back. This one sets heat back up to your face. Gosh, this man needed to get his shit together. No need to start stuff with your dad! Alastor’s hand tightens on your shoulder, before he lets go and stalks back towards Charlie, who is trying to convince your dad to help her. 

And then they’re singing. Because of course. Alastor joins in, saying some things that seem to really piss off your dad, but you can't hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. Sometimes these two could be so embarrassing. When your dad pulls out the golden fiddle, you nearly die laughing. (He still wasn’t over losing that one time!) Everything comes to a head, with the two men yelling insults in each other's faces, when suddenly-

“It’s ME!” A woman barges in through the lobby doors, yelling and calling herself Mimzy. She’s blonde, and dressed like a flapper. Alastor seems to recognize her, so you don’t worry. 

Later that night, when your dad has finally agreed to help your sister get that meeting, you all settle onto the couches, making a game plan. Alastor sits beside you, one foot resting on the other knee. You lean over and ask softly, “What did you say during that song, anyway?”

Alastor’s grin sharpens, and he presses his lips near your ear, again. “Charlie calls me dad, and your eldest calls me Daddy.”

If you nearly choke on your own spit, you refuse to admit it. 

[oatmealthighs]

bigbro!choso x blackfem!babysitter!reader

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 contents: nsfw 18+, MDNI. overstimulation, rough sex, mutual pining, breeding kink, masturbation. i guess a lil stalking? choso's last name is itadori, yuji is a lil one, reader is black-coded and depicted to be a bit thick. but yea gets pretty nasty. minors gtf back

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 author's note: yea this is a bit more self-indulgent than i'd like to admit.... but nonetheless! i still hope yall like it! inspired by this work of art

“so you're the new babysitter, huh?”

his voice was so deep. it rumbled through your every limb, made every hair prick up against your melanated skin. your throat went dry as you looked up at the man so casually leaning against the doorframe to his quaint, humble home, towering over you as he observed you almost menacingly.

as choso itadori looked down at you with indifferent eyes, you couldn't stop your own from scouring, observing the way the black tee he had on was tight in all the right places, hugging and squeezing at his muscular biceps and clinging to his formed chest. his brown hair was tied up, spiky locks in two ponytails. black jewelry adorned his ears all the way up to the helix.

you felt small, under investigation as his dark orbs intensely pierced through your own. but you didn't waver, it was never in your nature to showcase your uncertainty. instead you smiled, glossed lips parting to show your pretty teeth. “yep, that's me! my name is [name].” of course choso already knew that, and maybe a bit more that he didn't plan on sharing with you. he had no shame when it came to investigating who he was entrusting the care of his baby brother to, yuji being his heart and rib, the only family he had left on this entire planet. he'd die for him, kill for him, do worse if it came down to it. but with you, all that extra shit didn't seem necessary to make clear.

choso knew you looked good from your instagram he managed to find after some digging, but your posts didn't capture the true, full essence of your beauty. the camera didn't necessarily capture the way your brown skin glowed and shimmered in light, or accentuate your curves like how they looked now. you smelled sweet, like yams and vanilla. the magenta yoga set you wore clung to your skin tantalizingly, outlining your curvy silhouette and the top zipped down just a little low to show a little cleavage. your hair was styled* into a neat bob, bluntly cut just above your shoulders, not a single hair out of place. your lips were lined a dark coffee brown and ombré’d into the pink natural color of your skin, coated with sparkly gloss. your large glasses sat on the bridge of your wide nose, a french-tipped nail pushing them higher up. choso continued to feign disinterest, but he knew the darkening scarlet brushing over the tips of his ears might be what would give him away if you took any notice.

luckily enough, your attention was drawn elsewhere, the sound of toddler yuji cooing as he waddled through the living room towards the front door making your eyes widen with adoration. you kneeled down to his height, yuji’s big brown eyes finding yours and him sending you a gummy smile. “and this must be yuji! ohh, you’re the cutest thing! making my heart swell.”

choso needed you for a short while, just until he could find a new daycare for his little brother. between him working over forty hours a week and using the weekends to focus on bonding with yuji and resting up, he never really had the time. or more-so, seeing how well yuji gravitated to you, how he began asking about you by just saying your name during bath time, how he always cried when you left, was what made it drop lower and lower on his priority list.

you were much more help than he expected you to be, and did far more than what he was paying you to do, which resulted in the extra hundred dollar bills he would sneak into your cherry coach bag every evening. it was the least he could do: you made meals, helped clean, always put yuji down to bed before you left. even did the laundry as needed. you insisted it was okay when choso told you you didn't have to bother yourself with tasks that weren't in the job description, and that you didn't want or expect anything extra out of it. but you stopped fighting against his generosity… not that there was ever a struggle.

some nights required choso to stay later, long past his typical return time of six o’clock, and some nights he wouldn’t return until 2am. he would come in from a particularly tiresome day at the hospital in his his grey scrubs and his hair pulled into a low ponytail. he would never be surprised to find you laying on the large sectional sofa, glasses still on but your bonnet tied tight around your head, under one of the extra blankets with your phone replaying a tiktok. choso always had the guest bedroom prepared for you but it was always all for naught, as the couch seemed to be your preferred place of choice. it was so soft, it had to be well over a thousand bucks. he never disturbed you, you deserved your sleep. at most, he’d shut your phone off and turn down the tv, and head upstairs to shower and prep for bed himself. he’d often hear you leave the house later that night or early in the morning.

choso was the strong, silent type most of the time. he was an action-driven man– if he didn’t say it he would show you. you knew he liked you for his baby brother when he asked how did you feel about hanging around yuji for a bit longer than anticipated one evening while you were just about to leave out for the day. or when he would sneak those crisply folded blue bills into your bag. you wondered what he did for work one day, and you asked him. he was an anesthesiologist, he said. and you knew he was rolling in the money then.

there were no signs of a woman in his life from what you’ve seen. no feminine hygiene products in the bathroom, no pictures, no particular scent aside from your own aroma of sweetness. no mentions of a “she”... not that you’ve ever talked about it. you wanted to pop the question, but you didn’t want to weird him out- you opted to just “keep things professional.” but shit, it was hard sometimes. choso was a nice-looking man, with a height of 6’3”, a hard, muscular build, and dark eyes that made you shudder when he looked down upon you with them. sometimes he would come home after a vigorous work-out at the gym if he had the pleasure of getting off on time, wearing a black underarmour compression shirt that would be so damn tight you’d see every sculpt and cut of his meticulously defined upper body. his hair would be down, brown tresses clinging to his strong neck, thick eyebrows knitted together at the feeling of sweat and perspiration sticking to his skin and his growing need to shower. you would be in the kitchen, just cleaning up since you wrapped dinner up not too long ago, and the smell would make his stomach borderline roar at him. he’d shower, then come back in a tee and grey sweatpants, damp hair hanging as he sat at the table and basically ripped apart whatever you had prepared for him.

sometimes, you’d be in a rush to go home. not because choso would make you uncomfortable or anything. never that… but you knew your body. you knew that warm pool of heat in between your legs meant nothing but trouble, and was something that needed to be handled, preferably asap. you’d rush into your little apartment, make a beeline to your bedroom and strip down to your bare skin before jumping into your silk pink sheets. you’d grab your vibrator and press it to your clit desperately, pussy squeezing around nothing as you threw your head back against the soft pillows. you’d pinch your brown nipple, bottom lip trapped in between your teeth as you moved your vibrator in small little circles. more and more, you’ve began imagining choso in between your legs, his large hands parting your thick thighs like the red sea as he ate you out, his tongue lashing at your clit and slurping up your honey like a man parched. you imagined him pinning you against a wall with those brawny arms of his, knees pressed to your chest as he pounded you, burying himself to the hilt as your pussy squeezed his thick, long dick like a vice. it would be so nasty… you could only imagine the way you’d be cumming around him, how he’d make you cream and release until you’re ran dry.

sometimes when you finish, you’ll feel ashamed, throwing your vibrator to the end of the bed as you squeezed your legs together and hid under the comforter with embarrassment. other times… not so much. the fire would still be stirring and burning within you, begging for something more, for you to truly be filled. there were times you were a smidgen too close to calling up one of your old flings, just to fulfill your desire of being stretched out once again and to just imagine the man over you was your employer instead.

your feelings didn’t go completely unrequited.

choso held his tongue for the greater good of professionalism and your comfortability, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t contemplate asking you to dinner a few times. from what he’s seen and observed on your insta, you didn’t have a special somebody. and he figured it would never hurt to ask. but choso was careful. he often opted to just not say anything.

he felt his gazes getting longer, his eyes moving more risky every time he’d see you moving about in his home working. he picked up that you really liked two piece sets, especially the ones made of sculpting spandex that always clung to your body almost provocatively. the way your ass sat in them, he was almost embarrased to say he dreamed about grabbing a handful of it, palming one of your cheeks with his entire hand. your glossed lips always caught his attention. he often thought about how it would look smudged on his skin, smeared across his own lips after tonguing you down.

your smell lingered. on the furniture, in the blankets, hung in the air. it was embarrassing how the scent of shea butter and vanilla was enough alone to make his dick stiff. it’s been so long since he’s rubbed one out. and he was doing a good job until you came along. he wasn’t proud to admit the amount of times he’s touched himself to you, his hips rolling his dick up into the clenched palm of his hand, soft squelching sounds filling his master bedroom. he’d imagine how you’d ride him, slamming your hips down against his own, your ass flush against his skin as you moan sweet nothings into his ear while he tried his damnedest to not nut in you.

the tension was growing thick. it could be sliced with a chainsaw at this point. but the both of you both opted to play it safe. until it spilled over… and it was bound to happen.

and it did.

"ouuuu, shit, choso!" the way that man was absolutely drilling you from behind was almost criminal, the deafening sound of his hips cracking against your fat ass echoing throughout the sound of the living room as he was trying his best to fuck you through the couch he had you drooling on.

you really don't know how you got here. well... you do. after all, this was the day you've been plotting and hoping on the moment you first seen choso's fine ass leaning against his doorway. it was like a dream come true, watching the way he deliciously hovered over you like predator over prey, his silky brown tresses draping around his sharp facial structure and his silver chain dangling, swinging in cadence with his hard, deep thrusts.

the two of you were just watching a movie, mr. & mrs. smith to be exact, courtesy of the invitation he extended earlier that night when you put yuji down for bed. an opportunity to "get better acquainted" over wine, gourmet chips, chocolates and a good action-romance.

"i see the way you look at me," you had stated boldly as you sipped your third glass of wine, the pillar to your sudden courage. "i know you notice how i look at you, too."

choso was sprawled out on the couch, legs spread and his arms thrown over the top. his head rested in one of his big hands, gazing at you through heavy-lidded eyes. he's silent for a moment as he looks at you so intently, his orbs filled with need, before he finally diverts his gaze to the tv. "yeah."

you look at the tv for a bit, not interested at all actually, but feigning it as you finished your glass. it was silent for a bit, albeit the sound of gunfire and car collisions booming through the in-home sound system, before choso speaks, "you can sit closer."

your scooting closer somehow led to you sitting in his lap, which led to a passionate, sloppy makeout session involving you straddling his firm thighs and his big hands gripping your entire ass in his palms as your tongue dived into his mouth. and all that led to him softly laying you on to the couch cushions, your lips never leaving each other's.

his lips are as soft as they look, yet leave scorching flames of desire in their wake as he litters passionate kisses all over your jugular and chest. he buries his nose into your skin, almost moaning at how sweet you smell and taste. as he continues to trace his name on your skin with his tongue, his fingers find the zipper to your purple yoga jacket, his eyes peering at up at yours through his thick lashes to ensure he has your approval.

you nodded your head gently.

choso made it his mission to show you he had much more to offer than some blue bills to you. you never depicted or predicted the guy to be an eater. but oh, were you pleasantly surprised.

that man can eat some pussy... and he does it like he gets paid to do it. he had you spread out like you were his dinner, and you were, your legs wide apart, knees bent. he sat on his haunches on the carpeted floor before you, spreading your lips apart and sloppily sucking at your clit that throbbed eagerly against his lips. he'd dip his head down, lapping up any of your leaking wetness before making out with your pussy yet again, his eyes trained on you and watching intently as your pretty face contorted into expressions of pleasure.

he'd make you cum all in his mouth, encouraging you to do so, never letting up as your thighs shook and vibrated, your eyebrows pushing together and your eyes fluttering shut as the bright hot warmth of your well-awaited orgasm overtook you, leaving you gasping for air. his compliments, "good girl," and "you taste so fucking good" would just get you all riled up again. choso came in his pants too, his ear tips bright red as he made it his duty to lick up all of your sweet nectar, but he kept that to himself.

that's not the only way he wants you though. he'll sit on his bottom on the floor next, his head resting against the couch, requesting for you to sit on his face. "what? choso, no, i'd crush you."

he'll take that as an insult of course. he benches twice your weight, easily. a little extra plush on the thighs wouldn't kill him, in fact, he'd love it ten times more. you'd saddle up, hesitantly brushing your pussy against his lips, and he'd look up at you, unimpressed.

"whaat?" you feign confusion, in reality, a bit shy and nervous at the thought of putting your weight on him.

"sit."

his words made every hair stand at attention against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. you bite your lip, your gloss long smeared off and all over his pale skin. you bring your weight down on him a bit more.

"all the way." fuck.

you do as you're told, and a deep moan of satisfaction rolls through him, his tongue already dipping into your dripping folds. and before you could even think about letting up, his strong arms are locked around your thick thighs.

he'd have you writhing in his grip, going insane at the way his tongue wrote love letters in cursive against your clit. he'd be damn near drowning in your release, your cum slicking and dribbling against his chin as you rolled your hips back and forth against his soft lips. you were chanting his name like a mantra, and it was a beautiful melody to his ears.

and lo and behold, that's how you ended up on a first class flight to poundtown, your eyes stuck in the back of your head and your manicured nails digging into the arm of the couch for personal brace as his huge dick kept brushing up against that soft spot of yours and his girth stretched you so damn good. you knew you were making a mess- you done squirted twice already, your juices rivering down the insides of your thighs and seeping into the soaked couch cushion below you. "fuck, please don't stop!"

"yeah?" choso breathes over you, his cheeks flushed pink from his endurance. you knew he wasn't slowing down no time soon... he told you about his daily four mile runs. his pupils were blown wide as he watched the way you managed to still throw it back at him, stilling his hips as he watched your hungry pussy swallow his length every time your ass sat plush on his lower stomach. "you like that shit?" his calloused palm smacked against your ass unforgivingly, the fiery sting setting you ablaze. he did it again, one more time for good measure.

you were losing it, moaning exasperatedly into the couch fabric as you gave him everything you got, tossing your ass back against him, trying to match the impact he was winding you with just a second ago. "yess, fuck yess," you whine. you reach your hand back, your nails clawing at his shirt and yanking it in a ball. "please, choso, keep fucking me like that."

"what, like this?" his large hands were at your lovehandles, squeezing the flesh there as his resumed his relentless rythym, his eyebrows pinching at the way you squeezed around him like a vice. you let out a wail, your cream decorating his veiny shaft, and he relished in the feeling, a deep groan of satisfaction bubbling from his throat. "shit, you just keep cumming.... what is this, your fourth time?"

actually your sixth, but you weren't gonna correct him. if there was anything you knew, you wanted more. the way the veins of his dick dragged against your walls was a wonderful, irreplicable feeling, his balls slapping your clit with each profound stroke. his thick fingers found your hair, tangling his hand in your locks and giving them a courteous yank, making your back cave and arch deeper as you let out a yelp of pleasure. any other time, you'd for sure cuss him out... but his dick touching your soul was plenty good of a distraction. besides, you knew your hair was long sweated out anyway.

he was gonna give you some money for a new hairstyle anyway. he was good for making up for it.

choso feels himself teetering against the edge, between the sounds of your disgusting squelching and the mess you left on him and his couch, your pussy still begging for more as it and all its sloppiness still squeezed him whole, and your pretty keens and gasps bouncing around the room, it was almost too much. he felt like he was losing it, the hearts in his eyes palpitating as both of his hands held your jaw from behind. "the fuck are you doing to me..." he mutters aloud, his eyebrows furrowed as you eagerly sucked on his thumbs with a slutty moan.

"you know, yuji gets lonely sometimes," he whispers, slowing his thrusts and leaning forward to crush you with his weight, his dick bottoming out and making you let out a cry as your eyes snapped wide open. he rolls his hips more sensually as he licks at the back of your nape, the cool metal of his chain brushing the skin of your back and making you shiver. his lips trail to your ear, tongue lolling out at the shell as he continues, "i'm sure he wouldn't mind a friend. you'd like that wouldn't you? for me to fuck you full until i got nothing left, huh? you gonna drain me of all i got?"

you nodded your head desperately as you hummed a whiny "mmhm", turning your head to the side as you watched in awe as the man over you was spilling over the edge. "yes, i'd love it, cho, give it to me... please?"

choso hums in satisfaction, his heart thrumming against his ribcage as your words made butterfly cocoons hatch in his stomach and his dick stiffer than ever before. "yeah..." he slams into you, winding you with power and force that insinuated that he hated you, but he'd only make such a dangerous, promising offer to someone he truly liked. let alone anyone at all. "i know you would. you're nasty as fuck."

you didn't know if you were to be terrified or turned on, but the way your core pulsated around him let you know you were the latter. he let out a breathy moan at your physical response, but it didn't stop him. not even for a second.

he wasn't letting up. you weren't getting any breaks. the way you would be teasing him wearing those tight ass clothes and smelling like you wanted him to eat you alive. nah. he was giving you everything you ever dreamed about, everything you imagined when you'd resort to using your little vibrator between your legs.

and you loved every fucking second of it.

[bit-odd-innit]

“Sometimes,” Gareth drawls. He’s sitting behind his kit, twirling a drumstick in his fingers, thoughtful. “Sometimes I think this town really is cursed.” “Dude.” Jeff warns. “Let me finish. I think this town is cursed, and Eddie’s a part of it—” “Dude!” “Let me finish! Town’s cursed, Eddie’s involved, but he’s not the source. He’s a victim.”

Jeff and Francis exchange a look. ”And the true source.” He rises, getting on a roll. “The true source is hiding in plain sight, something—”

He cuts his eyes at them. “—or someone no one would expect. The true source...” He whirls his drumstick with a dramatic flourish then snaps his arm to its full extension and points outward, into the wild blue yonder that is the world beyond his parents’ garage. “...is Him.”

Him, being: Steve Harrington, parked at the end of the driveway. Steve Harrington, opening the passenger side door of his rich boy Beemer. Steve Harrington, who drove Eddie to band practice. Who’s shouldering Eddie’s gig bag. Who’s helping Eddie out of the car. 

Jeff and Francis watch for a moment in silence, then turn back to Gareth in sync.

”An interesting theory.” ”Elaborate.”

“Consider the facts, boys!” He holds his drumstick to his mouth to pantomime smoking a pipe. It doesn’t really work but he’s committed to it now. “Prior to The Unfortunate Occurences Which Shan’t Be Named...”

Francis crosses himself backwards. Jeff looks down, shielding his eyes and murmuring, “That Which Shan’t Be Named.” It’s the only way they can cope with what happened last spring. It’s that or face the reality that their friend almost died horribly; that he was hunted for sport by a town that still looks at him sideways, still has not acknowledged any wrongdoing; that there’s a gap in Eddie’s retelling of What Really Happened he can’t or won’t explain, and in that gap Eddie was almost destroyed, was so brutalized he was hospitalized for a month and semi-comatose for half of it. That Eddie is different now. Wounded. Skittish. Not small, never small. But smaller.

That’s too much, man. So they make it a Bit.

“...Our darling Edward would have never associated with the likes of that.”

(That is currently smoothing down the collar of Eddie’s new battle jacket, nose wrinkling as the stubborn curl of the denim refuses to lay flat.)

”A jock? Hah! A jock and a yuppie? Hah and hah a-gain! But now, in the hereafter of...” He falters. “Certain Events...he has emerged unscathed—” “He is not unscathed,” Jeff corrects. “He is extremely scathed,” Francis adds. “Mentally, physically and emotionally scathed.”

“He’s scathed to shit dude.” “He has emerged unscathed,” Gareth barrels on, shooting them a look that says this is supposed to be a monologue.  “But for one critical difference. Not only does he tolerate this...interloper’s existence, but he actively seeks out his company! I daresay he enjoys it! Thrives on it! Our jester is holding court in the empty kingdom of a fallen king!”

Francis laughs but Jeff frowns. “That’s a little mean.”

“Ah, but is it untrue?”

“Still.”

“Fine, sorry, jeez.”

(The fallen king is now holding the jester’s collar down with one hand and furiously rubbing at it with his fist, scowling like the fabric personally offended him. “You should have let me iron this,” he huffs, and the way Eddie watches Steve is so cartoonishly fond Gareth half expects a menagerie of woodland creatures to scamper out of the brush and sing a song about it.)

Satisfied, Jeff gets back on board. He hums, his mouth a grim line, voice dropping to the bottom of his register. “And you suspect the Dark Arts?”

“What other explanation could there be?” Gareth lifts his steepled fingers  to his mouth, forgetting he is still holding the drumstick, and tips it forward so it doesn’t go right up his nose. He glowers in the pair’s general direction. “What do we truly know about this Hair-ington? What secrets does that follicle fortress hold? What Black Magic does this strapping sorcerer wield that has so bewitched our beloved bro?” Francis snorts. “The black magic is that Steve’s hot, and Eddie wants to kiss him.”

Gareth and Jeff stare at him, slack-jawed. Francis shrugs.

“Look I’m not into the guy but let’s call a spade a spade.” 

Gareth shifts his weight to one leg, his theatrics flushing out of him. “I’m running out of steam on this, can we just talk about Eddie’s stupid crush on Steve Harrington?”

“Oh my god PLEASE.” “I have been WAITING for someone to bring it up” “I’ve never seen him like this. He is gone. He is smitten.”

“I’d go so far as to say he is straight up besotted my dude!” “Cupid’s arrow flew true and it got him right between the fucking eyes.”

It’s not the first time Eddie’s had a crush, or the most embarrassing. It’s not even that the guys are worried about what would happen if they roasted Eddie to his face—Eddie can dish it out as well as he can take it, mostly. But whatever Eddie has with Steve feels…untouchable. The first time Steve dropped him off Gareth tested the waters with something light, something along the lines of, “you think he’s gonna give you his letterman jacket?” Instead of laughing it off, Eddie dimmed, and he answered, quietly, “Steve’s just a friend.” The subject hasn’t been broached since.

But perhaps Eddie just can’t see the forest for the trees. Because from the band’s perspective…

“Oh my God are you KIDDING me?”

“What?”

“Steve just did The Move!”

“What move?”

“THE Move! You know.” Gareth presses together his palms, one slightly higher so he can curl his fingers over the ones on his opposite hand. He affects a bright, breathy voice and coos: “Hee hee oh wow your hands are soooo small compared to mine. Hee hee hoo my hands are so big and strong just like me, I could do a billion push ups, probably, and ohhhh wow! Now we’re holding hands! How did that happen! Hee hee hoo hoo ha ha ha!”

Francis chuckles knowingly. “Total Hot Guy Move.”

“A classic!”

“Is that what you think Steve Harrington sounds like?” Jeff asks.

As if on cue, Steve shifts his hand so his fingers fill the spaces between Eddie’s, and then those fingers are folding over, and then the two of them are just…holding hands, in the middle of the street. Staring at each other. Smiling.

Henderson seems just as fed up with this song and dance as the rest of them because he launches from his post in Steve’s back seat, halves himself over the center console and absolutely lays on the horn.

(That’s the other thing they don’t talk about, how clingy Dustin’s gotten. How he trails Eddie like a little shadow, like he’s been stitched to the sole of Eddie’s shoe. Like if he doesn’t have eyes on Eddie at all times he’s going to disappear.)

It snaps them out of their spell because then Steve is barking for him to, “quit it, this is a residential neighborhood!!!” and Henderson is punching out the tune to “Ride of the Valkyries” and Eddie is laughing, really laughing, his head thrown back and his eyes closed as he loses himself to a debilitating, full body cackle and for one brief, horrible moment Gareth thinks he might start crying.

Because there had been a time—Mayish, Juneish—when they didn’t know if they would get Eddie back. That part of him, the core of him, the writhing nucleus of his Eddie-ness, had been tamped down for good. And then Steve showed up. And then Steve kept showing up. And then slowly, surely, Eddie came back. Eddie’s here. Eddie’s late to band practice.

Gareth’s driveway has an incline so it takes Eddie a minute to reach them (Eddie’s working with a physical therapist to build up his quad strength Eddie’s missing sections of his internal organs Eddie almost died and he didn’t and they will never know how or why and Gareth swallows down another knot of emotion lodged at the base of his throat). When he’s at the top he bobs his chin at them and pumps his eyebrows, sheepish but unapologetic.  He glances over his shoulder, flicks a salute at Henderson and Steve, beams when Steve answers with a fluttery trill of his fingers. He turns, moves to set up.

“Hey, Munson!” 

Steve’s halfway in the car, forearm draped over the open driver’s side door, one foot propped on the seat. For a beat he doesn’t move, the corner of his lower lip pinched beneath the top row of his teeth. Then his tongue falls out of his mouth, he makes a little “Bleh!” noise like a B-movie vampire, and he throws the horns.

He does it wrong. He sticks his thumb out instead of tucking it beneath his middle and ring fingers. He isn’t saying rock on, he’s saying something else, cause Gareth knows a little ASL and in ASL that sign means—

Later Eddie will say his knee gave out, that he’s still figuring out how to maneuver his “busted ass body.” They let him have it, but Gareth and Jeff and Francis know the truth. Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson he loves him, and Eddie swooned.  “You fellas ready to rock?” Eddie asks as he hooks up to his amp. Gareth gets behind his drum kit, counts them in, and the band plays on.   

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐌𝐞? [𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: older brother!Alhaitham x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, modern AU, incest, loss of virginity, size kink, cockwarming, creampie.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Tommee Profitt feat. Jung Youth - Who's Gonna Stop Me

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Just let me be reborn as the younger sister of this divine man (っ˘ω˘ς )

art: @eriimyon

You've never even thought about the fact that girls your age should be interested in guys. Every time you heard your friends enthusiastically discussing the looks of your classmates, you felt so far away from it. Your gaze has never clung to men passing by, and your heart has never even been touched by sympathy for anyone. That's how it was until it came to your brother.

«Your brother is so sexy! Does he have a girlfriend?»

Is it true? Perhaps… the only man you've ever looked at has always been him. Since childhood, you have secretly admired the success of your older brother, not missing the opportunity to ask him to pull you up in your studies when he had a free minute. It could hardly be said that Alhaitham enjoyed spending time with you when you were a child. This man is too difficult to understand. This stoically indifferent expression on his face, the cold gazes of emerald eyes and a monotonous low voice are what have accompanied you since birth.

As soon as Alhaitham saw tears welling up in your innocent eyes, he instantly silently left your room, before getting a clear answer who made you cry. You didn't know where he went or what he was doing, but any of your problems were solved the very next day, which gave rise to this feeling of unconditional security when you looked at his tall figure and heard these quiet sighs and banal phrases uttered in a quiet indifferent tone only to dismiss your obsessive questions about what suddenly happened to the classmates who bullied you. A certain modesty of your older brother has planted in your heart the belief that, no matter how distant Alhaitham may seem, he cares about you in his own way and will never allow his little sister to cope with difficulties alone, even if you'll hardly ever be able to hear words of support from him.

And now, ten years later, you still look at Alhaitham with unspoken gratitude and adoration, despite the fact that his presence in your life is barely noticeable. You always sneak a peek into your brother's room when he's not at home, carefully examining the few things he left on the table. Everything that belongs to Alhaitham always arouses your genuine interest, although the entire contents of his room, perhaps, can be classified as essential items and mountains of books filling the shelves of tall cabinets. Every time your fingers slide over the numerous book spines, and your eyes memorize several titles in order to secretly read them. Maybe this way you can get closer to him — that's what you always thought.

But still, is your obsession with him really normal? This question has been in your head since the image of Alhaitham began to pop up in your thoughts more often when you were alone with yourself. Loving your older brother is absolutely normal, isn't it? And remembering how you once saw Alhaitham tired after work, throwing off his shirt and exposing his muscular back and broad shoulders in his room while you were passing by the ajar door is also normal. You only had a moment to capture in your memory the elastic muscles of his chest and the V-shaped line of his abs disappearing behind his lowered trousers, but it was more than enough to keep this image in your thoughts for several weeks.

«Your brother is so sexy...»

Is this the real reason why a blush now sticks to your cheeks when your eyes meet Alhaitham's gaze? Is this the reason why you're touching yourself so obscenely for the first time, replaying over and over in your memory what you probably shouldn't have seen? But you comfort yourself with the thought that men often strip to the waist and there is nothing indecent about it. You've already seen him in this form as a child, but why does it bother you so much now and seem so wrong?

You need to stop this.

You've spent hours watching guys your age, trying to awaken those emotions that should torment a girl's heart when looking at admittedly attractive members of the opposite sex, but you don't feel anything. Just boredom.

You've also never heard of Alhaitham having a relationship with anyone. Of course, if you had asked him a question, he would have replied that he is too busy or that he isn't interested, but then what about you? Are you also not interested in relationships, or is there another reason why you can't keep up a conversation with friends who are so immersed in matters of the heart that you don't understand? The answer seemed so close, somewhere on the surface. You only have to stretch out your hand and you'll see what you are trying so desperately not to notice.

Therefore, now you try not to make noise, sneaking back to Alhaitham's door when you hear him enter his room late at night, probably tired after a hard day's work. You need to look at him again, but your heart is so restless every time you even try to imagine how you start a conversation with him. Since when did it become so difficult for you to communicate with your own brother?

You peek cautiously through the half-open door, noticing Alhaitham lounging in an armchair with a book in his hand. His long fingers cling to his black tie, getting rid of the suffocating pressure on his neck in one light practiced movement. His lips are slightly parted as your brother sighs heavily, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on his slightly rumpled shirt before leaning back in his chair.

Long eyelashes barely touch the skin of Alhaitham's face when he closes his eyes, combing the unruly strands of silver bangs with his palm. He's really handsome, you can't deny that. But you've seen enough men that you could call beautiful, but just looking at Alhaitham causes a thrill in your chest, the nature of which you are so desperate to understand.

— How long are you going to stand in the doorway? If you need anything, come in.

Your eyes widen with fright, and your muscles seem to turn to stone, not allowing you to move from your place, when you hurriedly shift your gaze from Alhaitham's chest slightly peeking out from under the cotton fabric to the emerald irises looking at you with slight irritation.

— I, uh… I'm sorry, I don't need anything! — you almost take off, ready to run back to your room, when you notice Alhaitham getting up from his chair, approaching your confused figure.

It all happened so fast. You didn't even have time to understand anything, as Alhaitham's big hand wrapped around your shoulder, forcing you to go inside, when you heard the slam of the door behind you, to which your back is now pressed. Your brother's free hand presses into the wooden surface, enclosing you between him and the door, while the fingers of his other hand cling to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning one by one and exposing the relief of Alhaitham's body right in front of your face.

— Wh-what are you doing?! — you turn away, blunting your gaze to the floor, trying to hide the way your cheeks instantly flushed when the pleasant scent of his perfume hit your nose.

— Huh? Isn't that what you were just looking at?

— I don't…

The words get stuck somewhere deep in your throat when Alhaitham's long fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. As soon as the pads touch your brother's skin, this aching pain comes back to your lower abdomen. He's so warm. You can feel the muscles tense under your touch, becoming even harder, you can feel his heart beating steadily, as if absolutely nothing unusual is happening right now. Alhaitham is calm, as always, carefully watching your funny reaction from his height. Your hand trembles in his grip, but your fingers lightly press on the elastic flesh, causing embarrassment to tingle the skin of your face even more.

— Do you think I don't notice the way you look at me? I always assumed that my sister was a diligent good girl, but what do I see now? — Alhaitham leans towards your ear, guiding your palm lower over his prominent abs as his hot breath touches your face. — Now you're just as spoiled as all adults.

His words make your stomach churn with fear. The way the pads of your fingers slide over every bump of his tense stomach, the way his lips are close to your face, the way Alhaitham's breathing becomes more ragged when your hand stops on the belt of his trousers, it seems so wrong, but for some reason you just stay silent, letting him do it to you. You can feel the heat rushing to the bottom of your stomach when Alhaitham guides your fingers to his groin. You've never touched anyone… there before. Even through the dense fabric, the warmth emanating from his dick touches your hand, which unconsciously wraps around the hard bulge, causing your heart to pound wildly, pulsating in your ears.

— H-Haitham, stop it, I don't understand what you want… — the volume of your voice drops to a whisper.

It's so damn hard. Your body heats up treacherously, and moisture begins to accumulate between your clenching thighs. You press against the door, trying to escape at least somewhere from the cage in which Alhaitham imprisoned you, but he sees how your legs are shaking and feels your pulse quicken, quietly grinning at how something your body tells him goes against the words that come unsteadily from your tongue.

— I don't remember teaching you to lie. Didn't you spy on me a few weeks ago because you wanted to? And that's what you came for today.

— No! I would never…

— You're too bad at hiding your desires for a girl who knows better than anyone that I'm observant enough. Can't any of your peers meet your needs, huh?

— How do you…

— I know everything I need to know. I even know you're still a virgin, but you still want me to fuck you. But it's reasonable.

— What are you talking about?! Is it okay to want something like this with own brother? — you pull your hand back, ostentatiously clenching your fingers into a fist and pulling away from Alhaitham's face, almost buried in the curve of your neck. Your brother straightens up, towering over you like a heavy shadow, now looking into your eyes, desperately trying not to break eye contact. What do you want to prove to him if your other hand is now nervously fiddling with the fabric of your nightgown, and your teeth are unconsciously biting your lower lip, trying hard to remain calm even when the fabric of your underwear is soaked with warm moisture?

— Yes, — your heart sank in your chest when you heard such a short and clear answer, uttered with a completely serious expression on your brother's face. — There's no one who knows you better than I do. It makes sense that you want your first time to be with me. Objectively, I think girls your age really find me attractive, so that doesn't raise any questions either. I don't understand why you're so puzzled, Y/N, given the fact that, obviously for both of us, you've wanted this for a long time, which means you've had time to weigh all the pros and cons since you came to me today.

His words sound like this… makes sense, but then why do you feel that your desires are so obscene? Is the problem that he's your brother? But Alhaitham is right, you spent almost every day of your life with him, shared your most intimate things with him, even if he wasn't interested, he was always there for you, and what's strange about the fact that you are... in love with him?

— I… I think I'm just confused… I need to be alone and think about this...

— There's no need for that.

The randomly scattered pieces of the puzzle finally came together in a clear picture. You can feel your brother's soft lips pressing against yours, the warmth of his palm sliding up your thigh, making its way under the fabric of your homemade shorts. And it doesn't seem wrong. It's so good. Finally, the warmth that your friends seemed to be talking about spread in your chest. When a loved one touches you, when he presses his lips to yours for the first time. Your body answered all the questions swarming in your head for you as your arms wrapped around Alhaitham's neck, deepening the kiss. So clumsily, but your tongue meets his, more insistently dominating your mouth. What an indescribable feeling.

It's so hot, it's so hard to breathe, but you want more when you pull your brother closer, and his knee settles so vulgarly between your legs, pressing into the heat of your crotch. You wanted to push Alhaitham away so as not to stain his trousers with the moisture that your shorts must have soaked through, but there was nothing you could do with how damn pleasant this friction feels caused by his knee pushing against your writhing body.

Alhaitham's fingertips hook into the waistband of your shorts, hastily sliding the soft fabric down your thighs until it crumples on the floor under your feet. A moan escapes from your chest, muffled by his lips, when you feel your toes lift off the floor, and your back presses harder against the door of your brother's room while he scoops you up in his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. A hard cock presses against your crotch through the fabric separating you from the hot flesh.

It's only when his lips finally leave yours that you realize what's going on. Alhaitham's green eyes seemed to look as clouded as yours. You've never seen him like this before. Although his face still didn't express a single emotion, something had clearly changed. Your brother is looking at you with a desire you've never seen in anyone's eyes. It's so strange, so unusual, but the only thing you know is that you like it. You like to feel desired, you like to feel his dick throbbing with another unobtrusive thrust between your legs spread for him, you like to hold on to Alhaitham's muscular shoulders like this while he hastily unbuttons the belt and zipper of his trousers, then pushing aside the lace fabric of your underwear.

The hot head of the cock slides up your slippery crotch, covering the base with sticky moisture. Even without looking down, you could feel with your own body how impressive Alhaitham's dick is. If it weren't for the intoxicating pleasure caused by the delicious friction of his throbbing erection, you'd probably be terrified even at the thought of him entering you. But there was another good reason for your calmness. You know your brother will never hurt you. Perhaps he was right again, as always. You only want him because no one will take care of you like Alhaitham is.

Your throat is bursting with moans that you are desperately trying to hold back so that your parents on the ground floor won't hear you, and it gets even harder when you feel Alhaitham's cock slowly begin to stretch you, sinking inch by inch into your warm insides.

— You're damn tight, Y/N. I'm even flattered that you saved yourself for me.

— Haitham, stop embarrassing me! — you whisper loudly, barely managing to cover your mouth with your hand when his hips meet your ass in one sharp thrust. It… hurts a little, but how perfectly his cock filled your insides. You can feel the blood pulsing in the veins running along the base of his hard organ while he remains motionless, causing your walls to involuntarily contract.

— Why are you confused by such simple facts? I find such emotions inappropriate when my cock is already inside you.

— Just… move… — you look away, tightening your arms around his neck.

— Hm-m? You got used to it so quickly, it's commendable, — you feel Alhaitham's dick pushing even harder into your cervix, which seemed impossible when he pressed his hips even tighter against yours.

It's so unusual to feel him so deep inside. His cock is so huge that it feels like he's forced all the organs in your body to make room. But it's so damn little. Your walls spasm around the hard flesh over and over again, wanting to feel more stimulation, which Alhaitham deprives you of just watching you squirm in his arms, and tears come to your eyes.

— Haitham! — you scream, digging your nails into the skin of the back of his head, when footsteps begin to be heard approaching the door.

— Y/N! Y/N, are you at your brother's?

Shit. As soon as you hear your mother's voice, your stomach twists painfully, and you freeze, holding your breath, casting a frightened look at Alhaitham.

The corners of your brother's lips turn up in a slight smile as he brings his index finger to his lips, motioning for you to be quiet.

«What the hell is that supposed to mean?!»

— Yes, mom, she's in my room.

You exhale with relief, seeming to understand what he meant, but your calm is instantly disrupted when Alhaitham's cock abruptly bursts out of your insides, then stretching and filling you to the limit again. Your eyes widen in mute shock as you press your palm tightly to your mouth, trying to swallow any sound that intends to escape from your throat. Your back is pressed against the door over and over again, the only barrier between the dirty sight that is happening in your brother's room from the eyes of an unsuspecting mother, while Alhaitham's hips slam into your ass with a soft thud at a rough impatient pace.

— Oh, then I'll come to you now!

Your brother is silent, not stopping for a second, further terrifying your poor pounding heart. You tremble, shaking your head in panic, trying to convey to Alhaitham without words what he himself should understand, but for some reason his lips stretch into an even wider smile when one of his palms moves to your crotch, and his fingers press on your clitoris, sending a treacherous wave through your body pleasure.

The moment it took your mother to get to the door seemed to last forever, while your lower abdomen was bursting with delicious spasms that you couldn't resist. Your back arches and your hips shake as the knot in your stomach unties. This orgasm isn't comparable to the ones you brought yourself to on your own. The heat settling in every cell of your body is so intoxicating that it seems as if you are about to lose consciousness. The walls of your vagina clenched so tightly around Alhaitham's cock, still not slowing down, that even he couldn't restrain the quiet moan that escaped from his lips while his fingers continued to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves, only prolonging this magical feeling that causes addiction.

The handle twitches, and you feel a slight pressure from the other side of the door.

— Haitham? Is your door closed?

Your mother's worried voice dispels the fog that has enveloped your consciousness.

— I'll be down in a minute, mom! Brother, n-gh… Helps me with the preparation for the test, — you needed all the self-control you had left so that at least your voice didn't tremble, sounding confident enough without arousing suspicion.

— Are you all right? You sound kind of upset...

— Yes, it's all right! Just wait for me downstairs!

It's unbearable. You are so sensitive, but your brother's cock continues to persistently penetrate you, touching all the right points in your insides to make you feel that heady heat rushing to the bottom of your stomach again, even when his hand, covered with your moisture, returns to your thigh. You can hear your mother muttering to herself before you hear soft, retreating footsteps in the hallway.

— What the fuck, Haitham?! — you snap back, weakly slapping your brother, who is apparently amused by your outburst, on the shoulders.

— You did a great job. It would be awkward if she insisted on coming in.

— Awkward?! D-damn it! — you no longer hold back your moans, desperately biting your lower lip to somehow muffle your sounds, when your hands cling to Alhaitham's neck again, gaining an even more careless and rude pace.

The door knocks softly under the pressure of erratic thrusts. Your brother's cock seemed to get even bigger and harder, stretching your tight walls almost painfully. For the first time, the soft sounds of Alhaitham's hoarse moans cut into your ears, which sound even more beautiful than you could have imagined in your dirtiest fantasies. His lips are open, and the muscles of his forearms are so sexually tense when he literally hammers you into the door, chasing his own orgasm. You don't know how it should feel, but you're sure that he's as close as you are, teetering on the edge of a high that seems to drive you crazy.

A second orgasm hits your poor body just when you feel something warm and sticky spreading in your insides, and Alhaitham's hips are pressed tightly against your ass, remaining almost motionless. He rests his head on your shoulder, exhaling heavily from his lungs as you both try to relive the intense pleasure spreading somewhere under your skin.

You barely come to your senses when you feel your brother's cock leaving your insides, and he gently lowers you to the floor, barely standing on your feet and instantly grabbing his arm to keep from losing your balance. Sticky drops of semen trickle down the inside of your thighs, and you watch in fascination as they settle on the floor, gradually coming out of a state of intoxication and digesting what just happened.

— So you need help with the test? — Alhaitham's voice sounds as cold and indifferent as usual again, as if nothing unusual has happened right now, as he takes off his shirt and slides his trousers down his muscular, seductive thighs. You give an awkward glance at his cock as he walks past, heading to the closet to change into his home clothes. How did he fit in you anyway…

— Very funny… — you adjust your underwear, awkwardly trying to pick up the cream drops from your feet before you see your brother handing you a napkin. — Thanks.

Alhaitham silently turns away, pulling a T-shirt over his magnificent body, and you are mesmerized by watching him now at a close distance, and not hiding behind the door of his room.

— Listen… You're going to move away from here, aren't you? Well, someday.

— Huh? Why do you ask? — your brother turns around, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyelids. — Yes. I've only stayed in this house to keep an eye on you sometimes, but I guess my help won't be needed anymore.

— Take me with you! — you grab the soft fabric of his T-shirt, looking up at Alhaitham with a pleading look.

— Ho-oh, I didn't think you didn't like to be here so much, — your brother crosses his arms over his chest, taking in your petite figure with an appraising glance. — What if I ever get into a relationship?

You're sulking, hastily pulling your hand away, about to just leave, when Alhaitham's big palm touches your jaw, pulling your face down for a kiss. Now your beloved brother's lips are touching yours not with the same desire that they touched the first time. Is he kissing you now… tenderly?

As soon as his lips leave yours, you feel your face turn red again when your gaze meets his cold aquamarine eyes.

— If that's what you want, I don't mind.

[daiziesssart]

a humiliatingly long character analysis of lily evans

Someone sent me an ask that briefly mentioned how misunderstood Lily is, and before I knew it I was typing out this monster. I am. sorry. This is literally just me rambling about her, what I find compelling about her character, and why her character is so often misunderstood.

This is long as hell so I'm putting it under a read more lolol

Part of the reason I like Lily so much (other than my being ginger and projecting onto any redheaded female character I see) is that even though she isn’t explored as much as her other Marauders Era counterparts, we know enough about her to start building the framework for her character. And what I see is a girl who was incredibly interesting, kind, and flawed.

One thing I always think about in regards to Lily is that she was dealt with a pretty unfair hand. As soon as she receives her letter, she’s basically torn between two worlds, both of which have been less than welcome to her. On one hand, we have the muggle world that she’s known all her life, but once she starts integrating into the wizarding world, she likely feels a bit of a disconnect with that world. To twist the knife further, her sister- whom she loved dearly and grew up so close with- starts outwardly resenting her with such unbridled hostility that they likely couldn’t even be in a room alone together without major conflict. 

On the other hand, we have the wizarding world– a world she’s not as familiar with and one she soon learns holds a demographic of people who hate everything she is and would rather see her excommunicated or even dead. And even though finding out you’re a witch/wizard is probably such an exciting and life-changing moment, I can’t help but also take note of the difficulties, especially if you’re the only one in your family with magic. You’re essentially uprooted from the only way of life you’ve known at an already complicated age, and now you have to quickly become acclimated to this new world that you only just found out existed. Not only that, but now you’re suddenly attending a school with classes that are primarily focused on this world of magic (which is still brand new to you), and you have to work extra hard to play catch up in order to do well. Like, that all seems like… a lot for a kid to handle.

And then I remember how young she was when she was thrown into that mess. She was only 11, and kids that age desperately crave any sense of belonging. I mean, that’s something that still holds true for adults, but it’s especially critical for a developing child. So imagine Lily, ages 11-15, struggling to stay afloat in this weird purgatory between these two parts of herself, both of which have been the cause for major and traumatic experiences relating to rejection in her life.

(I say it was the “cause” even though it’s obvious that those things were never her fault at all, but when you’re a young kid navigating the world, the only thing you’re able to process is that the common denominator is you, therefore you’re the one who must shoulder the blame.)

So now we have this tween-teenaged girl who has a dysfunctional relationship with two major parts of identity and probably feels absolutely lost. 

This is why her hesitancy to end her friendship with Snape makes sense to me. Even though by fifth year he’s already well past toeing the line with the dark arts, Lily was willing to overlook some pretty egregious and troubling things in order to maintain the relationship. I kind of interpret that as her way of desperately clinging on to any sense of belonging she has left; her relationship with Petunia has already been poisoned, and now there are people who resent her existence as a witch; if she loses Severus too, what and who else does she have? And what tone does that set for her, if everyone and everything she’s come to hold close to her ends up turning her away?

It’s also important to note that not only is Severus one of her few remaining connections to the muggle world, but he’s also a wizard who grew up in the muggle world; he understands her, and I don’t doubt that he gave her some stability at times when she needed it (her finding out about her being a witch, her having trouble acclimating to the wizarding world, etc).

I see this as being one of her flaws and I can actually appreciate how relatable and realistic it feels. Lily is not a bad person; on the contrary, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone to describe her as such. Not to get all clinical and boring, but the interesting thing about (unhealthy) coping mechanisms is that it can actually be really hard to identify them in your own behavior. Unless you’re in therapy and/or are actively psychoanalyzing yourself, you likely don’t even realize how many of your common behaviors are born from self defense mechanisms put in place by your brain after past events.

To me, it makes sense why she avoided actually confronting the idea that Snape was too far gone. We know that she was aware of the path Severus was taking, but it almost seems like she was still convinced that she could save him, and could possibly steer him back in the right direction. It’s only when she becomes the target of his bigotry that she realizes that the Snape who called her a ‘mudblood’ was not the same Severus who was the one who held her hand and introduced her to this new, exciting world.

In a general sense, yes, it is selfish, to only take a stand when something starts affecting you personally. But I also think it’s important to note that it’s unlikely that this was a conscious decision on Lily’s part. In my eyes, it was easier to delude herself into thinking she still had a chance to save him before it was too late when she was able to separate him from his actions (considering, a lot of the time, she was only hearing about them after the fact, rather than seeing them firsthand). But the elusion is shattered once she sees that the Snape she grew up with– her friend, Severus– is, in fact, the same person who’s out there calling other students slurs, dismissing the malicious use of Dark Magic on others as just “a laugh”. There we see a Lily who is actually revealed to have been somewhat aware of Snape’s involvement with the darker side of magic, and genuinely feels pretty ashamed about her inaction.

Also, this is in no way me being a Snape-anti, and I actually could do an entire separate analysis on his character alone and why I find him so interesting.

Anyways, that moment in SWM is probably somewhat of an epiphany to her. It’s like a dam that’s been broken, and now she’s overwhelmed with the realization of exactly how much she overlooked in order to keep their friendship afloat. And for someone like Lily Evans, someone whom we know is opinionated and unafraid to call others out on their bullshit, that can be hard to swallow and feel pretty mortifying and shameful. And I think this was a huge turning point for her- at that point, she doesn’t have the luxury of avoiding uncomfortable truths anymore and now that she’s getting closer to graduating and being thrown out into the world on the brink of war, this was probably a really sobering discovery.

This is where we don’t have as much info to go off of, and a lot of it is up to interpretation. But we actually have little crumbs to go off of following her graduation and leading up to her death.

One of my favorite little tidbits isn’t in the books, and @seriousbrat's post reminded me about it. Here's the actual entry on Pottermore for anyone who's interested, but I'll summarize: after James and Lily began dating, Lily brings James to meet newly engaged Petunia and Vernon. Everything goes downhill, because Vernon is a smarmy asshole, and James is still pretty immature and can’t help but mess with him (which… fair, I guess). Petunia and Vernon storm out after Petunia letting Lily know that she had no intentions of having her as a bridesmaid, which causes Lily to break down into tears. I mention this because I also think it’s a pretty important aspect of her character; like we’ve seen in her past friendship with Snape, Lily seems more than willing to forgive others most of the time. Petunia is a bit of a complicated character herself, but she was objectively very cruel and unfair to Lily once it became obvious that she was a witch and Petunia was not.

Something that always stands out to me is just how desperate Lily is to earn Petunia’s trust and approval again. Even up until her death, she was more than willing to mend the relationship, were Petunia ever to consider. 

This is a detail about Lily that I feel is misunderstood quite a bit. I’ve seen a lot of instances of her character being reduced to a one-dimensional archetype with little to no complexity. And often, that archetype is “know-it-all, prudish, self righteous bookworm who is also a goody two-shoes with a stick up her ass”. What annoys me is that the reason for this is most definitely the scene in which she blows up at James in SWM for bullying Snape, and hurls quite a few insults at him directly after an extremely devastating and overwhelming situation for her. This frustrates me because we know for a fact that she’s the polar opposite of this archetype I’ve seen her reduced to. 

In actuality, she’s referred to as popular, charming, witty, bright and kind. From flashbacks we also are shown that she’s opinionated, bold, and not afraid to challenge others. With other context, like her interpersonal relationships, we can also see that she’s pretty emotionally driven and wears her heart on her sleeve. 

(I know Remus didn’t mention Lily much in the books, but I really love how he described her in the movies. He tells Harry that the first thing he noticed about him was not his striking resemblance to his father, but his eyes, the same eyes Lily had. He also calls her a “singularly gifted witch” and an “uncommonly kind woman”.

“She had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even and perhaps most especially, when that person could not see it in themselves.”

I know there are mixed feelings on whether or not the films count as canon source material, so take it with a grain of salt, but I personally cannot see a world in which Lily and Remus didn’t become close friends.)

Here we have a direct description of what she was like and who she was, corroborated by recounting of memories of her, and yet for some reason, this feels like the thing that is most commonly lost in translation.

I don’t think I can say why I think that is without mentioning the dreaded M word (misogyny- it’s misogyny), but I also don’t want to get too off topic so I’ll be brief: female characters are typically not given the same grace as male characters. When we have an undeveloped male character, he’s awarded the assumption that despite his lack of depth, there still exists a complex and multifaceted character– it’s merely just potential that hasn’t been tapped into. Whereas when we have underdeveloped female characters, they are taken at face value, meaning that not much exists beyond the little information we have of them. They are not presumed to have a life or a story that exists beyond the surface of what we know like male characters are. That’s why I think characters like Regulus, Evan, or Barty (just to name a few) are more popular than Lily, despite being less developed than she is.

(Before anyone gets defensive, no, I don’t think it’s an individual problem that you alone need to be shamed for. I think it’s the result of a deeper issue regarding misogyny in media as a concept; these are things that we’ve all unknowingly internalized and while it’s not our fault, we still have to do the work to deconstruct those learned prejudices.)

What I find really cool about her character is that despite how much she’s been hurt, she’s also still known as one of the most loving, kind, and considerate characters. There were so many times in her life where the love she received was conditional and ripped away from her– and I think that’s what makes her sacrifice even more poignant. She was able to protect her infant son from an extremely powerful dark wizard, wand-less, knowing that her husband was just murdered in cold blood, just from how much love she felt for Harry. Her love was a force of nature on its own, and I just think that’s such an amazing thing about her. 

I know I’m biased, given that she’s one of my favorite characters, but even upon delving into this, I still just find it so incredibly hard to understand how anyone can actively hate her (not indifference, but actual dislike). In my opinion (again, no one is unbiased, and she is a favorite character of mine, but trust me when I say that I’m trying to be objective as possible when I say this), she’s probably one of the most likable characters of the Marauders Era. I think perhaps a lot of people haven’t given her a chance or really taken the time to learn about her character, but it could be a myriad of other reasons that I’ll never understand. 

There's so much more I could say but this is long enough and I will stop myself

Lily Evans, u will always be famous to me

[cowgurrrl]

Little Wind

Pairing: Joel Miller x art teacher!reader

Author’s note: we are so fucking back dude

Summary: Caught out [1.6k]

“I don’t know what we need to talk about, Marnie.” You say as you walk into your apartment and throw your car keys in the dish by the door. You told her you would call her once you weren’t navigating icy roads which was partly true. You also just needed a second to prepare yourself for this conversation. “He’s a good dad. He helped out with my field trip to the McNay. I have no worries about Ellie’s safety if that’s what this is about.”

“What happened at the winter showcase?” She asks, her tone sharp. Was she there? If she was, she didn’t talk to you or make herself known. Fuck. There’s no way this can be about what you think it’s about. You’ve been careful. Going out of your way to go somewhere far away from the school and any students that might appear out of nowhere. There’ve been a few times where you’ve been a little reckless but you had it under control.

“Ellie had an anxiety attack. I sat with her and her dad in the stairwell until it passed.” You say, attempting to shrug off the cloud of worry that’s settled on your shoulders.

“And the visits to your classroom almost every week?”

“Jesus, are you spying on me?” You breathe a laugh but she doesn’t humor you. She only waits for a response. “My projector’s been broken and he’s trying to fix it for me since my work orders keep getting denied. Is there anything else I can confirm or deny for you?” You ask, glancing at your half-finished canvas as you pace. You can’t sit still. Not when she’s calling you during your break and interrogating you. She sighs and you can imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose.

“If administration finds out about this-“

“Finds out about what? My broken projector?”

“That you’re sleeping with one of your student's parents.” Your back molars buzz at her words and a wave of nausea hits you. You shake your head and take a deep breath.

“That’s not funny. You could get me fired for saying things like that.”

“Oh, c’mon, honey. This may be a big city but people talk like it’s a small town,” she says. You feel caught but you don’t want her to know that. “She’s good. She could go to State and win scholarships. But if the judges find out that you gave her any special treatment because of your relationship with her dad, not only will they fire you but you will ruin any chance she has at getting better.”

“This is ridiculous.” You say and she huffs on the other line.

“No, what’s ridiculous is the thought that you’d put your students’ well-being at risk so you can fuck around with a parent. Did you ever stop to think how Ellie might react if she finds out about this? How this might affect her?” She asks like you’re stupid. Of course, you have. It’s been the idea pressing on your brain since before the field trip.

You just never thought it’d get this far.

You think it’d break her heart if she found out. You think she’d curse and scream at you and you’d deserve it. You think she’d never want to see you again or worse, never want to make art again. The world needs Ellie’s art even if she doesn’t know it yet. And you fucked it up.

“You have until Spring Break to either break up with him or say something to Martinez.”

“Or what?”

“I will.” She says with alarming clarity.

“You know, it’s been really nice talking to you, Marnie, but I’ve gotta go do some lesson plans.” You hang up before she can respond and practically throw your phone away from you. Your head swims and you have to clutch the back of a chair to steady yourself.

What the fuck? How did she even find out? She saw you once at Whataburger months ago and now she has eyes and ears watching you? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You need to tell Joel or cut contact entirely. At this point, you don’t know which is the right option. You don’t make enough money from the bar and commissions to stop teaching. You’re only on the second step of submissions for a gallery and you haven’t even finished the paintings you want to send them. And Marnie’s right, Ellie is really good. She got second place at the showcase, which didn’t surprise you, and now she has the opportunity to get her own small exhibition if she sends in her work soon.

You can’t do this. You shouldn’t have ever done this. You shouldn’t have let him into your life. You shouldn’t have put your phone number in his phone or let him sit at your bar or fucking beg him to come over like you did barely a week ago. You should’ve kept your head down and done your lesson plans and art history lessons like the good, perfect teacher you’ll never be.

You don’t know what to do with this heavy feeling in your chest, guilt and anger, and a sense of loss swirling around your ribs until you look at the lone empty canvas lying on your kitchen table. It’s the last unpainted one you have and probably the last one you’ll be able to afford for a little bit. You were saving it for something special but you can’t wait for special anymore. You have to get this out.

Without thinking, you grab the first paints your hands touch and walk out to your balcony. There’s already no way you’re getting your deposit back so you might as well make it worth it. You haphazardly put up a cloth behind the canvas before you start taking literal handfuls of paint and throwing it. Reds, purples, lumpy, half-dried-out blacks, and green splatter across the white, ruining the last bit of pure material that you had. The cold wind whips around your face and blows dust and even kicks up a few rocks that get stuck in the wet paint. Colors sprint down to kiss the pavement and leave a strange conglomeration of colors near your back door. You’re so caught up in the sloppy, angry dispersal of paint that you almost don’t realize you’re crying until a sob escapes your throat.

For the first time in a long time, you were so happy. Just deliriously, stupidly, dangerously happy. You let yourself relax and get comfortable and open up because it felt right only to be hit with the reminder that things like that aren’t reserved for you. You’ve consistently picked everyone else over yourself because that’s what teachers are supposed to do. Maybe Henry was right. Maybe you would’ve been much better suited to being the silent muse who wants for nothing. At least then you’d be able to pay your bills.

You slump onto the frigid concrete of your balcony, your paint-soaked hands shaking in front of you, and stare at the canvas. It has a weird texture from all the dirt and debris getting flown your way and the wind has made streaks in all different directions. The colors are objectively ugly together. They swirl and drip in mysterious and formless ways. It’s gritty There’s no story being told here. There’s no shape, no dimension, nothing. Your college professors would rip this to shreds if they could see it.

But the gallery might want it.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you push yourself off the floor, scrub your freezing hands raw in the sink, wipe your tears, and send a picture of the painting to the gallery. You title the email “Something Different,” and quickly type out a message.

Hey,

Finished up some stuff today and thought you might like it. It’s something a little different. It’s called ‘Spring Break.’

You shoot out the email and turn off your phone, too anxious to watch your inbox for a response. You leave your canvas out to dry but bring in all your paint because you can’t afford to lose that much paint to the elements especially after you just finished heaping globs of it around. You don’t feel much better. You still feel the weight of Marnie’s words pressing on your lungs and the fizzing in your molars. You feel, ironically, like a girl in a painting you saw years ago.

You remember it was painted by Leighton sometime in the 1800’s. Although you can’t remember the exact historical details, you can see the painting clearly in your head. A bride and groom are stopped by a knight leaving their wedding ceremony after being showered with pink flowers. There’s a battle happening and they need the groom to join the fight. His new wife, young and dressed in white, watches the conversation and knows there’s nothing she can do. Her husband’s hand is already on his sword. He’s going to leave and die on the battlefield and she’s going to go home a widow. They’re both helpless and doomed to their obligations: him to his brothers in arms and her to her marriage.

You think you and Joel are doomed in the same way. There’s not a whole lot either of you can do to change your fate. Maybe if you had met him at a different time— maybe if the couple got married on a different day— things might have worked out for the better. You might’ve been happy. You might’ve had a minuscule chance at having something good for yourself.

But good fate never made for good art. You know this now. You feel it in your bones.

There is no other way.

[cloudysleepingzone]

Heya^^ could we possibly get some romantic hcs about dazai, atsushi, and possibly fyodor with a artist s/o, they sometimes doodle on unimportant papers when the meetings are way too boring for them , and sometimes when they have free time they draw their lover in their sketchbook, maybe a painting or two of their lover <3 anyways love your writing and don't forget to hydrate! Have a wonderful day or night!!

BSD with an Artist S/O

Decided to add Chuuya and Tecchou due to a very similar request!

Contents : Dazai, Atsushi, Fyodor, Chuuya and Tecchou x Reader (separate), gender neutral reader (they/them used), fluff, suggestive for Dazai's part and sorta Tecchuu? Not really. Pet Names.

Dazai Osamu

Doesn't matter what your drawing, he's watching.

Can you blame him though? He just loves watching his lover just doing something they enjoy!

If you draw him he will start acting like a dramatic prince for a solid 10 minutes.

"(Name), draw me like one of your French girls~"

You sit quietly at your desk, the surface covered with your sketchbook and a handful of pencils and pens. "Belllaaa~!" Though your peace is interrupted by your loving boyfriend trying to get out of doing his job again. "What are you drawing beautiful?" He leans over you, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he props his chin on your shoulder. The sketchbook page had small doodles of the two of you, mostly just small cute doodles of holding hands, Dazai tilts his head slight to the side, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. "You know, if you need any ideas you could always draw us with less clothes~"

Atsushi Nakajima

Our sweet boy

He's so supportive of your work he loves seeing the look on your face when you make something your proud of

You draw him? Oh boy...he can't even form words

"You're getting even better sweetheart, you keep improving!"

Your a mess, your finger tips covered in different shades of blue and grey, just like the tip of your paintbrush. Atsushi was behind the canvas, laying comfortably on your shared bed with a soft smile on his lips. "Am I doing alright? I'm not moving too much?" He was doing an amazing job. A perfect job. "Your doing good sweetheart, I'm almost done". You've drawn him from memory plenty of times before, but it feels so much more romantic with him right in front of you. "You look really pretty when your focused..." He mumbles under his breath, even if your the one painting him, he's the one doing the most admiring <3

Fyodor Dostoevsky

To a non familiar eye he seems completely uninterested or even annoyed at your interests. But that's far from true

He adores your work though he sucks at showing it

Got a piece you're really proud of? Yep he's putting it in a fancy frame

You? Drawing him? Aren't you just a sweetheart...

It was already late at night, the curtains had been drawn and you were currently in the shower. Meanwhile your husband Fyodor was already dressed in something more comfortable and was waiting for his dear. Fyodors finger tips gently run over the cover of your current sketch book, which laid on top of a desk in your shared bedroom. He picks up the sketchbook, flipping through the pages slowly before a certain page catches his eye, a page seemingly dedicated to just him. His normally cold and hard gaze softens a bit at the sight, some being full line art and color and others being simple messy doodles. His admiring is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Sweetheart what are you doing?". Your husband gently closes your sketchbook, setting it down onto the expensive hard work surface. "Just admiring your work my dear..."

Chuuya Nakahara

New art supplies? He's buying it. You want a new set of expensive as hell paint brushes? Pfft, pocket change.

If you even mention getting into a new form of art he's already handing you his credit card without another question.

"It looks pretty already doll, make sure to show me when it's done yea?"

Like Fyodor, he puts his favorite pieces in fancy frames <3

You walk into Chuuya's at home office, not bothering to knock (not like he minds) "Chuuya, I finished that painting you wanted to see!" He slowly turns his chair around, a small smirk on his face, completely ignoring his task of sorting through files for now. "Let me see it babe". You turn the canvas around, showing him your paintwork you've spent a few weeks on. He stand from his seat, walking up to you and placing a gloved hand on your cheek, planting a loving kiss on the other. "It looks beautiful sweetheart, just like you. I'll be hanging it up." Chuuya had already started a small selection of your art that was displayed in fancy gold and silver frames over a fireplace, in the style as if they were million dollar paintings. To him they may as well be, to him your art is priceless. Your priceless.

Tecchou Suehiro

You could make something weird and he'll like it

He will just silently watch you draw whatever, doesn't matter what.

"That looks good sweetheart"

Drawing him? God I don't know if his heart can take something so sweet!

Here you are, sitting on your boyfriend's back while he does sit ups. It was actually pretty normal at this point. The only sounds in the room was the huffs coming from Tecchuu throat and the sounds of pencil scratching against paper. "Hm...maybe I should draw you like this, it would be pretty good anatomy practice" you quickly sketch up some messy line art you can fix later, shifting slightly to show Tecchuu. "Huff Looks good" Despite the slight strain in his muscles he's able to respond pretty easily. I get up from your seat on his back, letting him get up with a groan before stretching his arms. Moving your pencil back to the paper, you continue to look from your boyfriend to the paper back and forth. "This is a bit better" you your sketch book around, it was just a simple sketch of his muscular figure but it was like fine art in his eyes. "You've been improving a lot haven't you?"

[ayyy-pee]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 3: 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑶𝒏

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Pairing: Choso x f! Reader

Summary: Things take a turn.

Chapter Warnings: Angst...

WC: 6.6k

Choso Art By:NC9__

**While not all chapters contain adult content, the themes of this story are targeted towards adults, so minors DNI please.

No one warned you just how difficult university would be.

Your first semester of college has been kicking your ass in all honesty. Between your art projects, extracurriculars and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, you’re completely burnt out. It was quite the adjustment from high school where teachers stayed on you about your school work and assignments. You'd learned very quickly that now, one was responsible for you but you.

At 19, it was a true test of your maturity. And you were failing that test quite miserably.

“I have one last project due and then I’ll finally be able to breathe. This professor has been up my ass all semester. I can’t wait for winter break and to be done with his class.” You set your bags down on your desk before you adjust your cell phone between your cheek and shoulder. “Sorry to rant. How are you all doing?”

A deep voice rumbles on the other end of the line with a laugh that makes your cheeks warm every time you hear it.

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m just happy to hear from you. At least you’re letting me know what to realistically expect when I start school next year.” You hear shifting on the other side and you know he’s getting comfortable, probably in bed. “Yuji’s good. He’s also getting ready for winter break so he’ll be home most of the time. Eso’s been struggling with algebra, but Kechizu is surprisingly good at it. He’s been helping him study and–”

You listen closely, hanging on every word falling from your friend’s lips as he catches you up on his brother’s lives. It’s been a few months since you’ve spoken to Choso over the phone. While you’d keep in touch after the summer months until you were back on the beach, you’ve both been busy with your new normal. You haven’t seen Choso either, your first year of college being surprisingly more difficult than you’d expected so you opted for summer classes in hopes to maintain your GPA instead of taking your annual trip with your parents.

It was the first time since you were 9 that you hadn’t gone back to the beach. Your parents reluctantly returned without you your first summer in university, only after you had pushed them to enjoy a romantic vacation together for once. You remember the pictures you’d received from your mother the night they got into town. She was quick to spam you with pictures of your little pink haired friend who had grown even taller since the last time you’d seen him. She’d also sent a photo of all four of the brothers sitting at your dinner table, just as they always did on your first night in town since you were all kids.

It was reminiscent of all the summers you’d spent together growing up, except there was a noticeable gap where you’d usually be sitting, right between Choso and Yuji. As your eyes roamed over every detail, every way the boys had grown and changed, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment you felt from missing out on this. You wanted to see them, hug them, be with them and enjoy your summer together. But you couldn’t. And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

It hurt that you wouldn’t spend days and nights at the beach. You wouldn’t be taking Yuji all over the town with you and spoiling him rotten like you always have. You wouldn’t be climbing out of your bedroom window to sneak out to parties. You wouldn’t be working the summer at Panda’s, closing shop and sitting at the shoreline to watch the sunsets with Choso.

Choso…

Your eyes were locked on the tall figure in the photo and you found yourself pinching your thumb and index finger together, pressing them to your phone screen before expanding and zooming in on the picture. He was wearing his signature tiny smile that he reserved only for you and your family. Those same pigtails that have sat atop his head since he was 10 years old were still there, but that baby face was long gone. He was all chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones now, even more handsome than when you saw him last summer, if possible, and your heart fluttered at the thought. 

You stared at those dark eyes that had peered into yours that cool summer night last year as he leaned closer, those soft lips that pressed against your mouth as you exchanged your first kisses with each other. Those lips…they consumed your thoughts. Those lips that uttered those three words that still kept you up at night as they echoed through your mind:

“Just one more.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, to the tips of your ears and you could hear the blood rushing through your body as the memories played clearly through your mind.

The slight tilt of Choso’s head as he deepened the kiss just barely. The way you gasped when his tongue gently ran along the seam of your lip. How he sighed, low and deep when he heard the little sounds you were making and all because of him.

Neither you nor Choso have spoken about your first kiss since it happened. He’d walked you home from the beach that night, hugged you tight one last time and then you spent the remainder of the night clutching at your chest, desperately willing your heart to calm down.

“You still there?” Choso’s voice pulls you from your trip down memory lane and you clear your throat to buy yourself time to gather your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just…I’m sad. I’m glad everyone’s doing well, but I almost feel like I missed a part of that because I didn’t go back to the beach for the summer.” You fall back onto your bed with a groan. “I miss you.”

The words fall from your lips easily, though your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve said. While you had never been one to sugarcoat your words with Choso, you couldn’t help but feel as though those simple words held more weight since the kiss.

Choso doesn’t seem to be having the same thoughts, because he quickly replies with an, “I miss you, too.”

And just like that, the conversation picks right back up.

It’s easy with Choso. It’s always easy. You sometimes forget just how easy it is.

- - - - - - - -

That breather you thought you’d be getting for winter break? Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Could it be because your first year of college hadn’t gone according to plan which resulted in you ending the year with a lower than desired grade point average? Who could say? That wasn’t important anyway. The important thing was that you’d opted to take Winter classes as well. Because your life wasn’t already hell Monday through Friday during the spring and fall semesters. Not to mention the summer classes you’d taken earlier in the year that had kept you from being able to tag along on your annual beach trip.

College was turning out to be more of a drag than anything. Luckily, you had made plenty of friends here that made the fact you were missing out on these things a lot more bearable.

It was during the Winter semester that you’d met Iori Utahime, a beautiful young woman with a curious scar across her face that somehow only added to her stunning looks. The two of you had quickly hit it off, both wanting to take your studies seriously and needing someone to hold the other accountable for reaching their goal. Utahime wanted to pursue a career in music and while your majors differed, you were still artists just the same. 

Your similarities didn’t end there either. You shared core classes and unfortunately also shared struggling GPAs, which only brought you closer to each other. So when you found yourselves paired up for a project for one of your Winter courses, you soon found yourselves together more often than not.

And she’d introduced you to more friends as time went on.

There was Satoru. Satoru was goofy. That was the best way to describe him. He never took anything seriously, because everything was easy for him. Seriously. He was a genius who never needed to study because he just knew he’d ace his exams. Because of this, he was all about enjoying the college experience.

You could catch Satoru at every party, the center of attention everywhere he went. He was Mr. Popular. There was no one on campus who did not know who Satoru Gojo was. Almost every student on campus either wanted him or wanted to be him. And although you didn't share the same desires as them, you could see the appeal. 

Satoru was tall. Way too tall. And had the strangest hair color you’d ever seen– stark white and so messy. He claimed it was natural, though you had your doubts. In a way, his hair reminded you oddly of Choso, if only because you could only think about how it was the total opposite of your friends. And his eyes…they also reminded you of Choso. Because they were as blue as the ocean you’d sat in front of many times with him. As blue as the waters that had brought you to Choso in the first place. 

But that was where the similarities ended. Satoru was carefree, going with the flow whenever he could. He never planned for anything, he just let things happen. And he bugged Utahime in a way you couldn’t understand. It’s not really like he had to do much in the first place to get under her skin. All he needed to do was breathe within the same vicinity as Utahime and she was going ballistic. And Satoru seemed to love that.

There was Suguru, Satoru’s best friend. Or more? You could never quite tell with those two. He also reminded you of Choso in a way. Not physically, but general demeanor. Suguru was quieter, more observant than Satoru. He was thoughtful and kind, not abrasive at all; soft spoken in a way that made you feel as though he truly cared for you. And you liked that about him.

When out, you’d often find yourself next to Suguru. His presence was warm and comforting, almost familiar. You felt safe and protected with him and you knew that if Suguru was with you, you could just count on him to look out for you. You’d grown close fairly quickly and had established a friendship outside of your immediate friend group. You spent a lot of time together, but there was never any connection between you two aside from friendship.

And then there was the last of your group – Shoko. Clearly there was something going on between her and Utahime. But if you asked either of them, they'd quickly deny it. None of you were dumb, even with your low GPAs. The stolen glances, the touches they thought you all didn’t notice, the way one always ended up leaving exactly three minutes before the other decided to call it a night.

You found it very amusing, the way they thought none of you knew what was going on.

Their situation made you think more about Choso and how he –

Wait.

Why were you thinking about Choso so much? Why did everything suddenly remind you of him? You couldn’t think about any of your new friends without comparing them to Choso. Even after all this time.

After your last summer vacation, Choso had spent a good amount of time on your mind. But it’s been almost two years now. A second summer vacation was coming up and you were once again abandoning plans to go to the beach with your family and opting to take more summer courses to boost your GPA.

And it wasn’t as though you’d spoken to Choso much, either. Between your studies and his own life happenings, there wasn’t much time to chat. You carve out time when you can and appreciate the usual nightcap you both share every so often. But you're busy with your studies and Choso…well…

When your second year of college began, that was also when Choso had broken the sad news to you that college would be put on hold for him indefinitely.

“It’s my dad,” he’d told you. “Fucker just up and left and we haven’t heard from him since. Not that I should be surprised. I guess I'm only shocked it took him so long.”

You could hear the words come through gritted teeth, how he’d tried to hide the venom that dripped from each syllable. He was beyond pissed. You knew Choso better than you knew any other friend. There was no better way to get on his bad side than to mess with his beloved siblings. 

But you knew more than anything that Choso was disappointed, crestfallen even.

For Choso, getting out of that small beach town and getting an education was his path to a better life for himself and for his brothers. His father taking that from him felt like the ultimate betrayal. What could you even say to lift his spirits at that point?

“I'm so sorry, Cho. Fuck, I'm sorry.” 

It didn't feel like enough.

You checked in with him when you could. And he checked in with you when he could, but he was busy working. He’d accepted a full time position as a manager at Panda’s and had even told you a spot would be there for when you returned the next summer.

But it looked like someone else would have to fill the position this year.

You missed your vacations back to your second home. You missed the warmth of the sand beneath your feet and the smell of the salty ocean air as you all spent your days at the beach. You missed scooping ice cream at Panda’s and doodling the horizon in your sketchbook from your spot behind the counter when work was slow. You missed sneaking out to bonfires and having Choso toss you his sweater the moment you landed in his arms in nothing but the shorts and bikini tops he so hated.

You missed Choso.

That last night at the beach revealed to you for the first time that you may have feelings for your best friend that are more than just friendship. Freshly 18 year old you with almost no prior dating history hardly knew what those feelings meant. But almost 20 year old you, well it's been loud and clear for some time that this has slowly become more than some childish crush. 

You like Choso. 

The whispered call of your name pulls you from your spiraling thoughts and you look up to find Satoru’s bright eyes staring questioningly at you from across the table. You’d all met up in the library to study for your exam coming up at the end of the week. Of course he was checking in because you’d zoned out in the middle of your cram session to daydream about your long distance crush.

Except, that wasn’t why Satoru was checking in at all.

It’s only when Satoru waves his hand next to him that you see another tall figure standing beside the table. Your eyes roam up his form until they land on his face. And it surprises you when you feel your heart kickstart and begin racing.

Because you thought only Choso could get that reaction from you. 

“This is Kaito,” Satoru introduces him and Kaito smiles, eyes locked on yours and you think you can hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Kaito is tall, slender, but not in the way Satoru is. If anything, you’d say he has the same body type as Suguru. He’s lean. You can tell from the way his clothes accentuate his form that he’s fit.  And he’s got the most beautiful smile, teeth so brilliantly white that you’re nervous to see how brightly they shine in the sun. Gorgeous emerald green eyes sit beneath long black lashes and wow, he is really fucking good looking.

He politely introduces himself, running his hand through a messy black wolfcut as he takes the seat right beside you after Suguru heads to his next class. 

You all resume studying shortly after Satoru’s friend’s arrival. Kaito seems to fit right in, quickly becoming friendly with the rest of the group and you. But you soon notice that Kaito has taken quite a liking to you.

Again, 20 year old you is not as clueless as you used to be and the attention he focuses on you is giving you an insane amount of butterflies.

You catch his little glimpses at you from the corner of your eye, the way he’s quick to lean over and help you resolve an equation you were stuck on, the way he never breaks eye contact with you when you’re speaking with him. Like every word that leaves your mouth is the most important thing he’s ever heard.

“So yeah, that’s why hot cheetos are like the best chip there are.” You finish your rant, beaming because you finally got to tell someone your true feelings about this.

“Absolutely…fascinating…” Utahime comments sarcastically. She’d stopped listening to your rambling ages ago, nose buried in her textbook.

Shoko and Satoru had left to get refreshments so unfortunately for them, they'd missed the entire thing.

But Kaito, you’ve got his full attention. “No, really. It’s truly fascinating. I’d love to hear more.”

His grin has your tummy squeezing, that sweet tickle returning and you find yourself smiling right back despite your little epiphany about your feelings regarding your childhood friend just moments before Kaito showed up.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

A loud slurping can be heard from across the table, effectively popping the little bubble that you and Kaito had suddenly found yourselves in. On the other side of the table sits Satoru, back from his trip to the cafe, guzzling a sweet juice while he watches you and Kaito talk over the rim of his glasses. Next to him, Utahime’s face is twisted into a look of pure hatred and disgust. Satoru ignores it.

“Y’all should go out,” Satoru suggests casually, like he’s talking about something as unimportant as the weather. “Talk about animal crackers or whatever the hell.”

Shoko snorts as she discreetly slides a snack over to Utahime while no one is looking. Except everyone sees it anyway because these two are so fucking obvious.

“Yeah, go out,” Shoko also chimes in. “Think you two would make a great couple.”

Your face ignites with heat, the sudden idea making you want to kick Satoru and Shoko under the table.

But Kaito smirks, eyes holding your gaze like they have been this entire time and he says, “I’d like that. Can I?”

You glance at Utahime who stares at you in surprise. 

“Um…can you what?” You question, trying to buy yourself time to think.

“Can I take you out? Like, on a date.” His response is quick. It’s so easy for him. He just spits it out and says what he wants. And you’re sitting here still freaking out just over Satoru’s suggestion.

“I…”

“If I bring hot cheetos with me, would that make it more tempting?” He’s so charming, and cute, and sweet and–

Ugh, what reason do you have to say no to him?

The sudden vision of pigtails flashes through your mind. And suddenly, the excitement you were feeling seems to fall away. And Kaito seems to sense it, because his grin falters a little, becoming just a small smile on his lips and he simply nods and gives you a “sure” when you ask him, “Can I get back to you?”

- - - - - - - -

“I met someone today,” you speak quietly into the phone, lying in bed after leaving your study date with your friends. You’re nervous. Probably because you’re testing the waters here. Probably because your walk back to your dorm after Kaito had asked you out was eye opening. 

Can you really open yourself to date someone else seriously when your thoughts are plagued by another man? Can you open yourself to the possibility of being with someone else when the person you want to be with is hundreds of miles away, in some little beach town?

Because that's what you've come to realize. You want to be with Choso. 

You just need to know if he feels the same way you do. You have an idea of how Choso feels about you based on the last time you’d seen each other. But that doesn’t make you feel any less like digging a hole in the ground and burying yourself in embarrassment thinking about bringing any of this up. 

“Oh yeah? Another new friend?” Choso asks distantly. He’s currently at Panda’s closing shop, so he’s got you on speaker while he completes his nightly tasks. You were happy (maybe too happy) when he'd answered your call tonight. 

“Sort of a friend, sure…He’s nice…”

You’re hoping he’ll take the hint quickly here.

But when Choso just gives you an absentminded “that’s cool”, you know you’ve only got half of his attention. And you want all of it.

“Yeah. His name is Kaito. Really nice guy.” And it’s true. You think Kaito is nice, but you think Choso is nicer. That's not to say you're not into Kaito either. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested in him. But you’d also be lying if you said you weren’t interested in Choso as well. Maybe more than you are Kaito. Because for you, you’re pretty sure it will always be Choso. Even though you've never had anyone else, you know you don't need to. It's Choso for you.

That is why your thoughts have been consumed with him. This revelation has been so freeing.

You just need to know if he feels the same. 

“Glad you’re meeting new people.”

He’s still distracted, the sounds of him pushing the chairs around the store’s lobby echoing through the phone. You didn’t want to have to show your hand so quickly, but you’re tired from a long day of studying and tired from years of beating around the bush. It’s been over a decade of your feelings slowly building for Choso and now your heart is ready to burst. You have no choice but to push this conversation along a little faster.

“Yeah, his name is Kaito. He asked me out on a date actually.”

And finally, you get an actual reaction from Choso. Not a grunt, not a hum in reply or some offhand comment. Instead, you hear him shuffling around, then the sound of tapping on his phone, likely taking you off of the speaker. His voice comes through, crisp and clear now.

“Sorry,” he apologizes through quick breaths. “What was that?”

“I said Kaito asked me out on a date…this weekend.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” you reply cheerily, hopefully driving the knife a little deeper. Immature, sure, but at this point you’d do anything to get Choso a little closer to saying whether or not he has any feelings for you, if he wants you in the same way you want him. “Probably dinner at his place. Maybe a movie. Not sure yet.”

Choso hums quietly. “And you like this guy…that you just met…today…Kaito…” He says his name like he’s testing it on his tongue.

“He’s really nice.”

“As you’ve said.”

You’re about taken aback by the sudden bite in Choso’s tone, but you ignore his snarkiness. “I don't know how I feel about him yet.”

“Clearly you like him enough to be telling me about him.”

More bite behind his words. Still, you push forward. “I mean, is that bad?” You adjust the phone, moving it to your other ear as you get comfortable beneath your blankets. “You’re my friend, right?”

“Sure, but we don’t talk about stuff like this.”

And he had a point. Even during your summers entertaining Mahito, Choso never wanted to hear about any conversations you had with him. And it’s not like you had that many interactions with him anyway since Choso seemed to always be there whenever the silver haired boy was near you. And you had friends back home to talk about your school girl crushes that never resulted in anything with. 

Aside from your first encounter with Mahito, Choso had also never discussed whether or not you were ever interested in anyone romantically and you had never thought to ask him either. Granted, you only saw each other over the summers and during the year, school kept you both so busy, you couldn’t worry about dating. Your parents were never against it and you'd gone to a movie or two with people who had asked you out, but it was never serious. You didn't care enough to commit to anyone, too focused on trying to get into a good school.

In the summers, the last thing on your mind was asking Choso if he had feelings for anyone else. Most of the time he was with you, anyway. And when he wasn't, he was with his brothers. 

You'd never given thought to Choso…desiring anyone.

Suddenly, the thought of Choso with someone else makes your stomach churn, has your head spinning. Choso in someone else’s arms, hugging someone else, kissing someone else’s lips.

Oh, it has your blood boiling in a way you’ve never experienced before and you try not to sound too petulant when you finally mutter, “Yeah, but I want to talk to you about it now.”

“But why?” He sounds thoroughly confused. You try not to sigh into the receiver. 

“Choso…we’ve literally kissed before, but talking about crushes is where you draw the line?”

It’s the first time either of you have ever mentioned the kiss, now a memory that continues to plague your thoughts and your dreams. 

“Even weirder reason to talk to me about this,” you hear him mumble on the other end.

“How? We’re adults! We can talk about things like that. Besides…” you fiddle with your blanket, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. “It’s really not weird at all…unless the kiss meant something…more to you?”

You’re met with silence. A long stretch of silence that has you fidgeting anxiously. You almost want to laugh, say “I’m just kidding!” and hang up. But then Choso surprises you. He speaks so quietly, you almost don’t hear it over the thundering of your own heart.

“Did it mean something to you?”

Of course it did. What a stupid question. That silly little first kiss and those lips of Choso’s have been eating away at your brain for almost two years. Saying it meant something to you felt like the understatement of the century. You want to scream out loud that that kiss meant everything to you and you’re sorry it took you so long to stop being an idiot and realize that yes, the kiss was more than that. It opened the door for you to realize exactly how you felt about Choso. 

But even so, you still answer with a very quiet “yes”.

And because it’s Choso, who has never lied to you a day in his life, he responds without hesitation. “Me too.”

Finally! The confirmation you were waiting for! The kiss meant something to Choso, too. You weren’t crazy!

“I’ve been thinking about it since it happened. A lot,” Choso confesses.

“Me too. Probably way too much.”

Choso chuckles, which makes you laugh in turn. It’s the answer you wanted to hear from him, but now that that’s out there and your heart is calming down just a bit, it gives your brain enough time to catch up. And now, you’re a little confused.

“Wait. Why’d you tell me I should go out with Kaito?” You laugh again; half from nerves, half from feeling so silly that you used the guy as bait instead of just outright asking Choso how he felt.

The silence has suddenly returned and any semblance of humor seconds ago has now vanished. Now, you feel nervous again. Like your gut is telling you to end this call immediately. This is the calm before the storm and that knife you were twisting into Choso’s back to try and urge an honest response from him soon finds its way into yours when Choso says, “Because you should.”

The knife twists.

“You like him, don’t you? Go on a date with him.”

“Ha ha.” It’s all you can think to say, because it’s keeping the pain at bay for just a second longer. Only a second longer.

“I’m being serious.”

Another twist. And the sting begins to settle in.

“Choso…”

He says your name back to you. “Do you like him?”

“I like you.” It’s the first time you’ve openly admitted it to him. A few seconds pass by with no response, so you keep talking, if only to fill the silence. “Obviously you feel the same way or that kiss wouldn’t be on your mind two years later, right?”

Choso sighs softly. How can he be so calm and collected when you’re sitting here just now realizing that you’re shaking, nearly vibrating out of your skin.

“I like you, too,” he finally admits. “Have for a long time. Couldn’t tell you when it started, but it’s been for as long as I can remember. So yeah, I feel the same.”

“Okay…” You should feel calmer now, confident in the fact that your feelings for each other are out in the open. But that sharp sting of rejection is slowly starting to build, the knife in your back ready to bury itself deeper. “But?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you. There’s a but coming…isn’t there?”

Another bout of silence and you’re starting to lose your mind having to sit through it. This is not how you expected this conversation to go. And you blame yourself for the way it feels like your heart is going to beat straight through your ribcage and fall flat to the floor.

“But I can’t do anything about these…feelings.” He spits the last word out like it’s bitter. “There’s no future where we could ever be together.”

The knife sinks in.

“Why not?”

“Because–”

“And don’t give me some bullshit reason, either.” You cut him off. Because you don’t want excuses. You want honesty, like Choso has always given you.

“What’s a bullshit reason to you?” His tone is snippy again.

What is a bullshit reason? You don’t know. All you know is that you have feelings for this man who once pulled you from certain death over a decade ago. And he has feelings for you, too! He just told you so! You want to be with him, but he doesn’t seem to want to be with you even if he hasn’t said so yet.

Ironically, all this makes you feel like you’re drowning all over again, struggling to pull your head above the water but going nowhere. It's Choso holding you under instead of pulling you out this time.

“...I don’t know,” you finally answer.

“I do,” Choso responds tersely. “I can give you a reason. Hell, I can give you two, three, maybe even four reasons why we can’t be together.”

“Cho–”

“But I don’t need all of those reasons. I only need one – I’m no good for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Choso, you’ve been my best friend practically my whole life. I cannot think of a single person better for me than you.”

He sighs your name, calling for your attention, but you keep going. “And you know me better than anyone else. I know you better than anyone else–”

Choso says your name again, a little harsher this time. You keep on.

“Besides, you said yourself how that kiss stays on your mind. It’s always on my mind too and we can–”

“Stop!” Choso’s harsh voice cuts through your droning. This time, you can’t ignore the snippiness. Never, in all the time that you’ve known Choso, has he raised his voice at you. At least, not in anger or annoyance. Maybe when you were kids, because kids yell. Kids are loud and bossy and Choso was both of those things as a kid. He was always yelling. But he had never yelled at you the way he just had.

You’re so shocked, your mind so suddenly frazzled, that you can’t bring yourself to respond.

“Why are you insisting on this?” Choso sighs, trying to calm himself, but his voice is still coming out a lot rougher than it ever has in your direction. And it’s hurting you in ways you hadn’t known possible, your little heart beginning to crack within your chest.

“I...I just thought –”

“Thought what, exactly?” Choso asks, a dry chuckle following. “Thought that we’d confess that we have feelings for each other and then we-we’d talk about our futures, make plans to be together forever and ever and then sail off into the sunset?”

“I mean–”

“No.”

That’s all he says.

“No?” You’ll need more than that.

“No. There will be no talking about futures together, making plans, sailing off into the sunset…none of it.”

Those little cracks in your heart start to spread, slowly chipping away. That sharp knife you were twisting into Choso’s back is now lodged deep into your own and it’s fucking killing you slowly.

“I don’t–” Your voice is quivering now and you have to take a deep inhale to steady yourself. “I don’t understand. If I have feelings for you, and you have feelings for me…you said the kiss meant more to you!”

“And I meant that.”

“Then why?! Why are you doing this? Is this because of Kaito?”

“Yes!”

“ I–I barely know him! I only brought him up being childish. I was hoping you would realize you had feelings for me. That’s it! I want to be with you!”

“But you should be with someone like him.” Choso’s voice is quiet now, the harshness of it finally gone. “It wouldn't have mattered if it was Kaito or Utahime or whats the other guy? Suguru? I can’t give you what he– what anyone who isn’t me can.”

Now you’re lost. “What?”

“I can’t be what you need me to be. I can’t be the boyfriend you need, the support you’d need if I were to become your boyfriend…”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you feel the tears brimming along your waterline. How your heart shatters into pieces as he lists off the reasons he isn’t good enough for you.

“Look at my fucked up life. No mother, a deadbeat piece of shit for a father, three brothers that I’m solely responsible for and have been for practically my entire life…” He says your name, like a plea, begging for you to listen to him. Like you should take his word for it and simply accept it.

But you won’t accept it.

“I know all of that, Choso. I know you and what you’ve been through – what you’re going through – better than anyone else. And I still want you.”

Now you say his name like a plea, begging for him to hear you and your words. You don’t care about his struggles, about how he’s had to keep his family together his entire life, forced to grow up too quickly and become the glue that holds everything together. You were there for all of that up until recently. And even through it all, you always found your way back to Choso. That won’t change now.

The quiet drags on, just dead air hanging between you two and when he finally speaks, he surprises you. “And I want you, too.” He tells you, lifting your spirits ever so slightly.

Then just as quickly, he breaks you. Again.

“But I’m doing you a favor, so please. Just go date whoever you want, whoever’s good to you.”

“Choso–” Your voice breaks, your lip trembling as you try to fight the sob threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Please.” You hear the way Choso’s voice cracks in a similar manner. Like he has a sob to match your own trying to escape as well. “You…God, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it on someone like me. You have everything going for you. I have nothing going for me. Just some loser working a deadend job in the same deadend town I’ve always been in and will probably always be in. And I refuse to drag you down with me. I’m looking out for you…Like I’ve always tried to do.”

Your protector.

Even when you don’t want him to be. Even when you wish he wouldn’t be. Even when it hurts you.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” Choso tells you. “I do. Fuck, believe me when I say that. I would love nothing more than that because I've wanted it for so long…but you deserve so much more than this.”

“You are not a loser, Choso. Just…stop. I think we can–”

“I have to go,” He interrupts. “Need to finish this stuff up and head home. Yuuji has a project due tomorrow that I need to help with.” He’s quiet again, but you can just make out the sound of him sniffling, choking down that same sob before he says, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Choso ends the call abruptly, before you can even say goodbye, and the shakiness of his voice stays with you for the rest of the night. Even as you shower, numb to the excruciating heat of the water. As you brush your teeth and crawl beneath your sheets where you finally allow your heart to fully crumple. Even then, you hear the clear tremble of Choso’s words.

It hurts. This is a pain you don’t have any experience with. You don't know what to do with it. This is a pain you’d hoped you would never have to feel. And you never expected your best friend to be the one to cause it.

But you’re hopeful that you two will be able to patch things up. That you two will be able to go back to normal, even if things are awkward for a bit. Because you don’t want to lose Choso. He’s your very best friend, long distance or not. He means way too much to you for your crush to get in the way. You just hope you haven’t ruined things between you two.

Besides, he did say he would talk to you later. You take solace in that, finally letting sleep take over even as your tears still fall.

If only you’d have known that when you opened your eyes the next morning and opened your phone to send an apology text to Choso, that your text would fail to go through. 

If only you’d known that you would go to check Choso’s social media pages only to see blank screens because he’d apparently blocked you. You'd search through every account he has on every social media platform and find yourself no longer able to see any of his information.

“I refuse to drag you down with me.” Those words play on a loop in your mind.

He really meant it.

[frnchgirls]

https://www.tumblr.com/frnchgirls/756638518747545600/okay-hear-me-out-because-regencyartrick-is begging and pleading respectfully for the full thing OR even prince!art looking for a queen as he’s supposed to be king

ahh my first request!! thank you for sending this in <3 i felt more inspired to try my hand at your second idea but i'd be more than happy to do more with regency!au in the future if you'd like :)

prince!art has always been a romantic. he blames it on his late father who shared with him countless stories of true love matches when he was a young boy, something the members of the royal family seldom get to experience for themselves. but now, he's no longer a boy, he's a man and his father is gone and his mother is pressuring him to find a suitable wife if he intends to be the next king. now more than ever does art mourn the loss of the days of his youth spent without worry.

he arrives at the first ball of the season and quickly realizes that the tabloids say he's looking to marry and suddenly he feels like he's in shark infested waters. art's being followed around the room by some particularly persistent girls and they're fanning themselves too hard and laughing too loud and he thinks it might be giving him a rash. at one point he actually engages in respectable conversation with a woman, but then he asks about her hobbies, and she looks at him as if she doesn't know the meaning of the word, and he wants to run away from it all.

art's taking a much-needed respite by the refreshment table when you approach, tapping his shoulder. "excuse me?" you say, clearing your throat as your gaze bores into the back of his neck. he's so frazzled he doesn't even turn around before he blurts, "look, if you want me to dance with your daughter, i'm afraid the answer is going to be no." but then he sees you and you're not some old crone, hell and the devil, you are a young lady and a wonder to behold.

you arch a brow and tell him he's standing in front of the lemon bars and you're hungry and if he had a tail, it would be between his legs now. art moves out of your way so fast he almost knocks over the man next to him. "i'm so sorry, my apologies, forgive me!" he pleads with you both, smoothing down his coat and you can't help but smirk because why is he so cute and why do you have the urge to take care of him?

after he regains his composure, he's asking for your name and your favorite color and if you'd be so gracious as to dance with him. "i thought you weren't interested in dancing?" you tease, and he's blushing and shrugging cause he's not, but he'd surely make an exception for you. it's not long before you're talking up a storm on the dance floor and arranging to see each other again and when you find out art's next in line to be king, you're not particularly phased. your family, however, is ecstatic and tells you that you'd be stupid not to marry him.

so, a few months later, when you're standing at the altar, and you've said your vows and art's kissing you so tenderly, he's sure he's going to be the happiest king that ever lived.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Prologue

Title: The Legend of the Claw Creek Creature

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader 

Word Count: 2K 

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: The story of the creature in the woods is told to you by your grandfather. You pass it on later to the kids in your hospital ward as a funny story from your childhood. It seems all of this might not be just a story. 

Warnings: mentions of mutilated animals, spoopy vibes 

A/N: So, this is my contribution to Halloween/Kinktober. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I digress. This poll helped me decide who is my main character. Thank you to @viking-raider for challenging me. Thank you to @milknhonies for setting a fire under my butt. And a special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. 

Dividers by me 

Support/Reblog banner by me 

Cover Art by me 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist 

“Grandpa, I wanna hear the story again, please!” You bounded over to your grandfather, your pigtails flopped on your shoulders when you landed in his lap as he sat in his favorite armchair. 

He smiled down at you and spoke, “And what story might that be, darling?”  

“C’mon, Grandpa, you know what story. The one about the Claw Creek creature!!” You reminded him of your favorite tale, the legend of what happened right here in your town. 

“Alright, alright,” He scratched at his gray beard and looked off into the distance, “So, way back when the town was first founded over two hundred years ago, there were only a few families that settled here. The first of which was a wealthy family from England. Then came a successful farming family from the South. And so on. Well, little did these settlers know that there was an evil lurking in the woods at the edge of town.” 

You listened to the story, even though you knew it backward and forward. You just liked to hear how your grandfather could make it so fanciful every time you heard it. 

“After a prosperous number of years, the townspeople started to notice livestock being mutilated overnight. One family would blame the other, of course. But no one was ever caught sneaking on the farms or taunting the animals. And sadly, it didn't end there.” 

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face. This is the good part! 

“Look at you getting all excited! I should have you tell this story.” He laughs and pats your head. 

“No, Grandpa. You tell it so much better than me.” You adopted a pout and looked up at him through your lashes. 

“Your mother used to use that same approach; she must have taught you well,” He rolls his eyes and smiles, continuing, “If losing cows and chickens wasn’t enough, the town suffered another tragedy. While playing a game of ‘Chicken’, a group of boys stood at the edge of the tree line with their backs to the forest in the dead of night. One by one, each boy would run away for fear that the noises coming from the trees were a signal that the creature was nearby. Until only one boy was left. When he saw his friends had all left him, he started to whoop and holler about his victory. And that was his last mistake, sadly—” 

“Are you telling her that damn story again?” Your mother interrupted your grandfather, her father, “You aren’t the one that must reassure her in the dead of night that this story isn’t real, Dad.” 

“Mommy, the story is real! And I promise I won’t get scared tonight. Please let Grandpa finish the story! Please please please please please—” 

“Alright, fine! But remember you promised not to get scared tonight, young lady.” She kissed your forehead, patted her father’s shoulder, and shook her head before leaving you two to your story. 

“Now, where was I?” Your grandfather starts, searching his memory for his place in the story, “Ah right, the last boy was making all kinds of racket over his victory. He started to walk toward where his friends were standing until something grabbed him from behind. All his friends could do was watch for one second, he was there, and the next second he was gone. His screams faded into the sounds of the forest. Those boys ran as fast as they could back to town to tell of what had happened. 

“When some of the townsfolk went to search the forest, they weren’t very lucky. They scoured those woods in search of the boy. All they found was a cabin that was covered in vines, and it seemed to have been there for quite some time. But there was no sign of anyone having lived there. They searched and they searched but only found the boy’s jacket which was in shreds and covered in rust-colored fur. With no bears in the area, they assumed maybe it was a wolf or something. Which would have made sense with the missing livestock as well. It seemed that whatever took him must have eaten him whole because they never found anything else of his. No pants, no shoes. Gone, without a trace. And they searched for days, never finding him. 

“After that tragedy, the elders discouraged everyone from going even near the woods. Unless it was daytime. If the sun was out, the forest was still a little scary but nothing like that night. Even now, with all the safety precautions we have, I wouldn’t go into that forest if you paid me a million dollars. Anyway, they ended up renaming the town Claw Creek in remembrance of what happened. Never found a wolf though. I guess after all these years, we can safely say whatever was there that night is long gone now. Occasionally though, the wind carries, and I could swear I could hear howling late at night. Whatever it is out there, I say we let him have the forest and we keep to the town. That goes for you too, darling. You stay out of those woods, okay?” He finished his story with a warning, and he’d never done that before. 

“I’m not going in those woods. I am curious, though. How come I’ve never heard any howling? That would be so cool!” Your excitement about the story stopped you from thinking of the danger. 

“Trust me, darling. You do not want to hear those howls. They are haunting. And I’m old, I’m barely afraid of anything. But that creature? I believe he’s still out there. That’s why I tell this story, even if your mother hates it. Listen a bit closer in the night, maybe you’ll hear the howls one day. But promise me that you won’t go in search of where they lead.” His serious face scared you a bit, he was usually so jovial. 

“If I hear it, I won’t go toward it. I promise, Grandpa.” You reach out your pinky to him and he locks his pinky in yours to seal the promise. 

“That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we go and see if there’s any milk and cookies we can get into?” With his warm smile back in place, you return it happily. 

You hopped down from his lap and took his hand to pull him up off the armchair. Pulling him into the kitchen, you took a seat and watched as he poured the milk and took out some cookies from the cookie jar. You sat and talked with him about the creature and how you hoped you could hear the howl one day. 

That night you stayed up extra late to wait for the sounds of the forest to float to your window. All you ended up hearing was the sounds of owls and crickets chirping. No howl that night and no howl any night after that. 

That is, until about twenty years later... 

It was just a bit past midnight and you had just finished your shift as a nurse in the children’s ward of the hospital. You were dog-tired but you loved your job. You made it a tradition to pass on the story that your grandfather told you about the town. Telling all the little kids scary stories had only one consequence. They wouldn’t want anything else before bed but your story. And you loved it. Of course, you gave them the same warning as your grandfather did, to never go in search of the ‘big bad wolf’. 

You made it home and had a quick dinner and shower before you poured yourself into bed. Your open windows allowed the night breeze to come and wash over you. It also allowed you some white noise to fall asleep to. 

And that’s when you heard it. 

Ahh-wooooooo... 

You shot up in bed, thinking you were hearing things. You went to your bedroom window and you peered out into the night. You could see the tree line from where your house stood and you listened again for the howl. There seemed to be only silence and you were about to give up when you heard it again. 

Ahh-wooooooo... 

Your eyes were glued to the trees as the sound traveled to your ears. You blame it on your lack of sleep that you saw yellow glowing eyes watching you before disappearing back into the dark of the forest. 

But your tiredness wouldn’t explain the sound. The howl was there. You heard it twice. You can’t mistakenly hear something twice. Can you? 

You wait at your window for a couple minutes and there are no more sounds and no movement from the trees. You close your window and lay back in bed. You toss and turn most of the night, thinking of that pained howl all night long. You even dreamt of those eyes that you thought you saw. 

You didn’t know it yet, but that was not the last time you would hear that howl or see those eyes. 

The next morning, you go out to your local coffee shop to fuel up. You notice there seems to be a commotion as some folks are gathering outside near the town square. With coffee in hand, you make your way over and spot your best friend. 

“Olivia, what is all this about? Why is everyone out here?” You ask, gesturing toward the crowd of people near the fountain. 

“Girl, you didn’t hear those howls last night?” Her panic-stricken face tells you everything you need to know.  

Those howls were real. And everyone heard them. 

“But...it’s just like a wolf or something? We’re outlined by a forest. That’s gotta be normal. Right?” You’re not sure whether you are trying to calm her down, or yourself. 

“Well, yeah. But that doesn’t explain what happened on a few of the farms. Actually, the Elliot and the Sullivan farms got it the worst. They say some of their cattle and chickens got mutilated. But the doors to the enclosures to where the animals were kept? They weren’t broken in, they were just opened. Like something opened the door and walked in, ate their fill of beef and poultry, and then just walked right back out. How could that even happen?” She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself to try and keep warm in the brisk autumn morning air. 

You were fine with thinking you had gone crazy and heard howls and saw glowing eyes. In fact, you would rather have continued to think you were nuts. But this ain’t no dream. Other people heard the howls last night. And now there were animal mutilations. All like in your grandfather’s story. 

I bet he would have gotten a sick little thrill out of all this happening. But you’re suddenly glad that he wasn’t around to see all this nonsense.  

“Liv, I’m gonna go back home. If anything else comes up, call me ok? Just be careful out here, girl.” You give her a quick hug and make your way back to your house after she promises to check in with you later. 

Sitting at your kitchen table, your coffee gone cold, you stared off into space. Was this all really happening? Was the creature real? Had it seen you that night? You pour your coffee into a mug and place it in the microwave. While you wait for it to be done, you check your phone and see Liv sent you a text. 

‘Hey girl, so they’re actually setting a curfew for tonight. Can you believe it? Everybody needs to be indoors by ten. Anyway, let’s get together for drinks tonight. Your place or mine or whatever. Don’t really wanna be alone tonight with all this mess.’ 

You send a quick text back agreeing to have her over for some wine and bad television, not wanting to be alone tonight either. Grabbing your coffee from the microwave, you settle down in the living room with your laptop. You begin to search the internet for any local wolf sightings, and to your horror, there hasn’t been a single one. Which, in your brain, can only mean one thing. 

The creature your grandfather warned you about might not be just a piece of fiction. 

To be continued... 

A/N: I am really nervous about this story so any comments are welcome. I really wanted this to be a one-shot and I should have known better lol.  

**Tag List** 

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