#then me and my pleather jacket will throw up

[sergle]

THE CHOOK WILL LAY EGGS!! They will go in my cake or they will rot on the ground I rly do hate anti egg folks. THERE WILL BE EGGS REGARDLESS IF YOU WANT THEM OR NOT, THATS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE CHICKENS.

LIKE PLEASE... they lay an egg damn near every day what are you supposed to do with them. throw them all in the creek

[just-a-draco-girly]

The Secret - Chapter Two

CW: swearing

A couple of weeks after that conversation, Charlotte has me sat on my bed, attempting to put makeup on me. She lets out a huff as she holds up a dark blue matte lipstick. I shake my head in defiance.

"Vicky, we need to agree on a lipstick that will go with your outfit if you're gonna make him notice you whilst you're in Hogsmeade" She sighs, rummaging through her make up box. She's a muggle-born, so she's into make-up and stuff like that. "I think I've got it... This one" She exclaims as she pulls out a pinky-nude coloured matte lipstick. My eyes slightly widen and I shrug in response. That is a nice colour if I'm honest with myself. I glance over at the outfit that Charlotte has put together that is laying on my bed, realizing how perfectly it compliments it. I nod in resignation and she smiles widely, gently applying it to my face.

"Can I look in the mirror now?" I ask, finally losing the last ounce of my patience. She nods, picking up her mirror from the bed. She holds it up in front of me and I gasp as my eyes land on my reflection. The pinky-nude matte lipstick compliments the black cat-winged eyeliner and black mascara that decorates my eyes. It's also perfect for my skin tone, as my usually pallid cheeks are dusted with a bit of light pink blush as well. My hair is loosely curled and left to hang over my shoulders in natural waves, stopping at my waist. I smile happily. "I look beautiful, thanks Charlie" I grin at her and hug her gently.

"Well, you were beautiful anyway, but boys are dumb and need extra incentive to look at a girl sometimes. Anyway let's get you dressed" She chirps, energetically clapping her hands together.

Swinging my legs off of the side of the bed, I stand and brush my hands off on my pajama bottoms. Almost immediately Charlie throws a pair of my black skinny jeans at me, hitting me square in the chest. I obediently change into my underwear and after five minutes of tugging and pulling I button up the skinny jeans. Next, she carelessly tosses the grey cropped hoodie that she bought me for Christmas last year in my direction. As soon as I have that pulled over my head without disturbing my hair or make-up, a black pleather jacket hits me square in the face.

"What's this?" I ask, glancing down at the jacket in bewilderment as it lays in my lap.

"I bought it for you for your birthday but I felt that it's needed for this occasion, and I've got you something else anyway" She replies, now fully dressed in her own clothes and brushing her long black hair speedily.

"Thanks, I guess" I thank her awkwardly as I slip it on and reach for my worn pair of black converse only for them to be smacked out of my hands. "What?" I question, staring up at Charlotte in confusion.

"You're wearing these" She pulls a pair of chunky, black heeled boots from behind her back. I shake my head instantly in defiance. "They're more sturdy than stilettos. You won't fall over in these" Charlie pleads, smiling down at me from her standing position. I let out a sigh of resignation and take the shoes out of her hands, before placing my feet in them.

"Well, let's go" I jump up, wobbling slightly but eventually manage to regain my balance.

"That's the Spirit!" She exclaims, grabbing her brown jacket and pushing me out of the door.

"Isn't this a bit much? Won't he notice?" I ask, cautiously following her down the stairs into the common room. She turns to look at me as we reach the portrait hole, rolling her eyes.

"That's kind of the point, duh" She states in a matter of fact tone. "You've been wearing light make-up in class for the past couple of weeks and, with my help, looking after your appearance more. Don't worry" She sighs, stepping out of the portrait hole and dragging me with her until we reach the Great Hall.

"Show time" She whispers, letting go of my hand as we both walk into the Great Hall and quickly place ourselves at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. I immediately feel eyes on me from the opposite side of the hall, but I attempt to ignore it. Taking a deep breath, I hurriedly scoop some scrambled eggs onto my toast and cover that in beans. I go to tuck in, however I am ground to a halt by Charlotte hastily slapping my cutlery out of my hands. "You are not eating that, think of all our hard work" She hisses, gesturing to my lips.. All your hard work more like, I roll my eyes before reaching for a pot of fruit salad and a fork.

"Better?" I ask, stabbing a grape with my fork and earning an approving nod from Charlie.

"He can't keep his eyes off of you, by the way" Charlie speaks, nudging my elbow and nodding in Draco's direction. I glance up and my eyes lock with his grey orbs from across the hall. So those are the eyes that I felt on me? Smiling gently, I awkwardly wave at him, earning a wave back in return. My face heats up, so I swiftly drop my gaze down to the plate of food before me.

"I think I'm gonna be sick" I speak, pushing the last piece of melon around my plate with my fork mindlessly. Eventually, I drop my fork and go to stand up from the table, only to be stopped by Charlotte.

"Where are you going?" She asks, her blue eyes are full of concern.

"I need some air" I reply, before hurriedly walking out of the Great Hall and down a random corridor, hopefully in the direction of a courtyard. When I finally reach the Transfiguration courtyard my feet are in agony from the boots that Charlie made me wear, so I quickly perch on the nearest stone bench and remove them from my feet, throwing them halfway across the grassed area in my frustration. I drop my head into my hands and kick the leg of the stone plinth, letting out a grunt of pain as my foot makes contact with the unyielding, grey rock.

Why am I doing this?

"What did those shoes ever do to you?" A familiar voice asks. Of course, it's Draco. I sit up straight, glancing behind me with a slight smirk.

"They hurt my feet" I sigh, pouting. His tall frame nears me and he casually places his hands in the pockets of his dark, blue jeans. Dropping his head as he chuckles lowly, as if reveling in a secret joke. He wipes a tear from his eye with the sleeve of his green Quidditch jumper. Damn, how does a human being look that good so effortlessly?

"What?" I demand, when he decides to place himself next to me on the bench. He chuckles once more, carelessly running a hand through his loose, blonde locks. Consequently causing my heart to flutter momentarily. 

"You look cute when you're angry, like when I broke your broomstick when we were six" He replies, laughing a little more as he speaks.

"You still owe me a replacement for that, asshole" I huff, directing my head away from him and folding my arms in disgruntlement. He giggles quietly, before taking my chin in one hand and forcing me to look at him. My breath catches in my throat when our eyes lock and I nervously nibble my bottom lip.

"I said I'd get you a new Firebolt, remember?" He speaks, staring into my eyes with his beautiful grey orbs. "Anyway, what's all this about?" He questions, dropping his hand from my face and gesturing at my appearance. I drop my head and stare at my hands in my lap, feeling my cheeks heat up immensely.

"It was Charlie's idea. Apparently, I was too 'Girl-next-door" to get myself a boyfriend" I respond, continuing to scan my hands as a light breeze brushes past us.

"Why the hell would you want a boyfriend?" He asks. An undertone of anger is present in his usually calm voice. I shrug in response, glancing up at him. "And surely, if you want someone to be interested it's more authentic and honest to be yourself?" His eyebrow quirks up as he stares down at me.

"I don't know" I say, quietly. "Is Drakey-poo jealous?" I ask, smirking at him.

"No, but boys are stupid. Trust me, you don't want one to be hanging around you constantly" Draco adds, smiling warmly down at me. His pale cheeks are tinted a muted pink.

"That's rich. Look at who I hang out with the most" I laugh loudly, punching him gently in the arm. He responds by playfully putting me in a headlock.

"I didn't say that I wasn't stupid" He chortles, tickling my sides with his spare hand. I giggle helplessly, attempting to break free of his grip.

"Oh, there you are" Charlotte's voice causes the pair of us to freeze. I look over to where she's stood to find her shaking her head with her hands on her hips. My cheeks heat up instantly, whilst Draco releases me and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

"Hey, Charlie" I smile forcefully, waving in her direction. Her face hardens when she spots the boots that are located on the other side of the courtyard.

"What are these doing over here?" She asks, marching over to the boots and picking them up. My face pales as she stomps over to my location.

"They hurt my feet" I whine, causing Draco to laugh quietly beside me.

"You should know not to make her wear heels. You know what happened last year" He continues to chortle loudly, clutching his stomach as he does so. I elbow him in the side whilst flashbacks of my family's new years party last year flood my brain. Charlie made me wear a pair of silver, stilettos. I was fine until I decided to dance. I tripped over and broke my ankle, ending up in a cast for several weeks. It was not fun, especially as Draco mocked me the entire time.

"I hate you" I mutter under my breath, scowling up at him.

"You love me really" He winks at me, gently ruffling my hair. "And that scowl doesn't look too pretty on you" Draco remarks, standing up.

"That scowl doesn't look too pretty on your mum" I retort, pulling a face at him. To which, he responds by flipping me off. "Fuck you!" I huff angrily, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

"Bet you'd love to, but I've got places to be and people to see right now. Laters, baby" He smirks, before turning around and walking away.

"That just there was your fault" I speak, pointing after Draco and glaring at Charlie.

"How?" She asks, affronted, holding up her hands in defence.

"You're the one that gave him your copy of Fifty Shades and told him to read it over the summer! Before that he was perfectly innocent" I snap, taking the boots off of her and jumping off of the bench. I walk away with Charlotte closely trailing behind me.

"It's not my fault that the perverted fuck actually liked it" She shouts after me, catching up to me and walking by my side. "Anyway, if it's my fault that he was flirting with you then I'm fine with it" She adds, grinning happily at me.

"He was flirting with me?" I ask, honestly shocked. She nods swiftly.

"He called you 'baby'. That counts as flirting. He wants the D" She remarks, raising her eyebrows and staring at me pointedly. "Well, too be more accurate you want the D from D" Charlie giggles, causing me to blush heavily.

"Can we not talk about this now?" I ask, when we start to ascend the main staircase. Charlotte nods just as I spot the blonde devil himself, descending the same staircase as us. I bite my lip, dropping my head in a bid to avoid confrontation. This proves useless, however, as Draco speedily pulls me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey, can we talk later? Alone?" He whispers softly in my ear, his voice unusually husky. I nod, unable to speak due to my body being pressed up against his. "Perfect. Meet me outside the Shrieking Shack in an hour" He demands, before quickly letting me go and hurriedly walking down the stairs with Blaise. I watch after him until he disappears from sight. Charlotte goes to speak, but I instantly stop her.

"Don't even think about it" I speak, proceeding up the stone steps steadily.

"Where are we going anyway? We're supposed to be going to Hogsmeade" Charlie speaks, walking beside me once more.

"I need to grab my trainers. I'm not wearing these boots anymore" I sigh, finally reaching the portrait outside the Ravenclaw common room. Quickly, I answer the riddle before running up the stairs to our dorm room. I throw the boots into Charlotte's trunk and pull out my trusty black Converse, tugging them onto my feet. I run back down the stairs to find Charlie sat in one of the armchairs.

"Right. Let's go!" I chirp, clapping my hands together.

"Somebody's cheered up, may I know why?" She asks, inquisitively. I slyly tap my nose, before hurriedly climbing through the portrait hole.

Other Chapters

[firespirited]

Our town has Red Cross used clothes and shoes donation bins, your town probably has something similar.

Supposedly you put cleaned and folded donated clothes in a sealed bag and they are given or sold in their shops. asterisks required because they only sell items that are in like new condition and properly placed in closed bags, the rest is sold to shady textile recycling companies.

(readmore for length)

The problem is that people use them the way they used to use the sturdy textile recycling bins the town used to have back before the Red Cross bought the right to replace those. You'd pop in your clothes, local charities would sort through them for the sellable items, items they could transform into fabric yardages or pet beds or rags for school art classes... *then* they'd sell the textile waste for centimes to the red cross to flip. Now the various charities place ads in the newspaper and at the shopping centres to come collect at your house or for you to drop off stuff at their shops. Anything I fix goes to a charity shop a town over on the road to where my carer lives.

There are two "Reduce - Reuse - Recycle" charities and the Red Cross in town and they're a mile out from where I can walk so I haven't had the chance to visit yet. They do repair courses and crafting days. Our local recycling centre even makes insulation from shredded jeans!

I was able to talk to one of the Red Cross shop volunteers and she was really interested in how to clean up toys as they throw out a ton.

Anyway, all that to say that

1/ The donation bins don't work as intended AT ALL with about 5% (at best) actually saved and 95% sold as waste to Eastern Europe triage centres then off to West Africa. I don't resent the Red Cross for making their money but I do resent that they cut out the local middle men charities and their bins are very poorly designed.

2/ I can back up the claim that people donate damaged junk items to charity and throw quality items in the regular trash. The donation bins overflow regularly and stuff gets rain drenched or thrown into the closest bins which is where lil scavenger me has been picking through items that can be frogged into yarn or repaired when I feel like a hobby challenge. It's only been three months of peeking in the donation overflow and 9 months of peeking in the bins, but the difference is obvious.

In the regular trash: clothes, shoes, toys, cosmetic gifts and electronics are either busted and worth throwing away *two thumbs up so long as you removed batteries first and used the correct bin* or in excellent condition: they clearly just got new stuff and threw out the old like second hand doesn't even cross their mind, they don't even stick it on ebay. Most expensive trashed but high quality items are brand-name sneakers and children's clothes. I really hope it makes a mom's day when they find them in the charity shop and don't have to spend $70 on last year's sneakers for the teen and $40 on a proper winter coat for the kid. I know teen me cherished the charity shop Reeboks until they fell apart.

Red Cross donation bin items almost always have damage: lots of crumbling pleather, ripped clothes, stained tablecloths and unravelling sweaters. I'd like to think it's because people don't bother to read and use them like the old textile recycling containers but reading local articles about residents complaining about the bins kind of confirms "the homeless will be glad for junk" theory.

On the other hand, I am "the poors happy for junk" LOL at least for challenging myself to craft projects since I replaced the zip slider and insertion box on a jacket using online tutorials, sewed up the damaged pocket and lining tears and have a fabulous leather jacket. I dismantled the crumbling pleather (it made such a mess!!) and fur jacket and sewed the fur sides into a long wrap scarf with hooks in 3 40-minute sessions. I'd love to make matching bear hats from the back piece.

[giacofmanytrades]

MR SLIME MAN MAN ME A SLIME

Do you like slime? Do you like men? Here’s a snippet of a book I’ve been off and on about for a few years. I call it Obnoxious, basic plot is a chemist has a freak soap accident in the 80s. Cue lots of him, his best friend, and a class of middle school science students dealing with the consequences.

Alan Mortimer’s fingers tremble on the steering wheel. The radio grates on his ears and nerves. He dials down the volume, fixes his stare on the horizon, and drives for town. Where in town is the biggest question. Where does he even take something like this?

“Aw, c’mon,” his passenger says. “Turn the tunes back up!”

“Now’s not the time.”

“Please, Mo?”

“Nick, stay back there!” Alan’s right hand leaves the wheel, batting the orange figure in the rearview mirror out of the van’s cab. “We can’t let anyone see you like this.”

“But it’s a good song,” Nick insists. He sways a little as he tries to stay standing, hands oozing slime on the frame of the door that separates cab and cargo. More of the translucent fluid that covers his body drips to the plastic floor. “And it’s my van.”

“It’s Holly Hemlock’s van.”

“She gave it to me!”

Queen swells from the speakers, louder than before now that Nick’s nudged past and turned the dial. He flops right down in the passenger’s seat. No seatbelt on, the fluid on his body soaking into the pleather seat cover, he does a little shimmy with the music.

Alan’s knuckles go white. His back hunches in until his shoulders brush his ears, his eyes set on the road straight ahead. Every new pair of headlights makes him flinch. “Nick,” he says.

Nick croons along with Freddie Mercury. It’s a bouncing melody about lazing on a sunday afternoon. Nick wiggles his shoulders in time with it, like he did on the drive over. All of him glows orange as a traffic sign, getting brighter as the guitar solo fades into the DJ’s upbeat transition to the next song.

It all began that afternoon.

Alan, better known as Mr. Mortimer in the halls of Barks Junior High, was just finishing his last period of the day. Seventh period is always a challenge, but on a Friday it got even harder to catch his students’ attention. Most of his kids were counting the minutes and tuning out his explanation of atomic structures. Today he’d had to send his biggest troublemaker, Jimmy Rodriguez, out into the hall.

Jimmy picked at the frayed cuffs of his denim jacket. The kid had come with a warning label from the teachers at Anais Elementary. He’s become known for tearing his sleeves and leaving threads all over the linoleum, throwing wads of paper at other students, gouging marks into tables, and coming up with creative new ways to disrupt lessons. He’d tested Alan’s patience today by trying to pull the fire alarm with only fifteen minutes of class to go.

Jimmy stared at his grubby sneakers instead of meeting Alan’s gaze.

Alan sighed. “Are we going to have to do this all year, Mr. Rodriguez?” he asked.

The boy scratched his face. Alan frowned. His usual tactics for snapping metaphorical fingers in front of his kids had failed with this one, along with several others in his class. Alan planned to double down if the attitude didn’t shape up.

But it was Friday. October, too. There was a whole year for improvement, and problem students like Jimmy could be solved by the end of it. “We’ll try again next Monday,” he said, and reached for the boy’s shoulder. Jimmy shrugged away with a sniff and marched for Principal Miranda’s office.

Alan picked at his sweater vest, a striped pink number he’d selected from his eye-searing closet. Part of him cites this style choice as a way to keep students’ eyes on the garish colors. The part he rarely admits to just gets a warm fuzzy feeling from seeing them. His wife Mary-Anne claims not to know which reason is worse. Aside from these vests, he’s an otherwise well-kempt man of Indian descent. Tall, dark, and handsome even with his pocket protector, chalk-dusted piano fingers, and general air of teacherly campiness.

He walked back into his classroom to fading mutters. The next few minutes he spent watching the clock just as much as the kids. With the bell’s final toll, students milled out, ready to run home and enjoy their weekend.

Alan used the next hour to wrap up. He swept up the threads from Jimmy’s jean jacket, scraped the gum from under one of the tables, and finally sat to review the curriculum for next week. Once everything was in order, he locked up to go home.

He strutted the vacant halls of red lockers and beige floors, through doors overlooking an empty parking lot. The lines of parents waiting to collect their children were long gone. So were the buses usually stationed at the curb. Decorative gravel and ancient gumwads embedded the walls of Barks rising behind him, facing a courtyard where students sat and gossiped before the doors opened.

If this was Alan’s story alone, he’d walk a few blocks to his tidy house on Cleary Street and wait for his wife to come home from her clinic. Being married to the town’s primary care provider meant Alan had a lot of time to himself on weekdays. Most nights he hosted other teachers or fixtures in town, but he expected to fill tonight with grading, cleaning, and preparing dinner. He could already feel the future Sunday paper in his hands and taste coffee from a pun-emblazoned mug in his mouth.

Instead, a van waited at the curb.

The white utility van had Hemlock & Co. painted on one side, ringed in tiny white flowers. Alan could also see the van was parked backwards so the driver’s side door was facing him.

Alan squinted at the tinted window. He’d read about the old cookie factory being replaced by Hemlock’s in the paper. It was a nice addition to Perkins, he thought. While a lot of his students’ parents had already lined up jobs with the company, he didn’t expect to see its logo around so soon.

Then the window rolled down. The man behind the wheel was tanned as a surfer, with sandy curls and a chubby build that reminded Alan of a fluffy labrador rolling on the carpet. His arms were crossed over the door, a set of aviators on his nose.

The man nodded to reveal round-rimmed glasses underneath. “How’s it hangin’, Mo?” he drawled.

Alan’s face lit up. He hadn’t seen his best friend in almost five years. So the visit was unplanned and unexpected. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

Nick Cervos, over the top entrance complete, bounded from the van to hug Alan. He squeezed tight, lifting his friend off the ground. Alan had to tap his back for air.

“Sorry!” Nick cried, and set him down. Alan adjusted himself. Still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Nick mirrored the smile and looked Alan over. Nick had changed a lot. Over the years, he’d evolved from lettermen’s to leather jackets to lab coats. He wore one now, over a pair of beat up jeans and a bleach stained t-shirt. His shaggy mop was long and tied back in a ponytail, and he’d even shaved off the beard he used to have. Alan thought his face looked bare without it, but Nick never kept the same style long.

Alan himself hadn’t changed a bit. He’d traded the bellbottoms of yesteryear in for real slacks, sure, but he’d maintained his spick and span exterior. Nick chuckled. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” Alan asked.

“You look good! Like you’re doing good,” Nick said. He hugged Alan again, gentler this time. Alan had enough warning to hug back.

Alan weighed his own response. Among the style changes, Alan could see Nick’s face had new lines, shadowed under the eyes. Nick caught him inspecting and straightened up.

All Alan could say was, “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought you were still in Seattle.”

Nick laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. That’s the thing. I just got a job down here.”

Alan held his messenger bag close. “You’re kidding,” he said.

Nick gave a wave to the van’s logo. He did a little dance as Alan processed it all. “Just got this beaut yesterday! I’ll explain the whole thing on the way. Annie asked me if I could pick you up. That okay?”

Alan stiffened a bit, his grip tighter on his bag. His eyes traced the path out to Cleary Street, behind the van parked backwards on the curb.

Nick followed his eyes, head cocked. Alan blinked out of his haze. A change of routine wouldn’t kill him. “That’d be nice. You know where I live now?”

Nick made a vague motion with his hand. “Somewhere close, I was told? She only gave me the directions to get out here. But I have you with me now! Get in! I wanna know everything.”

Nick hopped back into the driver’s side. Already the van had Nick’s signature scribbled all over it. Sarapes covered the seats, stacks of several more and some scratchy wool blankets tossed in the cargo behind. Those were thrown haphazard over stacks of boxes with the Hemlock logo. Stuffed animals lined the dashboard, Muppets and Pooh Bears sticking out from the menagerie of crane machine prizes.

Nick booped a finger to a toy lion’s nose. Alan sat back in the passenger’s seat. “Here I thought you’d changed,” he teased.

It didn’t faze Nick. He pulled out of the lot. “C’mon, man,” he said. “What about you? What’ve you been up to?” They’d called each other so infrequently since Alan got married.

“You’re looking at it.” There was no disappointment in Alan’s voice, not really. He probably should’ve been a little bitter, but he held a lot of affection for Perkins, Oregon. Nestled in the eastern armpit of the state, it’s a cross between desert and forest. Winters are below freezing with heaps of snow that degrades into pebble-peppered sludge. Summers are balmy and swelter until residents are inside with fans bought from whatever corner store is closest.

In mid-October, it’s all crisp leaves and damp, squelchy grass where it’s not clay. It’s Alan’s favorite time of year. He can already see students of past, present, and future shopping for Halloween costumes or bundling up for the cold months to come.

“Whatcha teaching?”

“Sixth grade physical science,” Alan said. “This year, anyway.”

“That’s good! Really good. Glad you found your niche, Mo.”

“Sounds like you’ve found one, too,” Alan said, giving the boxes a wave.

Nick flushed. “I don’t know about all that,” he said. “More like I got a niche, for the next year or so. The company’s launching this new soap in ‘88, so I’m on the hook at least ‘til then. Friend in the community said Hemlock wanted top of the line for her quality assurance.” He kept his eyes on the road. There was a pause, something Alan wanted to reach across until he saw those lines on Nick’s face again.

Alan knew what community Nick meant, and could only infer what Nick had been studying in Seattle. They’d gone to college together with dreams of becoming a physics professor and an enzyme pathologist respectively. Alan had followed his then fiance north and taught middle school science, but Nick had followed through on his PhD. He thought Nick would have been doing alright since then. Now he’d gone from researching fatal diseases to soap, of all things?

He didn’t get the chance to ask before Nick thumped the steering wheel. “Ah, shit!” He craned his neck to check the stacks in the cargo. “I knew I left them on the counter. I can go back to the factory tomorrow.”

Nick’s hand was on his mouth, his brows down. Alan jumped on the subject. “The Hemlock factory?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I forgot those samples I was supposed to test at the lab. Base lab, not my little off-premises one. It’s just out-”

“Off Sundale, I know,” Alan said. “That place used to be called Flour Pour.”

“Wait, like flower power? Not floor poor?”

“Nope,” Alan said.

Nick laughed. “Damn. Place with a name that good never should have gone under.”

Alan chuckled. Nick echoed it. The sound hung in the van, clinging to the air between them like tar as they stared down the road. Gradually, twenty years or so of familiarity found purchase and settled.

Alan jostled Nick, who perked up. “I don’t mind going to get your samples,” Alan told him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. There’s been a lot of buzz about Hemlock’s.”

Nick hummed. He turned onto Sundale, a road that wound the edge of the desert. They passed an A&W and a gas station on the way, before the newly christened Hemlock factory loomed ahead. Behind the big warehouse stood a scraggly patch of forest, behind which was the residential part of town.

Nick parked his van in the corner of the gated off lot. He hopped out to open the door for Alan. “My good man,” he said, with a bow.

Alan rolled his eyes, smiling again. This would be fun, having Nick back in his life. Whatever funk Nick had been in before he arrived, it couldn’t linger long. Alan’s tamed since their wild college nights, or even their rowdy days as children in San Alphonsa, but excitement overshadowed any worry he had about Nick’s move.

Nick bit his lip. “Sorry, again,” he said.

“It’s fine, seriously,” Alan said. The factory had already been spruced up with a layer of yellow paint, Hemlock’s logo slapped on the doors they entered through. He’d heard rumors in the staff lounge that the founder was some New York lawyer elevating a housewife she’d befriended. This housewife, the eponymous Holly Hemlock herself, had ads on the radio in her trilling voice, all about making homes fresh and clean as a garden green. Alan had considered buying some of her soaps once they were available.

Nick led Alan through the office building, already done up with marketing material of a pale cartoon woman in a cocktail dress. Sprays of baby’s breath came from a bottle in her hand. Nick pointed to one. “She really does look just like this!”

“A cartoon?”

“Nah, but how cool would that be?” Alan gave him a look, but Nick shrugged at him. “I think there’s a movie like that. If getting hired means I get to be a toon, I’m all ears.” He mimed Mickey ears over his head and giggled.

Alan followed him through a set of double doors onto a long catwalk in the warehouse. The floor below contained half a dozen vats formerly used for mixing doughs and frostings. Now the Flour Pour’s old shortbread aroma had a hint of lemon drowning it out. It got stronger toward the middle of the catwalk, overlooking an open vat filled with a thick yellow brine.

“Get a load of that fake citrus,” Nick sighed, hand to his heart.

Alan indulged and breathed it in. The smell had been written into his memory with a warmth even real lemons couldn’t surpass, all from days of polishing furniture or dusting down his parents’ house as a kid. He liked the thought of the scent drifting down to Perkins proper once this place got really up and running.

Nick ducked into a door at the end of the catwalk. Sure enough, his box of samples was waiting in what used to be a test kitchen. He hefted it onto his hip and met his friend back in the middle. Alan stared into the vat below, then rose a brow at Nick’s box.

“That’s it?” he asked. It was just a box of dated bottles, the fluid inside almost clear unlike the yellow vat below.

“It’s just some samples to go over when I get home,” Nick said. “Holly gave me this grace period to set up and all, though.”

“You have a place down here already?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for coming with.”

“No problem.”

Nick brought the box under one arm. “You are not gonna believe my lab! I have, yanno, actually decent assets, plus I brought this great couch. Still needs cleaned up but I’ve got time for- ah, shit!”

Alan pivoted. Nick flailed. Something wet had burned a hole in his sock. He almost dropped the box bending down to tend to it. Alan took it from his hands.

“Did you spill something?” Alan asked.

None of the bottles were leaking, but Nick could have. He winced. Looked like a chemical burn, the chemical doing the burning unknown. They were over an open vat. Maybe a bubble popped up and splashed him? It just seemed too far down.

Nick braced on the railing. Taking even a small step on his foot had to hurt. He had to bite his lip to keep from swearing up and down about it.

Dimly Alan heard a creak beside him. A groan like an old door being forced open, metal protesting weight. Yellow dribbled at the base of the railing. Nick saw it before Alan did. “Mo.”

“What is this?” Alan said, careful not to touch it. “Detergent shouldn’t cause a burn like this.”

The metal creaked louder. Nick set down his burning foot and breathed through his teeth. He couldn’t stand without supporting himself on something. He waved for Alan to get back. “Mo, I think it’s gonna-”

It was all he could get out before the metal cracked apart with a violent jerk, like a huge hand yanking the bars from the catwalk. Nick’s full weight was on a railing that was no longer. He fell with it. Alan yelled for him and grabbed at his lab coat but too late.

***

Nick had a split second to twist and see the yellow reaching up to meet him. He landed with a smack, given just a blink to hold his breath before he got sucked inside.

It didn’t take him long to let it go. His mouth opened to scream from the acidic goo eating away at his skin. The fluid poured down his throat, suffocating him until he was so full of the stuff he could feel it eating away the inside like he’d huffed a lungful of termites. Stuck as a fly in jello, the skin dissolved in seconds as the rest of his tissue was devoured cell by cell. Muscle and bones and nerves broke into microscopic pieces until he found a blissful, empty numbness.

With the pain gone, he found he didn’t mind being stuck quite so much. Something around him seeped in, calming yet utterly ecstatic. He knew these feelings were coming from somewhere else, but he didn’t mind feeling them either. It was like a song, a chorus he couldn’t really figure out how he was hearing. The voice vibrated through the new frame forming around where he was.

He could see it now. Just this mass of material he could move when he thought about it, quick to take on the shape of the last thing it remembered. Another layer formed around it, separating him from the rest of the vat. This done, the goo around him glowed orange.

His own material mimicked the color and glowed, too. Happy, loving vibrations hummed through his whole body like a strummed guitar. He glowed brighter.

The goo sang at him. The same syllable, over and over. It was like drowning in this innocent sorta happy, like his relief to be alive reflected back at him and then some. He reached for where it came from.

It was interrupted by a voice. Alan’s voice, shouting. Nick. “Mo!”

The word echoed around Nick, bouncing through the goo and off the walls of the vat. He was Nick, and he was in a vat, and he’d just been drowned and dissolved. And his best friend was all alone.

Nick’s body reacted. He rose to the top until open air hit him.

It was a strain, pulling his gooey shape out limb by limb. Everything was weighted wrong, his new self held together with strands of thick, yellow goo until he had himself looking close to what he’d been just a moment ago.

He laughed. It was a waterlogged, gurgly laugh, but it was mostly his own, rippling out like a wave. He was not dead. Not dead was good.

“Nick?” Alan’s voice, in disbelief.

Nick squinted up. His eyes must have changed with the rest of him, yet somehow his view of Alan was still blurry without his glasses. No glasses, and no clothes either, but he didn’t seem to need them now. This fact should probably have bothered him more. At least he found the weight of his ponytail at his neck when he sat up.

Alan just stared down, horror and relief duking it out on his face.

“Mo!” Nick called. “I’m right here. This stuff is amazing!” His new sort-of flesh fascinated him as he looked it over now, glowing orange again with his glee like before. He rubbed his hands together. The outer layer of himself oozed transparent off his fingers, making webs when he spread them. Still couldn’t see anything far off so well, though. That would be a problem.

“I’m gonna need new glasses,” he mumbled.

As he moved to stand, he could feel the top of the goo peel from his backside. Sort of rough, like the humming vat didn’t want to let him go.

Then he just… hovered above it. Like a ghost. He laughed again. When he thought about it, he moved up higher.

“Wait,” he told Alan. “I think I got this!”

Nick willed himself higher and just found more laughter bubbling out of him. He was floating. Actually floating, at least ten feet above the vat and twice that off the ground. Good thing he didn’t mind heights! He did have to stick his hands out to stop his ascent, tumbling end over end until he was on his backside a few feet over Alan.

Alan was back up against the other railing. He had a sample bottle in hand and was searching Nick’s face for… Nick’s face. Nick needed a mirror. Did he look like himself. His voice definitely sounded like himself. “It’s me, Mo. Can’t believe I lost my glasses. I think I have a back up pair in the lab. I think.”

Trembling, Alan approached. Nick rubbed at his face with his hands. The outer layer still didn’t stick to itself, though a few strands of it came off when he pulled away. He flicked them off. “Man, Mo, you will not believe what just happened in there. I scared you good, didn’t I?”

“How are you alive?” Alan breathed. His fingers tangled around each other. His palm was a bright, scalded red. Couldn’t be the chemical burn Nick had gotten before he fell, but, dang, was he alright? Not that Alan seemed concerned with himself just now. “The heat by itself should’ve killed you.”

“Gee, good to see you, too.”

“Shocked you! Fine! I just mean-”

“I know what you mean, but I’m fine!” Nick spread his arms. A few drops of that outer ooze dripped to the vat below. Little drops of inner, opaque goo sank in and out of his body, but it didn’t feel painful or anything. Seemed like breathing or blood flow, something autonomic he didn’t have to control. Basically the same as circulating anything else in a body. “See! Still alive!”

The fear on Alan’s face made Nick’s body warm. He found himself a hot white color. Fight or flight, like the goo heating up to move quickly. He calmed and willed the goo back to a yellowish orange. He grinned. He was getting the hang of this quick! “C’mon, Mo, don’t get dark. I’m still me.”

“What’s going on up there?”

Their attention shifted to the steps approaching on the floor far below. Nick and Alan exchanged startled looks.

“What do we do?”

“Uh.” Nick’s first instinct was to dive down, back into the safety of the vat. He at least fumbled his hover lower, just over the goo so the vat’s walls concealed him from whoever was shouting at Alan.

Nick peered over the vat’s edge. The man was a security guard, in navy blue with a gut and a walkie talkie at his hip. “You alright up there, sir?” the guard called up to Alan.

Alan took a moment to reply. His voice cracked at first, but he calmed to his usual tone before the guard could register it. “The rail’s broken! I was just on my way to find someone.”

“I can see that! You okay?” the guard asked. Nick stayed hidden as Alan gathered the box of samples into his arms and tapped down the stairs to the factory floor.

They carried on in their conversation. Nick tuned out as something batted at his ankle. No burn this time, just the goo rising a tendril and clinging to him. It buzzed again. Sadness chorused into him with a new sound, a purring pbbt like the saddest raspberry Nick had ever heard. The humming little song continued until Nick was almost guilty to leave the goo.

But he had Alan to worry about. Nick floated over the wall of the vat, then drifted slow and wobbly to the factory floor. Now for the tough part. Alan had the guard’s full focus, telling the half truth that he’d been here with an employee friend. The guard just rambled about drifters and needing to up the safety measures on this hunk of junk. Famous last words for a guy who left the door propped open for Nick to slip through.

His float picked up speed once he got out of the factory. He wanted to go full Superman, up and away to test this new ability, but he spotted his van and darted for the driver’s side. If he could get in and drive him and Alan to his lab, maybe he’d be able to learn more about what this all was.

But his fingers slipped on the handle. He couldn’t get his thumb to put enough pressure on the button to even wedge it open, the ooze on his hands making it impossible to get a grip.

“Shit.” Anxiety washed over him, setting his body blazing white. He patted himself down. His wallet had been left in the glove compartment, and he had a spare set of keys from Holly, but his other effects had been dissolved with the rest of him. What’s the use of spare keys if he couldn’t hold them, anyways? Could he drive at all?

He got a pretty good look at himself in the side rear view. His face was definitely less defined, even if it was a pretty good approximation of the human Nick Cervos. He angled the mirror. Peered for the deep brown of his eyes, but these ones were white with an orange pupil. “Jesus,” he mumbled, and his mouth moved but he could feel the word vibrate from all over his body.

He was studying the inside of his new mouth- no individual teeth, but there were ridges to mimic them and a tongue, and it’s only hollow to the back of his throat- when he heard voices.

He ducked behind the back door, hovering so his feet couldn’t be seen underneath. Alan and the guard again, casual and cordial about whatever was being said.

“You take care, Mr. Mortimer!” the guard called.

“I will,” Alan said back. “Have a good night!” He sounded almost relieved, like nothing in particular had happened at all. Nick glowed a peachy orange, proud. Alan kept so calm under pressure.

Alan leaned against the passenger door. Sighed, hugging the box to his chest. “I thought I just saw the craziest thing happen, Nick. You should tell your boss her products might cause hallucinations.”

Nick laughed, but it was a false laugh. A laugh who didn’t know who it was kidding, it was so fake.

Alan froze in his slouch, eyes wide. “Nick. It didn’t actually happen.” Not a question, just a statement of what he hoped to be fact. Nick’s silence earned a more insistent, “Nick!”

“Surprise, Mo,” Nick said, floating into view. Arms spread and glowing with a forced pep, but getting more real by the second. There was so much he had to learn, and Alan had made it out okay so this was all going to be fine. “At least you’re not crazy, huh?”

Alan just stared. Clutched the box in his arms, eye twitching.

Nick waved his hands and flicked a little ooze on the van. “Surprise!”

[summoning-potema]

veg bullshit ahead lol i need to vent ignore me and my tags if this pisses u off

every once in a while that fucking 'microplastics in placentas' post shows up on my dash again and i want to sCREAM

hate to break it to everyone but microplastics in the ocean are largely caused by fish nets O____O discarded as part of commercial fish catching. not. veg leather. is there a pleather jacket barge in the ocean i haven't heard about lmao???

veg leather is not even washed. where did this claim even come from??? the leap from microplastics found in flesh -> pleather as the main contributor to microplastic pollution is???? alsdkjflkasjdf

no one gonna talk about chemical tanning polluting drinking water in the communities surrounding them.....?

[expectingtofly]

Claire Novak's (Surprisingly) Not-So-Lame Day

2k

this fic is written for @dean-has-great-taste as part of @starrynightdeancas' gift exchange. thanks sophie for organizing this, it was a lot of fun <33 and i hope you enjoy this, gen!!

*****

How did Claire find herself joining Dean, Cas, and Jack for an excursion to the mall?

Well.

Cas had texted her yesterday, with an extreme amount of emojis and emoticons that took some time to decipher, asking if she wanted to go shopping with him, Dean, and Jack. Apparently Jack needed new clothes and they needed a gift for Eileen’s birthday coming up, and maybe they could go bowling or something afterwards.

And normally she would’ve said no way because hanging out with old guys was lame and she didn’t like little kids, but she needed an excuse to get out of Jody and Donna’s weekend plans of cleaning out the garage. Plus, Kaia needed to study for a test—she actually enjoyed school, the weirdo—and had requested no distractions.

So that’s how she found herself sitting in the back of the Impala next to a carseat, listening to one of Dean’s old cassette tapes (which wasn’t too bad, but she’d never admit it).

“What’s that?” Jack asked, stretching against his carseat straps to jab at one of the pins Claire wore on her leather jacket.

“It’s the lesbian flag,” she told him. Cas looked back at them from the front seat, smiling.

“This one?” Jack pointed to the rainbow pin on her pocket.

“It’s the pride flag.”

Jack considered that for a moment before announcing, “I want one. And this one.” He pointed to the mothman pin on her lapel, then the big-eyed, green alien. “And this one... and this one, and this one.” (Alex said she had more pins than leather on her jacket, but sue her, she liked making her clothing her own).

Jack, it seemed, also liked… unique clothing. The kid was wearing rain boots even though the sun was out and overalls with embroidered flowers. He dressed weird, there was no way around it. But so did Cas, so there was probably no hope for him, poor kid.

“Okay,” she decided. “I know where to get you some.”

Jack beamed and swung his legs. “Don’t kick the seat,” Dean told him, and Jack pouted at him.

Claire was surprised Dean even let a carseat in his precious Impala. Pulling out her phone, she asked, “Can we listen to my music?”

Dean started to respond with a “Hell no,” but Cas spoke up first, “Of course.”

Dean spluttered as Claire connected to the bluetooth connector Sam had finally convinced Dean to install. The old man didn’t realize it was the 21st century, apparently.

“I wanna listen to Gaga!” Jack said, leaning over to look at her phone.

At first she thought that was some baby talk, then she realized Jack was into pop music. Ugh. But it would annoy Dean, so...

Leaning in conspiratorially with Jack, she let him scroll through her phone and choose which song to play. When “Born This Way” started filtering through the car, Dean groaned.

“Really?” he asked, sending her a glare in the rearview mirror. Mission accomplished.

Jack clapped along and Cas turned the music up louder. “Great choice, Jack,” he said.

Dean, for all his grumbling, didn’t turn down the music, and Claire caught him glancing at Cas, who tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat. Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile and Claire rolled her eyes. Dude was so whipped.

When they parked at the mall, Cas grabbed Jack’s hand before he could sprint across the parking lot. “You have to look both ways,” he reminded him gently, and Jack nodded.

“Claire’s gonna buy me pins,” he said, jumping onto the curb.

“Yup.” Claire pat her jacket pocket. “Good ol’ credit card fraud.”

“Woah, now,” Dean started to protest.

“You and Sam are the ones who taught me!” Claire reminded him.

“We’ll pay for them,” Cas said, opening the door to the mall. Jack skipped inside, his rain boots squeaking on the tiled floor.

“We’re doing what now?” Dean asked Cas, taking his hand. Gross.

“Come on, Jack,” Claire said, catching up to the toddler. “Let’s go get you some style.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Meet up with you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Cas called.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Dean added.

As they distanced themselves from the old geezers, Jack grabbed her hand, and Claire startled a little. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked.

Someone passing by gave them a smile, and Claire realized people probably thought Jack was her younger brother. She let him hold her hand anyway. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite? Mine is the bon-ta-sore-us.” He sounded out the word carefully.

“Don’t know. What’s the one with the spiky horns?”

“Ti-ce-a-tops?”

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“That’s my second favorite!” He started jumping from one colored tile to the next. “And the T-Rex. That’s Dee’s favorite. And Dad likes the steg-a-sore-us.” He peered up at her. “Did you know he got to see dinosaurs? Right in front of him!”

“You know what that means, right?” He shook his head. “He’s super old. He’s basically a dinosaur himself.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s a dinosaur,” he repeated in a hushed whisper.

“Yup.” Spotting Hot Topical, she headed that way. “You should tell him that.”

Inside the store, Jack let go of her hand to grab a stuffed cat. “Claire! Like yours!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” So, she still had the Grumpy Cat Cas had bought her. She wasn’t cruel enough to throw it away when the guy was trying so hard to make up for walking around in her dead dad’s body. Plus, the stuffed animal was kinda cute. Not that she was going to tell anyone that.

“Here ya go,” she told Jack, finding a box of pins at the register. She brought the box down to his level and Jack ran over to look inside.

“I want a Doc McStuffins pin,” he said, plunging his hand into the box.

“I don’t know if they have those.”

As they rooted through the box of pins, she heard familiar voices and looked up to see Dean and Cas walking inside.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“I like this store,” Cas said and Dean rolled his eyes. Among the pleather and black, Cas’ dingy old trench coat—over a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt instead of a suit—and Dean’s ratty flannel and boots only looked more ridiculous. She took it back—even Jack dressed better than them.

“You guys don’t have to be in here,” she told them.

“What, we’re too old?” Dean asked defensively.

“Yeah, actually.”

Cas poked at a toy and it squeaked. God, could they be any more embarrassing?

“Dad!” Jack called, holding out a rainbow pin. “Look, they have soo many.” Cas joined Jack in going through the pins and Claire asked Dean, giving his outfit a meaningful look,

“Was the Army Surplus store too trendy for you?”

“Did they kick you out of Sephora for buying up all the eyeliner?“ Dean shot back.

Touché. In a truce, she held out a pin with the bisexual flag. She wasn’t really sure what Dean identified as, if he even gave it any thought, but guessed it was close enough. “For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took it. “I’m not weighing down my jacket with this crap, though.”

“No, ‘course not, that would mean having any sort of style.”

“Can I help you with anything?” asked an employee with two nose rings and jewelry up and down their ears— so cool. Claire saw the way their eyes flicked between them, probably thinking they made a weird group, and she took a step back, trying to silently communicate that yes, she was shopping with them, but no, she was not as lame as them.

“Just looking,” Dean told them.

“I like your drawings,” Jack said and the employee looked down at their arms which were littered with tattoos.

“Thanks.”

“My dad has a drawing. It’s Enochian.”

The employee—Wren, by the name tag—looked at Cas with new respect in their eyes. “Language of the angels. Sick.”

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you. It’s come in handy more than once.”

The employee went back to looking confused and, starting to walk away, told them to call if they needed anything.

“Do you want anything?” Cas asked Claire, and Claire looked through the box. She grabbed a pentagram pin and, seeming to copy her, Jack grabbed another one, clutching several pins already in his fists.

“You like bees, right?” Claire asked Cas, spotting a “Save the Bees” pin. She held it up for him.

Cas’ eyes brightened. “That’s a wonderful message.” He glanced back at Dean and frowned. “Dean, they’re not going to bite.”

Claire looked over to see Dean shying away from a few emo teens. “Look like it,” Dean muttered, joining them. Jack lifted up his hands, asking to be hoisted up. Dean set him on his hip and Jack showed him the pins he’d selected. He held a dinosaur pin to Dean’s collar.

“Do you want one, Dee?”

“He’s too lame,” Claire piped up. Not for the first time, she noticed the healed over piercing mark on Dean’s right ear and pointed to it. “Looks like he used to be cool, though.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said dryly. His hand went to his earlobe. “Pierced it myself, in high school.”

“I think you’re still cool,” Cas told him, and Claire fake-gagged, making Jack giggle.

Cas took the pins to the cash register where Wren rang them up. Dean added the bisexual flag pin and Claire threw in a pair of spiky earrings, because, hey, they were paying.

“15.36,” Wren told them, dropping the pins into a bag.

“My dad’s a dinosaur,” Jack told them, trying to see over the edge of the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow, Cas looked surprised, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“Claire, help me,” Jack said, grabbing the bag from Cas as they exited the store. Moving to the side, Claire helped him attach the pins to his overalls. A smiley face, a pride flag, a grinning Stitch, a sunflower, a dinosaur, and the pentagram. The pins clacked as Jack tugged at his overalls, trying to look at them all. Overall, a chaotic look, but it kinda matched his vibe.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him, and Jack beamed.

“I’m like you!”

Alright, she wouldn’t take it that far, but, “Yeah, close enough.”

Cas attached the “Save the Bees” pins to his trench coat pocket and it ended up crooked. Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “Let me.”

She reattached the pin and stepping back to look it over, decided, “You could actually make that coat look cool if you added more stuff to it.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Thank you.”

“Nothing’s gonna save that sweatshirt, though.” Couldn’t let his ego get too big.

“Dean said he liked it,” Cas said, glancing back at Dean, who was shooting an evil eye at Claire. He quickly wiped it off his face and draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s uh… Charming.” He guided Cas away from Claire. “Don’t listen to her, she still thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”

“Screw you, old man,” she called. Jack skipped after them and she checked her phone to see Kaia had texted her: How’s everything going? They drive you crazy yet?

They’re so weird, she texted back. Then she added, They’re not too bad.

“Come on, Jack,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him, Dean, and Cas. “Let’s go get our ears pierced.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered. He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the mall.

“Woah, woah, you’re not doing that,” Dean protested like the wet blanket he was.

“You can get yours pierced too,” Claire told him, and he faltered,

“I don’t want, we’re not—“

“You know you want to.” She let Jack lead her away and Dean called after them,

“We're never bringing you shopping again!”

Grinning, she turned to shout over her shoulder, “You know you love me!”

[thewritingginger]

Just Like Daddy!

I did a thing! I don’t know how inspiration struck me for this but it did and I thought it was really cute so I did it. 

So here is a cute little Halloween idea I thought of last night :3

Fandom: Obey Me!

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Warning(s): N/A, unless fluff is one then yes

Word count: 1555 words

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

“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy!!!” He hears the excited cheers and the quick pitter patter of his daughter coming around the corner ready to jump into his arms. “Yes, my love.” He coos as he scoops her up. “Daddy, I want to do the Halloween!” she exclaims very proudly. “Really? What about it interests you?” He questions not quite sure where this came from. I mean sure she has known the concept of halloween in both the human world and devildom. But never in her 5 years of life has she shown this much enthusiasm over it. “The dress up, obviously!” her words punctuated with a sass she’s definitely gotten from her mother. Satan smiles a bit at his child’s actions, “What is it that you want to dress up as?” He asks curiously.

“Well, you!”

Her words earnest, as she gazes into her astonished father’s eyes. Beaming that smile that resembles the one he fell in love with years before her conception. “Me? Why?” He follows up, still stunted by his daughter’s words. “Because you’re the most awesomest and strongest daddy in the worlds!” She says whilst making dramatic motions with her arms, bringing a warm smile to Satan’s lips.

In the corner of his eye he spots you leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, admiring the scene before you. His attention is yet again brought back to your little halfling jumping in his lap. “So can I? Pleeeeease?” She pleads. With puppy eyes, the same hue as yours, staring up at him with hope. Looking up at you slightly he closes his eyes and sighs in defeat. “Yes, you can dress up as me if that's what you wish.” His confirming words bring a brilliant smile to your daughters face. Warming his heart, your eyes lock.

“Mommy!” Running up to you to share the news you had witnessed. “Did you hear, Daddy said I can dress up as him.” The happiness in her words makes you laugh a bit. “Yes baby I did hear. I guess we will need to start on your costume then.” “Yes and you too!” She exclaims. “You want me to dress up too?” You clarify. “Yes! And daddy too!” She adds pointing towards the demon. Your face twists in humor as you look at your lover. “Well of course Daddy and I will dress up with you!” You smile, amused at the joy in your daughter and the confusion of Satan.

Putting her down you say, “Baby, how about you go ask Uncle Asmo to help design your costume.” Gently stroking her hair as she redirects to the door . “Okay!” She squeals as she joyously runs off to find Asmodeus.

You walk over to Satan as he sighs, pinching his nose bridge. “How did I get roped into this?” He’s brows quirked and eyes pleading a bit. You chuckle. Taking your spot on his lap, arm wrapped loosely around his neck. “Because you have a little girl that idolizes you!” Your words tug at his heart, as your palm caresses his cheek. “Yeah but why do I have to ‘dress up’?” He whines a bit. “Because, you love your daughter and if you didn’t it would break her little heart.” You see him falter under your words. “I know.” He sighs, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “And besides, it’s not just you she wants. We both are doing this for her.” You state pointedly, making him look up at you. A slight smirk cuts his lips, “That’s right.” You raise a brow at the devilish gleam that flashes across his eyes. “Why did those words sound more schemish, then innocent compared to before?” You shake your head with an amused grin as the blonde responds. “Oh, no reason. Just can’t wait to see you looking stupid.” He laughs as you playfully punch him in the shoulder. “What ever, you jerk.” Your words make him chuckle more as you leave the room.

~ 1 Week Later ~

It’s Halloween night and you and your daughter are getting ready to meet Satan downstairs so you all could leave to the human world. Since it will be your daughter's first time in the human world where she will be old enough to remember, she is very excited to say the least. You both have been in your room for hours getting dressed up and talking, her telling you all the things she is excited about. “And then I’m going to get so much candy tonight, so i can share it with Uncle Beelie!” You smile, listening to your child’s ramblings as you sweep on the dark shade of lipstick. Once you’re finished with your makeup, you sit back and assess your work. While doing so you hear a gentle gasp sound behind you. “You look so pretty, Mommy!” Looking up at you with sparkles in her orbs just like yours. Booping her nose, you scrunch your face “Thank you my love, but I think you are the true beauty here.” She giggles as she takes your hand. “Come on. Come on.” Her impatience shows as she tries to rush you both to the door, itching to finally go.

Satan stands at the base of the stairs in his true demon form. Looking up as he hears his daughter rushing down the stairs screaming, “Daddy. Daddy, look!” The demon of wrath's heart melts when he sees his daughter standing before him doing twirls, showing all angles of her costume. Upon her head are her little horns that resemble his, her wild dirty blonde hair framing her rosy cheeked face. She is wearing a charcoal grey long sleeve shirt, a black tutu with white dots to match his pants, black tights, black flats, a black feather boa around her neck and the finishing touch a little clip on tail with a purple tip for her own touch. Seeing his daughter so happy to be ‘just like him’, makes him overflow with pride and adoration for this gift that he was, ironically,  blessed to have. With his daughter gripping his leg, that’s when his gaze falls on your form.

To say he was taken aback by your appearance would be an understatement. His jaw damn near hit the floor, his eyes drinking in your beauty. Of course he thought you were the most enchanting creature to walk all the worlds. But, he couldn’t quite help how the little black horns that rest atop your head make his knees buckle a bit. How the jet black shadow on your lids intensifies the color of your eyes. The dark shade of lipstick outlining your lips so well, tempting him to kiss them. As his gaze travels down, taking in every inch of your body. Wondering how you can be so sexy yet modest at the same time. Being fully covered in a black long sleeve, black pleather shorts and sheer black tights. Only leaving room for the imagination. Paired with a leather body harness that connects to your neck, waist, and thighs and black heeled booties for added height. Almost gawking at your being, he is snapped back to the sound of your voice. “Are you just gonna stare at me or are we gonna get going.” You state with a sly smile. “Ah yeah.” Shaking himself from his trance, “You go wait by the door, we’ll be right there.” He waves off his daughter. Taking a few steps towards you putting a strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. “Wow, you look...” He trails off struggling to find the words to describe you. “I look like what?” You ask, savoring this moment. “You look, amazing.” You laugh a bit, pressing against his chest freeing yourself from his grasp. Taking a few steps backwards, smirking. “If my memory serves me right I believe you had told me and I quote that you ‘can’t wait to see me looking stupid’. Does that sound about right?” You toy, enjoying the look he gives you as you throw his words back in his face. Turning around to head to the door Satan rushes to catch up with you. Pulling you to his side by your hip, “Perhaps I misjudged the situation, I admit.” You giggle, leaning into your ear he whispers. “Later tonight, remind me to request you keep those horns on.” His voice almost a low growl, “You look absolutely... delectable in them.” His words curling with sin as he grips your ass before you slap his hand away.

Ripping yourself from him once again you give him a warning look, “Do that again and you won't be getting anything tonight.” You sass.  A soft chortle vibrates his chest as he watches you walk towards the door, with possibly a little more sway to your hips.

He watches as you crouched down, helping your little halfling get her jacket on. Taking another moment to be grateful for this life he has with you. And how meeting you by chance led to moments like these where he has a kin to call his own, that will look up to him like he holds all the answers. Moments that he will ingrain into his memory.

“Daddyyyy. Come ooon.” His daughter says dramatically as ever. Pulling him behind her by his hand, just like he always hopes she will.

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I hope you enjoyed this, I know it’s been a loooong ass time since I’ve posted a new work and I hope that this can help me get out of this block I’ve been in for too long. 

So if you have any ideas of what other cute or not so cute 😉 Halloween works I could do I would love to hear them.

💛 ~

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.3]

Something was irrevocably different with Remington; Emerson picked it off right away. On an early Tuesday afternoon, with the air thick and humid and the sun beating down like a plague (no pun intended), Remington was fussing over himself more than usual. He had changed out of four or five different outfits, playing with his hair, and was it appropriate for him to wear makeup? Eva hadn't seen him with it on, yet. No, it was probably best to keep it casual for now. Then again, he had a fantastic highlight that worked absolute magic under the sun...

It was around eleven thirty when Remington finally came down, dressed down but still presentable in a simple pair of ripped skinny jeans and a t-shirt. Emerson and Shy were sat on the couch as they watched Netflix, Pepper situated between them. Remington stopped short when he saw the pair cuddled up on the couch, he smiled deviously.

"Eugh! You guys are so flippin' cute it's gross!" he gushed, putting on his diva voice.

Shy chuckled softly, "Hi Rem,"

Emerson's attention diverted to his older brother, intrigued to see him all ready to go out somewhere.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Coffee with Eva," Remington replied simply.

"The neighbour with the cat?" Shy said.

"Yeah," Remington nodded, "Emerson tell you she gave us a loaf of bread last week?"

"He did," she smiled, "Poor thing, I felt for her. She looked so flustered at the pool,"

"Well, moving is a bitch already. Throw in Covid 19 and you got a real thorn in the ass," Emerson said, then turning back to his brother, "You gonna' be social distancing?"

"We're going to drink our coffee and walk around in the park," Remington replied, "She works from home anyway,"

"So, who asked who for the coffee?" Emerson asked.

Remington shrugged, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix his hair again, "She brought up how she hasn't had a chance to get around the neighbourhood, so I offered, she accepted. She has our vinyl too,"

"Which one?" Emerson asked.

"Boom Boom Room,"

"Side A or B?"

"A,"

"I'd approve either way,"

Shy couldn't help but subconsciouly squeeze Emerson's arm, a glimmer of excitement bursting behind her eyes, "So, she's a fan, too?"

"Took her a minute to figure it out. Didn't even bring up Em or Seb, so clearly she pays more attention to me," the blonde smirked.

Emerson glowered at his brother, "Yeah, yeah, go for your cup of fuck-off-ee," he grumbled.

Across the street, with her room strewn in discarded clothes that just didn't make the cut, Eva finally felt confident standing in her denim skirt and black tee. On any other day she'd have paired the ensemble with her pleather jacket, but it was too damn hot out. Even with the window letting in a cool breeze, the air was uncomfortably humid. What did she expect when moving from the Emerald City to Los Angeles?

Eva made sure to close and latch the window shut before she left, not eager for Pluto to go off on another reign of terror. Stopping to grab a fresh face mask, her phone suddenly began to vibrate in her purse. She figured it might have been Remington sending her a text, but the screen flashed to the Blocked Caller ID. Eva rolled her eyes and denied the call.

Stepping out into the humidity, Eva waved her hand over her face as she stepped out of the complex courtyard, just at the same time Remington was locking the door to his house. As soon as she caught his eye, he was all smiles.

She was glad to see him; a little relieved, even. He looked cool, cool enough to appear on some grungy magazine cover. All he needed to complete the look was a cigarette and maybe a skateboard, too. The messy blonde hair, the glimmer in his eyes brought back the warmth she associated with his presence and as she came to meet him at his car, his spicy cologne danced up her nose and imprinted itself in her olfactory memory.

Remington had never been more wary of how his hands shook, his left hand he stuffed into his jean pocket and the right he gripped his car keys with a vice-esque grip. He found himself mesmerized briefly by the fit of her skirt, her black t-shirt tucked in smoothly but not too tight to over expose her figure, but just enough to give Remington an idea. Her short brown hair fell delicately over her face, one side pushed back behind her ears and exposing her stormy blue eyes to the sunshine. She was the embodiment of innocence and grunge wrapped into a perfect five-foot-six package.

"Glad you didn't stand me up," he grinned.

"Well, I kind of happen to live right over there," she drawled, pointing to her balcony, "It'd be kind of awkward and hard to hide if I tried,"

"You look really nice," he nodded after a brief moment.

"So do you," she agreed with confidence, "Where we off to?"

There was a forested park not far from where they lived. Despite the pandemic, the fields were filled with older kids playing games of soccer and basketball, there were vendors out trying to sell their ice cream, a couple girls were scattered across the grass and sunbathing. It almost all seemed so normal, if not for the fact that the kid's jungle gym had been fenced off so no child could climb upon it.

The pair walked side-by-side, him with his iced black coffee and her with a green tea frapp -- no whipping cream. The gravel path they walked was shaded by a canopy of lush green trees, providing some relief from the hammering heat. Remington kept his gaze locked on her, worried to miss a moment where she'd crack a smile or briefly run her tongue over her lips. Her fingers appeared so dainty yet he could spot the small calluses at the middle joint of her thumb, and some paper cuts on her middle and index fingers.

"So, how does a ghostwriter get hired?" Remington asked, "Do you just openly advertise 'hey! If you're a lazy author, come hire me'?"

"No," Eva shook her head with a giggle, "I used to write articles for the newsletter at my college, and then a friend of mine forwarded me an email about a client who was looking for a ghostwriter. I didn't know much about it but the money was pretty good. It was a grant application for requesting financial aid for survivors of residential schools,"

"Sounds depressing," Remington said.

"It was pretty heavy shit," Eva admitted, "But, I did get fifteen-hundred for a six page application. Well worth it, I'd say,"

Remington blew an impressed whistle, "So you make pretty good money off of this?"

"Let's just say my student debt has decreased significantly since I took up the profession," and she took a brief sip of her drink.

"You ever publish anything under your own name?" he asked, "Eva Kuznetsov is a cute pen name. Evelina sounds more mature, though..."

Eva shrugged, "I think about it sometimes... but it's just easier to write under someone else's name and let them have all the glory. Say, if they happen to do something stupid to forever tarnish their career, that won't come back to bite me in the ass,"

Remington smirked, "Like a particular fantasy author who's made some pretty heavy comments concerning the trans community?"

"Let's not even talk about that, my heart still breaks when I think about it," Eva sighed, "To answer your question, however, if I got confident enough I may try to publish something in the future,"

"What else do you like to write?"

Eva opened her mouth but closed it quickly, pressing together her petunia pink lips as she visibly swallowed whatever words were about to pass through them. When she looked up at Remington again, his brown eyes dark like soaked coffee grinds that sent her into a caffeinated headrush. What would he think if she actually told him...

"I write poems, some short stories," she somewhat lied.

Remington's smile grew wider, mischief glimmering over his face like light beams reflecting over windchimes in a saturated dusk, "You hesitated just now," he spoke curiously, "What else do you write?"

Eva glanced down at the ground, a nervous giggle bubbling out and knocking the air out of her lungs, "Okay listen, don't judge me, it's just a hobby of mine,"

"Oh God!" Remington gasped, "Do you write porn?"

Eva laughed again, her pale cheeks flushing in red, "Well... I do happen write some naughty shit... in my fanfictions,"

Remington stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback by her answer. He totally thought she would say something along the lines of erotic fiction on a platform like Literotica. For understandable reasons, he had some mixed emotions about fanfictions.

"What kind of fanfiction?" he asked, somewhat bordering on the third degree.

"... Um..." she glanced at him again, the smirk on his lips compelling more giggles to burst from hers. She pressed her hands together over her nose and mouth, and Remington laughed as well.

"Okay listen, I promise," he put his right hand over his chest, "I promise I will not judge you for whatever smut you write for whoever," he assured her.

"It's not... yeah, I guess it kind of is," Eva chuckled nervously, "I usually write for stuff like Criminal Minds, but more lately I've gotten into writing for Euphoria..." she trailed off, timid as she waited for his response.

"Alright, that's actually not bad," he nodded, "I'll be honest, you didn't strike me as somebody who write fanfics,"

Eva glanced timidly at her scuffed sneakers, kicking up pebbles and dust, "Are fanfic writers supposed to look a certain way?"

"I don't know, actually," he simpered.

"I don't tell a lot of people that I do it, mainly because their first impression is either 'what the fuck' or 'OMG we should collaborate' and I'm just like," she hung her head back, "Nooo!"

"You're more of a soloist then a team player, then?" he teased.

"Let's just say I tend to work better alone," she replied, shrugging her shoulders as though the comment should mean nothing. But Remington found it odd that Eva was out here all on her own, never brought up her friends or family. He didn't see many personal effects in her apartment, neither.

"Is that why you're out here by yourself?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"Well... don't take this the wrong way, but I haven't really seen you with anybody. You don't talk about your friends or your family,"

Eva shrugged again, "They're all back in Seattle. Besides, opportunity was drying up over there and I just wanted a fresh start," she said, "Besides, Pluto's my friend,"

"Well, that's a given," he replied, "Are your parents up in Seattle?"

"My dad is," she nodded, "I don't know what my mom's doing," Remington's silent was her cue to go on, "I um... we haven't really spoken, her and I,"

"You have a falling out?" he asked suddenly.

Eva glared down at the gravel again, "You can call it that. She's a pilot and she's always flying, and so you know, I never really got to see much of her growing up. And then, she suddenly shows up for my college graduation and expects us to be one big happy family, like she has it in her head that she can make up for all the birthdays and shit she's missed. And I just didn't know what to say to her. I don't know who she is, but she's my mom," she glanced up at Remington again, "And I don't know why I'm telling you all of this,"

Remington wasn't bothered by her unloading, it seemed as though Eva needed to get things off her chest more than she realized. Her smile was sardonic and her voice petty like a comedian on stage, putting on the brave 'I don't give a fuck anymore' face.

"I find sometimes it's easier to unload to new people then it is to your friends," he said, "What does your dad do?"

"Chem professor. Which is ironic because I seriously sucked at chemistry," she replied.

"Show me a kid who didn't struggle in chem, honestly," he said, "But do you get along with your dad?"

"For the most part," she chuckled, "He's still confused as to why I choose to write anonymously, but that's his problem. What do your parents do?"

Remington chewed on the inside of his cheek, "My mom's kind of like our manager. Does a lot of production and behind the scenes stuff. And I haven't seen my dad for nearly twenty years,"

Eva was silent for a moment, studying him. He spoke with a firm grin, yet still trying to shadow that flicker of sadness within his face.

"So we both have parental issues... that's nice to know," she put on a teasing grin, "Maybe that's why we make such good friends?"

Remington swallowed thickly, "So, you are indeed confirming we are friends?"

"I am," she smiled, "It'd be nice to have whatever few I can scrape up,"

"That fact that you also live across the street means that you're now stuck with me," Remington grinned with pride.

"True," Eva hummed appreciatively, taking another sip of her drink, "Somehow, I don't think I'll mind, though,"

When Remington drove her home she gave him a sweet and polite goodbye, a hug which made his confident exterior falter for a second long enough for her to witness it through the flush in his cheeks and his lack of response. His words tripped over the length of his tongue when he tried to flush out a proper goodbye and he felt his hands began to quiver again.

And when he went to open his door, he took one last glance. The small brunette turned at the same time and met his gaze, but he was too far away to hear her sharp inhale. And when he finally went inside he fall back against the door, staring into space with the biggest grin he'd had on since... well, he couldn't remember when he last felt so excited.

[sinsatmidnight]

Diner Date

Pairing - Yves (Ha Sooyoung) x Male Reader

Words - 4202

Sins - Smut, teasing, footsie, oral, public sex, exhibitionism, clothed sex, noona kink, handjob, anal.

So this took a little longer than I had anticipated, and should have been up a while ago but I’m having troubles with my ISP. So I know that there was some anticipation for this sequel to Donation (which you can read first if you haven’t or need a refresher at this link), and I hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Anyway, on the flip side, this is also the longest work I have here so far! Okay, you’ve waited long enough, so I hope you enjoy this!

A part of you had wondered. Maybe Yves, the medical intern who helped you with getting your sperm sample, was just doing her job. Maybe she didn’t mean it when she said she wanted to suck your cock badly and that she wanted to arrange for, in her own words, “a facefucking appointment”.

All of that was put to rest very quickly. A week on from your appointment to donate your sperm, Yves has had phone sex with you on three of the past nights. Two of those were video calls, one of the video calls had a striptease followed by her humping a pillow she placed a dildo on, and the other one was of her deepthroating a dildo while nude for you to see.

Oh, and don’t forget the ten-minute long audio recording she sent you of herself masturbating till orgasm all while softly moaning your name, on the night of the very first day you met her.

So yeah, she definitely wasn’t kidding about being friends with benefits. For the past couple of nights though, you’ve had no calls and no recordings. But you did have plans to meet up. And Yves sent you a message saying that she wanted to make sure you had plenty of cum for her for when you met up.

Which all helps explain why you were entering an American-style diner novelty restaurant in a quiet part of Seoul a little bit after nine at night. Yves set the location and the time, saying that her friend owned the restaurant.

As you walk into the restaurant, you look around for Yves. The restaurant is quite empty right now, there is one young male waiter behind the counter and a young couple at one corner table. A Taylor Swift song softly plays over the speakers. And on the opposite side of the restaurant, is Yves seated at a somewhat private corner booth seat. Your eyes meet, and a sly smirk quickly adorns Yves’ face. She beckons you over with a finger.

You walk over to take a seat across from Yves, who is dressed in casual clothing: a white tee, oversized red jacket, a short and tight black mini-skirt, black socks that started just above the knee and white sneakers. As you reach the table and sink into your red pleather seat, you can’t help but notice and admire the way the roughly knee-length socks accentuate Yves’ slender legs so well, ending off where her thighs started and not far from the hem of her short skirt.

“Eyes up here.” You quickly tear your eyes away from under the table to see Yves chuckling at your reaction. “You’ve only just arrived and you’re already only interested in what’s under my skirt? Give my face some credit!”

“Sorry. I’d happily give your face as much as attention as you want, for however long you want.”

“That’s a good boy.” Yves coos coyly in reply. “I like that idea. Very, very much.” She then passes you a menu. “But first, since you’re here, do you want or need to order anything?”

You only just notice that there’s a small plate of thick crinkle-cut French fries sitting on the table with what looks like a white mayo dip. Yves grabs one thick, fat fry and slowly, deliberately, places the tip of the fry against her lips. Her mouth then parts to give it entry and you watch as the crinkle cut fry disappears into her mouth, one ridge at a time. It stops halfway in, and then slowly reverses direction right before Yves suddenly shoves it all the way in and it disappears from sight.

“No, I had my dinner earlier before coming over.” You mutter distractedly as you keep your eyes on Yves picking up another fry. This one goes into the mayo dip and Yves makes sure it is slathered in a generous amount before sticking it into her mouth. Naturally, a fair amount of the white sauce ends up on and around her lips. You remember the video call you had with Yves where she deepthroated a dildo. She ended that one by having yogurt dribble out of her lips, down her chin and onto her naked body.

Eye glinting naughtily, Yves leans forward in her seat toward you. “I don’t have a mirror on me, think you could maybe help me clean up?”

You take the hint and your hand rises to Yves’ lips, slowly tracing them with your thumb as you wipe the white mayo off her lips. And when you’re done, Yves takes your thumb into her mouth, sucking on it.

And as Yves sucks on your thumb, you feel the friction of her foot suddenly press against the inner side of your ankle. You sneak a quick look below the table and see that Yves has slipped the sneaker off one foot, her long leg outstretched and her foot gently rubbing against you. The foot brushes up against you as it slowly travels upward. She pauses every now and again to rub up and down on the spot against your leg before travelling ever upward.

Yves keeps eye contact with you throughout, even as she suddenly takes your thumb into her mouth all the way to the knuckle and as her foot rubs up against your inner thigh now. You involuntarily release a sigh of pleasure when her foot finally rubs up against the bulge starting to form in your pants.

Your outburst helps you suddenly remember that there are other people around and that you’re in public. Quickly looking around, you see that the other couple can’t see what you’re doing from their seat, but the server at the counter certainly can. In fact, you think he kind of looks away the moment you look around. You’re not entirely sure if he saw, but it sure seems like it.

“Maybe we should do this later elsewhere? Somewhere a little more private?”

Yves pulls away from your thumb to answer. “This is exactly the reason why we’re here. We’re not going anywhere together after this.” Her tongue flicks out and caresses the tip of your index finger. “I’ve brought my roommate here quite a few times. Had her sit next to me, my hand in her panties. I got her squirming and panting.”

Your imagination naturally tries to envision Yves sitting next to another girl, fingering her while the girl tries to stay quiet. Yves pushes her foot a little more strongly into your bulge, cutting into your thoughts. “Don’t you want to be squirming and panting with me?” Her voice takes on a lower, suggestive tone.

You try to keep your cool despite Yves’ every attempt to turn up the heat. “I think I saw the server watching us.”

Yves has a coy smile on her face. “Him? He’s watched me make my roommate cum in her pants a few times. This is nothing.” Yves continues to rub her foot, covered in that long sock, against your crotch throughout the conversation. “I’ve done this enough times with people I bring here. He knows what to expect. When I’m here, he always keeps one eye on me. I bet he goes back home and jerks off to me.”

Yves is being extremely open about her sexuality with you, and it’s both exceedingly exciting to listen to and also leaving you finding it hard to find words to speak with, since you’ve never met someone so openly sexual. “I bet he does. I would too, in his shoes.”

You feel Yves manage to get a grip on your pants zipper with her toes and start to pull down. “I did give him a birthday blowjob one night after work, when he was working here on his birthday. I felt a little bad for him, always watching, never able to touch. And so, I gave him a little present.” Yves chuckles. “Besides, it didn’t take very long.”

You aren’t sure if the server is listening in or if he even can from his position, but you swear you can feel him watching you from the corner of his eye. Well, not watching you, watching Yves. And you’re sure Yves can feel it as well as she picks up a glass of milk from the table; you’re sure that milk is a deliberate choice too. Yves throws her head back and shows off her neck before she takes a drink of way too much milk at one go, causing some to spill from her chin. Her lips stained with white, and droplets of white liquid dripping off her chin and running down her neck, Yves is a vision of not-very-subtle erotic beauty.

Yves leans forward a little. “Oops, looks like I made a mess again. Clean me?”

Your hand starts to reach for her face but Yves gently grabs your hand and caresses it softly with her slender fingers. “Don’t waste the milk, use your mouth.” You follow her instructions and lean forward as well. Your lips meet hers and your tongue hungrily slips into her mouth. You can taste the milk on her tongue as she meets your tongue with her own. Yves moans softly into the kiss as you both devour each other’s mouths with increasing passion and lust.

As the two of you kiss over the table, and the server probably watches, you feel Yves’ foot now rubbing against the straining fabric of your underwear. You’re not sure how long the two of you kiss for, nor how long her foot presses against your trapped cock, but eventually Yves pulls both her lips and foot away.

Yves flashes you a devilish grin, licking her lips. “Let’s give him a show.” Yves crawls and gets on her knees under the table before you can react. As you look to see if anyone is watching, you feel her fingers pull on your underwear and pants, just enough so that your throbbing cock can finally be free of its cloth prison. You scoot back in your seat to give Yves better access to you and your cock.

You have just enough wits about you to realise that the other couple must have left the restaurant sometime while you were kissing, as their table is empty. The server is staring unnaturally and stiffly straight ahead, so you’re fairly sure he’s watching out of the corner of his eye, or maybe via a reflection.

Meanwhile, Yves has her warm fingers wrapped around your length as her wet tongue laps at your tip. “I love the scent of your cock.” Yves whispers, and you can feel her hot breath on the sensitive head of your erection. At this point you don’t care if anyone’s watching as you stare transfixed into Yves’ electrifying eyes as she takes your cock into her mouth. The server must have turned the music off, the only thing you can hear is Yves giving you the blowjob of your life.

“Mmph…glug…”

Yves deepthroats you in one swift, sudden motion, taking the entire length of your erect cock into her warm, wet mouth and throat, her face buried in your crotch. She stays there for a while, letting her tight throat swallow around you, using the contractions to pleasure you. And then slowly Yves begins to bob up and down on your cock, her tongue flicking around inside, caressing the underside of your dick, or playing along the slit of your penis.

As you stare down at Yves, who hasn’t broken eye contact with you, you break that contact for a moment as you realise that one of her hands is massaging her breasts through her top and the other is under her skirt, presumably inside her pussy. She moans rather loudly, causing pleasurable vibrations to flow into your cock. She really seems to be loving this show she’s putting on, uncaring of her volume.

It doesn’t take awfully long before you feel the familiar build-up rising through your shaft as Yves continues to lick, suck and deepthroat you.

“Fuck…Yves, I’m going to cum!” You pant out as Yves increases the pace of her bobbing, eyes gazing lustfully into yours. Soon after, your climax hits and it is probably the most intense orgasm you have ever had.

Your hands instinctively grab hold of the top of Yves’ head and hold it down even as your hips twitch and rise off the seat to fuck her throat. Yves does not gag and does not push back against you, her throat muscles continuing to massage you as you finish inside her. Lewd sloppy noises fill the air.

“Gulg…gugh…”

You thrust upward several times while her nose is forcefully pressed down against your groin, a couple seconds between each thrust, and with every thrust you shoot a thick load of sperm that coats her throat and mouth.

After your last thrust and eruption, you sink back into your seat, worn out and very much satisfied. Yves isn’t satisfied yet however, as she continues to lick and suck your deflating cock clean as you slowly stroke her hair and brush it into place, having roughed it up earlier. When she finally pulls her head off your very slick but otherwise clean cock, you see that saliva has dribbled down her chin and a string of it still connects her lips to the head of your dick.

“That was the best cum I’ve tasted.” Yves whispers as she licks her lips. “Better than his, definitely.” She doesn’t move her head or point at him, but her eyes move in his direction and you know she’s talking about the server. Yves crawls back to her seat opposite you and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You take a rest first, but there’s a second round later. I still want you to fuck me.” You’re not going to argue against that idea.

Leaning back in her seat, Yves lifts up her short skirt to reveal that she’s not wearing any underwear and she’s also very wet and slick below. She drops it back down after a few seconds. Your cock may be spent, but it responds to the erotic sight with a twitch and hardens slightly.

“I’m going to go and convince him to close early, since they have no customers anyway. This place normally closes at ten.” Yves puts her sneaker back on, gets up from her seat and walks over to the counter to talk to the server. You take a swig of the glass of milk that Yves had to help cool down then quickly check the time, and it’s already twenty minutes to ten. You’ve spent about half an hour with Yves already, but it seemed to go by so quickly. Time flies when you’re getting seduced and sucked off, apparently.

You look over at the counter and see that Yves is smiling suggestively at the server and looking down under the counter. You assume he has a noticeable hardon down there.

“Closing 15 minutes early is nothing…and I’ll make sure you get something out of it too…”

The server is already turning most of the lights off along with the cameras in the store. Yves turns and winks at you. He steps out from behind the counter, and you quickly notice he definitely got hard watching and listening to what Yves was doing to you, and walks over to the door to change the sign at the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ and then lock it. What he doesn’t realise, but you do as you look on, is that Yves is following quietly behind him to the door.

The moment the door is locked and he turns, Yves presses her body up against his and she pins him against the glass door, her hand grabbing and massaging the bulge in his pants.

You stand up and shift to a closer seat to get a better view; you know this display is meant to help get you hard again, along with getting the store closed early.

“Did you like watching noona? Noona got so wet knowing that you were watching me…” Yves speaks soft and low, her voice drips with want. You can hear her because it’s very quiet now. The young server nods and swallows nervously.

Yves’ deft fingers have his pants unzipped and his cock standing erect in no time. He tries to resist for a brief moment, knowing that anyone passing by can see him through the door despite it being darker with most of the lights off. But Yves swiftly robs him of any resistance as one hand pushes down on his chest against the door and the other lifts up her skirt to give him a good view as she steps forward and rubs her pussy lips along his length.

“Do you like that? Noona didn’t lie, feel how wet I am…” Yves gently presses her folds down on the server’s throbbing cockhead, letting him slip just a little inside her and drawing a low groan from him. She pulls her pussy away and removes the hand on his chest before wrapping it around his cock. Yves starts to slowly stroke him, lubricated by her own pussy juices.

“Touch me, feel me…” You watch as Yves briefly stops her handjob to bring one of his hands to her chest before resuming. He eagerly uses both hands to squeeze and massage her chest, drawing low groans from her.

“Cum for noona, noona wants to see you make a mess on her.” Yves urges as she buries her face in his neck, nibbling, licking, and kissing him there. Yves increases the speed at which she is jerking him off as she now maintains eye contact with him, licking and biting her lips as she keeps muttering sweet nothings and moaning softly to urge him on to his orgasm. Her thumb rubs across his sensitive tip, drawing out moans as she pumps away and brings him closer to cumming.

“Noona, I’m going to-!” The server groans loudly as his hands clench hard around Yves’ breasts. Yves tugs hard and fast as spurts of white erupt and land on her thighs and on the upper areas of her long black socks. Her hands get a lot of it too. She continues to pump him, getting everything out as he pants and leans back into the door.

“Good boy, look, you made a mess of noona’s socks…looks like I’ll be wearing your cum home tonight.” Yves gives him a quick peck on the lips before she turns back to you. Watching all this, you’re hard and ready for another go.

“I’ll clean up first, give me a minute.” Yves raises a cum-covered hand and walks off to the restroom. As you settle into your seat, the server gets his clothes back in order before disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

Yves is back in a jiffy, having cleaned up her hands, thighs and somewhat of her socks. There’s still a little bit of white, but she either couldn’t get it out or quite possibly, chose to leave it there on purpose.

“I don’t wanna waste time, let’s get to it, I’ve been wet for so long without any attention.”

Yves pulls out a condom and tears open the packaging. “Don’t worry, it’s very thin. Also, some guys I fuck find it strange I make them wear a condom. Then I remind them that I’m a doctor and they’re strangers I don’t know well. Safe sex is a given!” She almost sounds indignant, like they were doubting her professionalism.

“Go ahead, no complaints from me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t have any…” Yves places the condom at your tip and then uses her mouth to pull the condom down over your cock, her tongue nimbly assisting her lips and teeth in pushing and pulling it down to the base of your cock, inadvertently deepthroating you at the same time.

It feels wonderful regardless of the condom, but her deepthroating without the condom would have the edge you think to yourself. Yves sucks on you for a short while before getting up and sinking down upon your length as you sit down.

Yves takes you all the way to the hilt, wrapping her arms and legs around you, hugging and French kissing you passionately. You both moan and groan into the kiss as you thrust upward and she moves her hips downwards, bouncing on your cock. The experience is everything you imagined it to be when you were masturbating to her while watching her video calls or listening to her recording, tight, hot, and wet. The two of you are more or less fully clothed while Yves even has a jacket on, and thus you are both also sweaty messes at this point.

But then suddenly, Yves stops. “Let’s change it up.” She pants softly as she gets up and turns her back to you before slowly sinking down on your cock, lubed up by her juices, again. Only this time, your cock presses against her asshole and very slowly sinks in as Yves adjusts to your size. You let her take control, not wanting to hurt her with sudden movements, and the overwhelming tightness of her ass has you groaning out loud.

“God, Yves, you’re so tight!”

Your hands go around to the front and slip under her tee, which is when you realise that not only is Yves not wearing any panties, she’s not wearing any underwear altogether. Your hands go and play with her nipples, tweaking and teasing, and you cup and squeeze her breasts as well. They’re not incredibly large but are soft and firm as well as fit very well in your hands.  Yves whines as you do all this while she slowly fucks herself upon your dick while holding onto the table in front of her for support.

After a short while, most of your cock is inside Yves and soon she is bouncing along on your cock at a regular pace and you start thrusting up into her as well. You have one hand go down to her clit and start to rub it as well, starting a two-pronged assault to bring Yves to climax. Wetness from her pussy coats your fingers and seeps down to your cock as you pound into her.

Yves is just crying out in pleasure now, as your cock slams into the nerves in her ass and your fingers pleasure her clit and her nipples and you can also feel another orgasm building up in you from how tight she is.

A few more thrusts later, Yves slams her hips down one last time and her body clenches and stiffens as the orgasm rocks her senses and body. That includes her anal muscles now squeezing your cock for cum, which in turn brings you over the edge. A rush of hot liquid flows over your fingers even as you fire into the condom inside her.

The two of you stay like that for a short while before Yves slowly clambers off you. The tightness of her ass means that the condom is nearly pulled off your cock as well, but it just barely manages to stay on. Yves collapses into the seat next to you and her hands pull your face in to share a long and deep kiss with lots of tongue. You taste each other’s mouths for a long while. You don’t think you could ever get bored of it.

Yves eventually stops kissing and gets on her knees in front of you again and pulls the condom off you, pouring the contents onto her outstretched tongue, swallowing all of that and then sticking her tongue into the condom to get a bit more. And only after that, does she clean up your spent cock with her mouth.

“Fuck, you’re amazing, Yves.” You manage to get out as you wait your breath to return. Yves nods and winks naughtily.

“I did say you wouldn’t be disappointed.” She licks your cock again. “Not much better than fresh cum and a sweaty cock. I made a damned good choice at the sperm bank.”

“So did I.” You laugh as you put your cock back into your underwear and get your pants zipped up.

As Yves gets to her feet, she pulls her phone out of a jacket pocket and waves it at you. “Video call later? I want to shower and wash all this sweat off with you.”

You chuckle and nod. You absolutely cannot wait.

“Don’t bathe until I call.” Yves gives you a peck on the cheek as the two of you prepare to leave.

You hear the sound of the cash register being opened and realise that the server is there, changed out of his uniform. “I have to count the day’s takings, don’t mind me.”

Yves and you both crack up, wondering how much of your sex session he saw. When you get out on the street, you share a quick selfie together outside the store for memory’s sake and then you part ways.

At least, until you see each other in the shower via video call again later.

[mdemontespan1667]

JANE DOE

Dark- Adjacent Walter Marshall x Reader

Also Featuring Dark Steve Rogers and Dark Bucky Barnes

Synopsis: Continuation of The Long Walk (This might end up being a complete fiasco but the idea won’t go away so fuck it, I’m gonna do my best.)

Det Marshal is investigating the serial murder and mutilation of 7 prostitutes. Can he find the killers before they strike again?

SERIES WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON/GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/TORTURE/DEATH/DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/ANAL SEX/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT/REFERENCES TO MURDER/STALKING/CHOKING/SLAPPING

THE LONG WALK (PREVIOUS CHAPTER)

CHAPTER WARNINGS: DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VIOLENCE “What do we got?”

Detective Marshall squatted next to the body.

“Another dead whore.”

Marshall cocked his eyebrow.

“How do you know she’s a prostitute, Dwyer. Could be a teacher.”

The Medical Examiner snorted.

“Yeah right. Just how many teachers you know run around in black pleather mini skirts, halter tops and platform heels when it’s ten below.”

The detective nodded. Dwyer was right. She usually was. 

“Cause of death,” he asked.

“Won’t know for sure until I cut her open but considering all the stab wounds I’d say it’s a definite homicide.”

“No shit.”

Marshall stood up. He blew on his hands before rubbing them together. The snow had stopped but the wind was still brutal. 

“Not much blood so she wasn’t killed here. Storm covered up any footprints.”

He looked around.

“Where’s the responding officer?”

Dwyer tilted her head.

“Officer Barton.”

Watching his steps Marshall made his way over to the officer. 

“Who found her?”

“Salt truck driver. He’s in my car. Said he damn near ran her over.”

Looking around Marshall could see why. The dumpsite was deserted, a long stretch of road connecting the warehouse and meatpacking districts. Most of the streetlights were broken or too dim to light up much past a sickly pale circle. 

“Any witnesses?”

Officer Barton shot him a “Are you fucking kidding me” look, before shaking his head no.

“Didn’t think so but what the fuck, it was worth a shot. Make sure you get the driver’s info then let him go.”

The chances he was the killer were pretty slim but Marshall still wanted to talk to him. All the bodies had been found in similar areas. Plus with the cold, snowy weather a city truck wouldn't strike anyone as suspicious. 

Walking back to the body Marshall saw that the CSI unit had arrived. With nothing left for him to do, he climbed into his truck, headed back to the station.

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

“Heard you caught another one,” Det Steve Rogers asked.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Marshall sat down at his desk. 

“What’s that make, seven now?”

“Yeah,” Marshall propped his elbows on his desk, folded his hands. He had been chasing this bastard for six months. The killer left shit for evidence, covered his tracks well. 

“Glad I’m not you man,” Det Bucky Barnes leaned back in his chair, “You got names in red piling up on the board.”

The “Board” stood in the corner mocking the Detective. Seven names in red, this new one added as Jane Doe. Only when the killer was arrested would they be changed to black. 

Marshall shot a dirty look at the dark haired man. He didn’t care for him. Barnes was a piss poor detective in his opinion. If it wasn’t for Steve Roger, his partner, helping him out he would’ve been busted back down to traffic cop after a month. 

Turning away Marshall began working up a file for his latest victim.

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

“Jesus Christ Bucky, what the hell are you doing.”

Rogers and Barnes were on the roof. The heavy breeze caught the smoke from their cigarettes, shifted it into the night.

“Just fucking with him Steve.”

“Well, knock it the fuck off. He already hates you.”

“So. It’s not like it matters. We’re performing a public service.”

Bucky smirked.

“No way he has any clue. We’re careful.”

Steve grabbed Bucky by his jacket, throwing him against the building.

“Careful? That’s what you call last night? She almost got away. If she had we’d be sitting in lockup right now.”

“But she didn’t. We’ll cool it for a while. Lay low. I’ll even play nice with Detective All Brawn No Brains back there. Ok?”

Steve closed his eyes.

Bucky repeated himself.

“Ok Steve?”

“Yeah, yeah ok.”

Steve crushed his smoke, shutting out blood memories of so long ago.

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

Marshall stomped his feet. The snow had resumed this morning. His jacket and dark curly hair were coated in the wet flakes. Opening the door to the morgue he saw his victim laid out.

“‘Bout time you got here. I’ve been waiting an hour. Your’s isn’t the only dead body I’m dealing with you know.”

“Good morning to you too Dwyer. Want to tell me why you couldn’t just upload your report.”

He took a sip of his coffee. No matter how many times he came down here he could never get used to the smell. He suspected the petite redhead knew that. 

She laughed. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see your smiling face.”

Marshall grunted.

“You’re no fun.”

All business now Dwyer pulled the sheet covering the body back. The harsh fluorescent were not kind to the dead woman. Rinsed clean of blood Marshall was able to see the numerous stab wounds dotting her body. There was bruising too. Worst of all her left breast was gone.

“We ID’d her through fingerprints. Madison Harper. Arrested thirteen times for prostitution.”

She flashed a “I told you so” look before continuing.  

“Cause of death was a single stab wound to the heart. Nice and clean. Probably made by a two inch knife, non serrated. The rest of the wounds were made postmortem. No defense wounds.”

“That’s not consistent with the others,” Marshall rubbed his beard, “she isn’t one of his.”

“I think she is.”

“Why? All his victims fought back, have died from multiple jagged stab wounds, not just one and they were cut up while they were still breathing.”

“The knife type is the same. Body was still mutilated. She was redressed after the attack. We found copious amounts lube and spermicide indicating whoever it was used a condom. No DNA. Excessive internal vaginal and anal tears and bruising. Just like the others.”

The ME continued, lifting the victims feet.

“She has gravel embedded in the soles of her feet. I think this one got away, tried to run.”

“That still doesn’t explain the inconsistencies.”

“No it doesn’t. But that’s not my job. It’s yours.”

Thanking Dwyer, Marshall turned and left. This woman was only nine days after the last one. The killer was speeding up. If he didn’t find him soon another woman was gonna die.

“Fuck.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

Snow or sand? I love the beach, but hate the sand. It literally gets everywhere. I love the snow, though. I wish it snowed where I live. I’ll have to go with snow.

Do you like sour candy? No. I don’t like the sourness and it irritates my mouth. 

If anyone, who did you sit with at lunch today? It’s only 5AM. I’m also not in school nor do I have a job, so I just have lunch at home either by myself in my room or with my mom in the living room or her room. That’s if I have lunch at all. 

What is the last letter of your favorite song? I couldn’t choose just one favorite song ya’ll know this.

Have you gotten any injuries lately? If so, what & how? No.

Are you a clumsy person? I bang my hand and elbow a lot.

How about disorganized? My room is a bit disorganized. I never used to let it get like that, but it’s a reflection of how I feel and have felt for the past few years. I’m a mess.

Have you ever thought about being a pirate? No.

If you text, who were the last three people you texted? My dad, mom, and brother. 

Does today’s date mean anything to you? Nope.

How are you currently feeling? Tired and kinda cold. 

Last male you talked to in person? My brother.

Have you ever had a sunburn? Yeah, many times. I got them a lot as a kid cause I actually used to play outside and spent a lot of time out there. Shocking, I know. I get them when I go to the beach as well. I’ve had some really painful ones. However, they always end up turning into a tan so that’s nice. 

Do you use Firefox or Internet Explorer? Neither, I use Chrome.

Are you thinking about asking anyone out? No.

Pink lemonade or regular lemonade? I’m not a fan of lemonade.

Chocolate or strawberry milk? Strawberry.

Does it annoy you when people answer surveys with “idk”? I know I say “I don’t know” a lot. I try to answer the questions and in more detail, but sometimes I really just don’t know.

What is the current time? 5:08AM.

Should you be doing something other than this? Probably try to go to sleep, but that just wouldn’t be me now would it.

When is the last time you did laundry? My laundry just got gone last night.

What volume is the ringer on your phone? It’s all the way up. 

Have you ever won a contest on the radio? No.

What shirt did you wear to bed last night? It was my Mario Bros shirt.

Where did you get that shirt? I got it from Hot Topic a couple years ago.

Do you hear any music right now? No, but I hear the ASMR video I’m watching. 

Are you a fan of the band Gym Class Heroes? I like some of their songs.

Overall, how was your day today? Like I said, it’s only 5 in the morning so it’s too soon to say.

Silver or gold jewelry? I like both.

In one word, how would you describe your best friend? Fabulous.

Is there a song that reminds you of your best friend? There’s many.

Do you have an alarm clock? Yeah, on my phone.

What was the weather like today? It’s supposed to rain today. We haven’t had much rain this winter, in fact it’s been awhile, so I hope it does. Do you often write on yourself? I don’t do that anymore, but I did when I was younger. For some reason that was like a thing a lot of people did to themselves in middle and high school. *shrug*

Is there writing on the shirt you are currently wearing? Yes. It’s a shirt from a place I vacationed at.

Would you rather be cold or hot? Cold, most definitely. I love wrapping up in a blanket, wearing a sweatshirt or hoodie, drinking hot coffee, or sitting by the fireplace. I love the coziness. Being hot is just absolutely miserable, there’s nothing I enjoy about that.

Frosted flakes or frosted mini wheats? I like both.

Do mushrooms really add flavor to food? I don’t eat mushrooms. 

What about onions? Yeah. I don’t mind if there’s some chopped up pieces in some foods and I like onion rings, but I don’t like onions on my burgers or in my burritos or anything like that.

Are you a fan of Thai food? I’ve never had it.

How about Indian food? I had chicken curry once, which I did like. I couldn’t have it now though cause I can’t eat spicy food anymore. :/

Have you ever tried sushi? Yes, and it was absolutely disgusting. I feel like everyone loves sushi but me.

What is the weirdest food you have eaten? I’m super picky, so I don’t think I’ve had anything all that weird. I’m so particular about my food.

Do you know who LL Cool J is? Yes.

You have a pocket full of change - what do you do with it? Put it in my bag.

Guitarists or lead singers? Lead singers.

What does your mom say about the pictures on your Facebook? She’ll like them and leave a nice comment. 

Where are you? In my room on my chair.

do you know your mother’s birthday? Of course.

do you like texting? Over talking on the phone, yeah. I don’t do much texting, though.

would you run down the street naked if it meant earning $15,000? Could it be pitch black and not a single soul in sight??

how do you feel about the person who texted you last? I love him, he’s my dad.

do you own a pair of skinny jeans? All my jeans are skinny jeans. 

what do the majority of people in your life call you? Steph or Sis.

will your next kiss be a mistake? I hope not? Who knows when my next kiss will even be or who it will be with. 

has a book ever made you cry? Yes.

do you like to cuddle? Sure. I don’t have much cuddling experience, though.

do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? I check the time on it.

are your parents still together? Yes.

Are you missing anyone? I’ll always miss my loved ones who have passed away.

What do you currently hear? An ASMR video.

Plans for tomorrow? No. I’m so sick of this question, it’s like in every survey and my answer is always the same. My life is very routine. I spend all my time at home doing the same things, especially since the pandemic. My plans now just consist of my once a month doctor appointment that I have to go to in order to get my prescription refills. 

What did you eat for lunch today? Like I mentioned a couple times now it’s only 5 in the morning.

Sex ruins relationships, right? No? It can, but that’s not a general statement. 

Where do you want to live when you’re older? My dream would be to live near the beach.

Is your life falling apart or coming together? It’s been falling apart for the past few years.

Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? No, I didn’t even go to bed until like 6ish.

What color is your hair? It’s dark brown naturally, but I dye it red. Currently, it is a lot of my natural hair cause my roots are quite overgrown as it’s been almost a year since I last got it done. Sigh.

Are you spending the weekend with the last person you texted? Yeah, we live together.

Do you trip a lot? No.

If someone paid you $100 would you dance in the middle of times square? No.

Do you have anyone you fully trust? Yes.

What kind of pants did you wear today? I live in leggings, that’s all I wear.

How old is your television? About two years old.

Do you have a laptop or desktop? I have a laptop.

When did you last talk on the phone with someone? A couple days ago.

Are you currently sleepy? Yes.

Have you ever deleted Facebook friends for a significant other? No. I’ve never even been in the situation where a significant other asked or wanted me to do that.

Have you ever had bad trust issues with someone? Yes.

What accent do you think is the most attractive? British and southern accents.

Are you hot or cold natured? Hot, unfortunately. 

Do you own any television series box sets? I have I Love Lucy and The Dick Van Dyke Show boxsets.

Have you ever been in a fight with your best friend? Yes.

When did you last receive a hug and who was it from? A couple days ago from my mom.

Do you take any advanced classes? I’m done with school.

What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8.

Do you own a book bag? If so, what color is it? No.

Was the last movie you watched a horror film? Nope.

Do you own a lot of tee shirts? Yes. My wardrobe consists of a shit ton of graphic tees.

Do you plan your outfits ahead of time? No.

Have you ever spent the night in jail? No.

Are you a colorful person or quite bland? Bland. Well, except for my hair that I dye like a cherry red. 

List one word to describe your significant other? Nonexistent.

Have you ever been so nervous you threw up? No, but definitely felt nauseous and sick and like I could throw up.

Do you remember the first survey you took? Uh, definitely not. I’ve been taking surveys since like 2004/2005.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? 100 and something. *shrug*

Have you ever watched fight videos for amusement? No. I don’t find stuff like that amusing or entertaining at all.

In high school, were you in trouble a lot? I was never in trouble in school.

Do you enjoy your hairstyle? No. I don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything with it besides throw it up in a messy bun all the time.

Do you have long hair or short hair? My hair is long, it goes past my butt. Such a waste that I do nothing with it.

How much make up do you wear on a daily basis? None anymore. I haven’t worn makeup in almost 4 years.

What is your favorite television show? I have many.

Do you have a leather jacket? *Pleather, but yes.

Do you think anyone dislikes you for no reason? They probably have reason.

Do you have any children? Nooo.

Have you ever been interviewed on television before? No.

Do you have weak upper body strength? I used to have really great upper body strength as a paraplegic who only had upper body mobility and uses a manual wheelchair. When I was in school and had a social life, I was active. I didn’t spend all day, everyday in bed or at home all day doing nothing. I had toned arms before. I lost my muscle mass and now I’m weak cause I’m not active at all anymore.

What is the worst insult someone can call you? I don’t know. I say mean, hurtful things to myself all the damn time. My brain plays ‘em on a loop. 

Are you good at sketching? No. I don’t have any artistic abilities, sadly.

Do you think hugs are awkward? Yeah, they can be.

Do you think facial hair is gross? No. I’m not a big fan of a lot of facial hair, though.

Would you ever dye your hair an unnatural color? I dye it red?

What color was the last cup you drank from? It’s a clear glass.

Ever play Angry Birds? Nah, I never got into that.

Did you think it was annoying, like I did? It just didn’t look like my kind of game.

Have you ever been to the zoo before? Yeah, many times.

What instruments do you know how to play? None anymore, but I used to play some piano back in the day. I wish I took it more seriously back then. I wish I had practiced more and kept up with it because I did enjoy it.

How late did you stay up last night? I went to bed around 6ish. And that’s AM if you’re new here.

How late do you plan on staying up tonight? Well, it’s 5:46AM now...

Whose wall did you post on last?  I share stuff to my mom’s wall sometimes.

Have you ever done hard drugs before? No. All I’ve done is weed.

Has anyone ever been weirdly obsessed with you? No.

Do you own a Snuggie? I do. 

What is your favorite band of all time? Linkin Park will always be one of them.

Would you consider getting a tattoo any time soon? Nah.

Are you afraid someone might steal your identity someday? It’s not something I’ve actively thought or worried about.

Are there any paintings on your wall? Yeah, a few giraffe ones and a couple beach ones.

Speaking of which, what color are your walls painted? White.

Do you have any talents that come naturally? No. :( I’m lame.

Do you have any piercings? Just my earlobes.

What is your favorite piece of jewelry? The ones I have with my birthstone on it.

Is there a place you'd rather live right now? Somewhere with colder weather.

Do you change your bed sheets often? Usually just like twice a month.

Do you go out often? lol.

Have you ever had plastic surgery before? No. 

Are you afraid of airplane rides? I get super anxious beforehand, but once up in the air I start to relax a bit and I’m okay. Well, unless there’s a lot of turbulence. 

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? At least once a day.

Do you consider yourself a sensitive person? Very.

What's the best Valentine's Day gift you've gotten? My mom is so sweet and has always gotten me something like candy and a stuffed animal or something, but I’ve never received anything from a guy. 

If you're reading a book, what page are you currently on? I don’t feel like checking.

Do you think people are intimidated by you? Uh, no. I can’t imagine anyone being intimidated by me.

Do you have a job you like? I don’t have a job.

Do you know how to do your own laundry? I have to have help with that. 

Have you ever lived with a roommate before? No.

Do you like candles? There’s a lot of nice smelling ones, but I’m just not a candle person. Give me a room spray instead.

Would you prefer internet or television? Internet.

What is something you lose often? Patience.

Do you have any classes with friends? I’m done with school.

Do you enter a lot of sweepstakes? No. I haven’t entered any kind of contest in a really long time.

What is your favorite possession in your room? I couldn’t possibly choose one thing. I love all my stuff. What will you be doing in the next ten minutes? Finishing this survey, maybe start another, and listen to ASMR.

How old is your oldest sibling? 37.

Do you consider yourself physically active? Not at all. I explained all that in another question.

How many scarves do you own, if any at all? Zero.

Do you have any cuts or scratches as of now? Not that I know of.

Where did you last sleep? My bed, like I always do.

Do you have Netflix? Yep. 

Are you colorblind? No.

Do you know anyone personally who is colorblind? Yeah, my high school chem teacher.

Favorite salad dressing? Ranch. Unless I’m eating a Caesar salad, of course. A vinaigrette is good, too.

Do you enjoy dancing? I don’t do much dancing.

Have you ever considered writing a novel? I actually have thought about it before.

[strangerivy]

The Beginning - Two

Summary: Kacy had no plans on going to Lydia Martin’s party but when Scott refuses to cancel his date with Allison she has no choice. It doesn’t help it’s there first full moon. Warnings: Swearing Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Original Character (Kacy) Genre: 18+ | Fluff Word Count: 4668 Author’s Note: Here we go! Please let me know what you think, and I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know if you want to be tag!

|| One | Two | Three | Masterlist ||

I opened my eyes staring up at the treetops my breathing started to quicken as I began to panic. I closed my eyes tightly before opening them again. I sat up looking around noticing I was back in the woods again. I stood up patting my pants for my phone not feeling it. I sighed wrapping my arms around my body. Great. I looked around the ground to see if it was there and it wasn’t to my disappointment. I started running in a random direction. I finally picked up the sound of a road and went towards it and figured out where I was. I started walking back to my house cursing for the fact that I didn’t have shoes on and probably looked like a crazy person.

When I finally got to my house, I walked back up the stairs but instead of going into my room I went into Scotts, but he wasn’t there. I looked up feeling a breeze noticing the window was opened. I went back to his doorway peeking out into the hall.

“Scott?” I yelled hoping he was somewhere else in the house but there was no answer, I sighed in frustration stomping into my room grabbing my towel to shower the leaves out of my hair.

When I got out of the shower, I heard sounds coming from Scott's room and a heartbeat? I wrapped the towel around me throwing his door open which scared him causing him to fall.

“Where the hell were you!” I yelled kicking him he put his hands up trying to deflect my kicks, “Do you know what happen to me last night! I woke up in the damn woods Scott! The WOODS!” I yelled stopping from kicking him taking deep breaths to calm down. He stood up walking up to me.

“I did too.” He admitted trying to hide the fact that he was freaking out just as much as I was. I broke down right there falling to the floor, he knelt pulling me into him trying to shush me as ai cried into his shoulder.

“What the hell is happening?” I asked softly not really expecting an answer even though I desperately needed one.

“I don’t know, but it’s going to be okay,” he said calmly, I leaned back looking at him. He got up offering me his hand, I gripped the towel close to me taking his hand letting him help me up. He gave me a soft nudge back to my room. I shut the bathroom door once in my room going over to my closet grabbing a simple plain white V-neck and my black pleather jacket. I went over to my dresser pulling out some dark blue skinny jeans as well as a bra and underwear getting dressed. I grabbed my all black vans putting them on. I looked in the mirror at my wet hair and then at the clock knowing I didn’t have any time to go anything to it. I took the towel trying to dry it as much as I could before grabbing my bag and meeting Scott down in the kitchen.

School went by in a blur which is not how I wanted to start my school year. I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but trying to recall anything from the night prior as to how I ended up in the middle of the woods and how a bite could heal as fast as mine did.

After school, I went out to the bleachers waiting for try-outs to start for first-line flipping through the reading for English. Scott walked up to me standing next to me giving a reassuring smile, I gave a weak one back the events of the past forty-eight hours still bothering me.

“Hey, it's going to be okay, I promise.” He whispered I nodded trying to ease his worrying even though I knew it didn’t work. It was a twin thing, we always knew what the other was feeling. There were no secrets between us. I looked past him noticing a frantic Stiles running up towards us motioning my head for Scott to look.

“Scott! Kacy!” He yelled out of breath when he got to us.

“Stiles we’re playing the first elimination today, can’t it wait?” Scott asked making sure his gear was on tight.

“Just hold on okay!” He took a deep breath still trying to catch his breath, “I heard my dad on the phone, the fiber analysis came back from LA. They found animal fibers on the body in the woods.” This caught my interest.

“Look I got go,” Scott said grabbing his helmet and going out on to the field.

“Stiles,” I panicked “What were they?” He sighed running his hand through his short hair.

“It was a wolf.” He finally said going out onto the field as well.

The coach gathered the team going over what today's practice was about and I noticed Scott raised his hand and I looked over at where he was looking to see Allison walking up smiling over at him. Allison looked around on the bleacher spotting me, I raised my hand waving at her, and she smiled walking up them to sit next to me.

“Hey,” she greeted sitting down as the guys started scattering to their positions. It was an intense scrimmage as they fought to show the coach what they got. Scott was out on the field and when he got the ball, he got hit by Jackson throwing him onto the ground. That must have ticked Scott off because after that he was amazing. Dodging everyone with ease making a shot when he flipped over three defenders.

“McCall!” the coached yelled I focused my hearing on the conversation “What the hell was that this is a Lacrosse field. What are you doing? Trying to try out for the gymnastics team?” Scott looked at him confused unsure of what to say.

“No coach,” He finally answered

“What the hell was that?” The couch shouted

“I was just trying to make the shot coach,” he admitted the coach smiled after that

“Well, you made the shot and guess what? Your starting buddy.” The coach patted him in the chest and Scott looked at him in shock, I cheered, and the rest of the crowd cheered, I looked over at Allison and she pulled me into a hug.

“He made the first line!” She beamed and I nodded not sure what to do. I wasn’t used to having a girl around in our group or at least almost in our group. But I had to try for Scott's sake since he liked her so much. I looked down at Stiles who was the only one not standing and clapping. He looked up at me with a worried expression. Something was working in his mind and he immediately went home after practices.

Scott and I looked at each other confused but went home. Stiles didn’t show up for school the next day which was odd, but I tried to continue with my day as normal.

I stood outside the guy's locker room waiting for Scott holding my phone trying to decide if I should call him or not. He had an idea and I needed to know what it was. Scott came out of the locker and I looked up at him confused.

“Stiles texted me, he wants us to come over.” I nodded getting up and following him out. We stayed quiet on the walk and Scott knocked on Stiles's door once we got there. I heard a crash and then the door swung open to a frantic Stiles. I walked in sitting down on his bed.

“You guys gotta see this,” he said sitting back down in his computer chair, “I have been up-all-night reading books and all this information.”

“How much Adderall have you taken?” Scott asked standing over next to me.

“A lot,” Stiles responded nonchalantly before grabbing a piece of paper, “Doesn’t matter, just listen.”

“Is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?” I asked moving closer to the edge of the bed in anticipation of where this was going.

“No, they're still questioning people, even Derek Hale.” Stiles answer turning his chair to face us.

“Oh, the guy in the woods we saw the other day.” Stiles threw his hands up and I leaned back my eyes going wide at his behavior. He was really freaked out by whatever he was trying to tell us.

“Woah calm down,” I said sitting back up straight.

“Look guys that’s not it alright?” He said, his heart was beating so fast there was something bugging him, “you remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore,” Scott and I looked at each raising our eyebrows before looking back at Stiles.

“The wolf, the bite in the woods guys,” I shook my head not sure where he was going with this. He sighed wiping his hand over his face in frustration. “Look I’ve been doing all this reading; do you even know why a wolf howls?” Scott and I shook our head in response. Stiles stood up moving closer to us with a piece of paper still in his hand.

“It’s a signal, guys. When a wolf is alone it howls to signal the pack of its location. So, if you guys heard howling, there must have been a bunch of them probably even a whole pack.”

“Where are you going with this Stiles? A pack of wolves?” I asked not sure what he was trying to say.

“No, werewolves.” I looked at him stunned and couldn’t stop the laughter that came with it after a few minutes of silence. There is no way he could be serious.

“You can’t be serious Stiles!” I said catching my breath between laughs. Scott stood up annoyed.

“Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I’m picking up Allison in an hour.” He said grabbing his pack. Stiles quickly moved in front of him getting in his way to the door.

“I saw you on the field the other day, Scott. Okay, what you did wasn’t just amazing. It was impossible.” I could feel Scott getting angrier by the second, but Stiles wasn’t wrong. Scott's performance was impossible. At least for him.

“Yeah, so I made a good shot,” Scott mumbled trying to move past him, but Stiles grabbed him pushing him back.

“No, you made an incredible shot! The way you moved your speed. Your reflexes. People can’t just move like that overnight.” I looked up making eye contact with Stiles the weight of what he was saying now hitting me. My expression going from amused to blank.

“Scott,” I whispered he turned looking down at me, “He’s not wrong. You have asthma. That shouldn’t be possible.” Scott sighed angrily in no mood to hear any of this.

“Yeah, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t used your inhaler.” Stiles pointed out, he was right. His inhaler was sitting in his nightstand when it was always normally on him. “And it's not just that, the heightened senses!”

“Okay! I can’t think about this right now, we can talk tomorrow” Scott yelled stopping Stiles in his tracks. I stood up hearing Scotts heart racing.

“Scott,” I whispered touching his arms and he shoved it off. I quickly pulled back holding my hand. “Scott!” I yelled trying to get his attention my own heart starting to speed up from my annoyance to how he was reacting to all of this. He looked at me breathing deeply.

“If what Stiles is saying is true. You can’t go out tonight. Tonight is the full moon!” I yelled at him, he scrunched his eyebrows confused about what I was saying.

“What are you two trying to do? I made the first line, I have a date with a girl who I can’t believe wants to go out with me and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it for me?” he yelled, that stung. I felt tears well up in my eyes that I tried to push back.

“I’m trying to help,” Stiles said sitting back in his chair grabbing another piece of paper reading it quickly. “You two are cursed, Scott.” I felt a tear fall down my cheek and Stiles looked over at me frowning.

“The full moon isn’t just when you will change. It’s also when your blood lust will be at its highest.” Stiles leaned back in his chair and I sat back down on the bed trying to process all of this. Everything Stiles was saying sounded completely insane but everything he was saying also made sense. All the puzzle pieces fit.

“Bloodlust?” Scott asked clearly not convinced at the gravity of our situation.

“Yeah, your urge to kill.” I sucked in a breath and Scott turned around quickly walking over to me and pulling me into his chest. I breathed in deeply trying to calm myself down.

“Now look what you did, you have Kac freaked out. Dammit, Stiles!” Scott yelled pissed off standing up and turn to Stiles. “I’m already starting to feel the urge to kill Stiles.” He said more calmly now. The tears were falling freely now, Stiles turned to his desk reaching for a book flipping through the pages till he found what he was looking for.

“Changed could be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse. Alright!” He said turning back around to face Scott “I haven’t seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison. You got to cancel this date!” He said standing up going over to Scott's bag. He started rummaging around in it and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked annoyed

“I’m canceling the date,” Stiles said, this pissed Scott off throwing the chair and grabbed Stiles pushing him up against the wall which caused me to scream moving my hands over my mouth before getting up trying to pry Scott off Stiles. He had his fist raised as if to punch Stiles and I grabbed it.

“Scott stop!” I yelled pulling him back looking at him in disbelief. He was breathing heavy from the anger and went over to his bag grabbing it. His eyes widen when he realized what he had just done.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and I back up away from him over to Stiles who placed his hands on my shoulders trying to comfort me.

“Look, I got to get ready for that party.” He mumbled before looking up at me “are you coming with me?” he asked, I shook my head no.

“I think I’m going to stay here for a bit,” I said my voice a bit shaky. Scott nodded his head before walking over to the door turning to face us one last time.

“I’m sorry,” he said again before leaving. Stiles rested his head on the wall before walking around me to pick up the chair staring at it. He turned to face me worried written all over his face.

“What is it?” I asked he turned the chair to show me five long slits in the chair from where Scott had grabbed the chair before throwing it. I looked up at him, panic rushing through me. If Scott did anything to anyone, he would never forgive himself.

“We have to go to that party.” Stiles nodded pacing in his room before stopping to look at me.

“You can’t Kac,” He said pointing over at me and I looked at him confused. “Kac, this is happening to you too you’ll…you’ll change and not in a good way.”

I sighed looking around before going over to sit on the bed. That was an issue. I fell back on the bed and Stiles did the same. I looked over at him and I felt something knot up in my stomach. The butterflies I always pushed down whenever Stiles and I ended up like this.

“What?” he asked, I shook my head staring back at the ceiling.

“It’s nothing,” I laughed, I moved my head to rest on his shoulder.

“We’re going to that party, aren’t we?” he asked, I looked back at him with a half-grin.

“Yup.”

Stiles took me to my house so I could change. I ran into the house not noticing my mom as I ran up to my room. I quickly went through my closet trying to find something to wear. I pulled out a navy blue summer dress that went to my mid-thigh and had cherry blossom flowers scattered on it. I heard a knock on the door and then saw my mom's head pop in. I smiled over at her grabbing my brown pleather jack and some brown pleather boots to go with it.

“So, are you going to this party as well?” She asked leaning on the door frame. I pulled my shirt over my head putting on the dress before taking my pants off.

“Yeah, with Stiles,” I answered going over to my dresser to pull out some long boot socks. She grabbed my arm gently stopping me. I looked up at her confused.

“Do we need to have the talk also?” She asked and I groaned letting my head fall back as I went to sit on the bed to put the socks on.

“I’m going with Stiles mom, not a date,” I looked up at her and she had a weird grin on her face. “What?” I asked

“Oh nothing, just thought this might be a date with Stiles.” She answered coyly, I smiled and shook my head at her pulling on my boots zipping them up before standing up to put on the jacket.

“We’re are just friends’ mom, promise. If that ever changes, you will be the first to know,” I walked up to her pulling her into a hug when I pulled back, she sighed moving a stray hair out of my face.

“You mean first from Scott,” I chuckled nodding. She nodded her head giving me room to pass. I quickly ran outside and got into Stiles jeep and he pulled out.

“You look nice,” He said when we were almost to the party, “Get all dressed up for me?” he joked looking over at me with a smile. I scoffed shaking my head leaning my arm on the window looking up at the sky. The moon shined brightly back down, and I felt my heart begin to quicken suddenly and my breathing starts to pick up. I closed my eyes trying to take deep breaths to calm down.

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles asked worriedly pulling the Jeep over and turning to face me. I looked over at him and he looked back at me shocked.

“What?” I asked, he shook his head rubbing at his eyes, “Stiles what is it?” I asked getting annoyed, my heart rate beginning to race again from him staring at me. I grabbed onto the dash as a pain started to rush through.

“Woah hey, you’re okay. If anyone can control this, you can. Come on Kac.” Stiles grabbed hold of my hands and I gasped beginning to freak out when I saw the claws at the ends of my fingertips replacing my normal nails. I tried to pull my hands away so I would hurt him, but he only held on tighter. I closed my eyes again trying to think of something, anything that could distract me.

“Your eyes are yellow,” Stiles said, I looked up at him freaked out pulling down the visor and in the mirror, two yellow eyes stared back at me.

“Oh god.” I panicked before a scream raked through my body when I suddenly felt two hands on either side of my face then I felt lips. His lips. Stiles was kissing me.

When I was finally able to process what was happening, I kissed back. My heart slowing and the pain fading into nothing but an annoying prick. When he pulled back, I looked at him confused. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I uh...” he swallowed sitting back in his seat, “You needed a distraction.” He finally got out clearing his throat. I leaned back and nodded my head and he pulled back out onto the road.

“How about we just not- “

“Agreed.” He interrupted reading my mind to not speak of it. The rest of the ride to the party was quiet and when we pulled up to Lydia’s and he put it in park. We sat there for a minute.

“So, what’s the plan.” He asked drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I looked around as kids were going up to the house going into the party. I took a deep breath preparing myself for this.

“We go in there and just watch,” I said, he looked at me with an are-you-serious expression and I shrugged my shoulders.

“What? Do you have a better idea?” I asked waiting for an answer and when he had none, we opened the doors going up to the house. When we got into the house it was loud, the music was blaring, and kids were dancing around out on the back porch. I grabbed onto Stiles's hand trying to not get pulled in another direction. He looked down at our linked hands and I swear I saw a hint of pink in his cheeks before he looked away gripping my hand tighter.

“Let’s go out to the back,” Stiles shouted over the music. I nodded motioning for him to lead on. I walked out and stopped in my tracks when I saw Derek Hale staring back at me across the pool.  Stiles stopped quickly moving back over to me grabbing my arms looking me in the eye.

“Hey, you okay? No wolfing out?” He asked I shook my head taking my eyes off Derek to look at Stiles. I nodded my head saying I was okay and when I went to look back at Derek he was gone. I shook my head shoving the thought off to the back of my mind. Stiles lead me around the pool as we tried to spot Scott. I spotted Allison pulling on Stiles's arm. He turned back and I pointed over at Allison.

“Go talk to her,” He said before disappearing into the house. I started to walk after her when she went back into the house, I tried to catch up to her but when I got outside. Derek was standing there talking to her.

“Allison,” he greeted she turned to look at Derek, and I took that as a chance to get up to her. “I’m a friend of Scott's, my names Derek.”

“Hey!” I greeted eyeing Derek before looking at her. “Have you seen Scott?” I asked coolly

“Yeah, um. He just took off.” She said gesturing to the road sound confused, and I saw mom’s car driving fast down the road.

“How about I give you two a ride home?” Derek said walking up to us. Allison looked over at me as if asking if that was a good idea. I looked back at Derek sighing.

“Um, yeah. Okay.” I agreed and turned to Allison linking arms with her as we followed Derek to his car, “Hey I’m sorry about Scott, he was complaining of a headache earlier.” I explained trying to ignore my own headache that was starting again as panic was beginning to once again set in. I looked back at the house once we got to Derek’s car when he opened the back door for us. Stiles walked out into the front yard spotting me and Derek. Worry was written all over his face. I looked up at Derek and he was looking at Stiles.

“Don’t worry,” was all he said, and I nodded getting into the car. I fought like hell to keep calm, but my head felt like it was splitting in two. I rolled down the window letting the air hit my face. I looked at Derek through the rear-view mirror and he had a blank expression but sped the car up faster knowing I was close to losing what little control I had.

“Hey, are you okay?” Allison asked leaning over and touching my arm trying to comfort me. I nodded my head sitting back up straight giving her a warm smile to try and prove it.

“Yeah just my head,” I mumbled keeping my eyes closed worried that they might be a bright yellow instead of their usual brown.

“I have some ibuprofen if you want some.” She offered and I could hear her looking in her bag for the bottle that was rattling loudly but she probably couldn’t hear it. I reached over touching her arm to stop her and I shook my head.

“No, no it's okay. Just need to sleep it off.” I said opening my eyes to look at her reassuringly she smiled and then we pulled into her driveway. “I’ll see you at school.” She nodded getting out of the car. I took that as a chance to lay down in the back seat.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled to no one once she shut the door. I groaned in pain trying to fight off the change.

“Think of something to calm you,” Derek said from the front not slowing down.

“What do you think I’m doing,” I yelled and my voice changing sounding deeper, animalistic. “where are we going?” I asked looking down at my hands the claws were back, and I reach up feeling my teeth, feeling my fangs.

“You can do this Kacy, just focus,” Derek said reassuringly from the front, I groaned at his optimism.

“It would be easier if I knew where we were going!” I yelled sitting up, I went to open the door, but he locked them. I turned to him growling feeling myself slowly losing control. I screamed as another pain shot through. I closed my eyes trying to focus.

“Think of Stiles,” Derek shouted, Stiles, face flash through my mind and the kiss we shared in the car. I felt my body beginning to calm down, my heart slowing down. I opened my eyes looking at Derek.

“How did you do that?” I asked making sure to keep Stiles's face clear in my mind. He grinned at me from the rearview mirror shaking his head.

“I didn’t, you did.” He said we pulled out onto a dirt road and I looked outside not recognizing where we were. He stopped the car grabbing the jacket Allison left behind. I grabbed onto it before he could exit the car.

“What are you doing?” I asked looking him in the eye, he pulled the Jacket out of my grasp.

“Stay in the car till I’m back.” He said shutting the door before I could argue. I sighed laying back down across the back. I stayed focus on Stiles. At some point, I fell asleep and woke up to the sound a car door shutting and the engine starting. I opened my eyes looking up at Derek.

“Where did you go?” I asked sitting up stretching my arms. Noticing it was now morning.

“To save your brother. Look, you need me. If you want to control this.” He said pulling back out onto the main road. I climbed my way to the front putting on the seatbelt. I looked over at him wondering if I should ask him if he was the one that did this to us.

“No, I wasn’t the one that bit you.” He said answer my unspoken question. I nodded staring back out onto the road. He pulled up to my house and grabbed my arm before I could get out.

“Kacy, there are people out there. Hunters. If you want to learn how to survive. You’ll trust me.” I looked at him in the eyes and nodded getting out of the car walking up to my house. What a night.

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@criminalyetminimal  

[heartsofminds]

Blood Stained Guilt

Description: The one where Shawn’s a serial killer. 

Warning: Contains blood, violence, mentions of murder, and some sexual situations. 

A/N: This piece of writing is not meant to glorify serial killers or anything pertaining to violent or manipulative people. Please read at your own digression. Enjoy 9.4k of serial killer Shawn. 

i.

He swears to God the first time is an accident. He had no bad intentions. There was no bloodlust or plan or even genuine interest in doing what he did.

This semester in university is truly kicking his ass, and he’s under so much pressure. He feels hopeless. He imagines that the backflow of metaphorical water is constantly running from his nose to his lungs; making it hard to breathe or to think or to even exist.

He’s constantly at war with himself; fighting to stay awake and fighting to figure his life out before graduation in June.

He’s always been mild mannered. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself and he especially doesn’t like being mean. Shawn is the kind of guy to apologize for existing if he felt someone was bothered by his quiddity.

He thinks too much. He feels too much. But he doesn’t speak up for himself enough.

His newfound confidence streak started in a bar, with too much alcohol rushing through his veins. Some dick (a really drunk guy, but Shawn’s too enraged to care) purposely spilled his beer on Shawn’s jacket and he doesn’t know what made his subconscious flip.

He catches the guy defenseless in the alley behind the shitty building honing pretty girls and drunk men. Shawn can taste the lime slice from his tequila shot in his mouth still, and he focuses on the flavor as he punches and kicks and berates the poor, helpless, nonetheless drunk man.

He’s never been good at knowing just exactly how far is too far, and he ignores the splitting pain in his knuckles and legs. His brain sends him signals to stop himself; to keep himself out of trouble and from bad karma, but he can’t. His arms move to their own avail and his feet follow suit.

He wishes he cared enough to make himself stop, but he can’t. He can’t be damned enough to give a fuck. He can’t be damned enough to think about what he’s doing or how the outcome will prevail.

When Shawn’s exhausted and his body gives the sensation of three thousand pounds of concrete holding him down, he looks at the damage he had done.

The man doesn’t move. He doesn’t groan or gasp for air. He lies motionless on the ground with his body twisted in a more than unnatural way. His blonde hair has magenta streaks from what Shawn can only piece together as blood and his face is so swollen he can’t tell the difference between the man’s mouth and his nose. The teenage boy sees a pinkish gray substance on the pavement and crouches closer to investigate.

He knows what he’s seeing is brain matter when he sees the intricate ridges, and he knows he fucked up bad when he turns the man over to see a gaping gash on his head with his skull busted and showing.

Shawn beat the poor bastard’s brains out - literally.

He wants to puke and he can’t tell if it’s from his guilt or the alcohol he consumed that night. He figures he can’t leave evidence behind and cups his hand over his mouth. He runs through the alleyway back to his car and pukes on the pleather seats.

When he pours rubbing alcohol over the clothes he was wearing and sets fire to them in his bathtub, he puts together the events of the night.

He puts his hand in the flames of the pile of burning clothes he’s created, and when he doesn’t feel anything, he wonders how horrible he truly is.

Shawn killed a man tonight, and he doesn’t even feel bad.

ii.

The second time, he’s convinced that it was just a coincidence.

He tried walking instead of driving or taking the bus to "preserve energy" or some kind of bullshit his ecology professor was always talking about, and to be totally truthful, he thinks that he would’ve been better off driving instead. At least then he wouldn’t feel so shitty about the night afterwards.  

He curses himself for taking a shortcut instead of using the crosswalks downtown like he was su-fucking-pposed to. Yet here he is, in the middle of a fucking park at 11 PM with the Toronto wind making him freeze to death.

He contemplates calling an Uber, even pulling his phone out of his back pocket and opening the app, but the sound of high heels tapping the cobblestone covered ground catch his attention.

Shawn whips his head up to take a peek.

Her boobs and ass are glorious, he thinks, even if they’re both potentially fake and she would actually be pretty to him if it wasn’t for the poor circumstances she worked under. She looks unsettlingly familiar, and it shakes Shawn’s bones to the core.

"Hey, babe. Lookin’ for a good time?” she asks him from where she’s standing.

Shawn starts to walk faster, speeding up so he doesn’t feel obligated to reply.

"C’mon, pretty boy. Loosen up. Have some fun with me,” she says with more thirst in her tone.

She gets closer and he wishes she would leave him the fuck alone. He starts to walk faster and takes a shortcut through the empty park.

He thinks he lost her, but he’s proven wrong when he hears her heels click on the cobblestone sidewalks. He knows that he’s not gonna get rid of her ass or boobs or obnoxiously tall heels anytime soon.

Shawn stops in his tracks. He doesn’t have time to deny her. He doesn’t care to, anyway.

She’s only offering a good time and he figures getting his dick sucked wouldn’t be so horrible. He hasn’t gotten much of anything lately, and he’s tired of his friend’s pushing him towards any every girl that shows a sliver of interest in him.

He smirks and shrugs while moving to stand in front of her. Even with six inch heels, Shawn towers over the blonde girl. He notes that she doesn’t look a day over nineteen years old.

His fingers lightly stroke her collarbones. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”

She bites her lip, red lipstick making her lips stand out and the blue of her eyes cloudy. “I mean it,” she whispers.

Shawn pulls her in for a sloppy kiss; one with no emotion or thinking behind it. It’s all an angry flash of tongue and lips and teeth. He bites down on her bottom lip as he tries to pull away from her. The action causes her lips to bleed a little, and Shawn kisses her again; tongue licking up the blood he drew.

She giggles and moves with him towards the park bench. No one in their right mind would be out at this time, and the dark night sky that surrounds them makes them look like shadows. If it wasn’t for the soft glow of the park street lights, Shawn’s sure he wouldn’t be able to tell what color dress she had on.

The blonde drops to her knees, unbuckling his belt and hungrily pulling his boxers down with his jeans. Shawn’s as hard as a fucking rock and in the back of his mind, he feels like a creep.

He tries to ignore the wet kisses she gives to his thighs and his lower stomach. He prides himself on being able to block things out as they happen.

His fingers start to twitch. His leg starts to bounce up and down and the girl giggles against his leg.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ll take good care of you.”

She puts him in her mouth and Shawn grips her hair to keep his active mind and nerves in check. She’s quite good at what she’s doing, and he can’t deny that he is feeling some sort of satisfaction from it.

He thinks about the last time he was close to even kissing anyone and he’s taken back to his first year in college. He’s disappointed in himself for how long its been.

She chokes on him and the gurgled sound she makes has Shawn’s head spinning in circles. His vision goes blurry and he starts to sweat. His hands shake uncontrollably and he hears what sounds like half a million voices talking at once. He can’t decipher what any of them are saying and his head starts to pound.

He’s about to bust in the blonde’s mouth, but something in him snaps.

He pulls her plump lips off of his cock and she smile weakly; mouth messy and hair tangled from her previous actions.  

“Aww, we were getting to my favorite part, “ she whines, voice filled with flirtation. She opens her mouth again, trying to find the phallus object filling it before he interrupted.

Shawn yanks her hair and she’s pulled away from his lap. She giggles again and her laugh runs circles in his eardrums, echoing louder than a crowd at a Coldplay concert.

His fingers run across the back of her neck, thumbs gently massaging it.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t,” he mumbles to himself.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and Shawn’s mind flips.

His vision goes black. His brain screams frenzied thoughts at him. His lips are bitten so hard he thinks that he might rip them off his own damn face with his teeth.

Shawn’s large hands wrap around the unaware blonde’s neck and his fingers meet in the middle to squeeze. He feels the striated marks of her windpipe through her skin. He can feel it crack as he pushes down as hard as he can.

The blonde gasps for air and puts her small, manicured hand on top of his; fighting for control and for her life. It only motivates Shawn to press harder.

Her eyes start to turn red and he only lets go briefly because the image shocks him.

"Shawn, it’s me,” she says with such rasp anyone would think she was a man.

Shawn ignores her and keeps pressing down. Her pulse starts to weaken and he feels the groove where her windpipe and esophagus are intertwined. It isn’t until she slides down onto the cobblestones when Shawn realizes who exactly he killed.

He had killed Madeline Krebs; the girl down the block his mom used to babysit. No wonder she knew his name.

As Shawn drags her body to the creek a mile away from the park and throws her in, he vaguely remembers drawing competitions hosted by his mother in their kitchen as they waited for Maddie’s parents. He remembers playing house with her as the mom and him as the dad. His little sister was always the extra asset like the baby or the dog.

He was only a few years older than her, and it’s crazy how they crossed paths again in their adult lives.

Shawn figures it’s even crazier to think that he’s the cause of her demise.

When he finally arrives to his apartment, he puts his keys on his coffee table; a place where he’s sure he will never forget them.

He determines he shouldn’t walk anymore.

iii.

The fifth time, Shawn knows he has a problem.

It’s uncommon for people to black out like he does. It’s not normal for people to have permanently purple knuckles and a shadow of guilt lurking behind them at all times. It’s not pragmatic to think that he won’t get caught soon and he knows that he’s running out of time.  

Time is a bizarre concept, he thinks, because he can’t remember what his life was like before he started having these “accidents” and “coincidences”.

He traces it back to his childhood and blames it on his peculiar fascination with death.

He always wondered what his funeral would be like. He always watched in awe during crime documentaries and was especially useful in Scholastic Bowl for naming off famous crime lords and serial killers. He knows every word of every Forensic Files episode by heart and it’s so fucking strange.

He doesn’t really know what makes him snap the way he does. He would love to have some reason, some explanation for why he’s so fucked up and some excuse to point the finger at something else, but he can’t.

It makes him sick just thinking about it.

He doesn’t see people anymore. He doesn’t see a husband or a wife or a son or a daughter. He doesn’t care that the people he kills are friends and nieces and nephews.

He doesn’t give a fuck and sometimes, Shawn really does try to feel bad.

He constantly fiddles with his phone, debating on whether or not to turn himself in.

He knows that it would be one easy call. He knows that he’d have a quick trial and rot in a jail cell or get beaten to death by some violent inmates, but he decides that it’s what he deserves. He’s a fucking monster, and he knows it.

He’s a disappointment, he thinks. How would his parents feel if they knew how fucked their son was?

What would his little sister tell her friends when they came over and saw pictures of him on the wall? What would his other relatives think when his family shows up at family reunions without him? What would his friends say when their group diminishes by one person?

“Shawn? Do you want hot chocolate?” his mother asks, and it brings him out of his internalized battle with himself.

He shakes his head to dislodge the ideas of motives and killing and blame out of his brain before he answers.

"Uhh, yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he says and shifts his weight around in his seat.

He fiddles with his hands and bounces his leg as he hears the sound of a ceramic mug scrape the cabinet it was pulled from. He grows more and more anxious as his father turns the pages of the newspaper he was reading.

Shawn knows one of the articles is about him. His crimes have been on the news and he’s almost been discovered.

“The fucking bastard killed another one? Jesus Christ,” his dad comments, putting the paper down and rubbing his temples. “That poor family.”

His mother shakes her head, putting the mug in front of her son and moving to put her hands on her husband’s shoulders.

It’s ironic, he thinks, how the “fucking bastard” the city of Toronto hates so much is right in front of them, and they don’t even know it.

He likes to think that it’s funny, but the prickly feeling of culpability eats away at his heart and it sets flames to all his other organs and when it hits his skin, he’s in absolute shambles. Sometimes he gets so hot he feels as if he’s right outside of hell’s door.  

Shawn’s parents converse about the weather and their plans for the weekend. They don’t notice as their son starts to fall apart. His resolve is uneasy. His heart starts racing and his knuckles start rapping on the table. His leg bounces up and down so fast, that anyone looking at him would think he had drank an entire case of Red Bull.

He lets out a cough and he wheezes. It feels like a ton of bricks are on his chest and his throat starts to close. It reminds him of the time he ate a walnut in second grade and found out he was allergic.

“Shawn, baby? Are you alright?” his mom asks with a face full of concern.

She walks around the kitchen table and takes his hands in hers. They shake so violently it looks as if he’s attempting to wave. Shawn’s face heats up in panic and he feels like he doesn’t have control of his body.

"Hey, hey! Breathe. Deep breath in, deep breath out. C’mon. You can do it,” his mother says in an attempt to calm him, but he truly can’t redirect his breathing at all.

He’s so freaked out, that he doesn’t realize that he’s in an ambulance until he feels the prick of an IV needle on the top of his hand. The puncture site feels tight as his veins are flooded with chlordiazepoxide.

He’s able to breathe again and the words of, "stress induced anxiety attack" describe the horrific chain of events that had just taken place.

Shawn can’t hear anything anyone is saying to him. He can see their mouths moving, but no sound comes out to accompany his eardrums.

He sits in the emergency room with his sweat soaked t-shirt. He can see the bottom of scrubs and tennis shoes from underneath the thin curtain. He decides that it’s a weak attempt at closing him off to the hustle and bustle of the ER.

The mint green curtain slides back to reveal a tall man wearing royal blue scrubs and a stark white lab coat.

“Hello, Mr. Mendes. I’m Doctor Ameren. I introduced myself earlier, but I don’t think you remember meeting me”, the burly middle aged man with a lab coat speaks. He has a graying beard and some crows feet near his eyes. His appearance makes Shawn calm in a weird way.

He figures it’s because he looks like his Uncle James.

“Hi,” Shawn chokes out, vocal chords tight and dry due to his panic.

The doctor lets out a slight chuckle. “Scared your folks a whole bunch. They told the nurse you’ve never had any problems with anxiety before today, so I’m gonna order an EKG to monitor your heart and make sure your anxiety was just anxiety,” he takes a pause to write some things down, “And some blood work to be absolutely positive.”

Shawn gulps, his head shaking in term with the words exiting the older man’s mouth.

Dr. Ameren leaves the makeshift room and closes the curtains behind him. Nurses flood the room soon after and some interns help with his EKG and blood work.

He doesn’t say much during the whole thing, just sits and stares absently at the tiles in the floor. His knuckles ball themselves up in an attempt to hide the cuts and bruises. His biggest fear right now is getting outed and he figures it’s the last thing he needs after having a panic attack to that magnitude.

His mother and father sit with him as they wait for his test results. She goes on and on about his panic attack and is insistent that it had something to do with his heart.

She starts to blame her side of the family for having bad heart health until she’s interrupted by Dr. Ameren making his way back into the area with lab results in hand.

“Alrighty, Mendes. Looks like you’re okay. It’s just- Hey!” he stops as he looks to Shawn’s father. “Manny? Is that you?” he asks, coming closer to pat the elder Mendes man on the back.

“Ian? You’re a doctor now?” his father questions, returning the action and giving an amused laugh.

Shawn and his mother lock eyes.

“What the hell just happened?” Shawn says and his mom swats at his arm to reprimand him for his use of language. If only she knew what else her son does that needs a punishment.

Dr. Ameren rushes over to shake her hand. “Oh, you must be Karen! Manny talked about you when we were in college. Said you went to a different school so that’s why I didn’t believe he had a lady. I’m Ian, by the way.”

Manny laughs. “Yeah, she’s real. She’s amazing, too. Gave me two beautiful kids although I’d say they definitely get their good qualities from their mother.”

The two men laugh and go on and on and on about things they’ve missed during lost time.

Shawn’s dad tells about his business that he’s started from the ground up with his uncle and his extended family living in Portugal. Dr. Ameren tells him of the international work clinic he partakes in every year and how he goes to see the New York Yankees every year and that Manny should , “Hit me up if you ever want to go! New York is amazing and baseball is phenomenal even if it isn’t your thing.”

Shawn gets lost in the minutia of it all. He feels as if he’s floating outside of his body; unaware of everything occurring directly to him, but aware of his surroundings. His sense of hearing comes back in full swing and although his mind is eons away, he can hear every word his parents and Dr. Ameren say to each other.

He can hear the squeak of gurneys and the sound of the metal hooks attached to the curtains scraping the rod holding onto them. He can hear the scribble of pens on prescription pads and the beep of pagers. He hears the click of some woman’s heels and he’s taken back to that god awful night in the park.

He starts to fall into panic again, but he regulates his breathing better this time. Shawn’s able to maneuver himself out of his thoughts and settles for scratching the scabs on his knuckles. Blood starts to drip onto the light wash denim of his jeans.

“Shawn’s in school to be a doctor! Isn’t that amazing?” his mother says and he jumps at the sudden mention of his name.

Dr. Ameren turns to look at the brunette boy. “Oh really? That’s amazing, kid! You have the demeanor for it.”

Shawn gives his mom the stink eye. She knows how he hates when she brags on him.

“Yeah. I’m gonna be graduating in June and I’ll be headed to med school in the fall,” he replies. He figures if the attention is on him, he might as well make himself seem like the poster child of parent bred success.

The fakeness of the persona he puts on starts to burn holes through his consciousness.

"Ah, you seem like a smart boy. The medical world will be lucky to have you.”

Shawn gives a tight lipped smile. Dr. Ameren scribbles down instructions on a doctor’s note and rips it out of the pad of paper.

“Here’s my address, phone number, and email if you have any questions. Feel free to stop by anytime. Any family of Manny’s is family of mine.”

Ian Ameren gives off such a radiant smile, Shawn doesn’t know how or if anyone could ever dislike him.  

His parents chat with the dark haired doctor some more about meeting for dinner soon and taking a trip to New York some time in the summer. He hears Dr. Ameren suggest seeing a therapist to sort out his feelings and to prevent anxiety attacks like this one, but Shawn doesn’t take him seriously. He just politely smiles and pretends to acknowledge the help that’s being offered.

He sits up as Dr. Ameren signs his discharge papers. The man shakes his hand and clasps his father’s shoulder one last time before giving his mother a friendly side hug. Shawn slides off the examination table and makes a beeline for the hospital exit.

Upon closing the door to the backseat of his father’s door shut, Shawn’s mom turns around with concern etched on her face. He’s too exhausted to face the thousand questions roaming around in her mind.

Before she can speak, he gives her the simple, "I’m fine. It’s just stress."

His mother opens her mouth to bombard him with more thoughts and concerns, but his father holds up his hand to hault her voice from ever projecting.

She settles for an, "Okay. Let’s get you home," and rolls her eyes at her husband's dominance.

His father puts the car and reverse to back out of his parking space before putting it in drive; blurs of snow covered streets and chimney smoke making Shawn’s eyes hurt from the view.  

He leans his head against the glass and closes his eyes. Something in his stomach twists and slithers up a horrible idea to his brain that ultimately decides for him that this is what he was born to do.

So that’s how Shawn finds himself in his Jeep across the street from Doctor Ameren’s house that same night. It’s fucking freezing, he thinks, and he almost feels guilty for having this impulse.

Shawn knows that Ian Ameren has no family. He knows that he has no partner or pets from the two and a half hours he’s spent parked outside of the man’s house.

Shawn feels his conscience picking him apart for wanting to rid this man of his heartbeat.

"You’re so fucking pathetic. You can’t control yourself at all,” his brain says to his heart, but his heart’s primal desire to kill and demolish and destroy remains prominent in his plan for the night.

"Fuck this," he speaks to himself and punches his steering wheel as hard as he can. Punching things has become a habit of his in the past couple of months. It gets him into more trouble than what he likes to admit.

He unlocks his doors and makes his way up to the house. The snow crunches underneath his boots and while he should feel sick to his stomach for what he is about to do, all Shawn can think about is how much he fucking hates the sound of crunchy snow.

He rings the doorbell and nervously pushes his hands in his coat pockets after he does so. Shawn rocks on his heels in anticipation. Seriously, why was he doing this and why was he decently okay with it? Doctor Ameren approaches the door in his night clothes, Shawn presumes, and his eyes twinkle with joy seeing the young boy on his doorstep.

“Ah, Shawn Mendes! I wasn’t expecting you at all. Come in before you freeze, kiddo!” he says, and moves out of the way, allowing Shawn entrance into his home.

He nods his head timidly before entering and closing the front door behind him.

Shawn drinks in his surroundings and wonders if this is what all doctors’ houses look like.

Everything is spick and span. It doesn’t look like anyone resides here, let alone even steps foot inside. All the furniture is sleek and looks as if it had come straight out of an IKEA store display. Books cover almost every surface and there are multiple diplomas on the wall closest to the TV in the living room.

The older man takes a seat on the couch and directs his hand towards a matching chair directly across from where he’s sitting.

"Sit,” he instructs and Shawn complies.

Shawn looks down to avoid eye contact. While doing so, he takes notice of the stack of books on the coffee table.

Gray’s Anatomy, Practical Management of Pain, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks - the guy was a total medicine junkie.

Shawn’s there for three hours, eighteen minutes, and thirty seven seconds before his legs start to shake and his lungs start to give out. It’s another panic attack, and this time, he knows that it’ll end in blood and chaos.

Dr. Ameren continues to talk about his days as a college athlete. He tells him about playing soccer with his father and how they were the dream team on the field. Shawn pulls at his shirt collar. He runs his hands up and down his thighs and his palms are so sweaty that the blue fibers of his jeans stick to them.

“Even though I had good ball control, they moved me from forward to winger because your dad had so much speed and goddamn. That man could fly. He scored seven goals in the championship game one year,” he pauses to take a sip of the kombucha in his hand.

Shawn starts to hyperventilate. Dr. Ameren puts his drink down on the coffee table.

“Whoa, kid. Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

He shakes his head in a negative manner and falls to his knees on the floor.

“Hey, buddy. Take it easy!” the older man encourages, but the words do nothing but make Shawn’s face even hotter and his knuckles clench tighter.

"No, no, no," Shawn mumbles to himself to numb his urge to kill this man.

Ian Ameren is a good guy, really. He donates twenty percent of his yearly earnings to medical associations overseas, he FaceTimes his mother regularly, and he always makes sure to bring back his nieces and nephews cool memorabilia from the places he visits.

Shawn doesn’t want to kill him, but the carnal desire of his nature is to eliminate him. It’s simply a challenge through bloodshed.

It’s too deep within himself to resist.

The doctor assists him up to his feet and helps him sit down on his couch. When he goes to his kitchen to get a glass of water for the young boy, he doesn’t realize that this will be the last thing he ever does.

The last thing Ian Ameren will ever do is help someone which is ironic, because helping people is his job.

“God, fuck! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Shawn says and Dr. Ameren raises his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

His eyes widen at the site of Shawn’s fist and the look in his eyes portray the fear of the unknown of his fate. Shawn’s not sure what happens but the man is on the floor and bleeding.

Shawn picks up the baseball bat that leans against the wall with a New York Yankees poster on it. Blood splatters everywhere in a plethora of reds and pinks and deep purples. Shawn can’t focus and he has to sit down to take a breath. The bat hangs in his left hand and the drops of blood dripping their way to the floor look horrific.

The fifth time turns into the sixth, and Shawn has another cold body to add to his memories.  

He scrubs his hands so raw that he can’t tell if the blood on them is his or Ian Ameren’s.

iv.

By his thirteenth “accident”, the police are close to busting him.

Shawn can’t take the heat and he certainly can’t face the music. Even though there’s tons of mystery behind his identity, there’s no fucking exhilaration behind getting called ‘The Letal Liquidator’. His friends joke about how accurately Shawn fits the description of the killer.

He figures he has no choice and he’d rather die than be caught. He would hate all the publicity and the hatred. He certainly deserves it, but he doesn’t necessarily want it.  

Shawn broke the lease on his apartment and went off the grid. He’s disconnected his phone and burned all his credit cards. He’s transferred his money to numerous banks across the country and even changed the license plates on his Jeep.

Shawn can’t handle the pressure. It’s a chore, he thinks, to walk around his own fucking country covered up with his head down low to keep anyone from recognizing him. He needs to get away, and he simply doesn’t know how.

He’s careful about leaving behind evidence. He burns all his clothes and always purchases new ones afterwards. He always wears shoes a size too big whenever he goes out because he watched a CSI: Miami episode where they busted a guy because of his footprints, so he’s careful to never make that mistake.

He doesn’t spit or scratch or have sex with any of his victims. He doesn’t leave fingerprints behind and he always covers his face and his license plates late at night when he knows his mind gets a little fuzzy. He’s become accustomed to always being five steps ahead.

Shawn even keeps a gun in his glove compartment in case things ever go too far South but they never do and sometimes, he’s tempted to put it to even better use.

On those days, he drives to a special cliff and parks his car to look out over the forest and he thinks how great it is to find beauty in something other than cold corpses.

Sometimes the thought crosses his mind of just being done. It would just be so easy and he genuinely and quite honestly believes that the world would be better off that way.

The women of Toronto wouldn’t shake when they walk home during the night; fearful of a predator lurking in the shadows.

Parents would let their teenagers out past city curfew and not get nervous when one of their texts goes unanswered for more than thirty minutes.

Police officers wouldn’t have to hold their breath every time the radio came on and news reporters’ stomachs wouldn’t drop so easily at the thought of being in the same place as someone’s body; right where their soul up and left.

Shawn thinks dying is easy.

He determined that as a fact a long time ago. Dying is giving up, and it’s just so fucking easy to do.

It’s so easy to stop screaming. It’s so easy to stop running. It’s so easy to stop begging for your life because you know it’s over. It’s easy to die because you know that it’s the end and sometimes he thinks that killing is what makes dying so beautiful.

He likes feeling like he’s in control. He likes feeling like the master chess player toying with people’s lives. He likes to think that he can twist the knife because whatever he does, he’s in control. He gets to choose, and that’s what Shawn likes about killing.

He smiles as he grabs the small pistol from his glove compartment and puts the barrel in his mouth. His fingers softly tap the trigger.

Part of him hopes that it’ll be enough to make it go off and that it’ll be a close to instantaneous death. He’s determined a long time ago that instantaneous isn’t really instant, but it’s a hell of a lot better than drawn out agony.

The gun doesn’t go off from his feather light taps and he’s halfway disappointed and halfway relieved at the same time.

He isn’t done living yet.

Tears roll down his face because he feels like such a fucking coward. Here he is, all high and mighty, murdering people left and right, without a care in the world, while he can’t even fucking bite the bullet for himself.

"You bitch. You bitch. You bitch!" His brain is on fire.

He punches his steering wheel and the horn sounds. It startles him and takes the attention of his sore knuckles away from his mind.

He’s so fucking sad and angry and inhuman that he doesn’t give a single fuck about what happens. He stopped caring months ago. Shawn considers going out in public and getting caught.

He considers tipping off the police to his whereabouts, but the little voice in the back of his head isn’t ready for this game to be over. Shawn’s ready for it to be over, so he takes his passport with him and drives to Seattle from Toronto.

He pays for a month in a motel with cash and goes job hunting. Shawn is absolutely done, but his brain still flirts with the idea of resuming what he had left incomplete.

v.

Shawn’s been good. He’s been doing great. The seasons change. His hair grows a little longer and he stops picking at his torn up knuckles. Shallow scars replace the scabs that once lived on the junction between his nimble fingers and his palms.

He had finally told his parents where he was; even made up some bullshit lie about dropping out and how he didn’t want to disappoint them. He cringed when he heard his mother cry over the phone, but he assured her by saying he was taking classes at a community college.

She sounded a little relieved, but he doesn’t mention the fact that he’s a barista at a coffee shop or that he was on the run from the Toronto Police Department.

Shawn’s been good, though. He hasn’t had any more slip ups; hasn’t had any more accidents. He thinks it means that he’s finally learned self control.

At least, he knows thinking is worse than knowing and he knows he can’t control his neurotic brain and fiery instincts when he sees her.

She comes in every Tuesday and Friday, dressed in sweaters and boots and always carrying her laptop with her. She’s polite, always saying her “please” and “thank you’s” as if she’ll combust if she doesn’t. The girl orders a medium caramel latte without a straw because she’s “Trying to save the environment, of course. Climate change and waste are gonna take us out soon.”

Shawn tries to fight it. He tries to think of other things while she’s talking but he can never veer his brain towards happy, shallow thoughts.

She orders her drink and as he types it into the register, he thinks about the dark red of her blood on his pale hands. When she says “thank you” he thinks about the perfectly circular alveoli her lungs would have when they’re filleted open. As she sits in a booth and puts her headphones on to work on her papers, Shawn tries to imagine how white and strong her bones probably are.

Months go by and he gets closer to her. He learns that her favorite color is yellow and that she attends the University of Washington. He learns that her major is in chemical engineering. He learns that her favorite artists are John Mayer and Ed Sheeran and that COIN is her favorite band. He knows that she lives alone in a studio apartment on the second floor five minutes away from her school.

Shawn learns a lot about this girl, and the warm, gentle part of his heart feels horrible for even thinking about making her his fourteenth body.

He wanders to the hardware shop on a day when he doesn’t have to work. His legs take him to the alise that has the padlocks and rope and he constantly multiplies and adds numbers together in his head to get the lowest cost. He can’t use his debit card because then he’ll get traced, so he settles for things he can buy easily with cash.

The older man ringing him up eyes him up and down, drinking in his appearance to see if he should be worried about the young man’s purchases.

“What are ya? A serial killer?” the man jokes, putting the items into a plastic bag.

Shawn’s spit catches in his throat and he has to swallow insanely hard to keep from choking. He suspects choking at the man’s suggestion would make him seem more suspicious than what he already is.

“No, sir,” he dumbly gasps. “Just helping my dad move some stuff this weekend. Nothing crazy going on ‘round here. I promise.”

The man cracks a smile, gray mustache and beard making him less daunting. “You have a good day. Better not see your face on the news, son.”

He hands Shawn the bag and the younger boy smiles before thanking him. He runs out to his Jeep and starts it up as his thoughts eat away at his resolve.

He has no choice. He has to do it now.

Shawn can only vaguely remember seeing the cabin a few times as a kid, but he’s been told that he has an amazing memory so he somehow knows exactly where it’s located. He had spent a few of his summers as a young boy here with his parents and his friends and their parents. Washington was cool to them because it wasn’t in Canada, and any kind of travel outside of the country was super exciting back then.

It doesn’t take a whole lot to impress eight year olds.

Once they became preteens, they were too cool for trips with their moms and dads, so the tradition died and Shawn hadn’t been back ever since.

He puts his car in park outside one of the cabins. The wood is green from Washington’s heavy rainfall and years of neglect from being abandoned. The windows are boarded up and the parking lot that used to exist is covered in what seems like three tons of leaves. Ivy grows up the side of the door and the patio creaks with every step Shawn takes to reach the entrance.

As he opens the door, it creaks and wails. He would get oil to silence it if he actually cared enough.

There’s no cell reception and no cell phone towers. There’s no houses inhabited by people for miles and the road the campsite is on leads to a dead end.

It’s the perfect place for Shawn to plan his next kill, but where’s the fun in no spontaneity?

His brain sifts through the catalogue of easy targets. He sees tens of hundreds of faces and hair colors and tattoos and piercings. He wants to throw up when his brain stops on one in specific. His mind circles her in a red marker and highlights it in a million different colors.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not,” he speaks out loud, hoping his thoughts will diminish with his refusal.

He has an internal argument with himself and it’s something that hasn’t happened in close to a year.

His stomach turns. He feels hot and cold at the same time. His head spins and before he knows it, vomit conjures in his mouth and flows out onto a pile of leaves until he’s dry heaving and can barely breathe.

His mind won’t let him concentrate on anything else. He drives to his motel room and takes a shower, scrubbing at his skin in hopes of rubbing off the dirty thoughts he posses. All it leaves him with is pink water flowing down the drain and raw skin that stings every time he moves.

His wounds starts to scab and they crack and bleed whenever he makes a sudden movement. Shawn likes to think it’s punishment for doing what he’s done and thinking the way he does.

Sometimes he thinks of it as a game to make himself feel better.

So when he finds himself outside of her apartment building at 2 AM, he thinks of it in the most simple way.  He thinks of it as hide and seek or cat and mouse and the innocence behind her eyes when she spots him breaks his heart.

“Shawn? Is something wrong? Are you okay?” she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

She’s clad in some plaid pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Shawn doesn’t answer. He forces her inside and tells her to put some shoes on.

“What the fuck, dude? It’s the middle of the night and I have a 9 AM tomorrow,” she stops to yawn, “Go home.”

He puts the pocket knife he has with him to her throat.

“Put some fucking shoes on and don’t make a sound,” he instructs, voice a different kind of deep that terrifies her.

She’s grown up on TV shows like Forensic Files and Law & Order and Criminal Minds. She’s been one of the viewers that screamed at the television when the soon to be victim stood helpless. She always called them dumb and stupid and idiotic, but now that it’s her - now that she’s the one standing in her living room with a knife to her throat and a seemingly nice boy behind it - she’s at a loss of movement.

She can feel her heartbeat pick up and travel from her chest to her stomach. Her eyes feel as if they’re going to bulge out of her skull. Her mouth is dry and her joints are locked.

She figures that this is how she’s going to die. This is who she’s going to spend her last hours with and this is who’s to blame for her slaying.

In this moment, Shawn realizes that he’s the predator and she’s the prey. She can’t run away. She can’t escape. She can’t call for help. She’s a sitting duck waiting for her demise.

He’s surprised she does what he says. He’s even more surprised at how complacent she is and how fucking easy it was to lure her in.

He keeps the knife to her throat as they walk down the stairs to the parking lot. He pushes her into his Jeep and blindfolds her. As he steps on the gas to get to the cabin, he realizes that he’s created his own personal hell.

At least now he’ll have some company.

vi.

He’s kept her there for a week so far.

Every morning when she wakes up, her brain hopes for a change of scenery. It hopes that she’s waking from a terrible dream and it hopes that she wakes up in her own bed or in the bed of someone else, but not here. Certainly not in the dusty room with no windows or doors.

It’s so dark in the room, she’s not even sure if her body’s sleeping schedule is on track. She could be falling asleep at any time during the day and she wouldn’t even know. She can never hear the sound of cicadas or birds or even people, and she’s thankful that she can’t.

She knows she would drive herself fucking crazy if she could. She’s tied up on the floor with rope digging into her wrists and ankles. She can’t walk around. She can’t scream for help. She can’t even scratch her fucking face.

She’s never hated anyone before, but she hates Shawn. She hates how he slithered in. She hates how clever and cunning and deranged he is. He had been getting information on her for months and she didn’t even know it. Most of all, she hates how he had taken her away; absolutely shredding the metaphorical paper of everything she is and was.

She knows that she will never be the same.

Shawn hasn’t done much of anything since she’s been his captive. He only speaks in short sentences. He comes in the room twice a day and the door he comes in is barricaded and locked.

She couldn’t even escape if she tried.

He stares at her a lot, she noticed. His eyes look at her with a million different thoughts and when they do, she thinks about her grandmother. Her grandmother had told her that people whose eyes dart around and zero in on things are often very intelligent, and her grandma wasn’t wrong at all.

She figures Shawn is intelligent because he had created this whole scheme. He had taken her here. He had locked her up. He had distanced himself so she would be easier to kill. She knows Shawn’s intelligent but she also knows that intelligence has nothing to do with a person’s heart. Judging by the way his hands shake and his leg bounces up and down; judging by the way he never looks her in the eyes or touches her, she knows that his heart is long gone.

It’s almost calculated and cold; like he had done it many times before.

She’s always been a smart girl, he noticed. She’s compliant and doesn’t fuss. She hadn’t tried to run away because she knows that she won’t get far. She’s far from clueless, and that’s what he hates about her.

While he hasn’t spoken to her in a conversing manner, she hasn’t spoken to him at all and her eyes look deep into his empty soul; questioning him without actually talking and it makes him die a little more inside.

He wonders how many heartbreaking looks he can take before his heart shatters completely.

She knows that this wasn’t always him; that he wasn’t always like this. Before he had taken her and before the hatred started to set in, she would have considered them friends. They had spent nine months getting to know each other. She knows that he’s from Toronto. She knows that he had dreams of being a doctor, but dropped out because he couldn’t afford the tuition anymore. She knows that he played soccer for his college and she knows that he loves John Mayer.

Shawn is not what he seems at all, and she wonders how true any of the things he told her were. Certainly, they weren’t because kidnappers aren’t relatable people. They aren’t kind hearted and they don’t have souls as deep as the ocean.

He wasn’t always a kidnapper (or murderer, she’s pretty sure he’s killed some people, too) and she wasn’t always a victim.

But it’s too late to get heartfelt and emotional. It’s too late to have sympathy for him.

Despite all those things, she thinks he’s strange and evil and down right horrible; no matter how good of a person he was before this.

She often has vivid dreams of her killing him or him killing her. She figures either or wouldn’t be bad considering she would get to escape this hellhole.

During the day when she’s haunted by the ideas of captivity and isolation, she distracts herself by wondering if her succulents are still alive.

She knows she won’t be for long.

vii.

He says a compound sentence for the first time in three weeks and his voice cracks. If it were concrete, he’s sure a car would have hit it and the driver would have screamed some obscenity to themselves.

But it isn’t a car. It isn’t a crack in the sidewalk. It isn’t his imagination. This is real life. This is reality.

He clears his throat and her absent eyes look at him. “I’ve killed thirteen people,” he says.

She furrows her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”

Shawn’s taken aback at her words. He wasn’t expecting her to speak. He wasn’t expecting her to respond of have thoughts or emotions. 

His other victims sure didn’t. Then again, he either crushed their windpipes or bashed their brains. Of course dead people can’t have conversations.

“Didn’t think you had it in you to speak to me still,” he admits, pulling a chair from the corner of the room to sit down in front of her. 

She’s sat on her knees with her wrists behind her back. He ankles are locked and it’s quite absurd how the positions of power a depicted by the imagery Shawn’s created by sitting down.

“Didn’t think you had it in you to do this,” she responds.

Shawn shakes his head. “Watch that mouth of yours. Wouldn’t wanna carve it out.”

He gives her a weak smile and she frowns back to show her disdain with him.

“I’d rather you kill me than tell shitty jokes.” Her heart beats faster at her statement. She isn’t ready to die and part of her is terrified at what he might do.

“I won’t yet. There’s a game I still wanna play with you.” Shawn scoots the chair closer to her. He puts his face directly in her line of vision. She can’t look elsewhere and she’s forced to stare into his hazel eyes.

They’re the same hazel eyes that took her order every Tuesday and Friday for the past nine months. They’re the same hazel eyes that told her goodnight when he walked her home to her apartment after a late night cram session at the coffee shop. They’re the same hazel eyes that told her dumb knock-knock jokes and complimented her on her brilliance.

They’re also the same hazel eyes that appeared more greedy than usual on that fateful night. They’re the eyes that are busy and stagnant all in the same and there’s nothing that terrifies her more. She never knows what he’s thinking.

Shawn doesn’t want to kill her. He doesn’t want to rip her limb from limb. He doesn’t want the responsibility of cleaning up her blood or disposing of her body.

In all reality, he wishes he had never done it. He wishes he would have walked away when she told him to go home. He wishes he would have developed better self restraint.

“Fuck you,” she spits, eyes never leaving his boot clad feet. She’s scared that if she looks up his hazel eyes will burn holes through her before his hands inevitably rip real ones in her body.

She half expects him to shout and half expects him to take action. But instead, he whispers. His lips move and it’s almost as if the words aren’t coming out.  

She has to stop breathing to hear what he says.

He looks up at her to see her response and his stomach sinks when he doesn’t see her thinking of one.

He gives off a sadistic chuckle. “Fucking kill me then.”

She swallows hard. She doesn’t respond. It’s not like she can find the words to anyway.

“Say something! Say something, scream at me - fucking try to kill me!” he yells, pure anger dripping off his words.

She simply shakes her head and laughs with pity deep in her chest. Tears start to cascade down her face and she doesn’t know why.

"Kill me! Just kill me, please!" he screams, nimble fingers pulling at the roots of his hair.

She starts to choke on her tears and sobs break their way through her chest. She figures that she’s crying because she’s being tempted. She’s fucking ridiculous, she thinks, because she’s having a meltdown like a fucking toddler.

"I want to! I want to, but I can’t," she screeches, pulling at the rope that binds her hands and feet together.

Tears run down both their faces and he reaches down into his boot and grabs a small knife.

Shawn takes two steps towards her.

Her breath catches in her throat.

He grabs her wrists and she expects him to plunge the blade deep; ripping every single vein and artery she has.

But he doesn’t.

He saws away at the dirty rope stained with blood and dirt and tears. Her arms are numb because she hasn’t moved them properly in close to forty days.

Shawn drops to his knees and cuts away at the bondage of her ankles. She’s free and the disbelief her mind gives off sends her into a fit of rage.

There’s so much anger and emotion and pity and disgust that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

"I hate you! Fuck, I fucking hate you!” she screams at the top of her lungs, “Fuck you! I hate you!”

She feels extremely stupid because there aren’t any words that can define how she feels and how utterly angry she is.

Shawn sits back down in the chair, eyes still gazing at the floor.

"Kill me," he repeats.

He pulls at her arms and yanks her up. He sits back down in the chair and he’s glad his calculations were correct. She’s short enough that her arms reach his face.  

Shawn holds out the pistol from his Jeep and tells her everything. He tells her where she’s at and where the keys to the cabin and his car are. He tells her that the choice is up to her, and that she gets to choose.

"No. No, no, no. I - I can’t," she stutters.

"Kill me or we both die," he speaks chillingly. He forces the gun into her small hands, making sure the chamber is facing him and not her.

Her hands shake violently. As much as she’s thought about it, she can’t actually go through with it.

Shawn puts the chamber in his mouth, hand still holding her’s firmly on the pistol.

"No, Shawn. Stop! Please!" she begs.

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze before pulling her finger up to the trigger. Before she can move it away, he pushes her finger down.

She hears a loud pop and she’s sure that she’s never seen so much blood before. She throws the gun across the room and can’t bring herself look down at the floor.

The maroon leaking from his skull seeps its way to her feet.

She hears voices outside the room and her name being called. The door is kicked in and a swarm of police officers crowd the area.

They tell her that she’s safe and that he tipped off the police an hour earlier. They tell her he had this planned. They tell her that she did the right thing and they tell her that her parents are waiting for her at the hospital.

As she exits the room with the officers, she looks back to see the dark red splattered across the floor. She wonders how her killing him is any different than him killing other people.

A female officer notices her staring at the scene and pats her shoulder. “Self defense, honey.” she says.

She nods. She understands entirely.

The color maroon makes her feel guilty whenever she sees it.

[blerbdrops]

New Kid (Billy Hargrove X F!Reader)

Howdy folks, sorry I am late! I started school and I am also sorting out my work schedule. Here is part 4 of new kid, thank you for reading/liking/reblogging/following etc! I appreciate you all so so much.

Summary: You’re new in Hawkins, hailing from the big city on the east coast. As a city kid, you think you’ve been stuck here to suffer in a small town, but there’s a certain someone who shakes it all up. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smoking cigarettes, underage drinking 

Taglist: @salemlysi​ @asheseiler

You sat at your mirror putting on your makeup and getting ready for tonight’s party. You swiped on a tube of red lipstick and pressed your lips together, spreading out the color. Tonight’s outfit consisted of a white cropped tank top with a slightly oversized black cardigan knotted in the front. You had on high waisted black pleather pants, and a black belt with a shiny silver belt buckle. You laced up your old red Doc Martens, they were well-worn and you wouldn’t be too upset if they got scuffed or dirty. Your hair was curled to the nines, sprayed in place so that nothing frizzed out. 

“Damn, I look good.” You said to yourself in your mirror. You threw on your denim jacket and pocketed your lipstick and your flask full of whiskey. Moments later, you heard loud beeps coming from outside.

“(y/n)! I think Steve is here to come get you!” Your dad shouts from downstairs. You come downstairs to find your dad is dressed up, with a suitcase at the door. 

“Uh. Dad? What’s with the suitcase?” 

“I have to go on a road trip, see Uncle Willy about some things.”

Your brows furrowed. “What kind of things?”

“Adult things, kiddo. I’ll be gone for the weekend. I’ll be back sometime on Monday.” He kisses your forehead and heads out for his car. You snag your keys and head out of the house, locking the door behind you. Nancy and Steve greet you right as you slide into the backseat of his BMW.

Nancy lets out a whistle, “You look fantastic (y/n)! Ready to have the best night ever?” She says to you enthusiastically.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s roll!”

--

You, Nancy and Steve enter the party house. You can feel the bass thumping in the house and your chest. The living room is full of teens with red plastic cups in their hands, dancing drunkenly and laughing. You navigate your way to the kitchen, where the rest of the booze was. 

“Hey! You’re that new girl! Come, come get a drink!” It was that kid in your chemistry class, the one that sat next to Billy.

“What’s your name again?” You shout over the music to ask him.

“Oh yeah, I’m Tommy!” He replies cheerfully. “Hey, come on, you look sober!” 

You laugh, “It’s because I am. Give me something to drink!” 

He hands you a beer, but before you can crack it open he stops you. “I bet you can’t shotgun that!” 

“What? Tommy, I could drink you under the table. Stop playin’.” You scoff. This gets the attention of the kids in the kitchen, with some of them ‘ooooh’-ing like owls. Just as this happens, you spot a mop of blond curls make its way to the kitchen where you and Tommy were. Billy eyed you up, taking a look at your outfit before turning his attention to Tommy. 

“What’s going on?” He asks Tommy. 

“Oh you know, (y/n) over here thinks she can ‘drink me under the table’, her words exact.” He laughs. 

Billy slaps five dollars down on the table. “My bets on her. Tommy, you’re a lightweight!”

You laugh out loud. “We’re placing bets now?” You pick up the five and examine it. “Who else is ready to see Tommy lose to the new girl, huh?” You were met with roars of excitement as teens were tossing cash on the table, your pile only slightly bigger than his. Billy watched you, taking a swig out of his can of beer.

“All bets are final, and winner takes all. Let the games begin!” Billy shouts, as you stab the side of your beer can, crack the lid and shotgun it. It empties fast, and you crush it underneath your boot. You continue on to your second one, choosing to chug it. The kids in the kitchen were cheering you on, hearing chants of “Chug! Chug! Chug!” over the Bon Jovi song that was booming throughout the house. 

You had finished way too many beers, the beer cans underneath your feet. You were still upright, while Tommy had half a can left. People in the kitchen were chanting your name, but all you did was let out a loud belch. You were met with cheers and claps on your back. 

“You give up yet? Ready to throw down the white flag?” You guffawed at Tommy. 

“Alright, alright! You win. Fair and square.” He shoves his bet money into your pile and you throw your hands up, inciting more cheers from your crowd of “fans”. 

“That’s how you drink Hawkins! That’s how you fuckin’ do it!” You open your flask and take a large swig, feeling its warmth trickle down your throat, feeling some drip down your lips and neck. You close your flask and feel a hard stare on you. 

Billy walks over to you and leans up against the counter while you count up and pocket your cash. 

“That was pretty impressive, (y/n). Didn’t know you had that kind of fire in you.” He smirks. 

You turn to him, uncapping your flask and drinking more out of it. “I’m a woman of many mysteries, Billy.” You laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“And I’m really digging this outfit. Completely different from that goody-two-shoes getup you had on at school today.” 

You raised an eyebrow and smiled at him, posing. “Oh? You like what you see?” You do a spin, almost tumbling over. 

He laughs at you, helping regain your balance. “Careful. Don’t need you busting your ass because you wanna show off.”

A hearty laugh emits from your belly, then a burp. “Excuse me! Jesus christ.” Your head snapped to the dance floor. You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) by Dead or Alive played through the speakers.

“Are you alright (y/n)?” Billy asks, a bit concerned. 

“I’m fantastic! This is my favorite song like, ever! Come dance!” 

“(y/n) I can’t dan-” You yanked him by the wrist and dragged him to the dance floor, completely ignoring what he had to say.

You got on the dance floor, and started to bob your head to the synth in the song, getting ready to dance and shout your heart out. 

All I know is that to me

You look like you're lots of fun

Open up your lovin' arms

I want some, want some

You spun around, dancing near Billy and trying to get him to loosen up and enjoy the song. You then grabbed his hand and yanked him closer so you two could actually dance. He began to relax and laugh along at you dancing. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about seeing you smile and have fun made his heart flutter. 

I set my sights on you

(And no one else will do)

And I, I've got to have my way now, baby

All I know is that to me

You look like you're havin' fun

Open up your lovin' arms

Watch out, here I come

You sang the second verse and pre-chorus, looked at Billy and shot him a wink. He laughed, a slow smirk spreading across his face. 

You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round

Like a record, baby, right 'round, 'round, 'round

You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round

Like a record, baby, right 'round, 'round, 'round

He grabbed you by your hand and spun you around like you were in a ballroom. He pulled you back into him, your back pressed against his chest. You were twirled out again, only this time you were dipped low, his face close to yours. It took all of your willpower to not kiss him right then and there. You came back up and danced for the rest of the night, laughing and taking the occasional sip from your flask. 

--

As the music died down, you had left the dance floor panting and sweaty, a dewy sheen spread across your face. You stumbled over to the kitchen and grabbed your jean jacket from the counter, making sure your keys were still there and they were. You put on your jacket and walk outside, only to see that Steve’s car was gone. 

“Goddamn Steve… and Nancy. Damn ‘em! Damn em to hell.” You spat, staring at the porch. “Now I have to walk and, and I don’t even know where I’m at. And its LATE! Goddamn it!” 

“Who are you talking to sweetheart?” Billy asked you. He was leaned against the banister, smoking a cigarette. 

“I’m talking to me, genius.” You slurred. “Now I’m talking to you. I wanna go home but I got ditched!” You sulked. You walked over next to the banister where Billy was and plucked the cigarette from his lips. You took a drag and exhaled, letting it escape through your nose and lips. Billy watched your lips wrap around the cigarette, wishing it was him. 

“Like what you see?” You shoot him a wink, blowing the smoke away from his face and stubbing out the cigarette. 

“Yeah. I kinda do.” He licks his lips, smirking. “Now, tell me (y/n), how exactly are you getting home?”

You sigh frustratedly, “I guess I’m just gonna walk and figure it out.” You took out your flask and opened it to drink, but there was no more whiskey left. You pouted. 

“You’re not walking. I’ll take you home.” Billy stands up and offers his hand to you. You slowly push yourself up and gather yourself. You take a look at Billy’s hand and high five it. He looks at you puzzled. 

“Fix your face! Is that not why your hand was out?” You asked, words slurring here and there. 

“No, smartass. Give me your hand so I can walk you to my car.” He states, the slightest pink flush spread across his face. Giggling, you take his hand into yours and you make your way to his car. He unlocks the passenger side door and opens it for you. You lower yourself in, his hand pressed gently on the small of your back keeping you steady. Billy closes your door and makes his way to the drivers side.

“Where to, gorgeous?” He turns towards you. 

“332 Oak Lane.” 

He nods, starting up his car. As the drive begins, you notice him slip a glance at you every now and then.

“Hey Hargrove, take a picture. It’ll last longer.” You chuckle at him.

He laughs back, “No picture could capture all that beauty you got.” 

Your eyebrows flew up, painting a shocked look on your face. “Oh! Smooth talker over here. Didn’t know you could flirt like that. Color me impressed!”

The ride was peacefully quiet, right up until he pulled up to your house. 

“Nice neighborhood.” He says, then continues, turning to look at you. “How will your folks feel about you coming in piss drunk after a successful night out?” 

You laugh at his sentiment, catching his gaze. “My dads gone for the weekend. Went outta state to see my uncle. I have the whole place to myself!” 

“You.. you’re real cute ya know. Real good lookin’.” You say to him with a dopey smile on your face.

He flushes the softest shade of pink, smiles for a second and licks his lips. “Ah stop it. You’re only saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I am not! It’s true. I might be a little tipsy but.. I am right, you know.” You smile at him. 

“Tipsy? You passed that stage after your third beer. (y/n), it’s time you head inside.” He pats your thigh. 

You playfully roll your eyes, smiling. You place your hand on top of his and give it a squeeze. “Okay, I guess so. Can you walk me in? My room is up some stairs.”

“And?”

“And I’m scared I’m gonna fall! Please?” 

He removes his hand from your thigh. “Alright, I’ll walk you in. Don’t go tellin’ anyone either. I have a reputation to keep.”

You let out a thunderous laugh. “Yeah, okay buddy.” He comes over to your side of the car and opens the door. You shakily get up, feeling the dizziness get to you. 

“Easy now. Here, I got you.” He puts your arm over his shoulder and scoops you up, carrying you bridal style to your front porch. 

“Oh wow. You’re so strong! I feel like a princess.” You giggle. 

“You are. And I work out.” He continues, “Where are your keys?” 

You pull out the key that unlocks your front door and pushed it in his hands. He unlocks your front door and uses his back to shut it. 

“Alright princess. Where to?” He asks, looking down at you. Your makeup is smudged, your hair frizzed out, your eyes glazed over, flushed pink from all the drinking you had done that night. Even in your disheveled state, he still thought you were gorgeous. 

“Up the stairs. You’ll know my room when you see it.” You mumble, the tiredness setting in. Billy walks up the stairs and to your room. He could tell it was your room because of the giant Bon Jovi poster stuck to your door. 

“Okay put me down.” You ask, and he lowers you down. You slap the light switch on, illuminating your room. Billy gazes around your room, looking at all the band posters hung up on your wall. You also had christmas lights strung around your room. You had a big bed to yourself, a vanity, a small dresser and a decent sized closet. He noticed one wall void of posters. Instead of posters, you had two guitars mounted on the wall instead. One acoustic, one electric. Underneath the guitars were some amps and other guitar tech. 

“You play guitar?” He asks, looking at the guitars, his back turned. You were changing out of your party clothes, leaving you in your tank top and black boyshort underwear. You took a nearby scrunchie and pulled your hair up into a ponytail. 

“Oh yeah. Back home I was in a band. Lead guitarist you know. I still got it. Maybe I’ll play for you one day.” You say to him. “I wasn’t blessed with good vocals, my dear, but these hands? God must have took extra time with ‘em.”

“You really are a woman of many mysteries, (y/n).” He turns back around to you, but you had slipped out of the room and into the bathroom next door. He walks out of your room and finds you hunched over the porcelain throne, emptying out your insides.

Billy kneels down next to you, feeling his large warm hand on your back. 

“I HATE throwing up!” You say, face still in the toilet. “Shit is so gross.”

He chuckles. “Maybe you shouldn’t have started that drinking contest with Tommy then.” 

You lift your head up, wiping your tears away and reaching to flush the toilet. “What was I supposed to do? Let him think he could get away with shit-talking me? Just let him test me?” You and Billy laugh on your bathroom floor. “I’ll have you know, Hargrove, I come from a line of strong drinkers.”

He laughs, “Yeah, and I’m next in line to be the King of England.” He stands up, and holds his hand out to you. He helps you up, and you turn to the sink to wash whats left of your makeup off. You’re both looking at each other in the mirror. 

“I look so gross right now.” You mutter, taking out your jar of Noxzema face wash. You ran the water until it was warm and bent down to the sinks level to wet your face.

“I’ve seen worse.” Billy says, looking down at your butt. You popped up from the sink and so did his eyes. You unscrewed your jar of face wash and began rubbing it in. Billy took a seat on top of the toilet, watching you. 

“You know, you didn’t have to stay.” You state to him.

“You kickin’ me out (y/n)?” 

“No. Just saying you didn’t have to stay. I appreciate it, though.” 

He hesitated with his response. Nobody’s ever appreciated me. Or said it out loud, at least, he thought. 

“Thanks.” 

“Mhm!” You rinse the soap off your face, pat it dry and moisturize with some face cream. You turn to Billy, smiling. 

“How do I look?” You say, posing. Some of your hair had stuck to your face while you were washing it, you were in a tank top and underwear. You thought you looked like a mess. 

“Like a million bucks, doll.” He chuckles, smiling at you. You turn away and brush your teeth. Here you are, in your home, with local bad boy turned softie Billy Hargrove in your house. You catch his eye, and he just doesn’t stop looking at you, lips slightly parted. 

You rinse and spit. “Hey, Hargrove. Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” 

That snaps him out of his gaze, and his mouth closes. You yawn and stretch, feeling fatigue and the slight pounding of a headache lingering in the back of your head. You shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“It’s time for you to get some rest.” Billy looks up and says to you. You nod your head, and you walk over to your room. 

“Hey could you like.. turn around or something? I want to change tops.”

“Sure.” He turns his back to you and you grab a large sleepshirt out of your dresser drawer. You peel off the tank top and throw it across your room, allowing you to slip on your big shirt. “Okay, I’m done.”

“You look like a dork.” He says.

“Yeah? It takes one to know one. Dork.” You both chuckle. You crawl into bed and your head sinks into your pillow. You sigh happily. 

“Thanks for taking care of me.” 

“Not a problem doll.” He shuts off the light and begins to walk out. 

Before you fall asleep, you say one last thing to Billy. 

“Hey, Billy?”

“Yeah?” 

“You’re not as bad as they say you are, you know.” 

Billy becomes bashful at this statement. He’s lucky the lights are out or else she’d see just how red in the face he was. Those words would continue to ring throughout his head for the rest of the night. 

Before he had his chance to respond, you had already succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber. Billy slowly approached your bed, lowered himself down and kissed your forehead. He watched the smallest smile form on your face before you turned over, enveloping yourself in your blankets.

He backed out of the room and went into the bathroom looking for medicine. He takes out two pills of Advil and places them on your nightstand, along with a handwritten note. He leaves your house, locking the door behind him. 

There was something about you that struck a chord within Billy somewhere. And it unnerved him to his core. 

---

A/N: AW YALL! I LOVE WRITING SOFT BILLY. thanks for reading! as always, i will keep writing as long as you keep reading. feedback is always appreciated. my requests are open for you all. come chat! see u in part 5 

[fic-for-fic-sake]

The Journalist and the Winter Soldier

Description: You’re a journalist in New York City who is preparing to interview the infamous Winter Soldier, James Barnes. During your interview sessions you find that your relationship with him may go beyond that of journalist and interview subject. Can the two of you keep things platonic or will the lines become blurred along the way? Previous parts can be found here. 

Chapter 4: 

The next morning you took way too much time deciding on an outfit to wear to your follow up interview with Bucky. You couldn’t wear anything too formal, it’s not like your office was on Wall Street or anything, but something too casual could send the wrong message. You were going for a follow up interview after all. 

Eventually you managed to decide on a black dress that came mid-thigh with white flowers on it. You smiled at yourself as you twirled in the mirror, sometimes wearing pants all the time bored you, so you were glad for the upturn in the weather. Just to be safe you threw on a white gray pleather jacket and topped the outfit off with black heeled booties. Perfect, this outfit said ‘I’m here for a follow up interview but also I’m cute if you wanted to notice’. 

Making sure you had all your notes with you as well as a pen and a pad of paper, you got your keys and made your way back to the Avengers Compound upstate. You stopped at a Starbucks drive-thru for a quick coffee and then continued on your way. On your drive you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You wondered which version of James Barnes you would get today; the closed off, reserved, media conscious man, or flirty Bucky who made your heart beat just a little faster. 

You showed your ID badge at the gate and as you pulled in you could see Bucky outside waiting for you. Shit. You weren’t prepared for this at all. You tossed back the rest of your coffee, not at all minding the mild scolding to your tongue and back of your throat, as you parked your car. You quickly pulled your purse, which contained all of your interview materials, from the passenger seat before you exited the car. You noticed Bucky approach you and you took the opportunity to quickly smooth down the skirt of your dress, making sure it was presentable after the long drive. 

“Wow, if I knew you were gonna dress up, I woulda changed.” Bucky teased, giving your outfit a quick once over. His roaming eyes over your form made your throat go dry. You shifted nervously under his gaze, shuffling from foot to foot and making the gravel beneath you crunch in response. 

“It’s nothing, just business attire. Besides, you’re not on camera today anyway so what you’re wearing is perfectly fine.” You commented, taking in his current attire. You guessed when he said ‘break in his schedule’ he really meant it. It looked like he had just come from the gym. A black tank top practically clung to his sweaty torso, revealing every place his muscles rose and fell. Black joggers hung loosely from his hips, giving you a small peak of his hip bones. His jet black hair was pulled into a messy bun with some forgotten strands clinging to his face, in short, he looked like an Adonis and you weren’t okay. 

You noticed that when you mentioned there wouldn’t be a camera today he seemed to relax more, uncrossing his arms, one black and gold and the other flesh, from his chest. 

“So, what are we talkin’ about today then?” He asked, leading you towards a clearing across from the parking lot. 

“While my editor and I were going through the footage last night, I realized I didn’t have a sound bite of you talking about the differences in life in the 1940s vs. life now.” You explained, following him to a bench that sat under a blossoming willow tree. The scene made you feel nostalgic for home when you used to sit under a similar weeping willow and read books aloud to your stuffed animals. Your mom and always said you were born a performer, she wasn’t far off. 

“What is it?” Bucky questioned, pulling you from your thoughts. “I lost you there for a minute.” 

“Oh sorry, I had a willow tree just like this when I was a kid. Just made me remember and all.” You replied, sitting down opposite him on the dark wooden bench. You noticed there was a golden placard on the back of the chair ‘Howard Stark, good at inventing, okay at parenting’. It made you smile. 

“I knew him you know.” Bucky commented, noticing where your eyes had landed on the bench. 

“What was he like?” You asked, eyes blown wide in awe. Bucky chuckled lightly at your 

reaction, you guessed he got that question a lot. 

“A little of what you would expect, a lot of what you wouldn’t.” Bucky replied with a faraway look in his eyes. You sensed a story coming so you pulled out your phone and began to record, Bucky didn’t object. “He was arrogant, yes, a cad, even more so, but he was also kind of reserved.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Whenever he was working he would sit in whatever space we provided him with for 

hours. Sometimes he would forget to eat or even sleep. You could always tell when Stark had an idea in his head that he couldn’t shake, it was the only time he ever really shut up.” Bucky recalled with a wistful smile on his face. 

“Sounds like you knew him well.” You remarked, jotting shorthand down in your notebook, blue ink scribbling across the white expanse of the page. 

“Not as well as others, but that wasn’t really my area. I was more of the follow orders type, not really one to give them out.” He said with a shrug. 

“Why not?” 

“It never really made me comfortable. When I was growin’ up I had to look after a few people so it felt nice to not have to do that, even if for a little while.” He pondered. 

“What?” You questioned, noticing how his gaze didn’t fall on anything specific, just kind of staring and thinking. 

“I...uh, I’ve never really thought about that before actually.” He replied bashfully, bringing his right hand up to rub the back of his neck, a slight blush creeping on his cheeks. He was cute when he was flushed, you wondered if you could make it happen again. Damnit, focus, you’re here for the story not for the man. Even if said man was being incredibly charming without so much as lifting a finger. 

You made a split second, maybe stupid decision. You unzipped your booties and brought both of your legs on the bench and sat criss crossed. You made a show of readjusting yourself making Bucky chuckle in bewilderment and then you placed your notebook back in your lap. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned, looking at your new position and then to your booties laying haphazardly in the grass. 

“I’m just getting more comfortable. Interesting story and all.” You answered simply, a slight smile playing at your lips. You looked down at your notebook and remembered your next point, “You said you had to look after a few people when you were growing up, who did you mean?” 

“I was the oldest of four and my dad didn’t hang around much, so I kind of took up the responsibility of looking after my younger siblings.” Bucky started, “and then one day I met Steve, when some punks were trying to take his money. We were fast friends after that. But he was always getting into trouble which means I was always getting him out of trouble.” 

“Captain America getting into trouble? What a scandal.” You gasped, putting your hand over your heart and feigning shock. Bucky laughed, a real, throw your head back need to catch a breath laugh. You held your breath. He looked beautiful when he laughed, like for the slightest of moments the weight of his past actions wasn’t sitting on his shoulders. Like all of the preconceived notions people had of him just faded away and he was free to just be himself. You guessed that was what he must’ve looked like all the time all those years ago. But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone again, much to your displeasure. 

“Steve got into a lot more trouble than people think. He faked multiple enlistment forms for Christ’s sake. But he’s my best pal and I never once hesitated to help him out, super suit or not.” Bucky said, with more conviction behind his words than you think you had ever heard from anyone. “That’s one of the differences from the 40s to now, now Steve can kick enough ass on his own.” 

“I’m sure he still appreciates your help though.” You replied before you had a chance to think about what you were saying. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“It’s better to go through life with someone, if you can. Friendships, especially like the one you and Steve have, are a rare breed. If I had one like that I’m not sure anything could make me let it go.” You said earnestly, again forgetting yourself. 

A silence followed as Bucky took in your response. He shifted so that he was facing you on the bench, he tucked one of his muscular legs under him and swung his metal arm around the back of the bench, resting it there. You felt his gaze burning into the side of your face so you decided to turn to face him as well, unprepared for how close the two of you were. Not close enough to be indecent but not faraway enough not to be either. 

“Are you normally this open as a journalist?” He questioned, bringing his black and gold metal hand to rest under his chin. 

“Are your normally this open to journalists?” You replied cautiously, but with a hint of teasing in your voice. 

“Touche.” 

You shook your head and rolled your eyes in response. Unsure if his response warranted any other kind of reply. 

“That’s another thing that’s different.” He commented casually, pointing to your expression. 

“What?” 

“How people communicate. Back in the 40′s we were just more upfront about things. There wasn’t all this reading between the lines nonsense.” 

“Well you also had polio.” You rebutted. 

“Okay, point taken.” Bucky said, putting his hands up in mock defeat. After about fifteen more minutes you felt like you finally had enough material. Looking at the notebook in your lap, you gave your notes one more once over before you closed it again. 

“Well, I think I finally have everything I need. Thanks for agreeing to meet me again Bucky.” You announced, placing your shoes back on your feet and standing up. 

“I should be the one thanking you.” He said, as the two of you began the trek back to the parking lot. It was only a short distance which you found yourself suddenly disappointed in, you didn’t want this to end. 

“What for?” You questioned, hiking your purse further on your shoulder. 

“Besides Steve, I hadn’t been that open with anyone for a long while. You’re a real gem, you know that?” 

You could feel a flush work its way across your own face now and you tried your best to hide it from Bucky but to no avail. You could see him grinning from the corner of your eyes. 

“Well, this is me.” You said breathily as you unlocked your car and threw your purse into the passenger seat. Bucky walked with you over to the drivers side and opened the door for you. As you got in he leaned against the top of the door frame, looking down at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. But you knew how it made you feel, you felt like hummingbirds were fluttering around in your chest cavity, begging to break free. You tried to catch your breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear your pulse quicken at his look. 

“When can I expect to see this interview of mine? Sam keeps pestering me about it.” He joked, still looking at you with those piercing blue eyes. You imagined he was looking straight into your soul, into your very being. It was unnerving and comforting at the same time. Seriously, what was it about this man? 

“It’ll be out in about two days but if you want I can send you it when we’re done editing, so probably sometime later today.” You guessed, doing anything to see him smile again. It was worrying the effect he had on you. 

“I’d like that.” He said with his head cocked to the side in mock contemplation, some of his black locks falling into his eye as he did so, making him look more handsome than you thought was humanly possible. God you really needed to get out of here. 

“Well, the sooner I leave the sooner you can see it. Bye Bucky, talk to you later.” You said, closing your door but leaving the window down in case he decided to grace your ears with another response. 

“Bye doll, looking forward to it.” He answered cheekily. Bastard. You pulled out and the moment you got out of the gate blasted your music on high. Anything to overpower the sound of your heart thundering in your chest and the wayward thoughts in your head. 

Taglist: @heatherhollowayst @perrythefrickinplatypus

[silenthillmutual]

pride week - day 5 - AU free-for-all so this AU is a crossover because when i first looked at the prompt i was like half-asleep and thought it said crossover. whoops.

--

He’s coming to the conclusion that Kiyotaka’s family is just fucking weird. He’s still not exactly sure what their relationship status is, since they’ve only been on like two and a half dates that might have not even been dates and nothing between them seems to have actually changed - but even speaking as a best friend, it was just really fucking bizarre

The other sections of the bake sale that did not have an entire bottle’s worth of food coloring dumped into the mix did exceedingly well, letting them schedule trips to meet up and hang out with the GSAs from other colelges in the area. It was a neat little idea Makoto and Kiyotaka had come up with on their own time that also kinda made Mondo want to punch himself in the face. 

It mostly just starts with this: he thinks he has competition.

The reason he thinks this is because Leon tells him he does. They’re meeting with MU in a bowling alley that’s somewhere in between both schools and while it’s not the only GSA in the area, it is the only one available or interested in reaching out to them. And the gaggle of students who pick to play against them in a four-on-four match just happens to consist of three rough looking boys and one chick.

Striek one. It’s not exactly a secret that Taka has a type, and that type is punks. (Well, and Makoto; but he’s everybody’s type, so he doesn’t count.) He’s never said out loud that he finds that kinda thing appealing, but Hifumi’s Halloween Theme suggestion, “Book of Eibon” (which earned him the group name moniker Anime Trash) really took. People dressed as whatever they found most attractive - or in Hifumi’s and Chihiro’s cases, the kind of aesthetic they really dug.

Hifumi’s magical girl outfit was absolutely outstanding. They really did have to give him that.

...where was he? Right. Taka had shown up to the party in all secondhand clothes, studded belt and motorcycle boots and fake piercings, pleather jacket over an embroidered white vest covered in safety pins. It sure as shit left an impression.

And it was such a goddamn come-on. he’d thought before then that Taka’s staring was judgmental and had a hard time stringing two words together at the implication that he was staring because he was attracted to Mondo.

Not that Mondo was the only punk in the group. Tanaka flushed and tried to hide beneath his scarf, realizing too late he didn’t have it included in the regal get-up he came dressed in. And Leon said to Mondo, “If I wasn’t straight, I’d so hit that.”

Leon figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t straight, and also that Taka was way off limits. 

Mondo’s been trying to figure out how to take a more direct approach, since Taka’s misconstrued all his flirting as friendliness. Which - okay, yeah. He’s kind of learned along the way that he might also be in love with the guy platonically, too. he is the best friend, in terms of quality, that Mondo’s ever had, and he doesn’t plan on that shit changing just ‘cause he wants to add hand-holding into the mix. 

So strike two is this: Ishimaru seems to actually know the guy in too much purple who practically launches himself at him. They embrace in a tight hug, and that smug asshole has his hairstyle too. Rude. Utterly, unbelievably rude. 

The guy introduces himself as Josuke. He looks like he might be a couple years older than them, with pretty blue eyes. He’s the president of the MU GSA, which he does not hesitate to tell Kiyotaka, “I love what you did with the name, dude. Very kewl.”

Kewl. Like he’s fucking twelve and it’s the nineties.

Taka blushes like he does when he’s embarrassed or flattered and it takes a lot for Mondo not to slug the guy. He’s really only distracted from Kiyotaka’s refusal of the credit by the guy with the little ponytail and two-toned grey hair saying to him “Hey, man, nice mods,” referring to his jacket.

He’s kind of forgotten about it. He doesn’t wear the longer coat he had in high school anymore because yeah, he’s not in high school anymore, thank you very much Daiya. “Uh, thanks,” he says, but the shorter one with the kinda silvery blonde hair is smirking at it, mouthing the words Crazy Diamonds under his breath. Like it’s some kind of joke.

“I’m Okuyasu,” he says, and nudges the blonde so hard the guy almost falls over. “Shit, sorry - this is Koichi.” 

“Right,” he says, not liking the look of private joking between the two of them. “I’m Mondo.”

“I’m Leon,” Leon all but shouts, almost crawling on Mondo’s back to extend his hand to the two boys and - of course, of fucking course - the girl with the knee-length black hair. “And you are?”

“Yukako,” she says, and Mondo’s never before heard someone say their own name with such deep and intense hatred. 

There’s not a single thing about these people he trusts. The guys might seem nice, but he’s always hated the feeling that people are laughing at him. And that girl? She looks like she’s ready to commit murder. 

At least the jackass in the purple-and-yellow shirt is done taking up Kiyotaka’s time, only that Kiyotaka looks kind of embarrassed now. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than his flustered face. But he punches in their names on the board to distract himself, and Josuke comes up to Mondo and sits so close their knees are touching. “So,” he says, “You’re his kyoudai, huh?”

“Kyoudai?” Okuyasu says. “Man, how come we can’t get cool nicknames like that?”

“Yes, please start calling each other bro. That won’t get irritating at all,” Yukako snipes from where she’s sitting. 

“Yukako, come on,” Koichi says, turning to look back at her. “You promised you’d be nice today.”

She looks torn, but sighs, and Mondo thinks he hears her mutter “Only for you.” 

“Dude,” Leon says, “You gotta teach me.” 

--

One thing Mondo can say about the kids from MU is that, except for Yukako, they suck at bowling. And that does make him feel a little better, if only in a shallow way. 

It’s kind of irritating, and that irritation must be obvious to everyone involved, because Kiyotaka has tried his best to keep Mondo and Josuke separated. Leon’s pretty chill, and Makoto can make friends with everyone, but it just seems strange to Mondo that he spent so long trying to get on friendly terms with Taka only for some other guy - a complete stranger from a different school to just undermine that -

Makoto pats his shoulder, like the way you’d pet a dog to soothe it. “Calm down, Mondo,” he says. “He’s just being friendly.”

Maybe he is. Mondo can accept that there exists, somewhere, a possibility that Josuke is just a nice guy, like a punk version of Makoto, but he’s gotten so deep in his own sense of insecurity and paranoia that every time Josuke so much as talks at him or is friendly with Kiyotaka...

Well, it feels like he’s being mocked.

He might be a little jealous.

And when Taka leaves to head out to the bathroom, he might call Josuke’s hair stupid. 

Koichi, for whatever that’s worth, and Okuyasu and he goddamn swear Yukako’s hair all jump in to restrain Josuke from throwing punches. Leon slaps his arm at the same time Makoto smacks his head, both of them shouting some variant of “You have the same hair!” and the end result is the five of them tell the two of them to go resolve their differences by the snack bar, and work something out fast before Taka comes back and panics. 

“I don’t get what your issue with me is,” Josuke says, hands in the air. “We picked this group to go up against because Taka said you were cool. Now you’re just acting like Rohan used to, and I didn’t even burn your house down!”

Confusion mixes with anger as he says, with feeling, “What?!”

“Never mind!” Josuke snaps. “Just - whatever your problem with me is, just say it, man. Quit giving me dirty looks. It’s making Kiyo upset.”

KIYO?! Mondo hits the counter with a little too much force and says “That’s my goddamn problem!” And before Josuke can give him some other ridiculous pet name he says “We’re like - we’re - we’re kind of - !” Jesus. Jesus Christ, why can’t he just get the fuckin’ words out? “I’m inta him!”

“Yeah, and?” Josuke asks.

“And you’re fuckin’ flirting with him! Of course I got a damn issue with you!” Josuke looks blindsided for a couple seconds, and then he bursts into laughter. “And then you go an’ do this shit, shovin’ it in my face!”

“Dude!” Josuke has the audacity to put his hand on Mondo’s shoulder, ignoring every time Mondo tries to throw it off. For someone as thin as Josuke looks, he’s unfairly strong. “Dude. I am not flirting with him. That’s so gross.” 

Two-faced bastard! “You got a fuckin’ problem with my friend?!” 

“Dude. He’s my cousin.”

“Yer - what?” Mondo blinks, all his pent up energy dissipating in the shock. “Then - then what the fuck were you sayin’ ta him to make ‘im blush?”

“I’m teasing him about you, ya dweeb.” He snorts. “God. No. I’m not flirting with my fuckin’ cousin. And even if we weren’t related, I’m not gonna hit on some guy in front of my boyfriends.”

“Oh.” He’s...totally deflated now. And feels like an asshole. “Uh...” Great. “I’m sorry fer bein’ such an asshole,” he grumbles.

Josuke lets it slide rather easily, shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse interactions.” 

Mondo still rubs the back of his head, anxiously, and he’s still not all that comfortable with Josuke’s smirk. “Gotta say,” he admits, “I never woulda thought the two of you were related. Ya don’t exactly look alike.” 

Josuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the counter. “Well, it’s not by blood or anything. His dad married my ne- uh, I mean, my uncle -” Was he just going to say nephew? “But we take family very seriously, and we’re...kind of a large family.” 

For a second, he looks almost depressed by his own statement, eyes kind of foggy, lips pulled down and staring at his boyfriends with some kind of intense anxiety. He sighs, and slaps Mondo on the back. “Let’s just get back to the game, ‘kay? I think Taka’ll be happier when we get along.” 

He feels like he missed something, but says “Sure, okay,” following Josuke back to their seats. 

Whatever it is that’s on his mind, it’s either passed or he’s hidden it by the time they’ve reached their friends. Josuke reacts to Kiyotaka’s suspicious glare by ruffling his hair. “So, Kiyo -”

“Don’t call me that,” he groans. 

And Josuke ignores him. “A former delinquent with a bad temper, huh? I bet your stepdad’s gonna love that.” 

Kiyotaka lets out a scream, and drops the bowling ball to the floor. Mondo tries to pretend he doesn’t see something faintly pink and blue grabbing it just before it hits the ground.