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jojikawa · 7 days

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Beauty and the Beast

An event where you are a woman in the 50s trying to turn the head of your neighbor, Francis Mosses when you are stalked and pursued by his evil counterpart.

Art by ilameys

Zettai Zetsumei • Co shu Nie

Word Count: 5.7k

⚠️: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ♥ Manhandling, Slight body horror descriptions, descriptions of blood, himbo!doppelgänger!Francis Mosses, Yandere Behavior, Mentions of Stalking, sexualization of the female MC by Fake Francis, SMUT(CNC, mentions of a "rape kit"), and monster cock.

I write for free, but if you wanna further support me > Ko-Fi 🎀

Life was somewhat boring for you as a woman in the 50s. Despite being sought after by a lot of the men in your apartment complex, you had your heart set on one man. You only got to see him once a day. Francis Mosses. When he would deliver milk to your door in the morning. No matter how cute or cherry you were, it seemed like his mind was set on other things. The man always looked tired but you thought he was handsome no matter what. Maybe even more handsome…it was just something about hot men being tired that made them so much hotter.

You had hoped that eventually, he’d notice you and finally take you on a date!

But that hope soon faded when you read the newspapers. They talked about how doppelgängers are becoming a lot more frequent and the D.D.D. would be installing new units everywhere to ensure that no evil counterparts are making their way into the homes of others and killing people. You were able to tell if this made you feel safer or a lot more scared. What if someone made a mistake…?

Well, you didn’t have a chance to feel anything really, as the D.D.D. was extremely secretive about this kind of threat. After some time, it became normalized and it soon left your mind. The Doorman job seemed to be pretty effective as you had never seen any monsters before and were very much alive. It was rumored that the creatures would murder and eat any person they encountered if they succeeded in passing as humans. This is another reason you had your heart set on Francis. You felt as though he could protect you at a time like this. Maybe it was naive of you but after all, you were just a girl.

“Good Morning.”

Upon hearing the small knock at your door, you went to greet him. Francis stood tall, rather confused about you coming to get your bottled milk so quickly.

“Oh, good morning…” He replied flatly, gripping the strap of his milk bag. You thought that maybe he had a mutual crush on you and was too shy to act on it. So, you could take that step for him.

“How are you this morning? I hope that life is agreeing with you today.” You stepped outside of your apartment door with your glass of milk in hand. Francis shrugged. “I suppose it is.” He then yawned before saying “What’s wrong? Are you looking for another?”

You blinked. “Huh?” Your eyes then darted down to your hands. “O-Oh…sure.” You smiled attractively, causing him to break eye contact with you. He reached into his milk carrier and revealed and took out another. “You’re only allowed to get one every day but you can have mine.” He walked up to you and placed the bottle into your free hand.

“Th-Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.”

After he disappeared around the corner, you were filled with joy! That interaction was such a good sign. He gave you his milk bottle. You had to make him something for dinner tonight as a gift!

Thunk!

You almost jumped at the sound of glass falling on the carpet at the far end of the hallway behind you. It looked like an empty milk bottle if you squinted hard enough. There was a shadow as well. It made you feel uneasy and quickly made you retreat into your home.

You wanted to try seeing if you could have more time with Francis. There was a job opening for the D.D.D. Doorman of your building and you instantly took it. Being able to meet with Francis when he wasn’t busy might have your conversations with him take a turn for the better. You really appreciated his selfless gesture. So, seeing him at least twice a day would make your life so much brighter. Francis was the complete package. Tall, handsome, quiet, and most of all, soft-spoken. You’d be a good wife to him.

On the first day of the job, you didn’t receive any proper training. You were given an informational video and a set of instructions that you scrambled to memorize as a long line of your neighbors awaited their inspection outside. The job was easy at first and you did it well. It was a chore but those are easy. You let in the right people and you called the D.D.D. when you found a doppelganger like you were instructed to. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, Francis didn’t pay you any mind. You gave him a soft smile through the glass before asking him about his day.

“I hope work is treating you well.” You pitched your voice up to sound cuter. Your graceful hands moved swiftly as you sifted through the many layers of documents, trying to organize them before your next neighbor. “Yeah, I suppose.” He answered, blinking rather slowly. Your smile widened. “Any days off soon? I’d like to see you outside of your uniform.” You winked at him and he just shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Well, maybe, sometime after your hard work, you tell me a day you’d think you would be free?”

You waited with anticipation for his response. He seemed rather confused and it was rather adorable. Then he said “I don’t really know. I think I’m busy but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Your smile faltered just a little but you were good at faking emotions. “Oh, no worries.” You waved him off in a playful manner before pressing the button to allow him inside. Your shift ended and you thought that you should probably get to making that dinner for him as a ‘thank you’ for the free milk. As you began to clean up, the pressure of your job began to set in. This wasn’t something that you could just quit if Francis were to reject you. Ignoring all the unexplainable noises, the dark figures, and the constant feeling of being watched, it would be very awkward seeing him every day after that.

It was a new day. Francis came to check into the building and you let him go without chatting with him because you didn’t want to seem like a bother. But…then you saw him again.

“Francis?” You cutely tilted your head. The way he looked at you was much different than usual. The Francis you knew could barely make meaningful eye contact with you but right now he had no problem burning holes into your skull with his eyes. Not only that but he was visibly bigger as well. Taller and more masculine. His arms were big and veiny. This was NOT Francis Mosses.

“I-ID…?” You gave a nervous half-smile as you tried to hide your stutter. The humanoid creature gawked, a subtle sense of happiness washing over its face the longer it stayed there. “Don’t have it on me.” It replied plainly. You picked up the clipboard before exing out the box that was labeled “ID.”

“W-Well, you seem to look a lot like someone who’s already checked in. Please, give me a moment to confirm.” You flashed it a close-eyed smile. Upon seeing it, the fake Francis moved closer to the window, fogging it up with its mouth breathing.

You pressed the big red button to close the shutter before dialing the number to the D.D.D.

The representative told you someone would be over right away to dispose of the doppelgänger. It only took about a minute before they’d arrive. Normally, the shutter would open on its own after being reset by the D.D.D. member but for some reason, it didn’t You figured that now would be a good time to open it to help the last neighbors but when you did, you were not met with the hazmat suit you were so familiar with.

In front of you was the same fake Francis from before, now covered in some blood. His expression was one of annoyance and the veins in his arms were pulsating as if he were trying to contain some kind of anger.

“E-Excuse me, but you need to—!”

“Let me in.”

Your heart dropped. It talked! And it sounded just like Francis too.

You shook your head. “N-No! I’m not letting a monster in.” You reached for the number to re-dial the number again.

“But I think you look so pretty today. You wore that just for me, huh? I’d love to t-tear it off of you.” The creature’s neck involuntarily cracked its neck, twisting it in a demonic way. You screamed at the sight, pressing the button once more to close the shutters so that you wouldn’t have to see it. As they went down, the doppelgänger tried to stop it by putting his hand under it. It got caught in the track, causing it to get stuck on the track and it was open halfway.

“Come on, Darling, I know you’re not about to call those bastards again. I don’t want to have to hurt anyone else.” The large man-creature crouched down. You could see his fanged canine teeth poking out of his mouth. You backed away from the window with the telephone in hand.

3312…

You listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before the receptionist answered.

“Hello?”

“P-Please send help!” You cried over the phone. Tears began to spill out of your eyes upon hearing the squeal of metal as the predator stretched and bent it to his will. The glass was the only thing left that could stop him from entering.

You saw how abnormally long his tongue was when it glided over his lips. “I just want to taste you…”

The receptionist dispatched another group of workers to help dispose of the doppelgänger. They arrived almost instantly. It was only then that the fake Francis moved away from the window. You sighed in relief, trying to calm yourself down from the events that transpired. You ran over to the tempered glass. The mental door looked like sheet paper.

You saw no trace of the Hazmat people but you also didn’t see the fake Francis anymore. You quickly gathered your things and rushed to leave. You opened the door to let yourself out. You planned to run to your room and lock the door but as soon as you had left the room, you bumped into a stiff, toned chest. The figure grabbed you by your neck and forced you to look at them. The gloved hand was covered in blood and it stained your skin and the collar of your dress.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?”

His grip around your throat was so tight that you weren’t able to form words. It was completely covered in blood and in its other hand was a knife dripping with blood as well. It kept the violence to one side of the room so that you weren’t able to see anything unless you completely left the screening room.

The light clank of the knife hitting the ground could be heard and its newly free hand grabbed your waist. The doppelgänger hugged you to its masculine chest. Its head rested itself on top of yours before it planted its nose in the crown of your head before inhaling your scent deeply. The blaring sound of the alarm continued to go off and it was deafening.

Your nose was overloaded with the scent of fresh blood. The pure shock didn’t let you resist his touch. His grip loosened and you dropped everything you had in your hands on the floor, staining it in with the red substance

“P-Please.”

You felt its large hand around the back of your neck and you feared that it would snap it and kill you any second. You held your breath as you felt it set the other hand on your waist as well, rubbing it gingerly.

It felt like the doppelgänger was sizing you up to see if you’d be a good enough meal for it.

“He-ey, beautiful. It's… okay…”

The doppelgänger’s speech was somewhat disconnected but it was fluid for the most part. At first, it was clear he was a fake but the more he kept talking, the more it sounded like the real thing…like it was learning in real time.

Your heart rate accelerated when you felt its hand travel ever so slowly from your waist to the collar of your dress. The inhuman smile on its face widened and it suddenly ripped the cloth that covered your torso. You gasped, instinctively covering your now exposed bra.

You wiggled out of its grip and used the opportunity to run. You kicked off your pumps and ran barefoot to your apartment. All you could do was hope that more of the D.D.D. would come and solve the issue before anyone else could get hurt. The emergency alarm was still going off so the authorities should be there soon.

When you arrived at your door, you tried to scramble to look for your keys so that you could get inside but…

…you remembered that you dropped them along with the rest of your possessions.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching behind you. The large shadow engulfed your smaller form.

“Allow me.” The stranger said, calmly. Their large fist went through the door handle, shattering the lock and making it completely useless. You were too shocked to try running again. It found you.

The doppelganger shoved you against the door, swinging it open and causing you to fall forward inside of your home. You hit the floor with a soft but swift thud. “I see the way you look at him.” Its voice was laced with venom—anger but left more to be desired. It was playing with you awfully long for a creature that was trying to kill you.

“But you’d never look at me that way…”

The Fake Francis entered the apartment making sure to secure the door behind it so that you couldn’t run anymore. You cried and whimpered as it took its sweet time pushing your bookcase in front of the door so no one would intervene with what was supposed to happen next.

“I-I don’t know what you’re—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as it smashed its lips into yours. Its tongue was like that of a serpent, slipping its way into your mouth. You tried to push it away but any attempts just resulted in your lips connecting once more. It was too strong.

You were terrified but it passed so much for the real Francis.

“Tell me you don’t like it ‘n I’ll stop.” It whispered into your mouth before it French kissed you once more. You kissed it back, unable to resist his appearance any longer. When it pulled away, a string of saliva connected between both of your mouths. It’s warm breath hits the surface of your face, eyes full of lust and horror.

It’s soft lips attached themselves to your neck, biting and sucking until your skin slowly began turning red. “Mmm.” It hummed deeply, traveling lower and lower until it reached the cavern between your breasts. “You’re sensitive here, aren’t you?” It placed kisses in the valley of your chest, waiting for a reply. You were unable to form words at this point. It wanted to ravage you and steal your innocence. It took your idleness as consent, continuing on with satisfying itself and by extension, satisfying you.

It took the delicate hand you had been using to drive a wedge between the both of you. You thought that at this point it was going to break your arm! You squeezed your eyes shut, ready to endure the pain but…it didn’t. You felt the heated bulge beneath it’s bloodied white trousers. It throbbed.

That’s when it finally clicked for you. It wasn’t playing with you like you were food. It wasn’t trying to taste you and pick it’s teeth with your bones. It wanted to be with you. To breed you.

“I—ah~♡!” You bit down on your lip to contain the pretty moans that left your mouth. Your bra was removed, fully exposing your breasts. Its tongue touched the tip of your nipple and its mouth enveloped over your entire areola. It licked and sucked on the bud until it was nice and hard. The other hand was subtly slipped under your dress.

It took barely any strength at all to rip the fabric, showing how inappropriately wet you’d become from this activity. It craved the essence that was oozing from your tiny cunt.

At the feeling of the cold wind, you brought your legs together just to have them forced apart again. The creature made you feel so small and vulnerable. It used force when it felt necessary but overall, it was….soft. Licking, kissing, biting but no drawing blood, taste, loving.

It salivated at your legs, raising one and nuzzling the side of its face into the smooth skin. “So…gorgeous.” It pulled you forward. “When I saw you, I knew I wanted you.”

“Y-You did…?” You squeaked. It’s touch sent goosebumps from your limp to the rest of your body. “Two years I’ve been watching you. It was so damn annoying seeing you talk to that piece of meat.”

Piece of meat?

“I don’t know who you mean.” You shied away from the perfect creature. Could it mean…

“F-Francis?” You knitted your eyes together in confusion.

“Yes—HIM!” The doppelgänger dropped your leg and pulled you by your thighs to its crotch. “…I could never decide what skin would be the best to pursue you in. But then I’d see the way you look at him.” Pre-cum was beginning to show from its member inside. You could feel the wet fabric on the lips of your hot cunt. “So, I became him…but better.”

You heard the subtle unzipping sound of the pants and it took out its thick cock. It was larger than normal and didn't look like the standard male genitalia. You’d need to use both hands to hold it.

There was no denying this thing could perfectly replicate a human man. Before you could even react, the big “man” picked you up by your hair.

“Get on your knees.” He commanded and you felt obligated to obey him. You’ve never been in a situation where you were being held up by a man like this.

“I’m gonna split you in half with this cock.” He pushed its large tip against your cheek, straining it with warm cum. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted for a moment but you hesitated. There was no way that whole thing could fit into your mouth. Your eyes traveled up to his for guidance. He only stared down at you with hard, tired eyes. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a smirk.

“I said…open your mouth.”

He spoke through his teeth as if it were a threat. You were reluctant but tried to ease it in. You kissed his tip, causing him to grunt and tighten his fist around your hair. “Open.” He growled, yanking your head back. His cock was so close to your face that you could truly take in its side. It was nearly the length of your skull.

You opened your mouth out of fear and he shoved it inside. He was kind enough to let you get used to it in your throat by going soft and slow…or maybe he was just distracted by the imprint showing on your throat.

You grabbed his hips to keep yourself from falling backward. Even a bit of force made you lose your balance. “Good girl.” He sighed, relaxing into you, pushing the limits by pushing it deeper. Your choking and gagging only made him feel pleasure.

“You struggling with my dick in your mouth is so hot.” You heard him mutter under his breath. Your eyes began to water from the choking, causing tears to carry mascara down your cheeks.

“Keep sucking.” He fucked into your throat and gentle too. “I’m close.”

Both of his hands found themselves on the back of your head. He sped up his pace until a loud groan emitted from his chest and a mysterious liquid found its way down your throat.

The doppelgänger let go of your hair. You fell back on your bottom and he crouched down. “Hey.” He called, grabbed both sides of your face with one hand. He squeezed your cheeks together. “Swallow.”

You swallowed what was left and once he knew it was in your belly, his lips crashed into yours. His tongue wormed its way into your mouth and explored every cavern.

You felt yourself get lifted again but this time to your feet. He walked you over to your dining table and shoved you into it. “Bend over.”

You didn’t really get a choice. When you tried to stand, he forced you down to the table with his hand on the back of your head.

You expected him to say something, but he stayed silent. You felt him explore your backside from your hips to your exposed ass. The wind was so cold but his hands were so warm.

He chuckled darkly, spreading your ass cheeks and sticking his shaft in between. His dick was so much bigger than you that you would definitely have a belly bulge because of it. He wanted to experience it for himself.

You waited with silent anticipation for him what he would do next. You weren’t too sexually active anymore because you wanted to reserve that for the real Francis, if you ever got the chance with him, so you were really nervous about having something so big inside.

“Uah!” You squeaked, feeling a wet, warm muscle enter the deepest part of your cunt. It was his tongue!

You whipped your head around to see that his face was buried in you from behind. “Mmm.” You heard him hum vibrations into you. He consumed all of your juices as they came out. It must’ve tasted so good coming from a pretty human like you.

With every moan and whimper that left your mouth, it made his dick grow harder and harder. He didn’t stop until you had creamed all over his tongue. So much came out that it got all over his face too.

“I-Is that it? Is that what you want…?” You asked, but you were only ignored.

“Pick a hole.”

“Wh-wha—“

“Pick a hole, or I will.”

Pick…a hole…?

His large thumb massaged your asshole while his knuckles, now sleek with your cream, was stimulating your pussy.

“Um…I—“

“Both it is!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?!”

You felt his thumb sink deep into your ass while he struggled to get his large tip into your pussy. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” He growled through his teeth. His free hand grabbed your ass, fingers sinking in so deep they’d leave marks.

“W-Wait, you have to go slow!” You cried, face heating up from being touched in such filthy ways. “I am.” He grumbled, pushing the limits of your vagina by forcing himself inside. Despite going at the pace of a snail, the pain of trying to fit himself inside didn’t decrease at all. You helplessly clawed at the table beneath you. It didn’t matter how wet you were. He was too big.

It took a moment but he was able to get it. It slipped in with much ease on his end but the difference inside made you gasp so hard you needed to cover your mouth.

The doppelgänger began thrusting without warning, quickly overstimulating you. You could feel him in your stomach too. You reach back to push him off of you but he just grabbed your arm and kept it. There wasn’t much you could do to get someone this big off of you. You would only take it.

“P-Please…I can’t take it!” You gapped out, drool escaped your mouth as you tried to form words. He was fucking you so hard you couldn’t even think. All that could be heard around the room was the lewd slapping of his filled balls against the bottom of your pussy.

“Beg for it then. Say you love me.” His breath hitched. “Say you want me and I’ll let you go.”

“I—“ Slap!

You tried to speak. “I wa—“ Slap!

It seemed that when you tried to comply with him, he’d remove the hand playing with your asshole to leave a rough, skin-reddening slap on your ass. Your struggling amused him. He couldn’t help but smile.

The doppelgänger has been stalking you for so long. It was hard getting into your apartment normally because of the last doorman but he couldn’t resist you once you were sitting at that desk.

“What’s wrong?” He teased, his deep voice going soft. “My dick isn’t in your mouth anymore…so what’s the issue?” He chuckled. “Beg.”

“I want you!” You blurted out.

“You…want me? Say there’s no one else. Say you love me!” It was like music to his ears, really. It was helping him reach his climax.

“I…I love you—“

“FUCK!”

Your belly bulge quickly became bigger as his cum painted your walls and womb. Even with his dick growing more flaccid, he continued to fuck his cum into you so that you both knew who you belonged to now. Tears spilled out of your eyes as you squirted onto his cock, mixing your juices together.

“I love you too, Princess. More than you could ever imagine—“ Before he could finish, his ears perked up almost like an animal. His attention turned towards your door that he had destroyed before. “Here they come.” He muttered, putting his member back into his pants.

You weakly lifted yourself from the table. Your hand placed itself tight below your navel. It was so sore now. “Who’s coming…? What are you talking about…?”

The doppelgänger ignored you, its horns flesh and bones began contorting and changing color. Its physique turned from that of a huge masculine man to the familiar form of that of a D.D.D. member. Yellow suit and all.

It ran to the door, opening it, and sticking its head out. “I found her, she's in here!” Its voice changed to a generic man as well. Not at all like the deep gruff from before.

Your legs felt like jelly, you fell to the ground as soon as you were able to stand. They were numb from the pleasure, leaving you unable to walk.

What happened next went by as a blur. The D.D.D. Reinforcement Team took you to a hospital where you were taken care of and given rape kit. You were unable to refuse it once the forensics team found semen at the scene. In order to maintain faith in the D.D.D., your assault was largely covered up but only those who were in the apartment that day knew about it.

After the commotion of filing our paperwork and giving information, you were sent home. You didn’t sustain any life threatening injuries but you were asked to come in periodically to see how your body would react to having the semen of a doppelgänger inside of you…so now you were a bit of a test subject to them. You quit the job after that but you were quickly replaced by a new guy.

You hadn’t seen the doppelgänger the entire time. Or at least, you thought you didn’t. You wanted to process the situation but you were more confused as to why it craved so much validation from you. It wanted you to say you loved it. It wanted you to say that you wanted it. It said that it’s been waiting two years to be this close to you. It looked like Francis.

You had just arrived back home. Carpenters quickly replaced your door before you got home and you decided to continue life as usual by making dinner for yourself. Your heart still aches from the fear you felt when you thought you were going to die. And so did your vagina. It didn’t bleed, thank god, but it was sore to the touch from how big that monster was.

“Man, I thought you’d never come back.”

You were alone in your kitchen when a voice emitted from behind you. The familiarity in the voice made your heart drop. You quickly turned around to see the doppelgänger from before, masquerading as Francis again.

“What are you doing here? What do you—“

“Shh, princess.” He strided through your small kitchen, stepping so close to you that you were against the counter with nowhere else to go. You placed your hands on his chest, giving you the illusion that you could push him away. He grabbed your arm by the wrist before kissing the inside of your palm. He kissed your fingers and then the back of your hand before making you cup his cheek, which he nuzzled into lovingly.

You wanted to rip your hand away but his grip was so strong. You blushed. Was it wrong to admit that he…it, was attractive?

“Why didn’t you kill me and eat me? Why did you do that to me?” You questioned meekly. His eyes were closed, enjoying your warm touch with a smile before they opened. His eyes were like hunter's eyes. “Because I love you.” He replied flatly.

“I don’t know what that means…”

You opened your mouth to speak again but you were cut off by a knock at your door.

“I’ll get it.” The doppelgänger quickly said and in a mere second, it shapeshifted to turn into…you. It was able to mimic you in all your glory, including the hickeys, bites and bruises from your attack.

“No!” You blurted out. “Don’t do that.”

The doppelgänger allowed you to move away from it and your arm fell to your side. You went to get the door but you made sure to check who it was before opening.

It was Francis!

“It’s him!” You hurried to your bedroom to find your cardigan to cover your tattered clothes before answering the door.

“Francis? What brings you here?” You forced a smile but your eyes looked just as tired as his. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I heard what happened. ‘m so glad you’re okay.” Francis sighed, quickly invading your personal space. He hugged you to his chest. You blinked “F-Francis…?”

“I felt all torn up when I thought you died but when I heard that you were just fine, I just had to come see you myself.” Your stomach burned with delight. Francis was worried about you?

Francis let go of you and you pulled away. His face was red like he was blushing and you couldn’t help but blush too. Your lips curled into a smile. “W-Well, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

He wanted to smile back but he couldn’t. He saw the marks on your skin. You were hurt. “I know you are.” He masked his sadness with a weak smile. He rested his hand on your head and ruffled it a bit.

It would probably be inappropriate for him to admit that he’s actually had feelings for you all this time, so he’d save it for another day. Hearing the news about the doppelgänger through gossip during his job of going door to door made him realize he could lose you at any moment. But today, he settled with placing a kiss at the crown of your head. “Stay safe. I’ll check on you again later.”

For a moment, everything in your life went still. Even after he had walked away and left you standing there, it didn’t feel real. This more or less confirmed he had a crush on you as well. No man just does that and doesn’t see you as more than just a neighbor.

Your heart fluttered as you came back to reality. You slipped back inside of your home. You need to get cleaned up! You had to bathe and find something suitable just in case Francis wanted to come inside upon your next meeting.

But then….

“You look awfully happy.”

The doppelgänger was still here. You gulped, seeing his much bigger form. He grabbed the sides of your face with his hand again. He didn’t bother crouching because of your size difference, leaving you standing on the tips of your toes.

You were too shocked to try defending yourself, so he continued. “I saw everything so don’t even try to lie. That bastard is so lucky that I have to lay low until the D.D.D. gets their claws out of you or else I would’ve��”

“Don’t hurt him!” You tried to beat and punch his arm to get him off but he didn’t budge. “Why not?!”

“Because…I’ll be sad. And you don’t want me to be sad, do you?” Your voice was unlabeled and lacked confidence. It was a Hail Mary but you’d do anything to prevent Francis from getting hurt.

“Shit.” The doppelgänger let go of you, setting you back on your feet. It seemed…conflicted. He paced around your living room briefly. It had a soft spot for you but you could tell it has trouble processing emotions like a person. It was just imitating a person to get what it wanted.

“You don’t want him. You just wanna marry a guy. I’ll marry you.”

You shook your head. “No. Y-You can’t. You’re not him.”

“Of course I am.” His expression became mischievous. A smirk settled on his handsome face. “You can even call me Francis in bed if it fancies you.”

You felt your stomach do a flip!

“No! I’m not calling you that. Even though you look just like him…wh-what do I call you anyway…?” You retreated inward, hugging yourself and looking quite nervous as if the situation was beginning to dawn on you. You were currently desired by one of the most dangerous beings in the world.

“Francis.”

“Stop! I’m never using that name for you.” You got angry enough to shove him but he didn’t move an inch. You quickly realized that you shouldn’t push too hard or else it might change its mind and kill you.

“Mmm….” You pursed your lips, avoiding eye contact with the monster. “Wh-What about Franz? Is that good enough for you…?”

Franz, huh?

“Perfect.”

Tagged Folks: @z3r0art @chilifrylizard2

#that's not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #Francis Mosses x reader #Milk Man #Milk man x reader #Yandere Milk Man x Reader #Yandere francis mosses #tnmn #doppleganger #dark romance

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months

Text

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

PAIRING: Merman!John Price x F!Artist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s something in the water - you're going to figure out what it is, and why it chose to save you.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, murder, death/near death, assault, injury, gore, mystery, mentions of suicide, angst, protective!John, pining, sickness, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The little boat rocks as it slips through the expansive water, a thin hanging of mist in the air. The curtain-like film it leaves makes it nearly impossible to see the dark rocks of the shore a far distance away, and the dip and push of the oars through the chilled waves leaves splashing droplets connecting to your cheeks. You touch the flesh delicately, brushing away the spray as your eyes slide over dark, lapping water—deeper than anything.

In your lap, sitting below the high waist of your skirt, was your sketchbook; the tweed material was all the rage these days, though you never focused much on that. The thick item kept out the chill of the, very, early morning, and that was all you cared about, though, it seemed you lacked the foresight to pack a proper coat. A large woolen shawl sat over your shoulders, hiding the plain white blouse but not its cuffs; not the slight poof of the bottom part of the sleeves.

Your numb fingers fiddle with the pencil in your hands, your open sketchbook filled with page after page of images ranging from the common sea-bird to great ships and shorelines.

“I still have to ask why you feel the need to tag along,” is the voice that breaks the silence, and you blink away from the cloud of condensation from your exhalation. Your ear twitches, but only a small flick of a smile pulls your lips at the older man’s garbled words. “So cold my damn hands are going to fall off. Why am I always the one bloody working the oars?”

Otto Whitworth was a man far into his later years—one who entertained your fascination with the raging waters and the need to immortalize them on paper; that draw to the sights and sounds. Graying, covered now in a large coat and his boots, with the long fishing rod knocking around by your feet, he grumbles more than he speaks sentences, content with only the pipe in his breast pocket and the promise of fresh fish for breakfast.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chuckle, glancing over at his wrinkled face—the glare of dark eyes set into a deep browline that’s more for show of annoyance than genuine emotion. “Gets the blood pumping harder, Mr. Whitworth.” Your vision slides to the shadows of the black rocks, and your pencil finds your palm before the sound of it meeting parchment echoes over the nothingness. “Isn’t it lovely? Listen to the Gannets.”

“Don’t need my blood pumpin’ harder,” the old man grinds out, scoffing. “Gonna make my fuckin’ heart stop, Girl…” Otto sighs, shaking his head as you chuckle. He growls under his breath. “And, no, I’m not listening to the birds—they’ll be trying to steal my fish soon enough. Greedy bastards.”

Your eyes roll in their sockets, pencil shading in the rough shapes of misty rocks, your face cold but still eager for something. There was a type of magic to this place—to Southern England and the small coast town you had settled in nearly a year ago: Redthorpe.

It seemed your talent for the arts was appreciated here, you had a shop to your name and friendly compliments from the locals every time the door was pulled open. People here liked the attention to detail in a place where they had most likely lived for a good ninety percent of their lives.

You tilt your head at the paper as Otto lets the oars drop back into the water, grasping for his fishing rod that you kindly move closer with your foot.

The man takes up the item and sets the line, whipping back the pole and snapping it forward with a wizz and a grunt—a cracking of old bones.

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back.

You send a silent look upward, and at the same time as he does, you say out loud in a soft voice.

“You’ll scare away the fish with all that blabber.”

A heavy glare is leveled at you, but you raise a hand innocently and laugh under your breath.

“I’m as silent as the fish, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Cheeky Bird,” Otto sighs loudly, shifting in his seat until he faces the water, eyes glinting. “You’re too wild for this place, then, eh?”

“For most places,” you breathe, smiling as you study the rocks again before going back to your work. It’s only after there were the wiggling bodies of three fish set into a fisher’s basket that the oars are taken back up and the silent water is again forced back by ripples.

Pencil finding the middle of the spine, you close your sketchbook, the routine is as simple as it always is. Otto will complain about having you at his dock, he’ll begrudgingly invite you in and cook three fish: one for him, the second for his cat, Harriet—older than England itself and missing most teeth; as blind as a bat—and then, finally, you. After that you’re back in your shop finishing up your piece of the misty shoreline, working until the candle burns through both ends and the oil paints are swirling colors as your eyes bug. Bed, and finally, repeat.

A splash of water makes you blink quickly, your head jerking over at the slide of movement from the corner of your vision. Eyes wide, you swear a fin had cut the surface of the water like a knife through butter.

Your body moves closer to the side of the boat immediately, leaning over eagerly.

“Hey!” Otto barks, steadying himself as the vessel shakes back and forth. Your eyes shimmer, a smile overtaking your lips. “Watch yourself—you’ll send me overboard!”

“Did you see that?” Your eyes dart over the water. “I think I saw a fin.”

“You got excited over a fish?” The older man’s voice is unimpressed, hissing in the crackling of age. “Hell, I got three in the basket if you’re that bloody impressed.”

“Shh,” you wave one of your hands, unblinking. “It was bigger than a fish, Otto!”

Your ears twitch to his scoff, his hands grasping the oars harder before he shoves the boat forward. Body looming, the intense pull of adventure dims the longer nothing happens, and after a minute or two of dead mist and water, you hum under your breath like a fool and sit back.

“Lost it,” your numb lips murmur, breath puffing out softly. “Damn.” You shake your head as the wooden dock gets closer, more boats tied and shifting with the waves. “It was strange,” you admit. “Like a deep navy color—with specs of silver along the spine.”

Otto pauses, his hands tight over the oars. He blinks over at you, face for the first time showing an emotion other than annoyance. You barely notice before the sheen of crafted blankness is back.

You smile down the length of the boat, curiosity plain to see. “Do you know of any animal like that around here?”

“No,” Otto grunts out quickly, and your excitement dims sharply, blinking through shock.

Your brows furrow after the silence falls stiffly—the boat had never been uncomfortable to you, the atmosphere quiet, of course, but always easy to charter. Now the air was…muddy. Something had changed as fast as a fish being yanked out of water.

Fingers twitching, you sit back slowly onto the plank, pulling your sketchbook the tiniest bit closer to your abdomen. Face open, Otto continues to row and the entire ride is silent until the boat is docked and tied to the pole by calloused hands. Your digits grasp your shawl and wrap the fabric harder, shifting down to hide your chin into the wool as you shiver.

“...Need help?” You ask, eyes still shifting back to the water like always.

There’s something now that makes your attention drift like the waves themselves—and it wasn’t only the shadows of the rise and fall, it was Otto’s strange behavior. The man wasn’t one to just say one word and nothing more. He could bounce off you like it was a game; you often thought he enjoyed your company just so he could insult someone. Jokingly, of course. It was the companionship he craved, it was why he always let you on his boat in the mornings.

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it.

“Don’t need any help,” he grumbles out, tying off the last knot to the pole and stepping back with a smirk of satisfaction. “M’not in the grave yet, Girl. Been working the boats since I was out my mum’s womb.”

“Feel sorry for her.” Your mutter meets the air as light streaks through the mist. Breathing hot air into your free hand, you rub it over your arm repeatedly and sigh, fingers of the other limb tightening over your book. Absentmindedly, your head turns back to the open water one last time, for one last glimpse of anything you want to commit to memory while you paint—

The fin is back.

“Otto!” Feet swiftly dart to the end of the dock, you stop only an inch away as your skirt whips over. “It’s back! Look!”

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away.

Gasping sharply, you stumble until the harsh bark of, “Get back!” echoes across the dock just as it does through your ears.

“Whoa!” You’re quickly let go of, a shadow shielding you from the view of the water as you scramble to make sure your sketchbook won’t slip from your hold. Head jerking to stare in shock at the middle of Otto’s curved spine, your heart stutters in confusion and a bit of hesitation befitting one who was just manhandled. Standing up straight again, your tight face pulls in, the pound of your heart telling you something is wrong.

Glancing past a still frozen Otto, the water is utterly devoid of life again—only ripples to show there had ever really been something there at all.

“You go back to the ocean,” Otto yells, spittle flying from his mouth, fishing boots stomping against the wood as he moves forward a step, pointing. “Go back to the bloody hole you swam out of! There’s nothing for you here! Nothing!”

You watch, struck dumb.

“...Mr. Whitworth?” Your lips mutter out, eyebrows shifting from the waves to the man—utterly confused down to your chilled bones. Who was he talking to?

Perhaps time had caught up to him—was he mistakenly taking the rocks for people? The waves for whispers? All you had seen was a fish’s fin, nothing more, nothing less.

“Otto,” you call again, concerned. You should get the man inside; get him warm and let him cook his breakfast. “Let’s just go.” Your eyes blink lightly, fingers twitching over your book. “Alright…? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, it’s nothing important.”

His form waddles past you, more in tune to his sea legs than the ones on land, and under his breath, you hear him snarl out a low, “You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.”

Withered hand connecting with your shawl’s edge, you’re dragged back with more force than you’d anticipate Otto still having, but you go with him nonetheless.

Looking at the water, there’s nothing to see beyond the stretch of nothingness.

—

You dare to ask when you’re pushing the fish bones over to the side of your plate, slipping some mashed-up scraps to Harriet who lays in your lap purring. The rough scrape of a tongue licks your fingers, and deep gray fur caresses your palm.

“Who were you talking to back there?” Your voice carries over the small hut that Otto calls his own, the sounds of the water meeting the rocks plainly heard seeing as his property was as close to the cliffs as you could get without going over them. “I never took you for someone to believe in spirits.” The joke was a small jab, but even your own amusement was dim in the situation. Your hand puts down the fork and moves to rest along Harriet’s back, lightly petting the old cat as her half-missing tail flicks in satisfaction.

The man’s back over at the sink tightens.

“You watch yourself near the waters, Girl,” Otto grunts, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. “By God, you watch yourself. There’s things out there—terrible things.”

“What kinds of ‘terrible things,’ Otto?” Your head tilts, sketchbook resting still on the table, your gaze flickering to it. Terrible had a nice ring to it. But something else was swirling in your gut now, a hesitation of a special sort that only comes out with the unknown paths of life.

What could make a man born and bred on the waters so reserved when speaking about them? Your interest had been piqued—your curiosity unsated until you were given a clear answer. You’d only been here a year, that wasn’t enough time to know the secrets of Redthorpe; to be let into those deeper circles.

Otto licks his cracked lips, the wrinkles of his face leaving behind something akin to a scrunched dog’s visage—worn by time and improper care from the damage of the sun. He’d been at work on his boat for decades, and while you took his advice with a grain of salt usually, this time he carried himself differently: you wanted to know why.

He glares with no venom, taking out the scrubbed pan from the soapy water and barking, “What’s it with the younger generation and their bloody pushing? Listen to what I’m telling you and take it as it is, Girl. You don’t go on the water,” he blinks, face grim, “unless I’m the one ferryin’ you through it, eh? That’s the end of it. I’ll say no more.”

Frowning heavily, you sigh under your breath and shake your head. Letting your eyes slip down to Harriet, you scratch under her chin and stare into her milky eyes as she lets out a little chirp.

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter.

But a fire had been lit in your breast now—a low simmering pull like a rope had been tied to your wrist, drawing you closer and closer to the rocky shore, to a boat tied on the dock which you knew was steadily rocking to the deep, dark waves of this isolated place.

To a navy-colored fin in the water, and a shape far larger than any you’d seen before.

Blinking to look out the window of Otto’s home, your eyes find the ocean, and the longing that you’d always had for it grows ten times larger as your sketchbook begs to be filled.

—

It was only fate, you guessed, that you had come to Redthorpe—a tiny, unimportant dot on the map—when the way of life you’d chosen had led you astray. This place was a way to start over. Fix yourself. You’d picked the least-known town in all of Europe, and that was exactly what you wanted.

One trait, though, that could never be squashed from your psyche was the lust for the unknown. It was an obsessive lover; a toxic hand on the back of your neck that dragged you back over and over, until there was only yourself to blame for the repetition of disappointment.

It was the reason you found yourself on the shore two days after you sighted the dark fin that cut the water.

Your lace-up boots were atop a large boulder, shifting as your body turned from left to right, eyes patiently dragging the expanse of nothing. Waves lap only inches below, spraying up to get absorbed into your skirt, shawl whipping with the wind. The breeze is stuck with the sounds of birds, the very beings darting above your head, playing their games with varying cries that sound like throaty groaning.

Bending, your arms wrap your waist, lips flickering. You were cold, limb-numbingly so, but even if you saw nothing today, or tomorrow, the push and pull of the ocean was enough—the call of the birds, the hypnotic sway of water. Calling to you, even if it had no lips to do so.

Taking down a lung-shaking inhale, you chuckle, sketchbook sitting in the small purse around your shoulder.

“What am I doing?” You ask yourself, shaking your head. “It was just a big fish—that old man was just being paranoid, anyways.” Eyes caressing the line where water meets the sky, your smile pulls your chilled cheeks. “There’s nothing out here worth my time. I need to finish my work.”

Leaning back, you rub your hands up and down your biceps, nonetheless enjoying your time despite the burning of something in the back of your head. A knowledge that the fin was nothing documented before? A hope of discovery? A need for adventure? Oh, who can really say—what can be known are only three things:

One, the weather was getting worse, two, the water was getting wilder, and, three, you had forgotten the way the rock you were standing on had shifted when you stepped up to it. Shuffling, your boots connect to the right corner, and your hands extend to keep your balance as you hiss a low breath, purse beginning to slip.

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of a man’s voice, and you startle sharply, gasping as your foot slips. A quick cry is all you get out before you’re suddenly plummeting downwards headfirst into the frigid water.

The feeling of liquid is all-consuming as it seeps into your nostrils and ears, all sound muffled entirely beyond the roar of it leaving you so stupendously—a flare, and then nothing. Eyes bugging, limbs slashing through the waves, the chill hits you in the chest with the force of a stone, smashing through your ribs to weigh you down with concrete stuck in your lungs. It was entirely a bodily reaction to gasp.

Through the blue and the bubbles, you start to drown.

Fingers twitching, you claw at nothing as the darkness settles its hands over your panicked eyes, not for a moment thinking about who had called to you in the first place—or who was poking a head out of the water before you’d gone over. Obviously, it was a trick of your senses; no one could survive being out in water like this.

You certainly weren’t going to.

Legs slashing, something is darting in the corner of your eye before your vision fails, but the rapid fear in your heart masks the hand gripping at your shirt’s collar. It hides even the feeling of strong arms until the point where you’re yanked upwards with little effort as one curls your waist. It doesn't hide, however, the way you vomit up water as you’re heaved to the rocky shore moments later.

Choking, you hack up salt that burns your esophagus until your lunch quickly follows—all spilled with little care for your hands caught in the crossfire. Spine arching as if a cat, air can’t come sweeter as it is drawn in rapidly; nearly hyperventilating on the ocean-smooth stones as your clothes are utterly ruined.

Panting, gasping, shivering violently, your head pulls itself weakly upward. It doesn’t take long for your mind to scream at you, and your head snaps behind you in a panic.

But there’s nothing but the raging water and the splash of a large navy-colored tail as big as your entire body disappearing back into the depths.

Your fear can only stay for so long before the threat of a frigid death becomes more and more probable. In your race back up the cliff face to your shop, your purse is completely forgotten, trapped on the top of that shaky rock where it had fallen from your shoulder before the great plunge.

Your shawl is seen floating out to the open water before it’s grasped from below and suddenly plucked—vanishing without a single trace.

—

The fire rages with the inferno of a million suns, and it’s not nearly hot enough. Wrapped in every blanket, sheet, and warm item available, you still can’t stop shivering hours later. A teacup was stuck in your hands, the liquid sloshing over the edges to slip over your quivering fingers and absorb into the cocoon of heat.

Breathing through your shaky lungs, you keep the rim of the cup to your lips, eyes wide and horrified. In the still moments after you’d stripped and tried to stop the onset of sickness that you could already feel coming, there was a flash of realization from your strange and fantastical ordeal.

There had been a man.

The sensation of hands around your waist—the gruff voice that had spooked you so violently. A man. In the water. Every time you blink, you see a shadowed image, a tiny glimpse as you’d turned to the sound of human speech above the shriek of birds.

Short brown hair and narrowed blue eyes set into sockets of pale skin. A bearded face, mustache…square jaw…

“What in God’s name?” You stutter in question over your tea, shaking your head. “That isn’t possible.”

Outside your shop, the wind screams, pushing against your exterior shutters as night sets in. A storm was coming; there’d be no other adventures for you. Sipping your drink, you shiver again, curling in tighter to yourself as wood crackles. The light dances over your easels and side tables, piled high with jars of brushes and pallets—bottles of linseed oil and liquin, labeled with little pieces of hanging paper at the necks.

There are paintings in the tens—in the twenties—hanging on the walls and set to the corners, all blue and gray; misty and clear. The water is a staple in all of them, and the cliffs as well. Perfect imitations of this place, as if you could reach a hand through the canvas and enter a mirrored world. Great ships are in some of them, or little fishing boats, with the birds overhead. Sometimes, it’s only the water itself, and to you, those were perhaps the best of your work.

There was a beauty in the nothingness. A mystery. Who knows what’s under that thin surface? Well…apparently, it wasn’t human.

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin.

The thing in the water wasn’t… unattractive, you had to admit. Beyond the waterlogged hair and dripping beard, a large nose sat—full cheeks with an odd mole over them. The more you thought about the brief flash of a visage, the more you grew to hang onto it, strangely. And that navy tail? It had been incredibly unique.

Spiney, nearly—four thin bones going down on both sides, branching out from the tail starting with the shortest that was perhaps only as long as your hand until the final was as lengthy as your entire arm. There was webbing between each spine to help the thing through the water quickly, it spread to the end of the barb until it sunk back in a ‘U’ movement, before once more arching out again to connect with the next spine. Small gasps in the caudal fin calling to either battles or a natural state of being—for show in it…his?...species.

Could you even assign it a human gender?

You close your eyes tightly in your shop, trying to will the image away from yourself. “What in the hell is going on?” Your voice is scratchy and low.

Yet, the undeniable truth was that the fish-man had saved you. It couldn’t be overlooked. Not by you, who now can sit in front of this very fire because of it. Like a moth to the flame, the surge of cautious confusion is burning your wings.

Deep blue eyes like the ocean. A navy tail. A gruff, hard voice.

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace.

“What has this place been hiding in the water? And why did it bloody save my life right after it nearly ended it?”

More importantly…you had to think of a way to get your sketchbook back without getting on its bad side.

With a heavy chest, and more than a little fear in your heart, it was resolved to do something about all of this tomorrow. There was no use leaving the shop now. Glancing at the shaking window, you could hear the ocean rampaging over the cliffs; hear the slam of the rain hitting the roof like pounding feet.

But that voice played in your ears like a gramophone's bleated chorus.

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then.

—

There was no question if you’d gotten sick because of your impromptu bath in the ocean—the evidence was in your salt-covered shirt and the stockings that were still drying on the hearth.

Pressing a handkerchief to your mouth as you cough haggardly. You’re bundled in a nice fur dress coat, walking along the street with a skipping heart, a simple cloche hat over your head to protect you from the elements; dark blue in color.

The irony was not lost this morning when the hue had a striking familiarity to a fish-like tail, but it hadn’t stayed in your hand. A small drizzle slapped the fabric, and you were thankful you had brought the hat and coat along with you on the move from the big city.

You weakly smile and nod to the locals you consider friends—at the very least acquaintances. But before long, you’re at the place you feel you need to be to gain answers, too nervous to go back to the shore immediately.

The library.

Something Otto had said came back to you last night, in the throws of insomnia. The two sentences he’d called out on the docks that day—You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.

Eleanor? Who was that and how did it correlate to the beast in the water that wears a man's face? Maybe, the local records would tell you the answer—there had to be something about this person, ‘Eleanor,’ in them, right?

If not, there was only one option left, and that was going down to the shore and getting the results first hand…you’d rather exhaust all of your resources on solid land first.

Slipping into the library with a deep breath and a cough in your throat, you sigh and nod slightly. Time to get to work.

“Oh,” the librarian looks up from her desk, standing as you shuffle over. “Hello, Dear,” she breathes through a chuckle, eyebrows pulling in softly. “My, you look a bit under the weather, don’t you? Would you like me to get some tea going…?”

“No, thank you,” you wave an easy hand. “I’m here on a bit of an errand, actually, and I was wondering if you could help me with something? I need to ask about your records.”

“Records?” The woman’s face shifts to confusion, her body slipping out to stand next to yours, you bring back up your handkerchief and sneeze into it, groaning. “What kind were you thinking, then?”

After you can push away the sheen of sickness to your eyes you take a breath and clear your throat of the stuffiness. “Births and work records? Addresses?” You make a small noise in the back of your mouth. “I guess I don’t know…anything that might help me?”

The librarian chuckles a bit, amused. “How about you tell me what it is you’re looking into, and I’ll try and grab any public knowledge that I can find. We’ll work together, then.”

Weight is loosened from your shoulders and you nod appreciatively. “Deal.”

“Go on then,” she walks over to a shelf on the far side of the room, standing as her fingers run the spines. “Occupation I can start with, Dear?”

“Well…” you pause, shuffling after as your head looks from one sizable book to another. “No, unfortunately. Only a first name.”

“You’re lucky Redthorpe is small,” the woman laughs. “Otherwise I would have told you you’re lacking your senses with only something like that to go off of.”

“Eleanor,” you comment, licking your lips and staring at a spine labeled ‘1890-1900 financial records - Redthorpe’. “E-L-E-A-N-O-R, or at least that’s the common spelling, I believe.”

The librarian’s body is stone-still. Comparable to the immovable rocks of the shore as the waves bash against them; the raging of the wind. When you glance over, confused at the silence that infects the building, you’re reduced to a meek hesitation at the blank eyes that dig into your face.

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” is the hurried answer, and then the woman moves past with fast feet, heels clicking over the hardwood rapidly. “There hasn’t been an Eleanor in Redthrope. You’re mistaken.”

“Wait,” you follow, stuttering. “I don’t understand, there has to have been—Otto was talking about her not days ago!”

“You’re mistaken,” is the repeated, firm answer, the librarian’s body swirling to face you again, pointing a finger at you. “Go back to your shop. Mr. Whitworth is old, he sees things that aren’t there. Don’t take what he says to heart—”

“I saw it!” You bark, fed up. Your mind was sick of these games being played, left out of the loop like you hadn’t formed a relationship with the people of this town.

The woman’s mouth locked shut with a clack of teeth, something darting over her expression…fear?

She backs up slowly. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear.”

Your lips twist, a threatening sneeze in the back of your nose. “I’m done with the word games! It dragged me out of the water like a sack of flour and tossed me to shore! It saved me!” Her hands are held in front of her as you stalk closer, trying to brush what you’re telling her aside as she struggles to string words.

“It…it wouldn’t do that—that’s not how it acts. You’re just imagining things; you’re under the weather!”

“Who’s Eleanor?” You huff, stubborn as you cross your arms in front of you. “And what in the hell is a man with the tail of a fish doing living just below these cliffs?”

Wide eyes meet glaring ones, and the librarian’s lips move up and down in a panic.

“I…” she begins, feet tapping the floor nervously as the rafters creak above the both of you. “I can’t talk about it. It’s not something to be said out loud—especially so close to the water.”

You bark incredulously, “There’s a bloody monster that lives down in—!”

A hand is snapped over your mouth and you startle, blinking through the twitch of your body.

“Shh!” The librarian panics, shaking her head, with flaring eyes. “Stop it or you’ll end up being dragged down to the ocean floor like Eleanor was!” You tense behind the hold, shoulders pulled in. It’s a quick spit of whispered words like a fast breeze. “Do you want your body showing up on the rocks?! Stay away from it!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, vision darting back and forth before she finally lets you go in a quick jerk of her body. The woman backs up, quivering as her eyes go to the window, nearly panting from fear.

She looks back at you, blinks, and mutters out a quiet, “If you’ve already seen it, it wants you. Don’t go back to the water,” before she rushes into the back room and slams the door shut with the slipping of the lock.

Left standing in the open library, the shelves sit stationary as if sentinels to your raw distress—this had only left you with more questions and a handful of jumbled answers.

“Careful, then.”

You shake your head harshly and pivot to leave the library in a stupor, shoving your chin back down into your coat’s collar as the wind slaps your face once more. The call of the ocean is like a knife to the back of your neck.

—

Call you whatever name in the book, but you wanted your sketchbook back.

No one in town was giving you anything that was of use, and Otto was tighter-lipped than a lockbox. There was only so much you could do—could speculate—before the need for your belongings was too strong to ignore. It took two more days of pacing your shop before it was decided.

Taking up the heavy cast-iron pan above your fireplace, you slip the thing into your coat, shove on your hat with a defiant grunt, and force the front door open. It’s a ten-minute walk to the shore, and all the way there, dread fills you up like soup until you’re bloated with it by the time your boots hit black rocks. Yet, there’s a point where a woman’s courage outweighs the sense of caution, and today was currently that day.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your skirt and hike it up, placing your boot carefully on the first of the larger stones leading out to where you’d been previously.

“Don’t look at the water,” you mutter quietly as you move, not shuffling forward until you know the rock isn’t going to topple this way or that. “Don’t even think about it.”

But that tail…that face…

With a growl under your breath, you grind your teeth and continue on.

The weather today was much more agreeable, but cold. It was always chilled in Redthorpe—dreary as if the clouds never left far above. You didn’t mind, and in your coat pocket, the reassuring weight of your pan left you much warmer than you’d like to admit.

The heat of protection, so to speak.

“Even a fish-man can die, I’d wager,” you utter, grunting as you ascend a larger rock, palm slapping the wet stone before you heavy upwards, slamming your boot to the top much like a schoolboy as your skirt bunches. “If I hit him hard enough in the skull. I wonder though,” you sneeze, shuddering, “if he even bleeds? If I crack his head open…will blood seep out, or salt water?”

You shiver, and it’s not from the cold. “Fucking hell, you do like making it harder on yourself, don’t you.”

Lightly panting, you brush down your coat on the top of the rock and turn to look at the boulder where you’d fallen previously, blinking. Pausing, your eyes find not only your sketchbook sitting there…but also your shawl.

Struggling for a moment to try and justify your actions, you swiftly look over the surface of the water, seeing the gentle push and pull of waves. No fin. No tail.

You aren’t sure if the feeling in your chest is joy or disappointment.

Licking your lips, you take a large breath before your face turns grim.

“Grab it and run,” your voice echoes in your own head, heart pounding with adrenaline the more steps you take to the boulder, water sloshing at the sides. You had thought perhaps that the rain—the storm—would render all of your lost belongings null, but as you bent and snatched your items to you, shawl hanging from your arm, you were pleasantly surprised. It was all dry; impossibly so.

Amid your shock, your slack jaw, and the weight of your pan in your coat, your shaky fingers open your book with bated breath.

Everything was in pristine condition, if not only slightly curled at the corners due to…your eyebrows pull in, expression struggling to take on the emotion of anything other than pure awe.

“Fingerprints?”

Eyes slipping from one page to the next, flipping them only to see the press and pull of a long gone thumb, shiting the paper to gaze at the back, where a forefinger would have been. A hand laced in water had been turning the pages, just as you do now—and, yet, there wasn’t an inch that was damaged; nothing smeared.

Shoulders loosening from their tensed position, your wide stare is utterly transfixed as your digits rub the material softly, feet shifting.

Lowering your sketchbook, your small huff of amazed laughter, mind running.

He’d been going through your drawings—he’d somehow protected these items from the rain and salt. How? Why? But another question wrapped its hands in your skull.

Did he like them?

Shuffling the book into the crook of your arm, you carefully wrap your shawl over the material to further keep it safe, not able to find your purse, though the only thing it ever held was your sketchbook in the first place; it wasn’t too important.

Rising your head again, you gaze openly outward, lips opening and closing in a small stutter. Was he out there, this strange creature with a strong face and those deep eyes? That navy tail, looking like a beautiful imitation of kelp…was it just under where you now study the waves?

So many questions, so few answers.

You clear your throat, holding your items tighter. There’s magnetism in your blood, and it sits on your tongue like salt.

“Thank you!” Your voice calls high, joining the chorus of birds far above on the cliffs. Eyes skating the rocks, the shore, the ocean, everything. Call you prideful, but perhaps the best way to gain your favor is to know that someone, whatever bit strange and fantastical, had enjoyed your work to the smallest degree.

The way your eyes spark is still embarrassing, though, but it comes naturally after the heat that simmers over your face.

“Truly,” you shout to the wind. “You have no idea how much this means! If you’re listening, I’d like to extend my gratitude…” Your face is beaming, and you can convince yourself that all of your fear over this is gone, even if that would just plainly be untrue. “My artwork is everything to me, I do hope you enjoyed it!”

A creature so easily curious about your skills wouldn’t drag you to the bottom of the ocean…right?

Hell, he’d already had a chance to do that—a perfect one—and yet, here you are. What the Librarian had said had to be false, it made no sense otherwise.

Seeing nothing, and knowing that you were needed back at your shop, you chuckle under your breath and back up swiftly, walking the distance back to the surrounding rocks and slipping off softly. Grunting under your breath, your boots hit the stone, and you carefully begin back-tracking.

“You’re good at it,” you halt in a fraction of a second. “The images. Where’d you learn to do that?”

It’s a long moment before you turn with a cautious tilt to your head, and find the very same visage as you had a glimpse of days ago. You fight a fast inhale, but your straightening spine tells all the story it needs to. Like a fool, you lose the words in your mouth, as if trying to catch a bird of prey with a butterfly net.

A strong face is poking out of the water only a mere five feet away.

Your eyes slip to the soaked beard, the peak of bare shoulders—broad, of course—and the prying orbs that you feel will never leave; he wades there, arms under the dark water only a flash of pale skin before they’re gone again.

“I…” you lick your lips, blinking through the moment of animalistic panic. You were on land, there was nothing to fear. The sight was still something to be remembered, though. “I was self-taught, Sir.”

Blue eyes blink, serious face only made more so by the twitching of his large nose, which water drips from periodically. Droplets stay stuck to his dark lashes, and you’re near bursting with questions.

But silence persists long after your sentence filters out to nothing.

“You pulled me from the water,” you state slowly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

The man looks you up and down, not arrogant, no, but in a way that is comparable to how you did the same to him. Studying you as if your body was strange to him. The realization almost made you laugh—perhaps it was strange to him.

You want to see that tail of his again. Your fingers itch to sketch its likeness and commit it to muscle memory.

“I scared you,” he grumbles, sighing. “It wasn’t my intention to send you over.” Eyes still stay stuck. “My own fault.”

“I won’t deny you there,” you huff, gaze shifting away for a moment before filtering back. A slash of amusement curls in the thing’s eyes, and he hums. “Forgive me,” your breath wafts out over the air, face going what you can assume to be sheepish. It astounds you, though, that the conversation comes easily. “But I haven’t the faintest bloody clue as to what to call you.”

“John,” is the reply. Accent like gravel. He doesn’t waste his breath, seems.

“John?” You lick your lips, legs shuffling over the stone. The name leaves you holding back a loud laugh. “Well, I suppose I could have guessed that, then. I’ve met more than enough ‘Johns’ so far.”

“Funny, are you?” The response, however dry, is tinged with something you can’t name.

“I try,” you nod jokingly, motioning with a hand. “Just didn’t expect a man with a fishtail to act so….human. Certainly not be named like one, either.”

“Hm,” John grunts, blinking slowly. A hand slips above the water, and you watch it flex and drag to itch at the back of his neck, hair over the arm slick to the flesh. Your face heats, and your eyes dip to see the small shadow under the water almost graze the surface, rippling the waves intimately, as if tail and liquid were of the same sound mind.

It wasn’t out of the question to say you longed for a glimpse.

What would it feel like to touch it?

“You live here?” Your voice is hoarse before you clear it quickly. “Right below the cliffs?”

“You’re the woman that goes out in the boat,” John firmly interjects, and you blink, taken aback.

“Yes, that’s me.” You explain, pulling at the lip of your hat to force it down further over your head. “Otto goes fishing in the mornings—I like to sketch the shore. He isn’t the worst company, of course. He’s kind enough to let me along with him.”

But you won’t be kept down. There’s magical curiosity in your chest now.

“Your tail,” you take a step forward, boots being licked by icy water. John’s eyes widen a smidge, not expecting you to actively move closer. His head tilts as if a bird, confusion brimming though he hides it expertly. You imagined he considered you a bit mad. “Forgive me, Sir, but I must know,” your uttered rambles make his hidden lip twitch, a little twist to your expression that shows wonder. “Is it attached to you, or do you slip out of it like a pair of pants? O-or even like wearing a stage costume? Oh, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

John can’t find the words for a moment, only able to watch and assess as he always did in times like these. You were…different, he supposed. But he knew that the moment you had shifted your body over the side of that old man’s boat—looking for a glimpse of something unknown. He could see it in your eyes.

The water calls to you. It lives in your veins already, waiting. More salt and seaweed than earth and grass. Sand, rock, gulls, they all cry in the back of your mind, and your fingers itch to catalog them into immortality in a way that John was fascinated over—the skill of parchment and memorization. Mastery over detail.

He doesn't know why he’s speaking to you, truly. He’d done his penance; saved your life. But he knows he doesn’t dislike it, and that in and of itself needed to be understood. John couldn’t leave his analytical brain lacking an answer to a question as big as that—a woman of all things? A human one?

Blue eyes can’t seem to slip from yours, as you await a gruff reply.

“No.” You blink, pulling back a smidge when John’s voice is low and graited. “Go back to your home. It’s late.”

“Hey, wait—!”

But he’s already gone under the waves, and you’re left with a waterlogged boot, a cast iron pan, and the two items that had survived because of a grizzly creature's compassion. Your lungs heave, and the cloud of condensation rises into a gray sky.

You stay there far longer than you’d like to admit.

—

You struggled, slipped, and climbed your way back to that point on the rocks every other day, and yet, there was nothing more to be seen of the man with the tail. You knew he was out there, felt it in your bones, and still…you were left here staring out at far-off boats and half-hopes. Wondering. Waiting.

In the days that passed, you would explore the shore further, going in nooks and deep bends that extended into the cliffs during low tide, cringing away from the slippery fingers of kelp stuck to the walls. Dead fish, mucus-lined snails—you had made the important decision of leaving your sketchbook at home, the pages already filled with the perfect reflection of a man’s face peeking above the water.

Taking off your hat, you huff on a similar day to those others, this time slipping inside a cave with a direct connection to the ocean. There wasn’t any wind in here—and you sigh in relief as your breeze-bitten cheeks can finally get a rest. You didn’t know what you expected to find doing all this fruitless searching, but it didn’t erase the fact that you enjoyed it; looking for a glimpse of something out of the ordinary.

Brushing your hat of sand and other such items, your head swivels softly, a delicate smile on your face as water drips from the rock ceiling, stalactites like broken fingers reaching for the ground. A pool of sorts takes up most of this place, the thing extending to the ocean through a medium-sized opening in the stone.

You turn in a half-circle.

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing.

Walking forward, every so often your body stoops to carefully grasp shells and smoothed shards of colored glass, beaten down by waves and reduced to harmless trinkets. Continuing, you care little about your boots or your coat, only for the pull in your chest that tells you to keep going until your legs are weak and weary—shaking from a day long spent in selfish adventure.

When you find the pile of rings, sitting in soft kelp, you nearly walk right past them until the glint of metal takes you by surprise. Pausing, your pulse warms as your eyes slash to the side, getting sucked in as easily as cookies to a child.

Only hesitating a second, you slowly walk until you’re inches away, seeing different styles and gems like starlight sitting as if unaware of their raw beauty.

“What are you doing in here…?” You ask yourself, your own voice responding from the walls as it bounces.

Picking up one of pure gold, you shift the band to stare openly at an emerald nearly the size of your knuckle set into it. Lips parting, it’s as if your breath is stolen by a quiet thief. But the sudden arrival of splashing snaps you out of your stupor quite quickly.

Dropping the ring immediately back into the pile, your hand jerks to your chest as an increasingly common face shows itself once more from the water.

You clear your throat, face burning as John raises a slow brow, glancing at the stash of rings silently.

“One day you’re going to make me keel over,” your voice berates, pointedly avoiding his blues. So the items were his.

“A thief as well as an artist?” John asks after a moment, tilting his skull as his body drifts closer to the rocky side of the pool. The next sentence is no question, only a statement. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You take a long breath, sighing, before you shove your hat into your coat’s pocket, glaring lightly. “You left so abruptly, I never got to ask my questions. Quite rude of you to keep a lady waiting, John.”

As you say his name, he glances over, but not before his sizable hands slap to the side of the rock and he hoists himself up with a single push of his forearms. The man grunts, lips pulling, before you’re left breathless.

Eyes stuck on the upper half of his body, the water dripping down the hair-layered bulge of visible muscle, your wide vision skates from one point to another, flesh on fire the more you stay mute. But the tail—that was something you could never describe.

The beginning was all you could see; scales of dark navy and a spread of muddled silver-like dots, nearly impossible to make out except at this distance. They began at the top of where hips should be, the scales, smaller and blending into the skin easily, only becoming larger the more the tail extended down; the appendage was far larger than legs would be, that you can tell easily. You can’t see all of it, as perhaps a little less than half still sits swaying in the water…but even this was enough for now.

This moment would be stuck in your sketchbook for all of eternity.

It’s only after your jaw is slackened that you realize John has been watching you the entire time.

Forcing it shut with a tiny clack of teeth, you try to regain any composure you can. The being’s beard curls in a smirk, cheek pushing to show the lines near his eyes.

“If someone’s avoiding you, Sunshine,” he grunts out, voice low. From the corner of his eye, he watches as his hand rises to itch at his beard. “They usually don’t want to have a conversation.”

“I think it’s fair,” you huff. “You can’t just disappear when I have so many unanswered questions.”

John blinks, attention not moving for even a second. Your own is less than firm, fighting to not dart down to openly study every dip and bend of his bones. He was so…stoic. Gruff. But there were moments of amusement—even annoyed interest.

“I don’t have time to fuckin’ entertain others,” he thins his lips.

Your arms crossed, face dripping into seriousness. “And what else is so much more important, then?” You raise a brow. “Scaring other women into the water?”

He huffs under his breath. “It was an accident—wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so jumpy, eh?”

“It’s not like I expect to see fishmen pop out of the water,” you defend.

“Mer-man, Love,” he licks his lips, sighing, as his eyes shift to glance at the opening of the cave. Your face bleeds into a slight expression of satisfaction, arms over your chest tightening as your feet rock back on their heels.

“Well,” you chuckle. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

An emotionless glare is all you receive.

It was no surprise that you ended up blurting out inquiry after inquiry—what does having a tail feel like? How do you breathe underwater, or do you only hold your breath like a human? Do you have gills somewhere, or lungs? What other creatures are out there like you?

You have no idea what time it ends up being, and you have no intention of stopping soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, that John answers all of your quick words with full answers; giving slow, but not condescending explanations.

A few times there had been tiny chuckles, and the little conversations amounted to you sitting on a rock right near the water, only feet away from where the tail drifts in the waves; John’s hands keeping his upper half straight as his palms meet slippery stone.

“And the rings?” You breathlessly wonder, attention darting to the pile. “Do you find them out there? Keep them?”

John tilts his head in an affirmation. “Shipwrecks. There’ll be hundreds of them—I’m not one to keep many belongings, but the bloody things were nicely made.” He sighs. “Seemed a waste to leave them down there.”

You huff a sound of amusement. “I see. Fascinating.”

In the small pause, your eyes once more study the cave, seeing little breaks in the walls where cubby-like indents are. In them, your focus drifts from one glimmering object to another, all previously missed by you when you’d first entered.

You blink. “You live here?”

“Affirmative,” John stares. His body shifts, tail flickering as your focus snaps back to it, almost lost in the way the ends so nimbly slice the water. Like wispy fabric. Your eyes soften like molten metal. You look back at him and find his eyes already locked to yours.

Breath caught in your throat, you chuckle meekly to dispel your embarrassment. John’s face minutely relaxes, stern brow loosening.

“And…” you lick your lips, knowing it was time to leave. The sun no longer shines through the crack in the rock. “If I were to come back, would I be able to find you here?”

There’s a flash of that same indecipherable emotion as before over his bushy face.

The man was anything but small—everything to the swell of his tail; body hair for, what you assume, is to keep out the constant chill of the water. You’d never imagined that you’d find it all so attractive down to the navy scales that shimmered above the push of his side. That healthy layer of meat was eliciting far more of a physical reaction than you’d care to admit to anyone, let alone a priest of any religion during a confession.

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

“I’ll be here,” John responds lowly, gravel in his throat.

Swallowing down saliva, you push back the ravenous smile that threatens you.

“...Okay.”

—

And this affair became such a constant, that most of the people in town had begun asking about you as you snuck to the waters. Otto was largely concerned, but would not say anything more for some unseen fear—nor the Librarian, who avoided your eyes any chance she got.

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks.

The sheen of discovery could be a powerful vice, and for those first two months, you never asked John about the woman named Eleanor or who she might be—what correlation she had to beasts of the water. Then again, you didn’t have to ask. He managed to get around to it himself.

Your eyes blankly stare at the page of your sketchbook, the merman’s rough shape chicken-scratched with small lines into the parchment, and your pencil stays still to it, immobile. From across the cave, John’s face tightens as his eyelids narrow. You’d been quiet today, he had noticed. Usually so bright with your words, the walls had barely echoed with the symphony of your speech, and, more importantly, John’s ears hadn’t twitched to it.

He had become fond of your company, he admitted to himself. A strange human woman with her fur coat and hat, the little sketchbook that held such wonderful imitations of life. John was anything but dull—he knew you drew him, and he entertained the activity. In fact, the thought at one point or another may have made the brute of a man blush a bit. So, when you were as still as the stone you sat on, he had concerns.

He liked it when you spoke, even if it was only a tease. And the tightness of his chest when you don’t look his way is enough to leave his tail twitching in confusion as it sits in the water.

“You’re quiet today,” he starts, frowning.

Your fingers jerk, sending a line over your paper as you blink, looking up as your heart skips a beat. Glancing at John’s face, the thoughts inside of your head slip until you can understand what he said.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, and the man’s face pulls. “You can speak if you want. I'm just a little distracted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Love, yeah?” John grunts, hands shifting over the stone. He looks you up and down, tail sitting still below him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” your lips mumble, and you shake your head. “It’s one of my questions again.” You pause, closing your book. “A difficult one.”

John’s lips flicker. “Well, we’ve been at this for ages. Can’t see how this one is more difficult than the others.” He nods softly, voice a low and somewhat smooth mutter. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you huff, standing and placing your sketchbook in the driest part of the cave before walking closer. Bending right in front of John, your face is tight. The man likes it like this—having you closer. He can feel the heat roll off you, and his eyes flutter even when nothing on his face gives away the pull he senses in his chest.

John hums and swallows stiffly.

“Why not?” His head tilts, and he clears his throat to get rid of the raspy scrape of his vocals. “Something going on up there?”

Up there.

The Merman had asked about Redthorpe, as well as the rest of the people who lived there. The atmosphere, the way of life. Your meetings were more of an exchange of information and stolen glances than anything else, the other none the wiser to this magnetic attraction. It was a delicate thing, knowing that there was something more and yet unable to fully express the way it makes you feel. Neither of you knows what to call it.

“More so in here,” you smile tinily, pointing at your head as your cheeks grow hot.

“Then speak to me,” John frowns, trying a low smirk. “Think we both know I’m a good listener then, Love. There’s time,” he glances at the entrance. “Won’t be near dark for a few more hours—don’t want you climbing at night.”

“Awe,” you breathe, beaming suddenly with that glint back in your eyes. John hides the sagging of his shoulders, only offering a hum under his breath as he looks over at you. His kelp-like fins twitch, and he wonders what it would feel like to have you touch them. It was obvious you wanted to.

Not yet.

“Hurry up, Sunshine,” John grinds out, that accent all the more sandy.

There’s a small grunt and a shuffle, and, soon, a warm body is plotting itself next to his own, arm touching his, and a pair of bare feet slipping into the pool. Blue eyes widen in surprise, head darting to where your form rests so simply—so near the crook of his shoulder that he could reach over and draw you to him if he so wanted.

Your feet shift as the hem of your skirt gets soggy with water, and John barks out a firm, “You’re going to get cold.”

“It’s not as cold here as it is out there,” you shrug to him, smiling with a side-eye. “Besides, I’m right next to you—you’ll keep me warm, won’t you, John?”

“Fucking hell,” he puffs out, shaking his head as he rips it forward once more, clenching his jaw. Your scent seeps into his nose, and when your leg slips along the side of his scales under the water, he all but goes a blank-faced scarlet.

You hide a chuckle, shivering at the chill but more so at the unimaginably smooth sensation of John’s tail over your flesh. Your legs move through the water to cross at the ankles, your right hand resting to directly touch John’s left. With every pump of your blood, his own mirrors.

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks.

“There’s a woman that no one speaks about in Redthrope,” you begin, and John settles to listen, brows furrowing in concentration as your skin sits so well next to his own. “Eleanor.”

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

“And for some reason,” you sigh out a low breath, turning to look at John and his still face; emotionless. “Everyone seems to blame you for whatever happened to her. I don’t know if she’s missing, or…”

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

Not noticing any chance on John’s face, you lightly bump him with your elbow, expression going concerned. “Hey, are you alright?” Your opposite hand raises, moving out between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I would just really appreciate anything you might know about it.” Eyes imploring, your heart pours itself. “I don’t think you’d do something like that.”

John blinks slowly, finally opening his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

“If you were some murderous creature,” you shrug, “I don’t think you would have tried to pull me out of the ocean in the first place.” Lashes caressing your cheeks, you smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the man huffs, quirking a brow. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Knew it,” you whisper, eyes crinkling as you side-eye him.

John chuckles, half rolling his eyes as he leans to your ear as he grumbles. “Gettin’ cheeky, are you?”

If you were a bird, you’d be preening your feathers, eyelids narrowed. “Perhaps, John.”

It is a wonder, then, that the two of you don’t lock lips that very instant—long fins curling around legs and shoulders stuck together, pinkies unconsciously sitting atop the others as if pieces of parchment. Blue eyes shift smoothly to your lips, but before you can register that they have, John’s head is already moving back and his spine is straight.

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull.

“I knew of a woman named Eleanor—she would come down with her husband, Noah, and they would walk along the shore. Got close to this place a few times.” Dark brows tighten. “Found her body in the water after a storm about two years ago; brought it back to the rocks so someone could retrieve it.” Your face loosens as the information settles in. John makes a noise in his chest. “Interesting that I’d be roped into it, but it’s understandable. Always someone to blame, eh?”

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper. “That must have been horrible.”

Blue slips over to you silently, and it’s a long moment before John only hums under his breath, blinking away softly.

“Scared me when you fell in.” Listening, your heart clenches in your ribs. To think about what must have been going through his head at that instant was sad to you, and even worse so when you know he would have blamed himself if you might have ended up seriously hurt.

“Well,” you lean into him, face on fire, “it was a good thing you were there to drag me out, then. A little water never hurt anyone, so long as a handsome merman is there to take them back to shore.”

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

“Oh, very,” you joke. “The tail is a bonus.” Your expression lightens, eyes glinting. “Since when did you know that navy is my favorite color?”

The feeling of the cold water is only a back-drop to the way John’s fins twitch against your bare legs intimately, and you chuckle as the beard can only hide so much red skin.

“Bugger off,” he grunts.

You’ve never heard a smile so clearly before in your life.

—

Your paintings were selling far better than they ever had, and you had to thank the new muse of them for that fact.

John’s appearance in your work had started small—a glimpse of a fin, the presence of a shadow in the water—and had steadily grown. Now, hidden like a present, there was the image of some fishtailed man somewhere in all of them, a steady injection of magic into the veins of cerulean blue and ivory black. It showed you that fewer people knew about John than you had previously thought.

Initially, you had imagined that everyone knew and the reason you didn’t was because you were relatively new here, but no. Most had been enamored by your work when they found the ‘strange fish-man’ in one, pointing and chucking to themselves, talking about how adorable it was. No one was shocked, no one sent looks.

By the end of the week, you had been convinced that it had been narrowed down to Otto and the Librarian—

The bell of your shop dings.

Looking up from your easel, you smile and stand automatically, thinking about closing soon so you can go and see John. Nowadays, even the thought of him makes your blood pump heavy.

“How can I help you today, Sir?” Your brushes find the side table you had set up, locking eyes with a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He wears a suit, and in his breast pocket, there’s the gleam of a gold chain attached to a pocket watch.

“I’m here to ask about a detail in your paintings, Miss.” He’s well-spoken as well, and you’re shocked to know you haven't met him yet if he lived in Redthorpe—he doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Of course,” you nod, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I think I missed your name.”

“Noah Moore,” is the even response. Noah is already walking around, bending to look into some of your work which hangs on the wall. “My neighbor brought home one of your pieces; I found I liked it very much. Had even considered commissioning.”

Noah? You blink slowly, watching. Wasn’t that Eleanor’s husband?

“Thank you,” your lips move, thinning. “That’s very high praise, Mr. Moore.”

“This creature,” Noah stands, and dark eyes set on you. For some reason, the hair along your arms stands on end. “The man with a fish tail. Have you seen him?”

Your instant reaction is to lie, and that in and of itself is a telltale sign that something is wrong. Noah makes the alarm in the back of your head go off for no reason other than the way he’s trying to pry with that unblinking gaze of his. The rich apparel; the attitude. He isn’t right.

“Seen him?” Chuckles echo off the walls. “Who? The beast? No, Sir, that…thing…is just something I made up.” You wave a hand, but back up a step, trying to create distance. Your hip lightly bumps the side table, and your materials jerk. Gasping under your breath, your head snaps down, catching your brush before it can fall. “Oh my, clumsy me.” you laugh stiffly. “Apologies, Sir, but that’s the truth. I wanted to create something that all of Redthrope might enjoy; a local legend of sorts, see.”

Your eyes had siphoned back with a dread in your heart. The man mutely stares, a deep frown pulling his lips. As if the conversation had never happened, after a long stretch of tension, Noah smiles widely.

“Ah,” he huffs, “of course. It was silly of me to ask.” Dark eyes are emotionless, and the pull of his eyelids is not there. Spine so tight it could snap in half, and your fingers curl around the brush before you place it down stiffly. “Though,” Mr. Moore clicks his tongue, taking one step closer.

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. Your mind flashes to John, and there’s a longing for the ocean so strong, it seems a good idea to you, to rush out the door right now and sprint for it; hurl yourself to the waves, if need be. He’d find you—you know he would.

“Though,” Noah continues, tilting his head. “There is a striking resemblance to a creature I recall seeing from the cliffs, the day my wife’s body was found at the rocks.”

Backing up another step, your muscles ache with how you hold them like a shield to your organs.

“As far as I know, only two others were searching at my side that day. And in it I am certain,” he hums, “you weren’t even here.”

Otto and the librarian, you think quickly, mind a mess of information and fear. It’s why they’re so spooked. They think John actually killed Eleanor and left her—they saw him bring her body to shore.

It’s a lack of foresight on your part, that the next bark is more of a reaction to the panic than proper knowledge, cracking under pressure.

“John would never kill an innocent woman!”

It’s as if a switch goes off, and, suddenly, there’s a ruthless hand grabbing at your throat. Yelping, you stagger back and snap your fingers to Noah’s wrist, clawing until there’s blood under your nails; air is sucked in with a wheeze. In the back of your head, there’s wild screaming, and you can’t tell if it’s the pounding of your blood or the internal sensation of primal fear.

Raging eyes shove themselves right in front of yours, faces so close you can feel Noah’s hot breath moving over your burning face. You try to cough but find you can’t as one of your hands struggles to slap to the side table—searching fruitlessly.

“John?” Noah sneers, holding tighter. “The thing has a name?”

Your easel clatters to the ground, back being shoved right into it. Mouth opening and closing, the cut of oxygen reduces your mind to acting purely off instinct—breaking down like glass to fracture to only one thing: survival.

“It was perfect,” Mr. Moore growls, eyes ablaze. “I had it all planned out, only to be ruined by a freak of nature at the last moment!”

Your nails gouge the wood, dragging, searching, slapping. Anything—anything at all to help as your boots scrape from under you. You can’t even comprehend the words being said; all of it is a blur as blackness peels the side of your vision.

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

“Two years, and then you had to come along and fucking speak to it! What did it tell you? Eh? What did it see that night?”

Your hand curls the glass bottle where you store your brushes and without another thought, you slam the side of it to Noah’s head.

Shouting, the man releases you in an instant, glass leaving long lines of blood splattering out to sprinkle your face as it shatters, collapsing into itself. Connecting to the ground, your hacking can only take place for under two seconds before your boots scramble for purchase, stumbling and flailing at least once; lungs gasping.

Shoulder connecting with the side of the door frame as you bang it open, an enraged scream follows you into the rainy afternoon, the rumble of deadly thunder far overhead.

Running, you don’t know how to stop, and it’s even harder to catch your breath by the time you’re down to the rocks, looking over your shoulder as if Noah would be right behind you. He wasn’t—but the fear was enough to keep you going until you were bathed in sweat and barely strong enough to fall into the entrance of John’s cave, fingers cut up and raw from grappling over stone.

There’s a quick call of your name from across the enclosed space, but your ears are ringing too loud to hear—whipping around to stare at the entrance as you struggle back on your hands, legs shaking.

“Love!”

Your eyes slash to the side, and through the quivering of your lashes, through the blur of tears, you lock onto the desperate slash of grayish-blue that’s a near-perfect reflection of the ocean itself. Painting, the realization comes a moment too late, as pale fingers touch your cheek and you flinch back with a deep pain in your neck.

Pulsing veins echo along your entire body, but there, at the point of where hands had wrapped your flesh, it burned with a horrible fire that made thin noise escape your lips.

“Hey,” John breathes, having dragged himself at a moment’s notice across the floor of the cave. “Hey,” he repeats slower, eyes slashing you up and down for any sign of injury.

His hand is outstretched, but he doesn’t try to touch you again seeing how you’d jerked away. The man’s heart had stopped at that—his concern shooting up similar to how he felt when you’d raced through the entrance as if a fire was on your heels. A near panic at the fear on your face, leaving his body on high alert; eyes skating the surrounding quickly.

But the splatters of blood on your face were something to reduce him to an enraged beast.

“What is going on,” he tries to keep the rough anger from his tone, attempting to leave it soft and smooth. There’s only so much he can do, though, as you shake and pant.

Your body gradually slows itself, attention seeping back to allow you to take control of your limbs. The first thing you see clearly is John’s outstretched hand, and, then, the clench of his jaw—the eyes that follow every teardrop down the flesh of your cheek.

Openly gazing, when John sees you’re back, his blues slip to a softened caress.

“Love,” he mutters, face tight.

You shove yourself into his arms and let off a sob that echoes louder than any laughter could. Curling into his chest, water seeps into your shirt, but the all-expansive hand that keeps you close is worth every clothesline you would have to hang.

“Shh,” John breathes, knowing that he’d get an explanation when he calmed you down, even if his mind was breaking itself to try and understand. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Breathe, then…I’m right here, yeah?”

His nose pushes itself into your scalp as your head hides away, quivering body curled like a cat around a fish—no air between the two of you, chests running across the others. So little space, and yet this breathlessness was one you could welcome time and time again.

John watches, eyes always open as he glares into your hair, grip tightening the longer you cry; a feeling so potent brimming in his chest, he would be a fool to ignore it.

You were more precious to him than any ring, than any trinket he could stash away and forget about. The way his heart bent to yours was stronger than any storm.

Breathing down your scent, John sighed, kissed the top of your head, and lightly rocked you back and forth.

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

When it became apparent you couldn’t speak beyond broken little coughs and wheezes, John was quick to bring you to the water of the pool.

Now, perhaps hours later, you sit with the burn and fatigue of crying eyes, sniffling as you shove away the stain of red on your cheeks.

“Careful,” John lightly comments, grasping your hand and pulling it away. His own replaces it, wet from the water he now wades in to help. “Let me get it, eh?”

Your eyes stay stuck to his nose as fingers push away the crimson of blood easily, firm but still utterly delicate.

“I’m not glass,” you croak, one hand near your throat.

Blue eyes blink at you. “Never said you were,” he grunts, frowning, and you see his Adam’s Apple bob. “Don’t like seeing you with blood on your face, Love.”

Like it had never happened, the fingers return, and a moment later, he grumbles out, “And stop talking—you’ll make it worse.”

You hadn’t explained, not yet, but by the utter rage you see John trying to hide from you, you know he understands how you might have gotten the swelling now present on your neck. His heart had been visibly pumping the entire time you’d been here; you could hear it when he was holding you, a relentless, thump-thump-bump, thump-thump-bump in your ear.

The brunette had been clenching his jaw more as well, grunting as if a boar after every sentence, a nervous habit, perhaps. He was trying to mask it for you, but you weren’t blind.

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat.

He studies your face after he hums under his breath, having to dart his gaze away for a moment.

“...Can I?” You pause, swallowing as the burn persists.

Nodding after a minute of slow contemplation, cold hands shift to press carefully—not tightening, not holding you there—resting to give relief. You only tense a little, but as the seconds draw, John watches you sag forward with a large sigh through your nose.

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

“Easy,” John whispers, blinking. He keeps the chill of his hands at your neck, fins shifting the water to keep him still. “When you’re ready, explain it to me, eh?” His head tilts, voice a low tease. “Glass or not.”

Your lips twitch, and the way your eyes melt could only be compared to safety. You open your lips, and John mutters lowly as your fingers brush over his own, “Quietly, now. Can hear just fine—don’t push yourself.”

Blue flickers to your touch, fingertips trailing his knuckles as the man grunts, attention fluttering back.

All you say is one name.

“Noah.”

There’s a moment of confusion on John’s face, skin wrinkling, before the understanding settles swiftly—he wasn’t a fool. From there, his expression changes ten times over; that rage, then fear for you, confusion, and stubbornness. It’s of little surprise to you that a man so loyal was reduced to a dog.

A dog with scales, that is.

Your body is still running hot—your heart still pumping, though the adrenaline has left with all of its stimulation. You’re tired, yes, that much is obvious. But you want John to hold you again.

When you shift your body, the man’s eyes widen, and he blinks quickly in shock as your legs then slip into the waves inch by inch.

A noise exits the back of his throat, and John’s mouth moves in serious question. “What are you doing? Fucking hell, would you just stay still and let me have a look at you—”

Arms grapple around his waist, and a warm head burrows into his neck.

You rest against him, body suspended in the water of the deep pool, a merman’s tail swishing to shove you the tiniest bit closer unconsciously. John’s chest bounces with every emotion, but all he does is stop you from sinking by holding you. Your eyes close at the dig of his hands, and, letting the water move the both of you, the smooth scales along your legs feel as if the finest silk. A thumb caressing up and down your spine; breath at the top of your head.

You both say nothing, and it’s a long while before either of you takes any action to leave.

—

When your words could be strung together and not broken every other sentence, you explained all of it, and the hunch you’d strung together in the meantime.

You fiddle with one of John’s rings—the emerald one—as you glance up and speak softly, voice still delicate. The pain still blossomed, but some things needed to be explained.

“I think he killed his wife.”

By the way John stops massaging the flesh of your neck, letting you rest your head in the crook of where his tail begins and skin ends, you knew he already pieced that together a while ago. Your clothes were still heavy with water, and a puddle had formed around the both of you on the rocks.

“Hm,” is all John says, fixing the position of his lips as he looks away.

He shakes his head, growling out, “You’re not going back up there. Not while he’s still walking the streets.”

You frown, but John glares without any venom. “It wasn’t a question, Love.”

“What will you do,” you whisper, voice hoarse. A brow quirks. “Run after me, John?”

The man stares, not taking it as lightly as you. “If I have to.”

Your breath hitches, hands resting numbly over the ring as John’s fingers once again continue their touching—as if he can rub away the swelling; the damage of the veins.

“You don’t have legs,” you utter, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to breathe deeply.

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

His face is immobile. “Then I’ll bleed.”

Your mind memorized the stubbornness of his expression—the pull of the crow’s feet beside his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of a joke in John’s eyes; no lie. Watching him, your face is loose with wonder, and water drips from your temple to connect with those dark navy scales, glinting with the light from the outside sun growing low.

The ring in your hands is frozen, stopping its turning as your pulse soars.

John licks the corner of his mouth, glancing at the item of gold and green.

“Keep it,” he mutters, tilting his head to the ring. “More of a use to you.”

Larger fingers capture yours, and in one deft motion, the elegant item is slipped onto your digit, sitting comfortably as if made just for you.

John shrugs. “The rest of ‘em, too, if you want the damn things.” His blues card over the view of your hand, and imagines fingers filled with every bit of gold and silver obtainable to him, brought up from the ocean just to sit pretty atop your flesh. Necklaces, bracelets, belts, and accessories; the things he’d seen from far distant waters.

Oh, but they’d pale in comparison to how you would wear them.

A muse to a song. A painter to a portrait.

A women to the water.

He’d seen your latest sketches—you’d brought them down to him here—and when you were exploring this cave, he had taken a peak. Unlike him, yes, but there was a pull to it, that parchment bound by leather. He’d not seen anything like it, and as he had watched you work on occasion, he was entranced as he’d listened to you explain it. You’d told him that you could even manipulate color, and that had left his eyes widening in awe.

You were incredible, and when he saw his own likeness littering page after page, John had been unable to take his eyes off of you. A silent appreciation—a voiceless devotion. He’d never been…captured like this, so to speak. A mirror image. Details he didn’t even know himself, and yet there they were.

Beauty marks across his cheeks and nose, the scars that littered his flesh that he’d all but forgotten about, the list was endless.

But he looks at you now, and he can understand why there’s a draw to immortalize the mortal.

His fingers stay at yours, and they brush skin as they dip along your hand, falling to your wrist. You stare up into his eyes, he stares down into yours. There’s little air to be taken in between the two of you.

“John,” you utter, blue gaze stuck to your lips.

He hums, tilting his head, his body looming over yours like a shadow. By the time his face is so near to yours, you don’t want to fight it, you don’t want to think about the strangeness of this predicament you’ve found yourself in—a creature living in the cliffs, handsome and half-inhuman.

When smooth lips brush over yours, and your eyelashes begin to flutter, the shouts from outside break whatever spell had just started weaving itself.

Head snapping up, John’s body tenses as you push upward quickly. Attention slashing to the cave entrance, it’s not long before you realize what’s going on with a sharp breath and a leap to your pulse.

The smash of something connecting to rocks echoes like a feral killing song. Yells. Yowls.

“John,” you say hurriedly, flinching from the pain in your throat. Your eyes dart to his tension-ridden form, his arms wrapping above your body. “You need to run,” you choke out. “Go! Quickly!”

You only get a glance, and the clench of his jaw is as stubborn as it always is. Your brain already knows it’s fruitless. He won’t leave you here alone.

“They’ll kill you!” Your hands push at his chest, finger grasping at the bristle of hair to try and shove at an iron will.

“Stay under me,” John mutters, voice low and nothing more than a chilled order. Yet, even he knows there’s little that he’d be able to do. His eyes flashed to every trinket and bauble he had collected, the new ones he’d yet to show to you, but there was few in the way of weapons. A dagger or two from a trench, a sword from under a ship—a spearhead. All too far away and rusted for it to even matter.

There was a sharp feeling in John’s chest. A need. An oath that he gave to himself the moment he’d seen the way your little stick could breathe his image onto a sheet made of fibers.

He was to watch over you whenever you were in his sights, and that had extended itself to gliding through the water as he watched you climb and grunt your way to his cave; a careful eye that he had no need to tell you about. That was just how he was.

“John!” You try to bark again, growing desperate.

Yet, it was already too late, and the merman hadn’t shifted even an inch before Noah, Otto, and the Librarian burst through the entrance like bats from hell. They hold all manner of weapons, though the more you blink in a panic, the less afraid of them you seem, at the very least, the older man and the woman.

Otto held a cut-up and dented club, nothing more than something you’d keep for a home invasion beside the bed—the Librarian, a heavy book that seemed to contain every bit of information available to the world, so large it strained in her hands. Noah, though, was a different story.

He had a sharp, long knife and eyes that could cut flesh by themselves.

Half of Mr. Moore’s face was sliced up, cuts leaking blood to the ground—skin hanging and an eye completely poked with glass; shards in its gentle makeup.

You swallow saliva and stutter through a shaking breath, and John’s glare could burn cities as he feels it reverberating against him.

“There!” Noah shouts, balking closer. “See! I knew it was here—seducing the next woman to take to the ocean!”

Your wide eyes try to take it all in, hands slapping the ground sending droplets of collected water flying. John’s face hones in, digging in like how the glass from your brush container had into Noah’s visage, and, somehow, you think that dead stare can cause more damage. Grasping the merman’s waist, you attempt and silently urge him to go.

“Girl!” Otto calls quickly, eyes darting from you to John and back. Even if you could yell, you’re not sure you would. You wouldn’t even know what to say. “Get away from it!”

“I’d put that down,” John grunts to Noah, disregarding the old man and the librarian entirely. He clenches his jaw. “‘Fore you end up hurting yourself. Leave.”

“Otto,” you start, glancing at the woman beside your friend who looked like she was about to pass out when John had started to speak. The man in question’s face pulls, wrinkles thinning. “You have to listen to me, please, it’s not how Mr. Moore told you—”

“It speaks!” Noah barks, pointing his knife harder at John. “Freak of nature, it already has its hold on her.”

“Oh my,” the Librarian gasps. “Noah, it’s horrible—look at the tail.”

Your eyes flare with rage as John doesn’t react.

“Hey!” You shout, but instantly slap your free hand to your throat, coughing raggedly until your spine hunches. The merman brings you closer, but you’re already pushing until you’re on your feet, stumbling for a moment as John gives you a sharp look.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” you grid out, glaring, whipping your hands to get rid of the water droplets. Noah licks his lips as John grabs onto the back of your knee, fingers resting firmly. Sending a look down to him, your shoulders loosen at the expression he levels. You can almost hear the words.

Steady. Keep your head on.

Though, a slash of silent pride made your heart stutter a small bit.

Your eyes glint. “Drop your weapons,” your sentence is crackling but nonetheless sharp. “Leave. John is innocent—he told me all of it.” You turn to Otto. “Mr. Moore attacked me in my shop, I smashed a glass container into his head so he would release me.” Otto tenses, club getting strangled by his fingers.

“Noah killed Eleanor,” you breathe, John’s grip pulling a bit tighter as if sensing something you have yet to see. Noah shifts quickly, boots squeaking along the rock as he growls.

“Absurd—!”

“He pushed her over the rocks and blamed John when he saw him bringing back her body,” you interrupt as fast as you can, pain bouncing off your throat. “You all saw it on the shore, the lie was simple enough for a man like him. Saying she drowned to a creature.”

It didn’t surprise you that John was quiet, that he was studying more the stance of men instead of talking or trying to defend himself. While he could be hard-headed and stiff, he was never dull—he never missed ques. So when Noah launched himself at you, Otto and the Librarian more confused and concerned than anything, there was only a heavy push on the back of your knee that left you buckling with a gasp, and then the explosion of water as John sent you both quickly to the water.

Hands whipping to snare around the merman’s shoulders, you’re only able to get a quick breath in before you’re completely enveloped in water, with John’s hand setting itself over your mouth just in case. The sudden rush is comparable to a heavy wind, yet far more cold and nearly like a slap to the back of your spine.

You both disappear into the deep with a spray, Noah’s muffled yells of terror seen far above near the surface, arms captured by the Librarian and Otto—held at his sides. There’s a flash of those dark eyes, horrible things, and then John’s fins hide the rest as they slash through the water.

When you both resurface, retreating far back near the watery entrance of the cave, John keeps you firmly behind him, your arms around his waist as you gasp for air. He keeps his head slightly turned to the side—always having you in the corner of his vision. Above the spread of his shoulders, you peek softly, legs suspended below.

“Lier!” Noah screams, face contorted. “She’s lying!”

You look at Otto and see the grim way he’s already looking back, struggling to keep the younger individual from breaking free. He was sensical, but stubborn in his ways. Otto had a choice just as the librarian did—believe a woman who’d been here a year or someone they’d known nearly their entire lives.

“Noah,” Otto grunts, gritting his teeth. “Breathe, boy! Stop spitting, let her speak—”

The knife in Noah’s hands slashes the air, and suddenly there’s a yell from the librarian and a spray of blood.

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching.

The old man stumbles, hoarsely crying out as he grasps at his neck. Your eyes widen, mouth ajar as John pushes his hand into your head, shoving it into the back of his hair as he watches blankly, eyes glinting with a deadly hate.

“Don’t move,” he utters quickly, sternly, to you as your breath breaks, mouth slack to stare at nothing. Scales skate your legs, great kelp-like fins curling your ankle. “Keep still. Focus on my words, Love.” Under his breath is a tight, “Fuck!”

John speaks above the gargling—the spillage of blood to stone. He mutters through the screams of the Librarian as Noah slips trying to run to the entrance, scrambling with bulging eyes.

“Don’t look,” John says to you lowly, shifting his body as he keeps your face hidden away and let him hold you like a corpse to the earth. The sounds…oh, the sounds were horrible.

But the man holding you tries very hard to hide them.

Your body quivers violently as the slam of a body hits the ground, the frantic calling of the woman still here with the both of you; the loud calls from the fleeing murder outside the walls.

“That’s it,” John’s fast lips are on the top of your head, muttering and trying to make his voice as even as possible. “That’s it, then. Doing good, don’t move until I say so, alright?”

When you don’t answer, only shoving your visage deeper into his neck, his spine-breaking-hold squeezes once, and his pounding heart bounces opposite yours. You don’t have to say you know him to understand that he’s only holding onto a thread of good manners, and that was certainly only for our own sake.

Otto was dead.

John leads you out, the gold and emerald of your ring glinting in the moonlight as he holds your body to his, the powerful make of his tail doing the work as it shines in the water. He leaves you outside, where the still running form of Noah is visible, yet the only person noticing is John himself. Your hands are so shaky that it would be impossible to hold your sketchbook, let alone a pencil.

John takes one of them as Mr. Moore gets too close to the shoreline, slipping and getting his foot caught in between two stones. He panics, yelling loudly, as water is lapping up to his knee.

“Hey, hey, you hear me?” John asks, uncaring to the man, as he sets you down softly on a flat rock shelf. Fingers move to sit at your chin, and, through tight sniffles, you make delicate eye contact. He blinks, trying a tight smile—a flash nothing more. “There she is. Good...I need you to listen one last time, yeah? Just like before; don’t look until I say so.” Your face creases lightly, blinking through a haze of senses and horror. Otto was dead.

The man that brought you out on his boat—the man that cooked you fish and acted as if a guardian to you. His cat, who would take care of her? It seemed a silly thought given the circumstances, but you can’t stop your mind from running. The house, the boat, the cat. The blood.

“There’s nothing out here that can hurt you,” John grunts, grasping your hands and holding them, letting calluses and scars speak. “So long as I’m here, I won’t let it.”

He nearly growls out the words. In one movement, he puts your hand to his heart, and your brain latches onto the rhythm as your own rampages in your ears.

Noah is still screaming, but now it’s for help.

John’s voice lowers as he utters, “Hey,” the man licks his lips, eyes dancing to the side every once and a while. You stare, swallowing down bile. He says as fluidly as possible, keeping constant locked gazes.

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

Fingers glide down your neck again, feeling that swelling, and just as you register the kiss that’s leveled to your hand, to that gifted ring, John’s already away; his tail slipping over your flesh, fins gripping, writhing with their film.

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice.

The rising screams from Mr. Moore are numb to you, and the following wave of water that swallows him is only accented by the hand that grapples for his neck.

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

With the Librarian's newfound cooperation, the story became simple.

Mr. Moore, distraught over the death of his wife, had finally lost it all when down on the beach with Otto, yourself, and the local Librarian—attacking and killing the old man in response to being so near to where he and his wife always traveled to. Afterward, he’d walked into the sea and had taken his own life.

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it.

You sold Otto's house a week after his death, seeing as he’d named you the sole inheritor of his estate and belongings. There was no need for two properties, and sitting in that small place was akin to torture. After all, he’d been doing what he thought was right, and dying for a lie is nothing short of cruel to those left behind who knew the truth.

Harriet stays in the shop with you, where she’ll probably live out the rest of her nine lives peacefully. She’s quite fond of the fireplace.

Most days, people find you near the water, and it’s something that wasn’t going to change even after Noah’s body was found in the rocks—freakishly close to where Eleanor’s had been. Some were calling it poetic and you’d have to agree…but for different reasons.

“You shouldn’t be giving me all of these,” you huff months later, sitting on the rock looking out over the water. A large collection of John’s trinkets is piled high in a wrapping of seaweed, shining bright as you mess with your pencil, leaning to stare at him.

John’s lips flicker into a smirk. He hums, content to watch you, from where he rests not an inch away. You lean into him, sighing, as the innumerable glinting rings on your fingers shimmer.

“Want to,” he grumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you look back down to your book, three of four replicas of the man’s scale pattern sitting, shaded and duplicated—lifelike. His tail sways with the water, half of it lost below.

Your hands reach for them now, the scales closest to you, and you lightly poke and prod as John grunts above you, silent but willing in a way that speaks volumes. He’d let no one else touch him like this for the rest of his life—the softness of your fingers and the care on your face more precious than gold. You revered that tail of his; as if it gave over magic like a wishing well.

Shivering, John’s breath hitches as your exploring moves, pushing lightly at where the top of his hips would be.

Your talent was fascinating to him, just as you were. If you wanted to ‘paint’ him, he’d allow you to do all the studies needed. Not only to give you a distraction….but because he can’t bear to be away from you anymore. It makes him nervous, and that in itself is an incredible feat.

“Where do you come from, John,” your question moves the air, and the man moves to pull your jacket higher up your body to stave off the chill. You glance at him, smiling, before your attention returns to your drawings. Sketching more, John resets his lips and tries not to stare at your face. It was getting harder to deny that pull.

That near kiss.

“No answer, Love.” You stare as he quirks a lip, voice lowering. “I won’t be going back to distant waters anytime soon.”

John glances down at your sketchbook, seeing every scratch and bend of care. The both of you were strange creatures, perhaps. Unique—made for one another despite the obvious.

He nods his head to it softly. The water laps at your boots from below, but you care little before John shifts your feet carefully further up with a push from his tail. You chuckle at him breathily, face heating.

“Getting water on you, Love,” he breathes. “New painting soon?” John asks when the silence settles once more, with you shifting your legs to sit under you. He still isn’t sure what painting entails, but you had told him that you would show him soon, so he knows to be patient. But yearning for anything regarding you is ingrained into his mind now—instinct.

“Mhm,” you smile softly, sending a look at your paper and the images. A huff escapes your mouth. “I think I’ll make this one a portrait.”

John blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Portrait? Why’s that?”

Your lips find his, moving back up in an instant.

For a second, the man’s surprised eyes pull back; only lowering as he hums moments later, fingers curling up under your chin as he sags. Lids flutter closed, and his tail twitches lightly.

“I have a subject that’s caught my eye.” You mutter into his flesh when you pull back, face burning as deep blues sear your mind, turning it into mush. Your skin tingles as chilled digits trail your chin, dripping water down your healed throat.

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on.

“And I’d be a fool if I let him swim off.”

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

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lodisama · 1 year

Text

RIDICULOUS (x.t)

xavier thorpe x reader (no pronouns mentioned)

summary: reader is wednesday's cousin, or rather, uncle fester's child. you have transferred to nevermore, and on your first week, you meet someone. this turns into forming a secret alliance wednesday can't know.

reader has the same powers as uncle fester (electricity)

Being around people who stare at you like your some animal zoo wasn’t really on my list, especially when they’re the same kind as you. An outcast or, a so called freak. I would’ve enjoyed this more if I did something terrible. But for some reason these people love peculiar blood lines.

I exit the door to the school indoors, and there I enter the quad. Where every student of monsters imaginable hang out. I loathe the gossips, but love the stares. Everyone turned their heads to me, then there was silence. I look around to muster in the atmosphere. It’s not that I think highly of myself. It’s just they make me feel highly than what they are. I felt a dark aura behind me, making its way next to me. I turn to my side, “Wednesday, my beloved cousin.” I turn my head back to the students, smiling, not at them but at her presence.

She has always made me feel wanted and seen, though we had different interests, she never failed to make me feel fit in.

“Y/n, it’s lovely to see you again.” Her hands clinged together, hanging down.

Her voice monotone, though I know her words were sincere. “How is the first week in this hellhole full of surprises?” She asked, sounding almost displeased. I sigh, not upset in any case. “Surprisingly good. Though my roommate appears to be a no-sleep enjoyer.” She hums, raising her eyebrows.

Silence fell after that, but then a familiar platinum blond, with colorful tips comes hopping our way. “Y/n, hope you don’t mind me borrowing Wednesday from you.” She smiles excitedly.

I return her kind smile, “No not at all, you may take her.” I see Wednesday look uncomfortable, but she let it happen. “Thank you!” Edin holds Wednesday by her shoulder, as they walk away to a bench. I walk to a pillar next to a wall art, standing beside the pillar. I felt electricity fuzz on my shoulder, making me flinch. I step back to see who it was

“What the…”— He looks down my size.—“Oh”

I hum, seeing the man. Tall, tall enough to be a tree, hair tied up, miserable eye bags, chiseled face. “No sorry? I apologize, I didn’t see you’s?” He raises his eyebrows, with a confused yet maintained calm tone. “Have you heard me say anything?” I respond, which he raises his eyebrows at this. He licks the inside of his cheek, muttering a silent Alright. He seemed used to it.

He turns around, and continued on painting the wall, the crow impressively detailed. He coated its background with a different shade of blue. I stare, blankly following his every move. “Please stop looking, I can feel your eyes,” The man lets out a breathy chuckle, still focused on the painting. My face hardens by the feeling of getting caught.

“My apologies.” I clutch on the bind of the book I was holding.

I didn’t give him time to say something, not that I was expecting him to. I turned around and went in a different turn of the quad.

Though I didn’t see it, he smiled unevenly when I apologized.

━ ━ ━✦❘༻༺❘✦━ ━ ━

"Do you know where it is?" Wednesday ask in a stern, yet eager voice. "Of course. Dad always told me stories about this school." Her eyes practically glew when I said that. "Will you please show me?" She blurted. "It's in that secret headquarters full of Nightshade wanna be's. " I slowly walk up the stairs, making sure my voice was low. She nods, satisfied with my answer. "I need you and Thing to get it for me. Weems has me on a radar right now." She stops next to the railings, looking at me. "Do you mind?" I smile at her, shaking my head a no "I don't mind , Wednesday". "Thank you." She whispers. As I look around, I saw Xavier looking at the both of us from the other side of the railings. My face turns stoic, as I inhale sharply.

"So I just snap two times?" I asked Wednesday. "Yes, you'll need this." She confirms, handing me a flashlight. Thing crawls on my shoulder, giving me a thumbs up. Got it I responded. I face the statue, snapping two times. The statue slowly moved backwards, revealing a spiral staircase on the right side. I checked to look at my back. Wednesday was already gone. I exhale, walking to the stairs, the dark room full of paintings and the smell of old books greeted me. I point my flashlight to the wall, seeing every painting of whom I assume to be the parents of these students, which I familiarly recognize.

Unfortunately my father, didn’t possess the academic aptitude to be here, but I am grateful to be filled with his knowledge about this school, and letting me experience it at least.

My whole body shivers in joy seeing the Nightshade logo on the floor. Pure ecstasy erupted in me. Finally happy to see one of the best stories my father has ever told me, right in front of me. I keep my pace slow, paranoid by the idea of getting caught, but either way, what bliss. I could feel Thing patiently waiting on my shoulder. Suddenly, I hear something shift behind me. I had the instinct to turn around and flash out electricity on my finger, not yet zapping the said noise. "Woah━ woah." The man raises his arms up in the air, moving backwards. "Xavier?" I say breathly, whilst my eyes wide open. I slowly lower my hand, the electricity disappearing on my finger tips. We both pause. A minute of taking heavy breaths. Now that we're all alone, under this dim light, he looks good. Genuinely good. His hair not tied up in a man bun was a foreign sight to see. He was the first one to break the silence. "What are you doing here?" Brows furrowed, voice shaky. I blink profusely, thinking of an answer. Usually I'm great with lying, even at the most unbelievable situations. But right now, I can't just discard him away or say that I was exploring the school. Fuck.

My mouth opens, then it closes again. "Exploring. I couldn't sleep." I say. I try to ignore his eyes. Clearly doubting my excuse. "How did you get in? Not many people can." He asks. I subtly smile "Do you think of me as stupid?" I muse, tilting my head. He stiffens in his position "No━I just━ Forget it, I'm sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "No worries," I blankly say, hiding my laugh. My eyes look around the room, seeing the painting that hides the treasure Wednesday desires. I make my way to it, not caring that he was still behind me. "What are you looking for?" He follows behind me. "This is none of your business." I hold the side of the painting, opening it like a door. "What the hell.." He says in awe. I hadn't even realize it, but Thing was now nowhere in my sight. "Thing?" I call out for him. "Wait, what? What are really here for, Y/n?" His voice now serious. I inhale deeply in exasperation. Turning around, I fuse electricity on my finger, pointing it at him. "Dare to speak a word of this and I will electrocute you in your bath." I threatened, slowly walk towards him. He looks at the blue fuzzing thing on my finger. "Okay, I won't. What can I do to help?" I sigh in annoyance once again, and I think he got the idea, but still stayed. "I prefer to commit theif crime alone." Thing signed, agreeing with me. "Would you rather me tell on Weems?" It's his turn to threaten me now. Though it didn't do much. "She'll lose one of the most rarest outcast, then." I smugly reply. "Trust me no one here needs you," I could hear his smile through those words. I ignore him, and proceeded to do what I was told to do. "Thing, open the safe please." I ordered Thing, and like that he obliged. "Hey, I don't think we're supposed to open that safe." Xavier peers, concerned of some sort. "Then leave." I bent down to the size of the painting or rather, safe. It opened swiftly, revealing the book I needed. I softly gasp, grabbing the book. Flipping through the pages. The pages contain different kinds of beasts. The man behind me slowly made his way next to me, interested in my discovery. My eyes widen as I saw the beast my cousin has been obsessed with. "That's the thing I keep on dreaming about," His voice low. My brows knit together, turning my head to his face level. "You've seen this before?" I ask in curiosity. He nods, "Yeah. I've been drawing them too, it's been on my mind for so long. It's fucking me up." He covers his mouth, faltering his eyes at mine. There was a pause, but then I turned around to look back at the book. I sharply close it, emitting a sound. I grab my bag, putting the book inside. "Thank you, Thing." I looked at the moving hand. Thing crawls back on my shoulder, making himself comfy. "Y'know, you might get caught, right?" Xavier puts his hands inside his jean pockets. "Yes, and the idea excites me." I reply coldly. Xavier snickers at this. "Let's go before anyone notices we're gone." I said. He nods, letting me walk up the stairs first, his tall figure following me behind. We made it out the underground place, and I immediately turn to a different path, but I was abruptly stopped by a hand holding tightly on my wrist. I look at his hand and up at him. "What?" I ask. "Do you have a phone, or are you just like your cousin?" He chuckles lowly. I straighten my position, raising my eyebrows. 'I prefer to be old schooled." I replied. "Letters?" He breathed. Well he catch on quick. "Yes. Why?" pure confusion runs my head. "Expect letters under your door." He drops my hand, now pointing at me. "I'll be ready with a lighter to burn them." I muse once again. "Is that a yes?" He pushed further on. This boy is ridiculous. I nod slowly, I could see and hear his smile through the darkness. "Goodnight Y/n."

#xavier thorpe #wednesday #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe x reader #enid emma myers #nightshades #wednesday 2022 #uncle fester #addams family #no pronouns

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joonipertree · 4 months

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idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

#katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n

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bruciemilf · 1 year

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I headcanon that Bruce, specifically Battinson, cries real easily.

Not only when he's sad; It's actually then when he doesn't cry at all. He cries when he's angry, when he's overstimulated, when he's dissapointed, when scolded and feels like he just let someone down.

Everyone in his life, friends, enemies, and something grey, know this about him. It never bleeds into the Batman, thought.

But it's a well known, universal fact, that every Gothamite knows as divine truth: Bruce Wayne is a crybaby.

Naturally, He cries when happy and proud, too.

Dick learns that when he's 10, and brings back a huge canvas he borrowed (stole) from art class.

The assignment was to illustrate what made them happy. He picked Bruce.

Imagine his surprise when his foster father bursts into tears, gives him a big wet kiss on the cheek, and dashes to his cave, " DON'T LOOK AT ME!"

"...Does he do that a lot?"

Alfred, who didn't even bat an eye, " Only all the time."

Jason learns that when he's 12, holding his favorite copy of Pride and Prejudice, which is DOG EARED. This is a hardback cover, damn it!

" B! How could you! Don't you know better? Are you gonna paint over the Mona Lisa, too?!Seriously,--"

Abruptly, he stops at the first drops of water. Bruce is avoiding his eyes, broad shoulders slouched down, hands fidgeting by his sides. Expression pinched and pained. "...Forgive me."

"Okay," Why does HIS voice sound wrecked and brittle? " I'm gonna go in the time-out corner. And I won't eat any sweets tonight."

" But you love sweets... "

"No sweets! Don't make me. I'll go to sleep with no TV either."

But what really gets to people? Bruce cries when he's embarassed.

"I gotta say, B, " Clark humming, seemingly ignorant to a rather concerning wound. A faint kryptonite nausea still persists, but nothing he can't avoid. " You really saved my behind out there. Good job."

It's obvious Bruce has a doctor's hands; His hands glide stitches confidently, without nervousness, without pause. Healing. That's what Bruce was, at his core.

Still, his heart beats wildly. "...I'm glad you're okay."

Clark, for one, Is delighted. "Are those emotions? Positive ones? Are we having a moment?"

" I did an adequate job. It was nothing special."

" Oh, that's bullshit. Come on, you were amazing! Did you see the guy's face when you blocked the bullet with your batarang? Breathtaking."

"Superman. Enough."

" No, -- listen. 20 guys get their hands on kryptonite and knock me out in 10 minutes. You had them beat in FIVE. Bruce, you were wonderful, --"

He stops immediately when a velvet voice cracks, " Clark,"

He worries that maybe he pushed too much. Forced his way instead of being welcomed. An apology is hot and ready on his lips.

But.

But that cowl only hides so much. That soft, dusty red flushes down to Bruce's chest. Pink skin glows red, shiny with tears, and skilled hands shake.

Clark's heart roars. He's so, so fond of this man.

" Oh, Bruce. Oh, baby."

He can't stop smiling as he listens to Bruce whining in his neck.

#YOUR HONOR. HE IS SO. MEOW MEOW #bruce wayne #battinson #dick grayson #jason todd #batdad #dc #dcu #clark kent #superbat #text #text post #batman #writing #writing prompt #btw only bc some ppl asked me if they could use some of my ideas -- everything is open!! id love to be tagged :D

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mins-fins · 27 days

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OH FUCK YOU CUPID! [PREVIEW].

❝may the best man win!❞

SYNOPSIS: where resident "cupid" zhong chenle wants to cause mayhem, and maybe start a fight too, so he sets up three of the most competitive guys he knows with none other than you. now— they are at each other's throat trying to get your attention, and also score a date with you.

PAIRING: lee jeno, lee donghyuck, & na jaemin x male!reader

GENRE: university au, romantic comedy, sort of matchmaker au??, actually theres angst too, three stubborn boys fight over a very confused one, 00z (besides renjun) going insane over a MAN

WARNINGS: swearing, explicit language, unrealistic romantic situations, childish behavior, somewhat possessive behavior, mentions of sex but no smut, mentions of drinking, an abuse of italics, lots of date crashing

WORD COUNT: 1.5k (preview) | est. 12k–15k (full fic)

NOTES: if you can forgive me for not updating for like two days, take this as my little apology 🙁 yeah so this spawned out of ANOTHER draft i began that hasn't been touched since december, but i reread it and i just sort of changed up the synopsis and love interests!! yeah anyway this is isa's multi-pairing debut, but this is also only a preview, the real thing is much more messy! i can't promise WHEN it's going to come out because i genuinely do have a lot going on.. but it is halfway done! um yeah tysm for waiting for me!! alright bye😖

YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN CONFUSED LIKE YOU ARE NOW. when you heard a knock on your door, accompanied by the sound of two muffled voices bickering behind it, you expected it to be one of your classmates, chenle and jisung coming to ask for another stupid favor, or your lab partner coming to get extra notes for your project. you usually don't let people into your dorm after six pm, mostly because after six pm is time you spend strictly studying, and you do not need distractions when you're gonna be up all night losing sleep.

but no, none of that, you guess you aren't that good at predicting your fate.

when you open the door, rubbing your eyes, which hurt from the hours you spent staring down several biology papers, you pause at the sight before you.

there are three boys there, two of them going back and forth whilst one stands silent between them. their arguing must distract them enough that they don't notice you standing in the doorway, staring at the two of them like they're crazy.

"um".

why do you say um? maybe the general confusion of the situation is what makes your brain short circuit in that very moment, but you don't exactly have any actual words you can say. there is no reason these three very attractive guys should be at your doorstep at this time.

as quickly as you utter that word, you regret it, because the two formerly bickering guys turn their heads right towards you, gazes focused on you and only you.

suddenly, it feels like all of your senses heighten, your hands become sweaty, your breathing seems to become louder, and your face heats up to the point that your sure steam is going to start pouring out of your ears.

of course, you recognize the three at your doorstep, but the situation still doesn't click for you.

on the left is na jaemin, resident pretty boy na jaemin, the two of you had a political science together in your sophomore year, and while he did always seem to want to be more than friends, you chalked that up to his habit of looking like he's in love with all of his friends. his flirtatious words and romantic references never meant anything to you, because he's like that with every other pretty guy that goes to your school.

in the middle is lee jeno, class crush lee jeno, you know him because of a get together renjun forced the two of you to be apart of way back in your freshmen year, and while jeno is nothing short of beautiful, he's nothing like jaemin. jeno is less obvious in the romantic department, of course he has so many people falling at his feet, and you can't blame them. he's gorgeous, a true work of art, and the two of you have been told on certain occasions that you'd be a great couple, but nothing ever seemed to come out of that.

and on the right, lee donghyuck, star student lee donghyuck, always the top student, always wins the awards, you unfortunately know him the best out of the three, considering the two of you spent all summer together. it didn't go as well as you wanted it to, some things happened between the two of you that you don't feel like explaining right now. you haven't had a genuine talk since school began, both of you trying hard to erase that little summer fling away from your minds. you think he might be a little insane, much too smart for everyone's own good, but you can't look past his ethereal beauty either.

so what are these three doing on your doorstep on a school night?

before you can ask that exact question, donghyuck answers it for you.

"i'm here to take you out on a date".

you almost collapse onto the floor.

jaemin's eyebrows furrow, and he's quick to turn and glare at the older. "no you're not!"

"yes i am! i got here first!"

"you did not! and even if you did y/n doesn't want to go out with you—"

"i suggest you watch your tone, na".

you blink, dumbfounded at the news bestowed upon you. the two continue their back and forth argument, and your face only heats up more as it dawns on you that they're arguing about you, about taking you out on a date.

you don't know how you stand your ground.

"you too?" you barely manage the words, feeling as if you were about to pass out at any second, and you point your index finger at jeno, the most silent of the bunch.

he only nods. "i was hoping saturday..?"

"that makes no se— wait, you were hoping WHAT!?"

jaemin's screech is enough to make the once stone cold jeno flinch. a look of offense crosses the older lee's face, and any tranquility he had disappeared in an instant. "y/n and i are going out saturday".

"says who!?"

"says me?"

"he didn't even agree to your offer" donghyuck glares daggers at jeno, who imitates his gaze. he's pissed, and so is jeno, and so is jaemin, all three of them are pissed. "don't get so confident".

"it doesn't matter" jeno answers like it's a matter of a fact. "he likes me more than he does you".

"oh yeah?"

"yeah he does" jeno whispers as he leans closer to donghyuck, the words a taunting mantra to the younger, who looks seconds away from punching him. "he wouldn't go on a date with you even if you offered him a hundred dollars".

"you should really watch what you say".

"really? i'd love to see you even try and land a punc—"

"who sent you three here?"

your question is enough to get the two to stop arguing, and they slowly move away from each other. jeno pokes his tongue against the inside of cheek, and donghyuck just crosses his arms, an eye roll accompanying his action. jaemin gives the two a judgmental glance before focusing all of his attention on you again. "chenle".

"chenle?"

"well chenle told me—"

"chenle didn't tell you anything".

"how are you so sure? if i remember correctly, you said you weren't into y/n" jaemin grits his teeth, eyes pointed at donghyuck, who scoffs, humored by the words.

"since when? i'm the only one here whose ever done anything with y/n, you're too busy around with other guys and jeno's too much of a coward to confess".

"please, coward? if you're so in love with y/n maybe you should've told him that instead of ghosting him, that's pretty cowardly behavior".

you watch the three begin going back and forth, absolutely speechless. why are they fighting over you? why did chenle tell them to come here? why does this have to happen right now?

"i— um, shit uh" you awkwardly chuckle, hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. "maybe we can chat about this tomorrow yeah? yeah! right, um, goodnight!"

you don't think twice before slamming the door on their faces, locking it behind you. you slide down the door and collide with the floor, face red, thoughts all over the place, and only one sentiment echoing in your mind.

you are going to murder zhong chenle.

"great job, hyuck, you scared him off".

donghyuck finds jaemin's audacity hilarious, so hilarious he even laughs. "i scared him off? if anything jeno did!"

"i didn't do anything" jeno argues, he really doesn't how the younger is speaking to him at the moment. "your just mad y/n's gonna end up going out with me instead".

"woah woah, who said that?"

"i mean.. we all know".

"whose we?" donghyuck challenges. "because, and don't take this personally, you couldn't even confess to the guy before this, what makes you think he'll want to go on a date with you?"

"you know your really getting on my nerves right now".

"okay okay you two" jaemin curses in his mind, how did he end up being the most sensible of the three? "don't start anything physical, it's y/n's choice at the end of the day.."

"which is why it's stupid of donghyuck here to think y/n wants to go anywhere with him".

donghyuck rolls his eyes again, but instead of looking at jeno this time, he looks at jaemin. "no, he's right, it's y/n's choice, and i'm gonna do everything to make sure i'm the one he's with on saturday".

"get over yourself" jeno remarks, glancing over at your door. "your not going to end up with him".

donghyuck hums, a snicker added onto it. "alright then, watch me prove you wrong".

"i'd love to see you try".

jaemin looks between the two, oh this is bad, this is very bad, but he isn't about to let them be able to take you out before him.

"may the best man win, then" jaemin gives the two overly aggressive pats on the back before turning around and walking the other way.

he doesn't care, he's getting that date.

#nct #nct dream #lee jeno #lee donghyuck #na jaemin #nct dream au #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #jeno x reader #jeno x male reader #haechan x reader #haechan x male reader #jaemin x reader #jaemin x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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i-am-church-the-cat · 7 days

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I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

#my writing #wip #is it a wip? im not sure #i still have more in my head but im sleepy so here #loscar #maxiel #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 rpf #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #alternate universe

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ayyy-pee · 10 months

Text

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader

WC: 6.7k

Summary: You’d never met anyone like Suguru Geto before. It seems strange that just a few hours ago, you’d never seen or heard of this man in your life. But it feels like you're drawn to each other in ways neither of you can explain. There's a pull you couldn’t resist if you tried.

Rockstar AU

Story Warning: Smut, Blowjob, Mutual Masturbation, Female Masturbation, Profanity because come on..., Sprung Suguru, Cumshots, Facials, Cumplay (a lil bit), Fingersucking, A sprinkle of power dynamic, Oral Sex, First Day Hookups

Suguru art by: @affectbitter

AN: There's some OCs in this one bc this was just a funny idea between me and some friends LMAO. Imagine them however you will!

The roar of the crowd is almost painful in your ear as you enter the venue. You’ve made it just in time, with minutes to spare.

“Excuse me. Sorry! Just gonna squeeze past you here…I’m sorry…”

The apologies fall from your lips as you navigate through the crowd of people in the arena. You’re trying to find your way backstage before the concert begins for this band… Demon Parade?

An up and coming group, quickly rising in stardom who you never would have heard of had you not been scouring the job boards for an easy and quick way to make money. Imagine your surprise when you found a job posting for them stating the band was in need of an efficient, organized assistant. A go-getter who would be willing to do anything to aid in their success and ride along with them.

You’d had some assistant jobs in the past, nothing too crazy, but you knew what the basic expectation of an assistant was. So you applied for the job, not thinking there was a chance in hell you’d get it, but you needed something and anything was better than nothing. Besides, the job came with all the perks: benefits, free travel, a food allowance. Sounded like a steal.

You got the call less than a week later, saying that you were a great fit and exactly what the band was in search of! It didn’t seem real at the time, even after you’d hung up, filled out your onboarding paperwork and were sent all of your information for your first day – the concert you were currently pushing your way through. It felt even less real when you received your all access badge at the arena doors.

You’d made sure to listen to a few of Demon Parade’s songs and you had to admit, you liked what you heard, but you wouldn’t exactly call yourself a superfan. Not like the crowd of people swarming around you as you hurried through to backstage. God, it was fucking packed.

Is this band that good?

The moment you enter backstage, you feel like you can breathe again. It’s less crammed, so you feel like you can relax a bit. But that feeling only lasts for a second before someone practically materializes out of thin air before you. They call your name, one hand coming up to tap the small earpiece in their ear, the other coming up to indicate for you to stop.

“Yep, she just got here,” They mumble into the earpiece. “I’ll bring her back.” They tap the earpiece again, waving to you to follow them. “I trust you didn’t have any trouble getting back here?”

“Nope, fairly easy,” you answer, quickening your pace to catch up with them.

“Good,” they make a sharp turn around a corner, speeding up and you feel like an idiot essentially running behind them. “I’m Jaz, the band’s manager. We don’t have too much time. I’ll give you a brief overview of the band and each member and then I’ll introduce you to them.”

“Oh, so just…immediately starting? Is there like…a formal training I should be going through first? Or a new hire orientation?”

“No,” they state. “Do what the band asks and if you do it well enough and the band likes you, you’ll be able to keep your job by the end of the night.”

Your eyes wide as you rush to walk next to Jaz. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. If you make a good impression on the band, we’ll keep you. We’re about to start a national tour in a few days and we need someone who will be able to get the job done. If not, we move on.”

“Okay, so just…do what they ask me to and…that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Jaz confirms. “It’s that simple.”

So this whole first day is a test…given with no actual instructions…Fucking weird, but who are you to argue?

You’ll just have to use your prior assistant knowledge to make it work. If you’ve done one assistant job, you’ve done them all. You think so, at least.

You hurry through the halls alongside Jaz, the hallways snaking around to the back of the venue where there are many different dressing rooms – one for each band member and one for the group. Jaz reaches a door with a sign taped to it with the name Demon Parade on it. Scribbled in the corner of the sign is what looks like a very poorly drawn penis.

Jaz sighs when they see the doodle and whips around to face you.

“First things first, a brief rundown of the band.” They fish out their phone to pull up a group photo of the members on stage at one of their concerts. They point to a beautiful brunette woman in the photo before their finger glides over to a tattooed man with his hair piled high atop his head in a loose bun. “This is Shoko Ieiri – our bassist – and this is Suguru Geto – our lead guitarist. Both very low maintenance, very easy to get along with because they most likely will take very little interest in you.”

They then point to a blonde man who looks about ready to clock out at any moment and then to a white haired guy with freakishly blue eyes. “Kento Nanami is our drummer and this annoying beanpole here is Satoru Gojo – our lead singer,” Jaz finishes, rolling their eyes when they point to Gojo. But you can see a clear fondness there with the way their eyes linger on the screen.

You nod, eyes locked on the heavily tattooed raven haired man on the phone. He looks a little bored, almost like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was at that moment. Even so, his gaze is intense. You know it’s impossible, but you feel as though he’s looking at you through the phone. It’s literally a picture taken at some random venue that you’d never seen in your life. But, it feels like he’s staring right at you. Those feline eyes of his look so deeply into the camera, peer so powerfully into your eyes through the screen, it makes you look away. There’s something about that guy, something that’s almost familiar…it makes a tingle race up your spine.

You’re not sure if the feeling is good or bad, but you don’t have time to think too much about it because Jaz is knocking on the dressing room door. A massive, burly man donning sunglasses is opening it, peering at you from over his shades. Jaz is moving past him, beckoning you to follow when you don’t move, cemented to your spot.

Because you’re still thinking about that fucking picture.

“Hey,” The goateed man says when you’ve finally entered the room. You notice then that he’s wearing a black windbreaker with Security on one side and his name on the other. Your eyes quickly drift down to his nametag.

Yaga…With a little panda sticker next to his name. This old guy loves cute things apparently. It’s sweet, makes you smile.

Yaga quickly introduces himself. “Nice to meet you,” He grunts, no smile returned. “I’m head of security for the band. My name’s Yaga.” He doesn’t await a response from you, turning to speak with Jaz instead and you take that time to have a look around in the interim.

The dressing room is incredibly spacious. In a corner across the room, there’s a snack table full of an assortment of candies and bags of chips with the members' faces on them as well as an array of drinks. Large couches are arranged throughout the room, enough space between them to give each member their own little area to lounge in. There are also vanity areas along the back wall with brightly lit mirrors and chairs for each member.

You’re assuming it’s Shoko who sits in one of the vanity chairs getting her makeup done. She is the only female member after all. She’s as beautiful in person as she appears in pictures, though her hair is a lot longer than in the picture Jaz showed you earlier. She’s on her phone scrolling boredly, but when the door clicks shut, your eyes meet in the mirror and she waves quickly as the makeup artist applies her lipstick.

“Hey,” is all she says.

On the far side of the room is a blonde man reading a newspaper, he glances up for all of two seconds when you enter the room and then he’s back to reading. Next to him is a girl who can’t yet be in her 30s, leaning her head against his shoulder. They look cozy together. Maybe they’re dating? You make a mental note to ask Jaz about this later.

Just a few steps away from you, seemingly appearing out of thin air by the snack table, is Satoru Gojo, lead singer of Demon Parade.

His eerily blue eyes glance up when you enter the room, and then he shoots you a beaming smile as he leaves his spot by the snacks and strolls over. He grins at Jaz who has now made their way back to you, rolling their eyes again as Satoru gets closer.

“Jaz,” he purrs. “What do we have here? A meet and greet?” Gojo asks, eyes locked on his manager. His gaze wanders over their clothes as if he can see straight through them. “You look good. Missed you last ni–”

Jaz holds up a hand, cutting him off and getting straight to the point. They introduce you to Satoru, Shoko, Nanami and the woman sitting next to him who you’ve learned is Nicole – their vocal coach, though she doesn’t appear to be doing much vocal coaching while she makes googly eyes at Nanami.

Yaga sighs as he goes back towards the dressing room door and Jaz follows behind him, pulling their phone out and typing away. You don’t miss that the moment Jaz is putting their phone back in their pocket, Satoru is pulling his out to quickly glance at his screen, smirking before he slides it back into his pocket.

Okay, there’s clearly something going on there.

“Call me if you need anything,” Yaga utters to Satoru, but Satoru isn’t even listening anymore. He’s back at the snack table rummaging through the available items. Yaga pulls the door open to let Jaz exit first. Behind you, you hear him briefly grunting an “excuse me” as someone else enters the room before he’s also gone.

And you can’t really explain it, but the moment this other person enters, the air in the room shifts.

At least for you.

They move past you, their bare arm just barely brushing against your own and you startle at the charge of pure electricity that jolts through you at the near contact. They seem to feel it too, because they pause, whipping around to look at you and you’re met with those sharp, cat-like eyes you’d just seen peering through a screen now staring into your own. That familiar tingle you’d felt outside of this very room zips back up your spine.

Suguru Geto stands before you, his beautiful face framed by his signature raven locks that now cascade around his shoulders. He’s somehow even more striking with his hair down, beautiful. He says nothing as you stare each other down, the air between you thick with something you can’t quite describe. The room around you blurs as your vision seems to hone in on Suguru and Suguru only.

It’s after a few moments of tense silence that Suguru breaks eye contact first, eyes trailing down your form. And suddenly you feel as though you’re under a microscope, being so closely examined by him. You can’t help but feel exposed. He tilts his head to the side, his hair falling with the motion. He cards his fingers through his strands, pushing them back, eyes narrowing when they meet your gaze again. His brows knit together for a moment and then he speaks.

“Have we met before?”

Your pathetic body reacts immediately, melting the second his voice reaches your ears. Goosebumps race across your skin, even as your body feels like it’s being engulfed in heat. Your heart feels like it’s crawling up your chest and into your throat, your pulse is beating behind your ears so hard it’s making you dizzy.

What is this?

You don’t understand this sudden racing of your heart, the way your hands feel clammy, the explosive reactions your body is having to him simply looking at you.

Suguru leans his head to the other side and the movement brings you back to reality, helps you to remember that you’re just standing there like a fucking idiot when he had asked you a question. You shake your head quickly, suddenly unable to find your voice.

Suguru looks you over once more, almost like he doesn’t believe your answer, until Satoru interrupts.

“You’ve never met her. She’s our new assistant. Starting today,” he announces, mouth full, from what seems to be his permanent spot by the snack table. He tells Suguru your name. Suguru quickly glances back at Satoru before his eyes drift back to you again.

“Yeah?” Suguru asks, eyes still on you. You can see Satoru turn back to the snack table from your peripheral, picking at different candies. “Nice to meet you. I’m Suguru,” he states.

For some reason, it dawns on you then that Jaz is no longer there to speak for you. You’re on your own. Jaz’s earlier words ring through your ears. Whether or not you get to keep this job depends on how well you do tonight.

So you clear your throat, finding your confidence again. You know what you’re doing and Suguru is essentially your boss. Just like the other members, so you needed to build a relationship with him all the same. “Yes, I’m your new assistant and I’m very excited to be able to work with you all. Please let me know what you need and I’ll do my best to make sure you’re all happy.”

A small smile graces Suguru’s features and the tiny motion has your heart picking up speed again.

Fucking relax.

“Yeah, I got a couple things you can do for me,” he voices.

“Okay,” you glance back towards Shoko who is eyeing you through the reflection of the mirror. “Anyone else need anything before the show?” She shakes her head indicating your assistance isn’t necessary. You look to Nanami who couldn’t look less interested in what’s happening right now. Next to him, Nicole shakes her head as well.

“All good here,” Satoru says, waving you off. “Suguru, be nice.”

“When am I not?” Suguru chuckles, closing the distance between you and slinging his arm around your shoulder. The contact makes your skin erupt with goosebumps once again.

Only this time, you feel a little less crazy about your body's seemingly random reaction to Suguru’s touch because as you glance down at the arm wrapped around you, see the telltale sign of goosebumps along his skin, too.

- - - - - -

Suguru doesn’t have shit for you to do. The concert is happening soon so there’s not much else left to do that the other staff hasn’t already taken care of. He’s not sure why he lied to you, but the moment he saw you, there was something familiar about you that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’s certain you’ve never met, he would’ve definitely remembered your face; lovely, beautiful, stunning, all the words that could describe how nice you were to look at. Looks aside, there’s just something about you that has his mind reeling.

He’d heard from Jaz that the band would be getting a new assistant today. Didn’t make a difference to him, staff was staff. He was sure the new assistant would be fired by the end of the night, if not the end of the week. They could never keep an assistant too long, most of them deeming Satoru too needy, Shoko too cold, Suguru too mean. The list went on and on. The simple truth of the matter was Suguru had a goal, a plan for his success and if an assistant wasn’t able to hang in there for the ride, then they weren’t worth his time. Suguru stopped caring about who their assistant of the week was a long time ago.

So what was it about you that had him hiding you in his dressing room until the show started; showing you his favorite guitars, asking you about how you got this job, wondering how you liked it so far, if you’d heard their music? Any other assistant he’d have running to get him a coffee, doing menial tasks just for laughs. But for you, he’d grabbed a coffee with you and spent that time practically bombarding you with questions the moment he had you alone. Suguru knew more about you in 20 minutes than girls he’d dated for months. And he had no idea why he cared so much.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” You ask. Leaning against the wall of his dressing room, Suguru watches as you sit on his dressing room couch, strumming the strings on his guitars.

“I mean, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Jaz made it clear I need to keep you all happy or else…” you make a dramatic slicing motion across your neck, pulling a laugh from Suguru.

After finding out Suguru did not actually have anything for you to help him with, he spent a few minutes trying to calm your mini panic attack where you told him about how nervous you were. How badly you needed this job. So he’d brought you back to his dressing room to hang out where no one would see you aimlessly wandering.

“The guys said they’re good, so no need to worry about them. They’re happy right now,” Suguru reassures you.

“And you?” You ask, eyes meeting his from across the room. It makes him inhale sharply, trying to calm the swift pounding of his heart. “Are you happy?”

He nods. “I’m happy.” You pluck a string on his guitar, the offkey note cutting through the tension Suguru was beginning to feel. “Despite your horrible guitar playing skills, I’m happy.”

You laugh. “Rude.” You pluck again, this time the note is more bearable. “If I make it past today, I’ll be on the road to continue on tour with you guys,” you told him.

“Oh yeah?” His eyes look on as your fingers dance along the strings of his guitar awkwardly. He could show you how to hold a guitar, how to hit a note that’s not offkey, but he’s enjoying watching you struggle a little too much. It’s cute, though his body’s reaction to watching the way you hold the neck of the guitar is…less appropriate than what the situation calls for. “Has anyone ever told you you have really nice hands?”

Because he wouldn’t mind having your really nice hands wrapped around his cock.

The question comes out before he can stop it. For any other groupie he’d brought back to his room, the answer to the question wouldn’t have mattered. He’d just be making small talk, he wouldn’t have even meant the compliment. But for you…he was mesmerized by the way you held his instrument, the sight filling his head with lewd thoughts.

You freeze at his question, glancing back at Suguru. “No…thank you?”

Suguru chuckles, moving from his spot on the wall to take a seat next to you. The air immediately thickens, this close proximity to you making it hard for him to breathe. “You are…really bad at guitar.”

“Oh my god, were you this mean to your past assistants?” The question comes out with a giggle, as you set Suguru’s guitar down next to you, turning to face him.

He smirks, turning his body to face you as well. “Only the ones who are shit at guitar.”

“Oh, so you let all your assistants hang out in your dressing room and show them your instruments then?”

“Nope.”

If anything Suguru was way fucking meaner to his past assistants. In less than two hours, you already had him cleaning up his act.

You make a face, scrunching your nose up in Suguru’s direction and he decides he likes you already. Yeah, it’s only been a few hours, but he wants to see that face more often. The choice wasn’t up to him, though. You had to impress the other members, too. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help you along the way.

A light knock at the door interrupts Suguru’s thoughts.

“Yeah?” He calls and Jaz peers their head in, brows furrowing when they see you on Suguru’s couch.

“She was cleaning my guitar for me,” Suguru lies easily, motioning towards the instrument next to you. Jaz either believes him or doesn’t care because they don’t even acknowledge it any further.

“Showtime, let’s go.”

- - - - - -

Suguru had been nice enough to give you some tips on how to ensure the band was happy after the show.

“Nanami loves a good coffee and a book set up in his dressing room after a show,” he’d noted. “Satoru is easy. Leave him some of those little mochi candies with the red bean paste inside? He’ll eat like fourteen of them and pass out. Shoko literally just wants to be left alone after dealing with Satoru all day. Put a cigarette and a bottle of liquor – any kind – in her room and she’s set.”

“And you?” You asked, nervously fidgeting in the hall outside of Suguru’s dressing room. Suguru had kept your mind off of panicking and inadvertently pissing someone off on your very first day. With no delegated tasks, no orientation or training and no clue in hell about each member’s preferences, you were truly grateful to Suguru for all he'd done for you on your first day. He was your lifeboat today.

“Me?” It seemed he’d forgotten he was also a part of the band, which was even more endearing to you. He’d been more concerned with making sure you were successful today than his own needs.

“Yeah, you. I want to make sure everyone is satisfied.”

Suguru hummed a look flashing behind his eyes and disappearing as quickly as it came, it still sent a shiver up your spine all the same. He placed a hand on your arm, inhaling slowly. His eyes locked onto where his hand lay on your arm, like he could feel the way your stomach twisted, the way your breathing increased, how your pupils dilated just from his touch.

And Suguru could feel it. Because his body was reacting the exact same way.

“I’ll be fine,” he breathed, letting go of your arm. “Hopefully at the end of the night, Jaz will have good news for you.”

He turned to leave, but not before calling back, “I’ll see you after the show.”

Now you stand on the side of the stage, unable to stop staring at Suguru as his hands fly along the strings of his guitar with ease, beautiful notes carrying out of the instrument and dancing around the stadium for the audience to hear. You can’t get over the duality of this man.

Backstage he’s chill, if not a little intimidating. But in the short time you’d spent together, you found it easy to talk to Suguru and open up to him. He was funny, smart, insanely talented. You did not expect a rockstar as big as he was to be so down to earth.

Now as you watch Demon Parade perform their last song of the night, you can’t help but think Suguru is the sexiest man on earth. The way his hair whips across his face when he shakes his head to the music, how his large hands control every note that drives the song, how his rich voice blends smoothly with Satoru’s to really push the message of the songs across. And when Suguru’s really feeling it, the way he lets the world see the tiny metal ball sitting atop his tongue.

He is so insanely sexy.

It seems every little move he makes has the crowd losing their minds, men and women alike screaming his name. And you can’t blame them, occasionally rubbing your own thighs together to stoke the heat pooling between your own legs whenever Suguru would peer over to the side and grin at you mid song.

Fuck, working with him may end up being harder than you anticipate. If you are able to keep this job, you’ll likely have to maintain a friendly distance. You don’t trust yourself not to do something stupid with the way your body seems to respond to him any time you’re near each other.

When the show is over, Satoru thanking the crowd for coming out, the band members all go their separate ways to their dressing rooms. You wait in the hall, standing with Jaz who again is on their phone. They seem to always be working, but this time you watch their fingers fly across their phone screen, a tiny smirk on their lips. You bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from smiling.

You’re pretty sure Jaz and Satoru are sleeping together.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Jaz clears their throat, their eyes boring into your own. Did they hear…your…thoughts?

And then they smile. “Just got the green light from the band. You’re in.”

Eyes wide, you stand there gaping like a fish until you finally find your words. “Just like that? I mean…there’s not a formal meeting or anything?”

Jaz shoots you a deadpan look, like you’re wasting their time with your stupid fucking question. “Look around you. Nothing about today was formal. Get used to it. Go home, pack your bags. I’ll email the details of where to meet us in the next couple days before we get on the road. Be on time please. Don’t miss the tour bus leaving.”

They turn on their heels before you can thank them, making their way down the hall (in the direction of Satoru’s dressing room, you can’t help but notice).

The clean up staff moves hurriedly around backstage, rushing off and on the stage. And you just stand there, the giddiness of the news bubbling in your chest. You want to scream about how happy you are, but you contain it, instead opting to go tell the person who helped you to lock in your spot today.

After a short trip down the winding halls of the arena, you knock softly on Suguru’s dressing room door. It doesn’t take him long to answer, the door swinging open and revealing him in a loose fitting tee and some sweats. His hair is damp from a shower, strands clinging to his face, cheeks flushed. You can practically feel the heat of his bath radiating off of him.

He’s as captivating off stage, like this, as he is on stage. You can’t help but stare.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice rough.

“Hey,” you practically sigh, cheeks heating furiously.

It’s just you two, standing there, staring at each other. The world continues to move, it all becoming a blur as you refuse to look away from the other. You, watching as the flush on Suguru’s cheeks slowly creeps from his face, down his neck and to the exposed part of his chest the ‘V’ in his shirt allows you to see. Him, watching as your chest rises and falls, breathes picking up rapidly as he gazes at you.

You’d never met anyone like Suguru Geto before. It seems so insane that just a few hours ago, you’d never seen or heard of this man in your life. Now in this moment, standing before him in front of his dressing room, it feels like he has a pull on you that you couldn’t resist if you tried.

“Just heard from Jaz. Looks like I’ll be going on the road with you,” you tell him, voice coming out smaller than you’d intended.

“Yeah?” His low voice is nothing but a whisper, eyes darting down to your lips quickly before they shoot back up to your eyes.

“Yeah.”

Then his tattooed hand is cupping your face, your arms are looping around his neck, his mouth is colliding with yours as he pulls you into his dressing room, slamming the door behind him. It’s dizzying, the heat rolling off is his body, his scent invading your senses. The hand touching your face slips to the back of your neck, making you sigh into his mouth. It’s so fucking unfair how a move so simple had the power to make you melt into a puddle for him.

Suguru’s body molds against yours as he pushes you against the door of his dressing room, pressing his own arousal against your thigh. And you gasp, the thick feel of him making you moan.

“Fuck,” Suguru presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, rolling his hips into you. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he groans, kissing along your cheek again, rolling his hips into yours once more.

You feel the same, like there’s something about him that keeps drawing you to him. The stars only seem to continue aligning in your favor. First getting this job, this trial run day, meeting Suguru, Suguru helping to make sure you got to keep your job and you actually getting the confirmation you needed. It’s like you were meant to meet one day. You’re eternally grateful.

You press a kiss to Suguru’s lips, your hands finding their way into his hair and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. He slips his tongue into your mouth, further deepening the kiss, trying to taste everything you have to offer. You’re panting into his mouth as he rolls his hips into yours roughly.

“I want you,” Suguru breathes against your lips. “I want you so fucking bad, I’m losing my mind.”

His mouth is back on yours, hands grasping at your waist, pulling you as close as he can. You want him too, you probably want him just as badly as he wants you. But there’s time for that. You’ll be on the road together for months. That’s surely enough time to have each other every which way you want. But tonight, you want to show Suguru how grateful you are to him.

“Let me thank you for today,” you offer Suguru breathlessly when you break the kiss. His brows knit together for a brief second before they rise at the same time you fall to your knees before him.

“Are you sure? You don’t have t–”

“I want to,” you assure him. Suguru gulps, nodding as he watches you wet your lips.

Hooking your fingers into the elastic of his sweats and briefs, you tug down, freeing Suguru’s erection and wasting no time wrapping your hands around his length. It’s just the way Suguru imagined when he watched you strumming his guitar. Better than he imagined, actually. He shivers when your hands grip him, your mouth watering with the thought of tasting him as you watch a drop of precum form on his tip.

He’s big. Bigger than you had pictured. You swallow, thinking about how in the hell you were going to be able to possibly fit all of him in your mouth.

“Take it slow, baby,” Suguru tells you, as though he can tell what you’re thinking. He brings a hand down to gently caress your cheek.

Peering up, your tongue peeks out of your mouth, tentatively flicking against the head and Suguru sighs shakily, staring intently. He watches you closely, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as your lips fall open and you wrap them around his cock. You take him into your mouth, slowly sinking down as far as you can go before you pull off and sink down again.

Eyes locked, you watch with hardly concealed elation as Suguru’s pupils blow out, dilating so much you can no longer make out the color of his eyes.

“Fuck,” Suguru’s hips buck forward like a reflex, head falling back as a deep groan falls from his lips. Your mouth is so warm, so fucking wet. He wants to revel in the feel of it. Doesn’t want you to suck him so good he blows his load down your throat yet. He looks back down at you, at the way your mouth is stuffed full of him and you’re not even halfway down. Suguru utters a curse under his breath.

“Stay right there,” he tells you, rougher than he intended, he knows it. But it’s so fucking important that you don’t move right now or he’s done for. “Just hold it - ahhh, yeah just like that, angel.”

You place your hands against his thighs, holding yourself still with Suguru’s cock in your mouth. The weight of him on your tongue, the sound of his harsh breathing, his hands gently holding your chin, it all makes a delicious heat pool in your core.

Suguru takes a deep breath, pushes his hair back with his hands as he exhales. He’s trying to catch his breath, trying to keep his composure right now, but fuck. It’s so hard to hold it together with the way your mouth is stretched around him, with how he’s just barely halfway in and he can already see the tears brimming in the corners of your eyes as you try to take all of him.

Suguru’s had his fair share of flings come back to his dressing room with him, sure. But you… there’s something about you that has his heart thundering in his chest, has his cock throbbing within the wet confines of your mouth, has him reaching down to caress your cheek and wipe the pooling tears away as you try to take him deeper. Your eyes close with the action.

“Look at me,” he pants. And you do, your beautiful gaze finding his again. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” he purrs, loving the way you haven’t moved since he told you to stay. You’re already such a good girl for him. “Think you can take more?”

You mutter a muffled agreement against his cock, still not moving. Just the vibration makes Suguru’s balls tighten, a threat that he’s not going to last very long with you.

He hopes it won’t be like this the next time.

He also hopes there is a next time.

Because he’s beginning to realize something. It hasn’t been that long since he met you. Hell, it’s been less than a day. But, he’s so fucking into you it’s insane.

You peer up at him from beneath your lashes again and Suguru hisses the moment your eyes connect. He runs both hands through his hair, his thick black locks cascading around his face as he looks down at you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. You know that?”

You nod your head, tongue pressing against the underside of Suguru’s cock as you slide more of his length down your throat. You’re not going to be able to take all of him. He knows it.

You shift on the floor, thighs rubbing together to give you some sort of relief from the aching arousal between your legs. Suguru doesn’t miss this. You’ve worked hard. You deserve to enjoy yourself, too. It’s not like you got to keep your job only because of him after all.

“Touch yourself,” Suguru commands. “Play with that pretty pussy while you suck my co–” His voice cuts off, a harsh groan ripping from his throat when you move forward, one hand squeezing his cock as you try to take even more of him, the other slipping into the waistband of your pants. “So fucking good...” he whimpers, and you can’t help but moan when your fingers finally meet the onslaught of wetness that’s been rushing between your legs, absolutely soaking through your panties.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, petting your hair before gently fisting the strands between his tattooed fingers so that you’re forced to look up at him. “Ah…I love how hard you’re trying, baby. Think you can take it all the way for me, angel? Can you take it all the way into that tight fucking throat for me?”

You nod enthusiastically, eager to please with a mouth full of Suguru’s cock and your fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. The vision has Suguru’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs. Suguru pulls you forward, and you let him, going as far as you can until you’re gagging on his dick, the drool pooled in your mouth dripping from the corners of your mouth.

Even still, that doesn’t stop the moans escaping, the little mewls that let Suguru know you were fucking loving this as much as he was.

“Ah – fuck, fuck–” Suguru breathes, pulling you off of his cock with a loud pop. “I can’t,” he pants. “I can’t. If you do that again, I’ll cum –”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, taking Suguru in your mouth again, taking him as deep as you can go before pulling back and taking him in again. The lewd squelching noises of your slick fingers playing with your sweet little pussy and the mixture of your spit and Suguru’s precum hitting the floor of his dressing room fill the air. You take him to the hilt, your nose buried deep in his thick raven curls.

And Suguru’s hips began to move, fucking into your mouth as he held your head in place. This was what you wanted, right? Suguru warned you. He’d warned you what would happen if you swallowed his dick like that again, if you choked on his cock like you just did one more time. He warned you and you kept going, pushing him closer and closer. So he couldn’t help it when his body tensed, when his cock stiffened, when his thighs shook and his cock twitched in your mouth.

He couldn’t help it when he pulled out of you as quickly as he could, pumping his cock with a quick “fuck I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby–” muttered before his cum shot out of his swollen tip, covering your cheeks, your throat, your tongue and your chin.

And you couldn’t help it when you pushed two fingers into your tight hole, pressing your thumb to your clit the moment Suguru’s cum covers your face. And you see stars, clenching hard around your fingers as waves of your orgasm crashing over you until your vision nearly blurs.

“Shit,” Suguru murmurs with a sigh, the aftershocks of his orgasm sending shivers up his spine. He takes your arm, pulling your hand from your drenched panties, closely looking over the sheen of your release covering your fingers. He parts his lips, taking the digits into his mouth and sucking, licking your hand clean of your orgasm before he kisses you hard, shoving his tongue into your mouth immediately and groaning when he tastes the mixture of both your releases. He doesn’t even seem to care that his own cum now covers his face. The sexy grunts and moans tell you he loves it.

When he breaks the kiss, he looks you over, licking his lips of the mess he made between you. “Let me get a towel to clean us up.”

He stands, pulling his pants back up to his waist before he lifts you from your spot on the floor. You hear him shuffling around in the bathroom area as you take a seat on his couch. He returns shortly, sitting next to you. You close your eyes as he gently wipes the warm, damp towel over your face. “God, you almost killed me.” Suguru huffs quietly.

You chuckle, opening one eye to peer up at him. “Damn, am I that good?”

Suguru smiles, chuckling. “Let's just say, I’m not ever letting them fire you.”

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

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baby-yongbok · 9 months

Text

Sunset

Bang Chan x Thick Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, non idol

✨Masterlist ✨

Warnings: Unprotected sex (Wrap it up, guys), Cheating (Married reader/ Chan is dating someone) , Strangers to One night lovers, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex (M receiving) Slightly rough, Uh.. that’s it really? It’s just Smut, Sorry if I missed any tags. Explicit content so MDNI please.

Word Count: 2677

Note: First Person POV + This was something that I just whipped up real quick and wanted to share. It’s short compared to what I usually like to write but I thought you’d enjoy it! Just a quick smutty Chan fic to entertain ya.

Summary: The Sunset diner is your go to place to retreat, it allows you to meet new people while immersing yourself in the arts. It’s become your routine to relax at the diner every night and seek some...company. One night a new customer arrives and you just cant seem to keep your eyes off of him. You have to have him.

"Thank you, Lali." I nod my head to the waitress that serves me almost every night and she smiles back as always.

The Sunset studio and diner has always been a safe haven for me, ever since I was thirteen years old my step dad would bring me here and buy me a hot chocolate and two cookies before letting me roam around the studio and stare at the artwork in awe. It bought him enough time to smash whatever girl he picked up along the way in the bathroom then come back and act like he was never gone. I never cared, I was too fascinated with the artwork and the soft melodies of the guitars that the customers brought from home, or the grand piano by the entrance being played by whoever thought they were good enough to have the entire studio hear them. I was always amazed by those people, by their confidence, it was different from the kind that I possessed and I enjoyed being in its presence. No one has dared to play the piano in months though, not in my visits to the diner.

I continue my watercolor painting enjoying the ambient sounds of guitars and what I’m pretty sure is a ukulele when suddenly I hear it. My head snaps up and my eyes land on the brown haired man focusing on the keys of the grand piano. Others in the diner still their movements as they stare, those who are sitting around me stop talking and listen to the melody that he's producing. He continues to play a song that I've never heard before, an original maybe? The beauty in the notes that he's playing makes me close my eyes as the music builds me up to a feeling of bliss that I haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

As the piece picks up speed I start to wonder about its purpose. Is it an ode to tragedy or love? They are both one in the same in the end but I'd love to pick his brain. Suddenly the melody comes to a halt before he lightly strokes the last three keys. The sound of the last key drags out beautifully and applause erupts quickly after. The young man's head jolts upward and a small dimpled grin plays upon his lips before he stands and playfully bows before the studio. As the studio calms down I watch him carefully as he picks up his bag and makes his way to the counter to order a drink. I can’t help myself as I find myself ear hustling.

"That was beautiful." One of the employees that I don't know that well raves.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." His response is dry, he's uninterested.

"Chan?" Lali calls from the pick up counter and I glance back to watch him pick up his drink. He smiles warmly at Lali but he's still uninterested, what is he interested in? He scans the studio searching for a spot to sit and I quickly continue painting. He makes his way past my booth and I decide to go in for the kill.

"Excuse me." He turns around to me and his eyes soften once they land on mine, why's he so tense?

"May I ask what you got to drink? It looks divine." The same small grin as before plays upon his lips as he turns completely to me.

"An iced black tea with mint and cream."

"Oh, wow that sounds as divine as it looks, thank you." His eyes stay on mine as I offer him a smile and for the first time since he's stood from the piano he seems interested.

"It's my pleasure, I can't help but notice your painting. It's beautiful, truly stunning." Tapping the end of my paint brush against the table I shrug at him.

"It's alright, I'm experimenting with watercolor tonight. Would you like to have a seat?" I wave my hand towards the seat across from me and he kindly accepts. Sliding into the booth I get a swift whiff of his scent, a musk of some sort, Egyptian? Himalayan maybe.

"I'm not much of an artist, the world of paint intimidates me." He chuckles and I bring my hand up to rest my chin in the palm.

"Funny, you don't seem like the type to be intimidated by much." His eyebrow raises at my response as he lets it linger, he clearly doesn't plan to ask what I mean. He's waiting for me to elaborate, but I'm not the type to volunteer information and he doesn't seem like the type to ask about it.

"Do you come here often?" He asks disregarding my previous comment, I can't help but chuckle.

"Every other week since I was thirteen, I upgraded to every day at 9pm a year ago." He shakes his head and sips his drink.

"I'm passing through this town, thought I'd look for a place to relax and stop driving for a while."

"You made a wonderful choice stopping here, especially since you seem to be a fellow creative. That was a beautiful piece you played earlier." He nods and offers a quiet thank you. "Have you always played? Or have you just recently learned how to move your fingers like that?"

There his eyebrow goes again, raised and displaying his curiosity. "I've always played."

"Oh, how wonderful you must have such a careful way of doing things then. I've always found that those who play the piano are drawn towards the more intricate things in life."

We stare at each other for a few seconds, both grinning and scanning each other. He breaks our gaze, sitting up straighter he pushes his drink over to me.

"Have a taste." His eyes meet mine again and this time I challenge his gaze, holding it as I wrap my lips around the straw and suck up the tasty liquid. "Don't be greedy, now."

A small moan escapes me at the sound of his warning. Releasing the straw from my lips I grin at him. "Delicious, the mint is a really nice touch."

"Would you like for me to get you one?"

"No thank you, I like yours." The chuckle that falls from his lips stirs something up in me that I haven't felt in a while. He's flipping a switch that no one has been able to in a while and I am loving it.

"What do you do for a living?" Eyebrows furrowed and both elbows on the table he awaits my answer.

"I'm an art professor." There goes that eyebrow raise.

"Professor? Excuse me for my rudeness but my curiosity is getting the best of me. May I ask your age?"

"You may." He's visibly amused by my answer. He's clearly a bit younger than me. He's easy to get to but not too easy.

"Twenty-five and yourself?"

"Twenty-three" I knew it, experienced but not too much. "Too young for you?"

"Not at all, you'll be fun to seduce." There go those damn eyebrows, I wonder if he knows he's doing that at this point. I'm not mad at it, it's just interesting.

"Seduce, huh?"

"Mhm, I'm already turning you on." He leans forward in his seat and folds his arms.

"How so?"

" You like that I'm not easy to read, you're also into the fact that we both dabble in the arts of some sort. You're impressed by my age and my beauty, and you've been keeping consistent eye contact with me. Not to mention your manspreading which when across from an attractive female is an invitation to make an advance." He leans back against the booth, arms still crossed.

"Are you sure you don't teach psychology?" Smiling in his direction I nod before checking the time.

"Drive me home?" Checking his watch he keeps his eyes on me as I pack my art supplies.

"Is 11:15pm your cut off time here?" Grabbing his bag and finishing his drink he slides over to the end of the seat.

"Not usually, but I have to get to the next step in seducing you." Laughing, he stands and grabs my bag for me.

"I should've probably told you this before but I'm actually driving down to see my girlfriend." Shrugging my shoulders I pass him.

"And I'm married, your point?" Making my way through the doors of the studio I close my eyes briefly as the night air brushes my skin, the beginning of fall is always so relaxing.

"This way." Brushing his hand along the small of my back he starts walking towards his black Mercedes Benz G-Class. I guess he's not bothered by my relationship status, I'm glad we're on the same page. "After you." Opening the door for me and placing my bag at my feet he closes it after me and I quickly do a breath and pit check before he gets to the driver's side. Once he's inside he asks where I live and I say nothing, looking over at me I meet his gaze and smile at him.

"I never got your name.” he relaxes into his seat

"Chan, and yours" I don't plan on answering him, it's actually best if I don't. His breath hitches in his throat as I begin to palm him through his jeans.

"I like to think about how you'll recall this memory over the next couple of months." Getting on my knees in the passenger seat I leaned over to unbuckle his belt. "How you'll recall the blissful feeling of my mouth on you, the nameless woman you met at the studio."

Unzipping his pants teasingly slow, neither of us break our continuous gaze. "How I'm so much better than the girl you're going to visit, sexier, more spontaneous. Has she ever sucked you off in your car?" He shakes his head revealing the obvious answer.

"I didn't think so." My mouth sinks down his shaft and he draws in a deep breath. His hand tangles into my hair and the other grips the steering wheel. He clearly hasn't received oral in awhile, I'd be surprised if he lasts longer than three minutes.

"Oh my fucking god" He rests his head against the headrest and his grip on my hair gets tighter as I work his shaft, my tongue playing with the underside of his dick where his head and shaft meet, my favorite part of any man's cock. "You're pretty fucking good at that, baby."

Humming in response I take his length deeper down my throat swallowing around him. I think that today I'll try not to use my hands, I'd like to make him finish strictly with my mouth. "Shit, babe let me kiss you."

Humming in response I continue to work my head up and down his dick. "I said let me fucking kiss you." Pulling my head up off of him he holds my chin in place as his lips aggressively meet mine. Moaning into him I part my lips allowing his tongue to explore the depths of my mouth as he pleases. His hand explores my body, fondling my breast and Tracing the dips of my curvy figure.

"You're a fucking slut aren't you?" Moaning at the sound of his husky voice I nod. "Finish a sluts job then." Pushing my head back down to his cock I open my mouth taking his member back down my throat. Groans and moans fall from our mouths as I sucked him, the anticipation of his sticky cum coating my throat excites me.

"Just like that, give me all of that pretty mouth." His cock twitches in my mouth and I start to slow down eliciting a frustrated groan from Chan as well as a slap on the ass. "Don't you tease me, slut."

Smiling slightly I pick up the pace finding my rhythm, it's not long before he explodes in my mouth gifting me with the taste of him. Swallowing every last drop I sit up and start preparing to make my escape when he grabs my wrist and ushers me over into his lap. Leaning back into the steering wheel I accidentally honk the car horn with my backside and we both chuckle after the surprise and panic subside. Adjusting his seat so that it's further away from the steering wheel and slightly leaned back I adjust myself so that I'm comfortable before crashing my lips to his. Grinding into him my skirt rides up revealing my bare ass and his hand wastes no time gripping a handful and landing a firm smack on either cheek eliciting a deep moan from me. Before I realize it his length slips inside of me filling me up and reaching every spot that I need him to.

"Fuck, oh my god." Moans uncontrollably spill as he thrusts up into me.

"What about you, huh? Are you going to think about the guy you met at the studio? How he seduced you just as effectively as you did him." Picking up his speed he finds a rhythm that is bound to make me cum early. " How he made you cum so quickly that you can't fathom what a night with him would be like." Just as those words leave his mouth my orgasm washes over me in a wave stronger than any man has ever caused before.

"Or how about the way he kept you coming over and over again." One of his hands snaked down to my pussy and started aggressively rubbing my currently sensitive clit. The other hand lifted my shirt to reveal my bare chest, lifting his knee a bit and pushing me forward. He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth as he readjusts his other hand to replace his length with two fingers, as his thumb finds and rubs my clit. Bouncing with the rhythm of his fingers I end up riding his digits as my second orgasm crashes into me.

"Chan" All I manage to moan out is his name, the only thing I can remember at this point is his name and maybe how to breathe but even that seems to be failing me at the moment. I climax for a third time and he releases my nipple from his mouth.

"You look so pretty while you ride my fingers, go ahead and come for me again, kitten." I can't help but to completely let loose at the sound of him as my final orgasm rips through my body. I become limp on top of him and he slowly removes his fingers from me and slips them into his mouth. "Just as sweet as I thought you'd be."

Littering kisses up my neck and cheek he lifts me up a bit to meet his gaze. "You better clean yourself up, I'd hate for your husband to start a fight with you and ruin your night." Smiling over at him I sit up and pull down my shirt. Then climb back over into the passenger seat and pull down my skirt. Chan fixes the driver's side chair and I wipe my mouth with my forearm, my formerly messy hair is still messy so that's not a problem at all. Suddenly Chan grabs the back of my neck, ushering my face towards his and our lips meet In a heated kiss. I let his lips linger and dance with mine for a while before pulling away.

"Thank you for seducing me." He smiles teasingly as I laugh.

"It was my pleasure." Bending down and grabbing my bag I open the passenger door.

"Where are you -"

"My husband picks me up from here at 12:10am every night." Smiling over at him I almost close the door completely before opening it again. He looks at me hopefully with those damn eyebrows raised and his small grin painted upon his lips, I felt a wave of heat wash over me and I couldnt help what I said next. "Y/n."

"Y/n, thank you." Smiling, I look down at my feet before closing the car door and turning on my heels heading back inside of the studio. Walking up to the counter I smile at Lali as she asks what I'd like.

"A large iced black tea with mint and cream, please."

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00belle00lovely00 · 2 months

Note

HeadCanons for DogDay x CatNap,

NOW‼️‼️‼️‼️🫵🫵🫵🫵

OKAY OKAY OKAY-

HOLY MOLY YA'LL APPEARING OUT OF THE THIN AIR IN NUMBERS

No seriously- PLEASE have mercy on me there are SO MANY COMMISSIONS-

☀️🧡🌙💜☀️🧡🌙💜☀️🧡🌙💜☀️🧡🌙💜☀️🧡🌙💜☀️🧡

I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. SUN CHARACTER X MOON CHARACTER>>>>>>>>>

I absolutely adore the Sleepyday ship name.

I think we can all agree on why the fandom took this ship by storm. I mean, come on, it's literally opposites attract. I may not personally like or even come as close to agreeing to the in-game Dogday and Catnap (since it's either fucked up or even more fucked up in every sense) BUT THE CARTOON VERSIONS? OH MY GOSH. CUTIES. ABSOLUTE CUTIES.

Literally extrovert x introvert.

LISTEN I ONCE FOUND ABOUT THIS ONE MASTERPIECE WHERE THEY HAD MATCHING NECKLACES THAT- LIKE- IF YOU PRESS ON IT IT KINDA VIBRATES AND YOU ONLY TOUCH ON IT WHENEVER YOU FEEL LIKE YOU MISS THEM. AND IT WAS SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT AAAAAAA.

Their date GOTTA BE watching the solar eclipse. ONE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY- WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN ART OF THAT? I DON'T KNOW. BUT I KNOW THAT IF IT DOESN'T POP UP SOON I'LL DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

They are like gay without knowing what gay means. They just think that whenever someone brings it up they mean "happy". As in "happy friends".

Call me crazy but I LOVE my headcanon of Catnap knowing ASL either just because of knowledge OR because this man is so quiet people think he is a mute, which for him is good, and saves him a bunch of time. And besides, why talk when you happy go-happy Dogday to come along and talk for you?

OH TALKING ABOUT THAT LAST HEADCANON. WOULDN'T IT BE SO CUTE THAT DOGDAY ONLY UNDERSTOOD "I love you" IN ASL JUST BECAUSE CATNAP SAID IT SO MUCH ARGSDJFNSKLJDBFMSJKBASJDBFKJASBDFKJASDBFKSAJBD

They're so boyfriends I LOVE THEM! I'm pretty sure they'd be completely confused if they ever got to hear the myth that "cats and dogs hate each other"

PDA?... EEeeeh.. depends, on whether Catnap is awake at the moment?

I heavily am basing myself off from AO3 fanfic I read and absolutely adore, but CATNAP AS A NOCTORNAL GUY IS THE BEST HEADCANON EVER!!!

THEY ARE SHARING THE SAME BLANKET AAA

They outta have a picnic date someday where Catnap is trying out vanilla cupcakes and Dogday lavender tea.

I'd say that Catnap, on rare occasions, of course, likes to show very subtle and rather gentle affections like holding hands, intertwining fingers, locking arms or wrapping a tail around Dogday's leg. Meanwhile, Dogday is just: "❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭😭😭" on the inside.

BRING THESE TWO. TO KARAOKE NIGHT. THEY ARE SINGING ALL NIGHT LONG!!! Well, if Catnap approves of course.

Dogday when asked if he likes Catnap: "W-what? OOOoooh! OH! Uh-.. that! Heheh, well it DEPENDS you know? I mean... As in, like like or like liking like? BECAUSE- don't get me wrong! I LIKE Catnap! I like ALL of you! But I kind of.. like... like... like-" and that just goes on and on for hours.

Catnap when asked if he likes Dogday: "I love him. Why do you wanna know?" ever so casually. No hesitation.

Ngl the way I worded that last headcanon now sounds like that one line of Jessica Rabbit saying "he makes me laugh" LMAO.

OH MY GOSH. HEAR ME OUT YA'LL. HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE. WOULDN'T CATNAP LOOK ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS IN A DRESS? Okay. Yeah, no, I changed my mind, he would be all sassy throughout it. Yup... but at least Dogday is content.

They adore astrology, wanna know why? Because that's the one thing they commonly love. While everyone else has no idea what they're talking about.

THEY'RE CUDDLE BUDDIES!!!

I'm so normal for them. BUT SERIOUSLY I LOVE THEM AH-

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime 3 #smiling critters #dogday #catnap #my headcanons #headcanon #catnap x dogday #dogday x catnap #sleepyday #THEY'RE SO CUTEEEEE #OTP #LIL BEBES IN LOVE

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nathaslosthershit · 7 months

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Meet Cute

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Summary: In which Birdie goes to an art museum, is unimpressed, and runs off with someone more entertaining to look at.

The art was beautiful but after circling around once she had seen all she needed to. Making a few comments here and there with other visitors she finally decided it was well past her time to leave. She had been here long enough to have a few things to talk about with her coworker.

But one man scowling at a painting caught her attention before she could make her way out.

“You look unimpressed.” She says coming up to stand beside him.

“Art isn’t really my thing, I'm here with friends who are here with girlfriends. I just don’t get the appeal of staring at it for minutes on end trying to understand it. I look at it, see if I think it's pretty, then move on. I’ve already looked at everything and have just been walking around.”

“Yeah I get it, certainly not everyone’s scene. If you don’t spend your days looking disinterested at art, what do you do?”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“Of course you are” Birdie mumbles. She can never get away from them.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“What about you?”

“I work in a museum.” She says chuckling, knowing the reaction she is about to get.

“Oh fuck I’m so sorry. I totally just- is this- do you work here?”

“Calm down. I work in a history museum. Art isn’t my thing that much either. One of my coworkers raved about this exhibit but I knew I wouldn’t like it. I don’t know why I felt the need to go.” Looking at the man beside her though, she was thankful she did.

“Thank god someone agrees. I felt like an asshole. Plus, I thought we were going to stay for 45 minutes tops and then get food but it's been over an hour. I’m starving.”

“There is a great Mexican place two blocks down if you’d like to try? Although maybe you should stay with your-”

“Sounds great, let's go. I like them but they all can fuck off for all I care right now, I am so hungry.” He laughs as they walk out into the night.

✺✺✺✺✺✺✺

The food was great, the conversation flowed easily, and Birdie had been sitting with one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen.

“How can you come from such a talented hockey family and not play?” He asks, something many people do, something she asked herself when she decided she was done with the sport.

“I loved it, still do. And I was good, the Hughes genes didn’t miss me. But, I realized in high school I enjoyed playing with my family more. I am just not a competitive person and liked playing for fun rather than to win. Something my family didn’t understand for a while, which I don’t blame them for. I, of course, still watch and support my brothers. I love those idiots to death, but it wasn’t my scene.”

“So now you do museums?” Mat internally scolds himself at the stupidity of what he just said.

“Something like that.” She chuckles. “I am a museum educator. I help provide interactive experiences from young children to adults. I focus on history. So no art.”

“Good, I’m glad I didn’t offend you within seconds of meeting you.”

The night continued on like this till they were both bleary eyed and yawning. Deciding to end it with a quick kiss on the cheek and exchanged numbers, she felt giddy as she walked into her room.

She knew she had to call Quinn.

Taglist: @tpwkstiles

A/N: Call with Quinn coming up next !

#nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #mat barzal x reader #Birdie Hughes au ☀️

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aclowntiny · 11 months

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🦉 Seventeen as Hogwarts Students 🏰

This picture filled me with so much serotonin 🥹 y’all can refer to these headcanons as the basis for all the Hogwarts AU fics I’m going to be writing 😌👀 get ready I can’t believe I held out this long 😂

S.Coups

☆ When the sorting hat was placed on his head, it paused in thought for a moment as it decided between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In the end, though… “Must be Gryffindor!” His caring heart won out the ambitious houses’ battle! At least, that’s what the hat said, and Seungcheol is determined to prove it right!

☆ Seungcheol is a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards, so he grows up pretty chill on all the purity stuff but not knowing much about how people with no powers live. It’s definitely a curiosity for him, though.

☆ His favorite subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts because he likes the idea of being able to protect others from harm and Charms because he likes small, quick, useful spells.

☆ He signs up for Ancient Runes because it sounds cool then highkey regrets it. It just kind of goes over his head.

☆ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here 😌 Athletic and a great leader, Seungcheol is honored to receive this role even though it’s so obviously well-suited.

☆ Intimidating AND adorable. Seungcheol’s Patronus can do it all! His guardian takes the form of a Rottweiler dog: brave, loyal, protective, sweet to those who it cares for 😌

Jeonghan

☆ When the Sorting Hat hits his head, it immediately rumples in confusion. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” It waffles between Hufflepuff and Slytherin before finally declaring… “Can you hear him trying to bargain? Must be a Slytherin!” Jeonghan, for his part, just laughs.

☆ The Yoons are an old wizarding family and their son knows next to nothing about the Muggle world. Thusly Jeonghan makes up a bunch of bullshit at school about Muggle life to convince everyone he totally does. It works every time…so long as no Muggleborns are present at least.

☆ Jeonghan adores Charms class because it paves the way for so many useful spells and gives him a whole arsenal of things to use. He also loves Divination aka bullshitting class because he thrives, duh 😌 the professor loves him, too, because he participates so much and knows what to say, but somehow it escapes his notice how often his predictions are actually accurate.

☆ History of Magic is a lot to remember and not an interesting enough class to give him the drive to study hard, so it’s his hardest subject.

☆ He plays on the Quidditch team because his friend convince him to, but man does it turn out he’s a skilled Beater. This man is a menace with a Bludger.

☆ Thinking of his happiest memory, Jeonghan exclaims “Expecto Patronum!”, unsure what to expect until he sees the burst of light come flying out, taking the shape of a little crow that lands on his shoulder. Not what he was expecting, but the bird charms him immediately with the way it playfully tries to get his attention.

Joshua

☆ “Oh, aren’t you a fun one?” Joshua, frankly, isn’t sure how to take that. Try and be more fun? “What are you planning?” The hat chides, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to his face. “Lot of crafty ones this year, eh? We have another Slytherin!”

☆ Joshua’s a Muggleborn, so sometimes he feels like a fish out of water, but man is he liking the air. He wants to see it all, understand all that’s moving around him, and use magic to his advantage and enjoyment as much as possible!

☆ Being skilled at languages, Joshua takes up Ancient Runes as an elective and actually really likes it. Decoding is fun and it could prove useful if he decides to become a Curse-Breaker. He also likes Potions because it’s a nice, calm class.

☆ Transfiguration lowkey stresses him out, like what if he goes to transform his stuff and it never comes back??? Or a person?

☆ Slytherin’s Keeper. Good luck trying to score when Joshua is on the pitch 😌

☆ A bunch of other students ooh and ah at Joshua’s stag Patronus because that’s the one famous people get. Or something like that. The tall, antlered figure is elegant, imposing, and yet with a gentle side as it bows its head to its caster regally.

Jun

☆ “You spend a lot of time thinking about others.” Junhui’s eyes widen- he wasn’t expecting to have so much revealed through the hat. “I- I try to,” he replied modestly, at which the hat chuckles. “An innocent mind. Hufflepuff it is!” He’s still trying to wrap his head around how the hat read him and what it meant as they help him off the stool.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, his mother being a witch and his father a Muggle. He got more experience with Muggle culture than his brother did, so he ended up getting to bond over showing him non-magical inventions 🥹

☆ Care of Magical Creatures is absolutely his favorite class, like Jun gets so excited every day they meet wondering what amazing being he’ll interact with next. The day they had a kneazle cat was pretty much his favorite day at school ever. He also enjoys Muggle Studies because it gives him lots of materials for letters home to his lil bro 🫶🏻

☆ Doesn’t really have a class he hates, but Arithmancy takes the most work so 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ He tries out to be a Hufflepuff Chaser, but doesn’t make the cut 💀 avid fan and watcher of Hogwarts matches who sometimes tries to follow the commentator up to his post.

☆ Can’t suppress a grin in Defense Against the Dark Arts when a cute little striped cat bursts from his wand, turning around to rub against his legs.

Hoshi

☆ “Bravery aplenty!” Exclaims the Sorting Hat, which makes Soonyoung grin even wider, his excitement growing, “Eager too. A hard worker, sure, but this one’s too daring for Hufflepuff. Better be Gryffindor!” “Yes!” Soonyoung knew he’d be happy anywhere, but he wanted to be sorted with the lions and it looks like he got his wish!

☆ Soonyoung is a Half-Blood. Pretty much all of the Kwons are wizards, but somewhere up the family tree are some Muggleborns, maybe even a Muggle or two. All are welcome in Soonyoung’s family, so he grows up with little understanding how anyone could care about things like that!

☆ Loves to fly! It’s his favorite thing ever, like good luck getting him out of the sky. He also likes Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s an active class, one where he can move, duel, and practice being in a real-life situation.

☆ Feels like History of Magic is all in one ear, out the other 🤕 that class is a cram before the test vibe for sure.

☆ One of Gryffindor’s Beaters. A little too excited about it, so some accidents have nearly happened but hey, it makes for an exciting game 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ When that time comes in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a bunch of his friends tease him that he’ll have a small Patronus like a hamster or something, but he insists it’s going to be a powerful tiger, and he’s right 😌 is too overjoyed at the sight of the glowing tiger to rub it in their faces, though 🐅 big memories and emotions = big Patronus??? Not guaranteed, but in Soonyoung’s case certainly!

Wonwoo

☆ “Smart kid,” the Sorting Hat comments when it’s set upon Wonwoo, “sure, you’ve got a bravery about you, you’re kind, but you’re a Ravenclaw!” Wonwoo just nods, thanking the hat- he agrees with the verdict, happily joining his table.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Wonwoo has a drive to learn about how magic works. Why do some people have it? Why don’t witches and wizards seem to know this or care, especially if they care about bloodlines so much? He also wants to be one of the best just to put the people who doubt him in their place.

☆ One of the few Hogwarts students who actually enjoys Arithmancy and History of Magic. To him, they’re just calm subjects he can focus on and pore over, which is kinda his study method anyway tbh. It kinda works out though because then they go to him for tutoring.

☆ Boy is good at everything, none of the classes are really a struggle for him. Divination seems like the biggest waste of time, though, once he gets in there.

☆ Joins Quidditch as one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. He isn’t sure how much he’s going to like it, but he loves being part of the team! Quite an adept scorer.

☆ People all assume it’s going to be a cat, but Wonwoo casts a polecat Patronus. So, you know, he gets it in the name even though it’s more rodent. Polecats are crafty, comfortable in their home groups, and probably more similar to their caster than everyone might have originally suspected.

Woozi

☆ “Someone’s a hard worker,” comes the Sorting Hat’s teasing comment upon touching Jihoon’s head, “you’ll study well, won’t you? But that dedication…that’s Hufflepuff for you!” Jihoon is a bit surprised, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the news, but he likes to think the hat is right: he’s dedicated to his dreams, hardworking. Maybe that is his home.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Jihoon has a bit of a tough time adjusting to magic. In some ways, he’s almost a bit resistant simply because he doesn’t want to rely on waving a wand for every little thing he could handle himself.

☆ There’s something so inspiring to him about looking at the stars, so he looks forward to Astronomy class. He also enjoys Transfiguration, the ability to make something new totally amazing him. He wonders what it feels like to transform like that.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is kind of a boisterous, stressful class in his mind. All the running around and fighting isn’t really his style.

☆ Has enough other extracurricular stuff going on that he passes on Quidditch tryouts, but enough good friends play that he tries to make it to every game he can!

☆ At first, he isn’t sure why a bat Patronus would suit him, especially when everyone thought he was going to get a cat, but bats are known for using their voices to guide their way. They rely on their music and take time to trust, and Jihoon sees that as he bonds with his little guardian. Both of them take time to themselves, but thrive best in their circles when they come out of their shells.

☆ “Bad thoughts don’t often cross your mind, do they?” The voice of the hat muses upon its placement atop Seokmin’s head. “And you’ve a big heart, yes, indeed… most definitely a Hufflepuff!” Seokmin claps, happy to be in a house with some friendly-looking people and a bit shy to hear the hat say such nice things.

☆ Seokmin is a Muggleborn, both of his parents so proud to have magical children. He thinks it’s super cool too and always says he knew all along his family was magical 🥲 all the magical stuff absolutely amazes him, even the most tedious things are things he wants to experience!

☆ He loves Care of Magical Creatures because omg look! A unicorn! A real-life hippogryph!!! Bowtruckles! It’s all so unbelievable, yet so real, like dreams have been laid out before him. That’s the same reason he looks forward to Herbology, like where else can you see sentient plants?

☆ Loves every class! They are all exciting! *Ancient Runes has entered the chat* Ok, maybe classes can be stressful.

☆ He wants to get over his nerves on a broomstick, so to do that he tried out for Quidditch and makes Seeker. He likes that position because it’s a little removed from the pandemonium of the game and he can think like a Snitch 😌

☆ He’s honestly expecting a small animal, not feeling very brave as he shouts “Expecto Patronum!” but well aware he’ll just be ecstatic if he gets any animal form. Imagine his surprise when he gets a magical creature, a beautiful unicorn leaping from his wand! “I- I made that???” He grins, immediately reaching up to try to stroke its mane, awestruck at the beautiful, pure creature even if he doesn’t realize how perfectly it suits his heart.

Mingyu

☆ “You’re a bit bold, aren’t you?” Mingyu nods, thinking he’s supposed to answer the hat. “Not exactly the most courageous…” “Hey!” “Confident, confident certainly…” “M-hm,” he nods again. “You believe you have skills to offer Hogwarts.” “Yes,” Mingyu agrees. “Send this one to Slytherin!” The hat chuckles.

☆ The Kims are an long line of wizards, Mingyu one of many Pure-Blood sons. He doesn’t know much about Muggle culture, frankly, but has more privilege in lifestyle than he does prejudice against people with different blood.

☆ Potions ace. So good at it sometimes the other students are salty at him, but he just shrugs. It comes naturally for him, whether it’s preparing the ingredients or knowing just how much to add. He also likes Divination just because it’s fun. What do his tea leaves say? He legitimately wants to know.

☆ He does have a fear of flying, so broom lessons are not his favorite 😅 he’ll stay on the ground, thank you.

☆ Obviously does not join the Quidditch team, but is on the stands cheering super loud at every game!

☆ Everyone can’t help but tell Mingyu how perfect his husky Patronus is once it manifests, the goofy, vocal, affectionate dog running around practically looking like his twin!

The8

☆ As if drawn in by his aura, the hat muses as it rests upon Minghao’s head. “An artist, eh? Kind, forgiving, wise, and very calm too. A bright one. Ravenclaw, certainly Ravenclaw!” Between what he felt was a suitable sorting despite telling himself he’d be happy with anything and all the attention, Minghao practically glows at the hat’s words.

☆ The Xus are a Pure-Blood family, but Minghao’s parents are both avid Muggle Studies enthusiasts, so their son grew up with lots of knowledge and no prejudice. They all see magic as a chance to help others with less.

☆ Nature is important to this boy here, so Herbology is where his gifts lie. He’s so gentle with the plants and genuinely appreciative of them all, it’s a rewarding class to be able to track their lives. Following the movement of the stars is another joy of his as well as sketching the sky and making star charts, so Minghao does great in Astronomy too.

☆ There’s no class he really hates, but his magic isn’t as Charms-suited as it is focused on creative magic, so those quick spells actually take him more time.

☆ Because he likes flying, he tries out to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker when the position opens up and earns it 😌 he’s so calm yet fast as he flies, it looks like he always knows exactly where his little gold friend is!

☆ People make jokes about his Patronus being a frog or something of the like, but they’re sure proven wrong by the beautiful swan that slides out, skating gracefully on the air around Minghao.

Seungkwan

☆ The moment the Sorting Hat hits Seungkwan’s head, it shouts out “Oh, we have a loyal one here. This one is a Hufflepuff!” A very decided ceremony for Mr. Boo 😌 he’s both shook at how little time it takes and happy the hat thinks he’s loyal.

☆ A Half-Blood! His mom is actually Pure-Blood, his father a Muggleborn. He loves magic, but also really enjoys learning about the Muggle world. Totally open to differences. Would even consider marrying a Muggle.

☆ LOVES Care of Magical Creatures. One of the students who almost always volunteers for demonstrations because he wants to touch all the animals! Unless they’re, like, giant bugs or something that’ll try to kill him, of course. Muggle Studies is really fun because it’s a way to connect with a part of his heritage and understand others. It gives him social ground with Muggleborns and even non-magical people he’ll interact with in life.

☆ Who made Arithmancy a class??? It stresses him out just to look at 💀 You’re allowed to drop electives, so he straight-up nopes out of Arithmancy and signs up for Divination instead.

☆ He enjoys flying, but being up that high and being chased by sporting goods that want to break your bones? Nah, he’s good, thanks. It’s much more fun to watch and offer comment, so Seungkwan becomes the school Quidditch commentator…and often gets chastised by professors for sassing rival times and whining about missed shots that were so easy, come on.

☆ Really really hopes his Patronus is strong enough to take an animal form, so when it comes out looking big he’s kind of proud yet shook. The light forms a dolphin that bobs back over to his owner, leaping in circles in the air around him and bringing a smile to his face.

Vernon

☆ “Interesting mind on this one, eh?” Those are the first words the hat speaks when it’s set on Vernon’s head. “A perfect fit for Ravenclaw, this one!” He’s proud. His mother was a Ravenclaw during her Hogwarts days, part of the most artful and creative-minded house. He can’t stop smiling all night!

☆ He’s a Pure-Blood wizard, his maternal grandmother having actually attended Beauxbatons before settling down in England. His father’s side always attended Hogwarts, so the school is really what joined his family. People tend to assume Vernon’s a Muggleborn, though, just because he looks so spaced out or amazed sometimes.

☆ Yet another lover of magical creatures right here! They love him right back too 😌 other students get jealous of how much they approach Vernon. He’s also quite good at Arithmancy, there’s just something about it that clicks in his head.

☆ Accidentally set something on fire in Potions class once. Enough said.

☆ Enjoys playing Quidditch for fun with his friends, but doesn’t try out for the formal team. He’s happy to support Ravenclaw alongside his classmates.

☆ Can’t help but laugh when his Patronus comes out as a small turtle. It’s cute, though, he and others defend it, a good embodiment of happy memories.

Dino

☆ Another pretty fast sort. “You’d make it in Gryffindor, sure,” the hat mutters, “but I believe your place is in Slytherin!” And with that, Chan is off to his table! He’s a bit surprised, having expected Gryffindor, but hey, Slytherins are ambitious, so the hat’s probably right. He’ll do anything to succeed.

☆ The Lees have a whole-ass family tree on display- they’re Pure-Bloods. A little proud of it, but frankly Chan himself doesn’t care, almost feeling that much more like being the one to break the line just to shut them all up about it.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts star! That one kid that always gets called up to show everyone how to do it right 😤 such a natural dueler and just really good at dispelling negative vibes 😌 he also enjoys flying a lot, it just helps him feel free to soar into the air!

☆ Conversely, he has a lot of difficulty in Potions class, which makes him want to double down on it so he’s no longer stressing about it!

☆ Slytherin’s Seeker 😌 he’s such a nimble flyer with great control, Chan was born to play this role!

☆ He lowkey wants something big and intimidating like a dragon or a rhino, so when a small burst of light appears he fears he’ll be disappointed. The moment the otter slides into view, though, all he can do is smile and reach for it, taking its hand to run after it and play, too.

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