#maybe a six foot bubble around them

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

I'm so fascinated by the extra senses speedsters have and what the world must look like to them because of those extra senses.

They have extremely localized electrolocation: meaning that they can 'see' energy if it's close to them, they are touching it or if it's extremely strong. So Wally can see the electricity firing in his wife's brain when he holds her hand. Bart can see the electricity coursing from the wall, into the TV and gaming console, before swirling around inside the controller in his hands. When the dust and smoke is too thick to rely on vision, Barry can still see the energy in Hal's ring, even from a block away.

They also sense vibrations. They can hear them, if you will. Anything they touch thrums a different note. Different dimensions sing in a different key, a just off pitch. Some objects, like an office chair or a blade of grass, sing so quietly that they have to be close and really focus to hear it. Others, like a moving train or a pot of boiling water, scream so loudly that they can hear them from quite a distance away.

Yet that's not all. They can also feel time. Like trained scuba divers feeling the flow of the current, the ripples as they disrupt the calm. They can feel the jetstreams of nearby time travelers and they can trace it back to its source with startling accuracy. If time is an ocean then we only perceive it drop by drop. They can see how it stretches out, in every direction, every place that drop could flow.

The final sense they have is their ability to sense the speedforce. Every speedforce user is known to them, is felt, is seen. Regardless of distance, they can always see the little stars dotting the horizon, each one the barely contained supernova of their friends and family. They can see the speedforce as well as it flows and cracks and bubbles around them.

It's fascinating to me that they have all these extra senses. We see them casually mentioned but we never really see what that would look like. What this influx of stimulation would do to them.

#honestly if you put a blindfold on them theyd still probably be fine #the vibration thing and the electricity thing seems to be fairly close proximity only #maybe a six foot bubble around them #but very strong vibrations and very strong energy signals can be sensed from much farther away #also if they touch something they can usually feel all of it. regardless of the size of the object #the time one wouldn't come up much in normal life but they aren't fucking normal so it does actually come up fairly frequently #with Wally being able to tell when time has been fucked with and Bart being able to tell when time is fracturing #the speedforce one is constant though and distance doesn't really effect it #dc #dc comics #the flash #kid flash #wally west #impulse #bart allen #barry allen #speedsters #flash fam

[loveysloveclub]

marys song - jack hughes

in which, you had always loved the boy next door.

your parents had been best friends with ellen and jim hughes long before you were ever born. so, it was no surprise that you had grown up alongside the hughes boys.

quinn was like an older brother you never had. he was the one you would run to when luke or jack were being too mean or when you had fallen off your scooter trying to beat luke in a race. he always took your side, even when you were in the wrong.

you and luke had been the closest growing up, since you two were the same age. he was your best friend. you helped him get girls and he scared away all the guys that were ever interested in you. you two stayed up all night, communicating through your bedroom windows. he was your partner in crime.

and jack? jack and you had always had a strange relationship. you had realised you liked him when you were six and he was hanging out with another girl that lived on the same street at you. her name was sally and you hated her guts from the second you saw jack tie her shoe lace. seriously, who even wore laces back then? it was all about the velcro.

age seven

you had found jack sulking in his backyard, kicking the grass with his shoed foot. you didn't know why he was upset, you were simply looking for luke.

"what's wrong with you?" you had asked him, your arms crossed and head turned up. you were quite angry with him that day, you had seen him kiss sally on the cheek during a game of truth and dare that you weren't allowed to play in earlier that week.

"no one here to play with me." he sulked, once again taking his anger out on a patch of grass. "where is everyone?" you had responded, slowly taking a seat next to him on the grass field. "luke got hockey and quinn at the movies with his friends, he said i wasn't allowed t come."

"why didn't you ask me to play?" you had asked the boy, who barely shot you a glance before shrugging his shoulders. "yous been moody all week."

you glared at the boy, "i'm not moody, maybe you just annoying."

"i'm not annoying, you're annoying!" he shot back, standing up from the grass and over you. you stood up just as quick, crossing your arms and standing on your tippy toes to seem taller than him. "you're always annoying me, jack!" you shouted.

jack rolled his eyes, "you should go home 'fore i beat you up."

jack would never have touched you, he was always threatening everyone with the same stuff. but you took it to heart anyways, tears filling your eyes. "i don't like you anymore, jack."

and with that, you were off back to your own home.

jim had watched the whole interaction with a small smile, he had an ongoing bet with your own father that you and jack were gonna end up together. it was all for laughs, something to bring up every christmas dinner.

little did he know.

age sixteen

you were practically bubbling with anticipation as you bounded down the stairs of your summer house, phone in hand with the text message from luke saying they had arrived on the screen.

you had seen luke all year, of course. but you hadn't seen quinn or jack since christmas last year due to hockey. you also knew that they had both brought some friends they had met through hockey, and had always had a thing for hockey players.

"bye mom! bye dad!" you yelled as you slammed the front door behind you and bounced over to the hughes household. luke had told you to just walk in, like you weren't already planning on it.

the hughes house had always been significantly louder than your own, you being an only child and there being three of them. but the noise that greeted you when you walked in was other worldly.

screams were heard, along with heavy footsteps as people ran around. you smiled to yourself as you crossed the barrier into the living room.

luke had an unfamiliar boy on top of him, holding a pillow over his head. jack laughed as he held back quinn, who was attempting to help luke. and two more unfamiliar boys yelled at the tv screen as they played some sort of hockey based video game.

"jesus, what in a warzone is going on here?" you laughed at the sight, and six pairs of heads snapped towards you. the boy on top of luke fell off him, as luke bounded to his feet and marched over to you.

"come on, holly. we're leaving these psychos to their own devices." luke stated as he grabbed your hand and attempted to drag you off to his room. but you stood your ground, ripping your hand from his before bounding over to quinn.

"quinny!" you exclaimed before enveloping him into a hug. the boy groaned at the sudden impact, before mumbling a small "hello bug."

as you released him, you turned to jack. the boy smiled at you and time seemed to stop. you hated how all this time and distance would never put your mind at ease when it came to jack hughes.

he opened his mouth to say something before the boy who was previously suffocating your best friend with a pillow intercepted him. "trevor. trevor zegras. it's lovely to meet you. have you seen the house? let me give you a tour." you had practically grown up in the hughes summer house, but you decided to not tell the excited boy that as you allowed him to grab your hand and guide you upstairs.

you turned back to look at jack, who already seemed to be staring at you. you offered him a shy wave and smile before turning back around.

no one seemed to realise how jack's eyes lingered on your retreating figure, no one except quinn who smirked at the sight.

he so couldn't wait to tell jim.

age twenty one

you mumbled small apologies as you pushed passed people in order to get to the authorised portion of the prudential centre. jack had just won his game with an overtime shot, and you were bubbling with excitement for him.

finally finding where you were supposed to be, you quickly flashed your pass before being let through by security. you passed many devils players that you had met over the passed year or two, offering them small congratulations.

you found luke before jack, crushing the taller boy into a hug before shaking his shoulders aggressively. "you were so good, lukey!"

luke simply shook your hands off him, his face stuck in a permanent fixture of smiles, before telling you he'd meet you at the car. you nodded your head before walking off, eyes searching for the middle hughes child.

when you spotted him, he was just wrapping up a conversation with his captain, nico.

"jack!" you exclaimed to get his attention, he seemed to look around aimlessly for a few moments before his eyes landed on you, a large smile overtaking his features as he began his trek in your direction.

upon reaching you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, "hey baby."

you smiled as you wrapped your own arms around his neck, offering him a kiss as a congratulations. his lips chased yours, but you were quick to pull away. laughing at his pout, "i'm proud of you."

the boy simply hummed before reconnecting his lips to yours. you pulled away again, "and i love you."

"i love you too." he smiled before reconnecting his lips to yours once more, groaning when you pulled away again. "and luke's waiting for us by the car."

and with that, you were dragging a sulking jack through the prudential centre.

#jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #nj devils #hughes #jack hughes x reader #trevor zegras

[luveline]

steve harrington with a golden retriever girlfriend headcanons??

hellloooooo so. so i am not good at headcanons but i did write a little scenario because the idea is so cute love u <3 golden retriever gf x completely in love steve 0.8k

"Steve!" you exclaim, bursting into the shop with a huge smile on your face. 

You stride fast between shop patrons to where he's sorting through returned tapes. He stands up knowing what you're wanting and feels only mildly winded when you leap up into his arms, hands steadfast around his neck as he bends under your weight. 

He gives you a good squeeze, always happy to see you. 

"You're never gonna guess what I got," you say into his neck before pulling back and dropping onto your own two feet again. 

"What'd you get, doll?" 

You dig into your purse and pull out a box of Swedish fish, brandishing them like they're made from gold. "For you," you say, passing him the box offhandedly. You skirt around him to where Robin is sitting behind the counter on a stool. "And for you, my favourite Family Video employee."

You pass her a pack of twizzlers. She grins. "Thanks, Y/N." 

"You're welcome. You know, I saw, like, a huge ant hill outside, they were climbing up my socks by the time I remembered they could climb. And- Steve, what are you doing?" 

Steve rolls his eyes and guides you back, hands on your hips and lifting. You get the picture and kick off the ground, sitting on the counter with your legs swinging. 

He catches your foot in his hand and sure enough finds you've still got at least a hand's count of ants on your shoe and sock. He wrinkles his nose. "Baby." 

"I thought my socks were itchy." 

He starts pulling ants off of your sock, enamoured and exhausted with you. You quickly forget what he's doing, leaning backwards to talk to Robin with your head upside down. 

"How's it going?" 

"Slow day, slow Steve. Same as usual," she says. 

You lean a little too far and would've likely tipped off or almost when Steve grabs your thigh and holds you down. 

"Slow Steve," you giggle. 

He shakes an ant gently off of his hand and onto the floor. "Nice, babe." 

"Steve, don't, they're gonna get crushed," you say, having sat up to watch his process. 

"They're gonna bite you. Doesn't it freak you out, bugs all over you?" 

"Not really." 

Steve huffs. "Typical," he says under his breath, continuing to steal ants off of your sock. You get distracted by the radio, humming along and then quietly singing to the cheerful pop tune. 

Steve looks up at you from the ground, your carefree smile, so pretty and so charming, bubbly and beautiful. He gets distracted, watching as you karaoke the rest of the song like a lovesick fool.

When he looks down most of the ants, maybe five or six, have crawled into his arm hair. He shakes his arm hard and shivers as they fall away, jumping up onto his feet and brushing himself down, phantom ants crawling all over him. 

You beckon him forward worriedly. "You have one-" you gesture to his face. He rushes to push between your thighs, eyes closed and face inclined to yours. 

"Get it for me," he demands. 

Your hand cradles his face. You brush your thumb over his cheek. "Huh, must've been a trick of the light," you say after a moment. You squeeze his cheek. 

He opens his eyes to glare at you, finds it softening fast at your loving smile. "You're pretty," you say. 

He throws his head back, hand waving at you. "Get outta here, Y/N." 

You beam at him and jump off of the counter. Steve winces for your poor ankles though you don't flinch, straightening up your bright outfit with a flourish of the hands. 

"How do I look? Good enough to go play a game of Dig-Dug?" you ask. 

He's genuine when he says, "You look adorable." 

Robin groans and gags and Steve doesn't care, smirking to himself as he wraps his arms around you for a goodbye hug. Always strange to find himself missing your hugs so quickly. 

You rub the side of your head against his chest and he can't help the boyish rush of heat to his cheeks when you kiss his throat. 

"You smell so good. Like lavender. Are you wearing lavender? Did you switch colognes?" 

"I did," he says. "Obsession. You picked it, babe." 

"It's good." 

You sniff him loudly. He blushes worse, looking away from you for something to save his heart from giving out. He's punished by some higher power when he meets Robin's patronising gaze, though he knows she really likes you. It's his happiness she can't abhor. 

"Okay, bye Steve," you say succinctly, giving him one last squeeze and then making quick time out of the store, leaving behind only your smell and the lingering heat of your grip. 

Oh, and the Swedish fish. And a few ants. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[slaymitchabernathy]

Red

“I don’t like that color.”

Coriolanus sighs at the snippy tone. He’s gotten used to it over the years, how she still tries to poke at him, push his buttons, fight him on every decision.

She’ll learn one day.

“I always paint them this color darling,” he reminds her with a tone all too gentle for the way she just addressed him. But he’s patient with his girl. For the most part.

“None of my friends paint their toes red anymore. Now it’s pink.”

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows as he continues to paint even, red strokes of polish onto his girlfriend’s toes, acting as if he’s so interested in what her silly little friends are doing.

He’s met some of her friends. Seen how stupid those girls are, their boyfriends too. All so bubbly and not at all driven.

“Then you’ll be extra special,” he says, finishing with her left foot. It’s a good thing Coriolanus doesn’t mind feet. Not that he actively seeks them out, but he doesn’t mind his girlfriend’s small feet. Not when he gets little moments like this with her. And she giggles whenever he tickles her feet too, so that’s nice.

Soarynn huffs but doesn’t say anything in reply. He’s glad. He’s had a long day at work. He never thought such a domestic task would bring him such serenity, but for some reason, he truly enjoys painting his girlfriend’s toes.

It all happened on a whim. The nail salon she normally frequented got closed down—rat infestation— and Soarynn was without a place to get her pedicures.

Coriolanus being the economic man he was offered to paint her toes for her. It was a bit of a joke at first, what could he possibly know about painting toenails? But he knew how to make things work, how to overcome and adapt.

He was a Snow after all. And he’d been through a lot in his younger years, survived a lot, learned a lot.

Soarynn preferred white toenails at the time but he’s convinced her to go with red. It would be a one-time thing anyway. But then it turned into every once in a while until every three weeks Coriolanus Snow was painting his girlfriend’s toes.

In a way it was embarrassing. Here he was, the powerful Coriolanus Snow hunched over while his girlfriend placed her feet in his lap. But he didn’t mind. He did it out of love. And pride. But mostly love.

None of Soarynn’s friends had boyfriends who were as dedicated as he was to her. None of those sorry excuses for men were willing to come home after a long day of work and do something as tedious as this. But here he was.

“What did you do today while I was at work, my love?” He asks, gently taking her other foot and placing it on his knee. He’s learned to be more gentle over the years because of her, more kind, to smile more.

He’s usually so focused on the task at hand that he barely spares her a glance but he looks up at her just this once to truly admire the piece of work Soarynn Nightingale is.

Her head is tilted while she thinks. It’s cute. How she probably did two things today but has to think so hard about them. He likes that about her, how utterly clueless and dumb his girl can be sometimes. She’s smart when she wants to be. When she wants to run that mouth of hers.

“Well I woke up around ten,” she starts.

Coriolanus woke up at six. Like he does every day, six days a week. He wakes up to his alarm and rolls onto his back, wondering why he had to go and be so ambitious with his work.

He slips out of bed, showers, does his morning routine before putting on the clothes he picked out the night before. He sprays on some cologne before leaving the bathroom. All that’s left is to say goodbye.

Soarynn is always fast asleep. Her blonde head of hair peeking out from under the thick duvet covers. He presses a kiss to her forehead before leaving for work. Then she wakes up four hours later.

“Then I got lunch with Clemmie around one, maybe one-thirty.”

At one-thirty Coriolanus was in his fifth meeting of the day, buried in spreadsheets and concerns about the District’s production quotas.

“Oh and then I did a little shopping. Not too much I swear.”

Coriolanus smiles to himself as he paints even strokes on all five of her toes. As spoiled as she can be—which is his own doing—Soarynn is always careful when handling his money. He appreciates that about her. How she knows it’s his, not hers. That plastic card he gave her is a privilege and it can be taken away.

He never takes it away though.

He likes seeing her spend his money. Remembering when he had none makes him more proud to see his girlfriend carting around handfuls of bags all filled with frivolous nonsense. It makes her happy though. If that counts for something.

Her card is red.

He gave it to her on her twentieth birthday. She’d been so excited, jumping up and down and kissing him silly. He likes taking care of his girl, fixing all her problems. And goodness does she have a lot of problems. They’re all so easy to fix. The sink is leaking, she can’t find her favorite pair of heels, the restaurant she always goes to doesn’t have any available tables for her and her friends.

All such simple, elementary problems that he solves with the wave of his hand.

He calls the plumber who arrives in twenty minutes. Because when you’re a Snow, people tend to bend to your beck and call. He buys her ten new pairs of heels, all the same style as her favorites, but a variety of colors. He knows the owner of the restaurant who happily moves some people around until his girl and her friends have the best table in the house.

It’s easy to make Soarynn happy. And when she’s happy, he’s happy.

Because Coriolanus Snow isn’t a good man when he’s mad.

He sees red when he’s mad.

Soarynn’s only witnessed it a handful of times. Seen how mad he can really get, how mean and aggressive he becomes.

He thinks it’s a good thing though. She knows not to test him. Not to push him.

So when he insists on painting her toenails red, she doesn’t argue with him for long.

That’s when she’s smart, uses her senses, her charms.

It’s probably because she remembers the one time she got in his way, made him more upset, pushed him too far.

She remembers that night. How he yelled, how he pushed her, how he grabbed her.

They both saw the same color that night.

It’s the same color they’re seeing right now on her toes. The same color they don’t talk about even though it sits in the back of their minds. In a way it leads them to both despise the color due to the nasty memory it brings up.

But they don’t talk about it.

How it always seems to lead to red.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #hunger games #slaymitchabernathy #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #soarynn snow #possesive coriolanus #coriolanus x soarynn #coriolanus x original character #coryo snow #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus drabble #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fic #soarynn nightingale #staywithmealways #drabble #oneshot

[negans-lucille-tblr]

My Worthless Love || Part Six (FIN)

Summary: At first, Dean can’t believe his luck that he gets to date a porn star, but soon the cracks start to show, and Dean gets to see a totally different side to the industry that bursts his bubble and leaves him torn. 

Rating: 18+

Part Tags: angst, mentions of breaching limits, self-disgust, shame, embarrassment, mentions of drug use, lack of self worth, major fluff, mentions of rape

Part WC: 2790

A/Ns: Hope you all enjoyed this flangsty mini!

My Worthless Love Masterlist || Find out how to get your own commission here

Your POV

All you can focus on is getting back to the bedroom you’d been using as a changing room. Tears flood your vision as you keep your eyes fixed on your feet, making sure you don’t trip in your rush to escape, your clothes are clutched tightly to your still-naked body. Finally, you see the bedroom door, and let out a shaky exhale, desperate for the privacy the room can give you. You throw the door open without wasting another second and quickly duck into the room. But before you can close the door, your eyes land on someone sitting on the bed, and as you look up you realise who it is. 

“Dean,” you choke out, attempting to compose yourself. You clear your throat, your heart racing in your chest. 

Your mind is spinning so quickly, you’re not even sure how you feel about the fact that he hasn’t left. When you’d glanced over to where he had been standing not long into the shoot and saw him missing, you’d assumed this was all too much and he’d gone. You’d assumed that maybe he couldn’t handle this after all and had left you. You wouldn’t have blamed him – you hate yourself for it too – and the idea was one of the very reasons you didn’t want him to come to set with you. But you’d trusted him when he insisted that he could handle it. 

“You’re still here?” you ask, confused. 

“Of course I am,” Dean smiles slightly. “I wasn’t about to leave you here, I wanted to be sure you were okay.” He rises to his feet and begins to approach you, and your entire body tenses. “Are you okay?” he pries, concern painting over his face in an instant. 

“Fine,” you lie, attempting to at least act it. “I’m fine,” you repeat, hoping to sound more convincing. 

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to your left hand. You look down, seeing the rag that had been thrown your way once the cameras had stopped rolling and your grip around it tightens. 

“Just clean up,” you try to brush him off, hoping if you scrunch it hard enough in your grasp that he won’t see the mess inside. At the very thought, you also clench your thighs tighter together. “I should shower.” 

You attempt to move past him towards the en suite, but you feel Dean turn with you. 

“Wait,” he calls, placing a hand on your shoulder and stopping you in your tracks. You can feel the tears once again building at the backs of your eyes, and you’re not sure you can hold them in any longer. 

“What, Dean?” you snap, glaring at him. Dean frowns, clearly taken aback by your tone, and then swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” you relent with a sigh, “please just let me shower.” 

Dean silently releases you, nodding minutely, and so you turn and head into the bathroom, intent on having the water as hot as you can handle, scrubbing until your skin is raw and no trace of Nick is left. 

You emerge from the bathroom timidly, not even sure Dean will still be in the bedroom waiting for you. You wouldn’t blame him if he isn’t after the way you treated him when all he’d tried to do is show you some concern. But he is, sitting on the foot of the bed, his head hung low as he plays with his fingers in front of him. He lifts his head when he hears you coming, and the concern he’d looked at you with earlier is still very evident on his face. You’d thought you’d got all your tears out silently in the shower, drowned out by the water and the loud music you’d put on. But more creep in and threaten to leave, and you can’t have anyone looking at you in that way right now, it’s too much. 

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean finally asks, watching you carefully. 

You don’t manage to speak this time, so you just nod, forcing a smile at him before turning your back as you begin rummaging through your bag of clothes for the clean ones you’d packed to change into. 

“How was the rest of the shoot?” he pries, clearly trying to make conversation. 

“The same as usual,” you half lie, not wanting to think about what had made you so upset in the first place. “You’d have known if you’d stayed,” you counter, hoping to distract yourself with the fact Dean had left instead. 

“You don’t think I wanted to leave, do you?” he asks, and you hear the mattress groan slightly as he stands up. 

“I don’t blame you,” you argue weakly. “I wouldn’t wanna see how little self respect my girlfriend has for herself if I were you, either.” 

“Wait,” Dean insists, once again reaching out for you and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Look at me.” 

You drop the clothes in your hand back to your bag and slowly turn around, afraid to look directly in those green eyes, so you look down at your feet instead. 

“Sweetheart,” Dean prompts, curling a finger under your chin to lift your head and look at him. “I didn’t want to leave. Marv made me.” 

You wonder for a second if you even believe him, but then you think about how irritable Marv was growing every time you fucked up towards the start, and how distracted you’d been until you’d realised Dean was gone. It felt like you couldn’t fully let yourself get lost in your alter ego with him there, and no doubt it showed. So it would make sense for Marv to kick Dean out. The fact Dean didn’t want to leave at least brings you some comfort. Especially when you consider that it was probably a good thing he wasn’t there, especially towards the end. 

“Is that why you’re upset?” he pries, frowning. 

“Yeah,” you lie, turning around. “But it’s fine, I get it. You were totally distracting me. Marv hates mistakes,” you force a laugh, rummaging through your bag again just for something to do. Your eyes fall on the packet of valium Dean had caught you taking earlier, and you think about how much easier it would be if you took more – the whole lot, maybe. 

“So you’re not mad?” Dean checks, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“No, I’m fine,” you laugh slightly. “I get it.” 

You think it’s finally over, and Dean is going to drop it, so you begin to get dressed, hoping that enough time will pass that you can start acting fine enough that you’ll even start to believe it again. But you can’t stop the shake in your hands, and Dean being so close makes you nervous. 

“What’s going on, baby?” Dean implores softly. 

Fuck, why can’t this guy be oblivious like the rest of them? Why can’t he just believe a fine, and drop it?!

“Nothing, Dean!” you shout, throwing your t-shirt onto the floor with a huff. 

“What happened?” Dean tries again, remaining calm. 

It’s no good, you can’t do it. 

You can’t turn around and face him, so you look down at your hands, your back to him as you finally come clean. 

“It was a bad shoot,” you tell him. Instantly you feel both of Dean’s hands squeeze your shoulders lovingly, and he wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses the back of your head. 

“Are they all this bad?”

“No, not like this,” you confess, your heart starting to beat a little harder and faster again. You’ve never had anyone to talk to about this stuff, you’re not even sure you know how to say it. 

“Talk to me, you can tell me anything,” Dean encourages you quietly, holding you tighter. 

You close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment, formulating the sentence in your mind. 

“They ignored one of my limits,” you admit, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay after your confession. 

“What?” Dean asks, his body stiffening behind you. “Did you stop them? Did you say something?”

“There was no point, Dean. I’d already pissed Marv off enough, and I just wanted the shoot to be over.” 

“What limit was it?” Dean’s tone is now laced with anger, and you worry you’ve only been thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

“He… he came inside me,” you explain weakly. “It’s fine, I’m not an idiot, I’m on birth control, I just don’t like doing it on camera.” 

“That’s not the fucking point,” Dean grunts, and you feel him slip away from you. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

You instantly turn and reach out to grab his arm, hoping to stop him in his tracks like he’d done you earlier. 

“Dean, don’t, please. You’re going to make it worse if you storm out there.” 

“I don’t fucking care! You think I’m gonna let him get away with this? And then make money off of it by putting the video online?!” 

You’ve never seen Dean like this before, and while part of you is honored he’s being so protective of you, you also fear what repercussions that’s going to have on you. 

“Dean, please,” you beg once more.

“We can’t let them get away with doing this, Y/N. How many other girls have they done this to, hm? How many more?” He clearly knows you well to speak to your empathy towards other girls like you. You sigh heavily. “Has this happened before?” 

You don’t want to give him that answer and add fuel to the fire so you purse your lips. 

“I’ll talk to my agent, let him handle it. It’s what I pay him for,” you try to reason. Dean clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t protest to your compromise, his body relaxing just a little. 

“Fine, but if that dick doesn’t do anything, I certainly will, and next time you won’t be able to stop me.” 

“Dick, you promised me that you were going to make sure he got my limits list,” you remind him, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

You ignore your boyfriend who is glaring in your direction from the otherside of the couch, knowing that he’s not mad at you, he’s just been unable to keep some form of frown off of his face since the shoot the day before. 

“Who are we talking about again, sweetheart?” you hear Dick sigh, “you’re not my only client, you know, no matter how much you act like it.” 

“Nick,” you reply, ignoring his slight dig. “He goes by Lucifer, remember?” 

“Oh right, yeah,” Dick replies, though you can tell from the tone of his voice he doesn’t actually know who you’re talking about. 

“So what are you gonna do about it, Dick? He breached one of my limits,” you reiterate, starting to lose patience. 

“Listen, doll, I don’t know why you’re complaining, you got paid extra for it,” he laughs slightly. 

“That’s not the fuckin’ point, Dick,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “You’re my agent, you’re meant to make sure I’m safe at shoots like these, and when I’m not you’re meant to fight my corner. That’s what I pay you for. But if you’re not gonna do your fucking job then I might as well leave.” 

“Whoa, sweetheart, calm down, I’ll talk to the director, okay? See if he can maybe get you a bit more cash to make it worth it, hm?” 

“Jesus, no, it’s not about the money!” you shout, feeling like you’re going around in circles. “You know what? I’m done with you, I’ll find someone else.” 

You hang up on him before he can protest, tossing your cell down onto the coffee table in a huff before throwing yourself back onto the couch and covering your face with your hands, utterly frustrated. 

“Can I go fuck them up yet?” Dean grunts, and you peer past your hands to look at him, sighing heavily at the heavy glare still set on his face. 

“No, the last thing I need is you being arrested for assault,” you try to joke. 

It’s silent between you for a moment, until you hear Dean sigh heavily, and when you look over at him, that look of pure anger has dispersed from his gorgeous features, and now he just looks concerned. 

“Listen, Y/N,” he begins, clearing his throat and leaning forward on his elbows, playing with his fingers in front of him much like he’d done the day before. “I never wanted to be this guy, and I never wanted to say this… but the difference is, I’m actually saying it for your sake, not mine,” he explains. He pauses for a moment as a small frown pulls at your brow. “I think you should quit.” 

“Well I did just fire my asshole agent, so I guess I did,” you laugh slightly. “I’ll find a better one, one that treats me better,” you decide. 

“No, I mean… I think you should quit the entire industry.” 

“Oh.” 

You can’t find much more than that to say as you think about Dean’s words. At first you’re a little angry that he’d try to tell you what to do, like he’s got some sort of control over your life, but then you think about how he’d said he was saying it for your sake and not his. Does he really have your best interests at heart here? Or is he just using this as an excuse to dump all his jealousy and insecurities on you and make you quit?

“What Nick did to you wasn’t right… if anything it was borderline rape. I know he knew about your limits, he mentioned your list to me before the shoot. He knew you didn’t want that and he did it anyway,” Dean reveals, only making you feel worse about the whole thing. 

Not that you’re surprised by any means, but you’d tried to excuse it by convincing yourself it was Dick who fucked up and didn’t send your limits, and not Nick choosing to ignore them. While you don’t like Nick and had heard some rumours from other girls, you’d naively hoped he wasn’t as bad as people said, and working with him wouldn’t be a terrible idea; that maybe you’d be lucky. 

“And it’s not just what Nick did,” Dean goes on. “The way pretty much every guy in that place looked at you and treated you… it made me feel sick. You don’t deserve that, you’re worth more than that.” 

At Dean’s final comment you feel yourself breaking down, shaking your head in reluctance to accept that he might be right. 

“No, I’m not… this is it, Dean, this is what I’m good at… this is what I deserve,” you sob out, trying to make him realise it for himself. Until now, you hadn’t really wanted him to, hoping if he didn’t see how unworthy you were of his time and attention, you could keep it a little longer. 

“How can you say that?” Dean asks, sliding himself closer to you on the couch. “I don’t know who or what has made you feel like that, but they’re fucking wrong. You’re gorgeous, and you’re funny and smart, and you light up a room just being in it, and you’ve made me happier than I thought I could be. And none of that has anything to do with sex, because you’re more than that, darling.” 

You shake your head again, trying to block out his words, not wanting to believe them, because you’d convinced yourself of the opposite for so long. 

“Let me prove it to you, let me show you what you’re worthy of,” Dean implores, grabbing your hands in his. “Don’t quit for good if you don’t want to, but just take a break, let me try.” 

“I don’t deserve that,” you sniffle. “I don’t deserve so much of your time, Dean.” 

“Of course you do, you deserve every second of it,” he disagrees. “Y/N,” he sighs, making sure you’re looking at him. “Let me love you until you learn to love yourself.” 

You stare into his eyes, searching for sincerity and finding nothing but just that. He truly believes what he’s saying, even if you think he’s wrong. But you nod anyway, agreeing to his request, because what have you got to lose other than him? 

“Okay,” you finally vocalise. “You can try.”

The beam that lights up Dean’s face at least fills you with some comfort that maybe you’re doing the right thing after all. Especially with a guy like him. 

Please let me know what you think of this fic! Feedback is the fuel to writers' fires! My anon is on if you'd prefer to leave feedback anonymously!

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#my worthless love #dean x reader #mini series #dean winchester #smut #angst #fluff #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #negans-lucille-tblr

[romanreignsgf]

We aren't him

Hello, my loves! I am here with an Ambreigns x Plus Size! Reader! This has been on the docket for a while now and I am so glad I can finally get it out here! Real names are used!

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You were in your room, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to get home. You had been dating him for about three weeks and you really thought he was amazing until you heard your phone ding

"She really thinks 

She’s just a fuck toy

It's hilarious! She is way too fat and 

Perky for me"

You read the texts in shock, He was one of the people who really didn't care about looks. You called some of your dearest friends. Jon and Joe. Or as the world knows them, Roman Reigns and Jon Moxley. Once they heard what you said they immediately came to get you 

"We are on our way, wait outside"

You just silently nodded and put your vape and phone in your bra. And walked outside. Seeing your deadbeat boyfriend "Baby I am so sorry my friend was on m-" You stopped him "Chad, just stop. I'm leaving you" He growled "Well fine then. Youre fucking ugly an-" Then a large hand was placed on Chad's shoulder "I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you bud" You giggled and walked to the car. Letting Joe do whatever he wanted to the five foot six man. Jon walked you to the car, One arm wrapped around your shoulder. “Hey, Do you need anything else inside?” You thought for a moment “I don’t think so… anything important is in a storage unit..” You see Joe coming over to you and Jon. He is holding a blood soaked fist “Holy shit, Joe…” You took off your jacket, placing it on his bleeding fist

“Don’t worry about it"

You looked at him with worried eyes "Okay..." You got into the passenger seat of the car, Joe was driving and Jon was sitting in the back, As soon as the car started and you and the boys are out of the neighborhood, you break down. Tears bubbling in your eyes.

Growing up as the fat girl, you always found the shittiest men to be in your life. Joe must have heard your tears, as did Jon. They let you cry cause they knew there was nothing they could say to make you feel better at this moment.

When you three pulled up to Joe's house, the car was stopped. You opened the passenger door and hopped out. You waited at the door and waited for Joe to unlock the door. You caught a glimpse of Joe's eyes, he had something planned but you couldn't put your finger on it.

When you walked in you turn to Jon and Joe and rubbed your eyes, "I'm gonna go shower... Is that okay?" Jon chuckled "Baby, I would hold off on that" Baby? He never called you that. Doll maybe, but never baby. Joe chuckled "Yes, Love, How about you go sit on the couch and Jon and I will get your surprise" You were downright confused but you went to the couch and plopped down.

(SMUT BELOW: WARNING!!!)

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About five minutes later, Your phone was yanked from your hand "What the?" You looked up, Seeing Jon and Joe standing over you. "What are you guy's doing?" Joe turned to Jon with a smirk, and that's when Jon spoke up "Now, Baby. That would ruin the surprise! Me and Joe... We wanna show you how wrong Chad was... Can you take off your pants and your panties?"

You looked up at the two, The dominance radiating off them was too much for you. You slipped off both your pants and panties and Jon looked at Joe like he saw god in front of him "Holy, Jon, What took us so fucking long to do this?" Your face flushed and you let out a giggle "Is the surprise you two staring at my pussy?" Jon laughed "Oh, no, baby. I can see that pretty pink pussy glistening, So me and Joe, We're gonna fuck you better than any other man." Those words sent shivers down your spine and made your pussy throb

Joe got on his knees in front of you and Jon plopped beside you. Jon unbuckled his pants and took his cock out from his boxers. "Now, While Joe eats your pretty pussy, your gonna stroke my cock, me and Joe will switch after you cum for a first time, and then we'll fuck you hard, multiple loads will be inside you"

Your face was now a beautiful shade of red. You nodded, wrapping your hand around Jon's cock. It was seven inches, and beautiful. That's when you felt Joe's tongue slide up the lips of your pussy, this got a moan out of you which also lead to you squeezing Jon's cock a tad. You moaned ''Jon! Joe!" Your hand picked up speed as Joe's tongue sped up as well, You also felt Joe's fingers slip inside of you

Your head fell back onto the couch, moaning loudly. Jon was whimpering, letting his head back fall onto the couch, You both leaned in, and you and Jon began making out, Joe was still tearing up your pussy with his fingers and tongue. You pulled away from Jon and moaned loudly "Fuck! shit! I'm cumming!" Your hand squeezed Jon's cock and your eyes rolled into the back of your head

Your breath was heavy and you were so blissed out. "Shit... That was amazing.." You smiled "Oh, Sweetheart, We are far from done," Joe said with a deep chuckle

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#wwe superstars #wwe #dean ambrose x reader #seth rollins x reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #wwe roman reigns #jon moxley x reader #jon moxley

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

Santa Baby

Pairings: Jake Kiszka X Danny Wagner ***slash my besties

Warnings: fluffffff, domestic bliss, established relationship, smut, m/m sex, oral

Word count: 7.5k

“Did you just say you want to go play in the snow?” Jake blushed and pushed Danny off him, standing up to fix his shirt and take off his jewelry so it wouldn’t get lost or damaged. “Yeah, when was the last time we got to play in the snow?”

“Another text from Josh” Jake chuckled as he silenced his notifications and tossed his phone into the empty cup holder between him and the driver. “Have you gotten any from Sam?”

Danny glanced at his phone which was situated on a stand that hung from the air vents so it could be used as navigation. “Oh, only about seven” he smiled over at Jake and they both had a good giggle at the expense of their brothers being ignored.

As the soft laughs bubbled out of his chest Jake was able to watch as Danny kept his focus on the winding mountain road before them.

Initially Jake was reluctant about letting him drive, but Danny put his foot down and even brought up Jake's driving history to get him to back down. Though it was a low blow, Jake secretly admit that it was nice to be the passenger, so he could take in the beautiful scenery- of both his boyfriend’s gorgeous profile and the plush snow covered mountain top.

It was mostly a last minute decision for the two of them to sneak away for the holiday. Well maybe Jake had the makings of the idea in his head already after the past few weeks of nonstop photo shoots, recording sessions, and interviews had kept both him and Danny busy and drained.

He’d brought it up as a joke ‘why don’t we just disappear in the mountains and spend Christmas together?’ but to his delight Danny easily agreed.

One slightly delayed plane ride and a blink of an eye later here they were in a rental headed towards the only cabin Jake could find online still available for the week.

After just shy of an hour of driving, the deep green colored pines dusted in sparkling white grew thicker. The wind was blowing the loose powder from the tree tops like it was still snowing although the forecast didn’t call for more participation until tomorrow afternoon.

A break in the trees gave way to an open gate with a freshly plowed driveway and at the end of the drive was the quaint yet impressive cabin that the two would call their home for the next six days.

“Looks even better than in the pictures” Danny commented as he cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned his forehead against the window. He was trying to get a peek inside as Jake fumbled with finding the access code in the long message the owner had sent him with check in instructions.

“Would you quit being a creeper, what if we’ve got the wrong address?”

“There’s no way, you triple checked” Danny laughed at Jake’s incessant doubting, knowing it was just the perfectionist in him showing.

“Ah! Here it is” he chimed, reading the numbers aloud as he keyed them into the pad on the door. A little green light illuminated and the electric lock whirred as the bolt was retracted from the door.

“Good thing we’ll be able to hear if anyone tries to enter in the middle of the night” Danny commented at how loud the mechanical sound was. Either the lock needed to be greased, or they just weren’t used to the still silence of living out in the middle of nowhere.

They set their bags down at the door in a little foyer that contained a coat closet, a shoe rack, and a large framed painting of the very cabin with the phrase-

Everyone needs a place to retreat: a spot where the world grows quiet enough for the soul to speak.

“Cute” Danny said as he stood next to Jake and admired the artwork. After a moment he slipped his arm around Jake’s waist to give him a squeeze before pulling him up a step and around the corner where the rest of the cabin lay waiting for them.

Besides the small space at the front door, which offered privacy for those inside, there was a wide open floor plan shrouded in lots of blue tinged natural light from the abundance of windows that overlooked a snowscape that was so beautiful it could have been a painting as well.

To the left was a surprisingly large kitchen for the size of the cabin overall. Its stainless steel appliances shimmered, polished carefully with the numerous cleans in between stays. White quartz countertops mirrored the untouched mounds of snow outside, smooth and glittery. A vase full of probably two dozen white roses sat elegantly arranged waiting to greet the next guests. White roses Jake smirked to himself, of course they were.

The living room was to the right. It was small but cozy, a rocking chair sat in front of a large stone fireplace with a round table tucked to its side. The couch hardly looked big enough for the two of them, not that either of them minded having to snuggle up with each other. Behind the couch were sliding glass doors that led to a small porch built out of the same raw sealed pine as the interior walls. Two more rocking chairs made of sturdier wood sat on the porch that looked out into the sparse trees that grew into a sea of forest that surrounded their island of paradise.

Jake felt like he was going to get too comfortable here. He could picture how their week was going to play out already, him cooking in the kitchen, looking over the island at his boyfriend lounging comfortably on the couch, feet propped up, maybe reading a book to pass the time until food was ready. He’d stop where he was every so often to look up and say ‘smells good’ with his signature crooked smile that Jake loved so much.

Perhaps the most unexpected element was the fully decorated Christmas tree erected right in between the kitchen and the living room. It was a real tree, no doubt cut down from right outside and somehow hauled in through the door. It was covered in thick ropes of silver tinsel, glass ornaments of varying size and color, and large velvet bows. The lights weren’t on but he could tell when they did light it up, which if he knew Danny the way he thought he did would no doubt would be soon, they would glow elegantly bright.

“Look, a rule book” Danny pointed out a binder that was sitting on the counter next to the vase of roses. He flipped the book open and started to skim read aloud. “No parties, no pets, we’ve stocked some food in the fridge but there is a general store about 30 miles past the cabin's entry road. The upstairs and downstairs are heated by a radiator but it’s old so we recommend starting a fire in the evenings to keep the cabin warm. There’s a pile of wood around back. It gets really cold outside up here so there’s an assortment of coats in the closet on the foyer for your use. Please message us if you have any questions”.

“I’m going to take the bags upstairs” Jake called over his shoulder as he turned and headed back towards the front door, but Danny jumped up and ran in front of him.

“That’s alright I got it!”

Jake glowered over at Danny. He always treated him like he was a delicate flower especially when they were alone together. When in fact Jake was a grown ass man that honestly handled himself better than Danny did. He dropped his shoulders though and let Danny pick up both the bags, knowing that Danny just liked being extra nice and showering Jake with his affection any chance he could get since the times when they could be lovey-dovey around each other were few and far between.

“I’ll come with you, I want to check out the bedroom anyways” Jake wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Danny, who smiled coyly before leading them up the small spiral staircase at the other end of the living room.

The upstairs wasn’t much more than a loft. A large chair with a fuzzy gray cable knit blanket thrown intentionally over the back sat perched toward the window that overlooked the top of the porch and the yard.

Danny dropped the bags in front of the accordion closet doors and flopped onto the bed with a satisfied groan.

“Jake, I don’t want to ever leave here!” He stretched his entire body out over the bed like a starfish, unintentionally showing how impressively big the bed was since not a single long limb hung off the edge.

Jake took a seat on the chair, adjusting the waistband of his pants and crossing his legs to get comfortable. “Remember the last time we shared a room with a lounge chair?” He mused over at Danny who sat up onto his elbows in the bed with a knowing look.

Jake smirked, thinking back to the night in question when he had pulled the chair from their hotel room in front of the bed and watched Danny play for over an hour.

“You said you were going to be nice to me while we’re here” Danny reminded him, though the mischievous glint in his eye said he didn’t exactly hate the memory of it.

Jake stood up from the chair and joined Danny on the bed, marveling at the way Danny scooped him up and threw him down onto the crisp duvet. “I’m always nice to you” he playfully argued with a smile as Danny smoothed his hair away from his face.

“I know you are, I was only teasing” Danny replied quietly then quickly gave a kiss to the tip of Jake’s nose.

“See, you’re the mean one. How many times have you teased me?” Jake didn’t drop it, in fact he brought up more memories from over a year ago. “How long did you make me worry before you told me you felt the same way I did about you back?”

“That was a long time ago baby” he sighed. How they got their start was something he didn’t like to think about often.

Danny didn’t like being reminded that there was a time when he didn’t know how he felt about Jake. He knew there was something there, but feeling that way about another man, let alone your best friend's brother, was a scary notion at the time.

Danny knew now exactly how he felt about Jake. Absolutely head over heels, and he planned on spending this week letting him know exactly that.

“Come on, let’s go back downstairs, I want to go play in the snow”.

Danny blinked a few times, thinking he hadn’t heard his boyfriend right. “Did you just say you want to go play in the snow?”

Jake blushed and pushed Danny off him, standing up to fix his shirt and take off his jewelry so it wouldn’t get lost or damaged. “Yeah, when was the last time we got to play in the snow?”

Danny took a moment to think about it. It had to have been back at home in Michigan, probably when they were in highschool if not even before then. “Alright, let’s go”.

“This looks like it will fit you” Danny held up a purple polyester coat from the closet the rule book said they’d be in. He eyed the way its proportions looked like it would match Jake’s.

“Is that a girl's jacket?” Jake pouted, crossing his arms instead of taking it from Danny’s hands to try it on.

“Well it’s this, or you can try to squeeze into one of these kids jackets”. He pulled out a bright yellow one next and snickered at the way Jake snatched up the purple one and silently put it on. It fit really well actually.

Danny slipped into the navy blue one, it was a little big for him, but this was the best they were going to get with borrowed gear.

“Alright, ready?” He asked, making sure Jake had put on his gloves before they made the first step back out into the chilly air.

“Ready” Jake replied, unable to hide the childlike excitement he was feeling.

“What are you doing!” Danny hollered from where he huddled on the porch with a cup of hot cocoa trying to warm up a little. They had been outside for nearly 45 minutes now and although he was thoroughly enjoying the novelty of playing in the snow, he needed a break.

“I’m building a snowman!” Jake called back, not once worried about how cold he was getting even with his pink cheeks and frosted nose. “I used to build a snowman for our yard every year, just because Josh bet me one time I couldn’t make one taller than him”.

Danny chuckled as he took a slow sip, careful not to burn his tongue. “Well, did you?”

“Damn right I did” Jake grinned wide as he rolled the now giant ball of snow back and forth until it was nearly too big for him to pick up.

“Need some help?” Danny asked to sound supportive of Jake’s determination, but honestly he wasn’t planning on moving from his spot where he could watch in lovestruck leisure.

“You know what happens next after the snowman is up?” Jake questioned with his hands on his hips, standing back and admiring the faceless stacks of snow he’d stacked together. He didn’t bring anything out to decorate it with, but he’d shoved two twigs into its sides and that was good enough for him.

“What’s that?” Danny replied and Jake turned around with a mischievous grin. He wordlessly bent over and balled up a fist full of snow.

“You better not!” Danny yelled, already aware of what Jake was planning next. He didn’t heed his warning, instead hurled the tight packed snowball at the porch where Danny was standing.

Danny protected his drink; like the snow could do it any harm, it was too hot to drink right now he was just using the steam to warm up his face at this point.

The snowball landed at his feet, a warning shot. He turned to put the mug down on the small table between the chairs and as soon as Danny’s guard was down Jake pelted him with a ball of snow right between his shoulder blades.

He turned back around and Jake’s face lit up at the look of shock and utter betrayal on Danny’s.

“Oh, you’re in for it now Kiszka!”

“Come and give me all you’ve got Wagner!”

Danny’s arms flew up as he jumped off the porch and started running, bending down to scoop up some snow and scrunch it together between his padded palms. His first shot was a miss, but the second landed dead in the center of Jake’s chest.

“You have shit aim!” Jake called out as he tried to shield his body behind a tree. “Were you aiming for my head or my balls!”

“I was aiming for your heart!” Danny gave up on trying to gather snow and decided instead to just chase after Jake. He was faster than him anyways and it was time he proved it.

Jake caught on quickly and darted out from behind the tree, yelling and laughing as Danny chased after him. They were like a couple of big kids, finally free to yell and fight as much as they wanted without the scrutiny of others or an image to upkeep.

The thick snow was hard to run in and it slowed Jake down, or at least that was the only explanation he could believe when two long arms came circling around him and pulled him down.

He was thankful for the snow when they landed, otherwise the ground would have really hurt.

Danny landed on top of Jake, but he rolled off onto his back next to him, placing his hand on his heaving chest and waving the other in the air to call a truce.

Laying there on the ground Jake looked over and his heart clenched so hard he was afraid it might implode in on itself. Leaving nothing behind but an emptiness in his chest that could never be filled again.

Everything about Danny in this moment was perfect, from the way his dark curls stuck out from underneath his knit beanie, to the way his nose scrunched and one eye closed when flecks of snow drifted through the air.

Danny turned to meet his gaze, smiling so charmingly that Jake couldn’t stand it anymore. He lifted off the ground and threw a leg over Danny’s, successfully mounting him and attacking his lips with his own.

Danny’s were no longer warm, but he still tasted like hot chocolate. He placed his hands gently on Jake’s waist and if Jake didn’t already know that he would freeze within minutes he would have ripped that stupid purple jacket off just to feel Danny’s hands closer to him.

Once he’d had his fill, and Danny’s lips were nice and swollen, he pulled back and they locked eyes again.

Danny’s face was flush, whether from the cold or the sudden intense make out session Jake didn’t know, but his eyes gleamed with admiration. “Jake, I lo-” Danny’s words were cut short by Jake stuffing a fist full of snow into his mouth and jumping off him to run back onto the porch.

The two warmed up on the couch with the knit blanket from the chair upstairs wrapped around both their shoulders. Jake had said he didn’t want any hot chocolate, but he stole more than a few sips from Danny’s mug every now and then. Danny didn’t mind though, he’d give Jake the shirt off his back if he asked, not that it’d fit him.

They turned the TV that hung above the fireplace on but didn’t bother to flip through the channels. Instead they settled with watching whatever it was already on, which happened to be a channel running a marathon of Christmas rom-coms. The movie that was playing was already half-way over, but Jake didn’t care. This wasn’t really his taste in cinema but he was happy to be worry free, doing nothing but enjoying sitting with Danny who was actually pretty invested in the story. From what he was able to pay attention to, the whole premise of the movie was examining the different types of love.

“This movie is kind of stupid” Jake said, stealing another sip even though the liquid was luke-warm now and the chocolate powder had started to settle in a ring at the bottom.

“What? You don’t like this movie?” Danny replied, forgetting for a second who exactly he was talking to. “Well, my mom and sister love this movie. I've watched it with them a few times”.

“You’re just like those people,” Jake referred to the characters on the screen, “a romantic”. He tried to pinch Danny’s side but stopped when the squirming threatened to make the blanket fall off them.

“You are too, you just try to hide it, especially around your brothers”.

“I don’t care what my brothers think, but the team…” Jake sighed, they had this talk or a version of it many times but it never got any less frustrating. They could act like a couple at home or around family who all knew of their relationship status at this point, but in public or while working, they needed to be professionals. Not just for their sake, but for Sam, Josh, and everyone they employed too.

“I know” Danny set his mug down on the round table and slid his arm under the blanket over Jake’s shoulders to pull him close. “It’s hard right now, but eventually things will slow down and we will have more time together just like this”.

Jake knew Danny was right, but it still occasionally got to him. He’d fought so hard to get Danny, and though they had gone strong for over a year now, it sometimes felt like he still didn’t have him completely.

“You hungry? I’m going to go see what they have in the kitchen” Jake pulled Danny’s arm off of him and fixed the blanket across his lap so he wouldn’t get up and follow him.

“You know I’m always hungry” Danny smiled, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulling it tighter around his frame.

Jake didn’t expect there to be much of anything in the fridge. Rentals usually only had the bare minimum for cooking, but he was surprised to see he had all the stuff to make some alfredo sauce and there was a package of dried spaghetti in the pantry.

It didn’t take long to cook, but the movie was already over when he returned to the living room with two plates in each hand.

Danny had fallen asleep sitting up but he slowly blinked his eyes open when he felt Jake sit back down next to him.

“You want to eat in here?” He questioned when Jake handed him his plate. Jake was usually the type to insist on eating at the dinner table, but he just shrugged and stabbed his fork into his food.

They ate in silence, Danny stealing a peak or two in Jake’s direction who was pretending to watch the next ridiculous movie on the TV.

When they were both done Jake took Danny’s plate back to the kitchen and started to rinse them off in the sink before loading them into the dishwasher for later.

“Everything ok?” Danny broke Jake’s concentration as he leaned against his elbows over the island. When Jake still didn’t say anything he pushed off and walked around over to where Jake was standing and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder and simply watching as Jake mindlessly flipped through the rest of the pages in the rule book. “Tell me what’s bothering you baby”.

Jake didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want his sudden onslaught of anxious negative thoughts to ruin the mood on the first day of their little getaway. That’s why he’d left the living room when he did. He knew though that now Danny had picked up on his energy he wouldn’t back away until Jake told him.

“It’s just we will never be like the people in those movies. Sure the tour will end and we will get a break and it will be amazing to spend time with you, but there will always be another tour, another project, people watching our every move”.

It was Danny’s turn to be quiet, because he didn’t know what to say to console Jake. This had always been a sacrifice they knew they would have to make when they started this career. Whether they were dating their bandmate or not, trying to have a relationship while being a touring artist was a challenge. If anything Danny had more pain in his heart for what Jake was internally going through right now, because he was in the same shoes. He understood that their love for eachother came second, and their love for the music came first.

“Not even that, but the way things are going in the world right now. Who knows, maybe in ten years when we’re finally ready to get married, what rights we will still have”.

Danny’s eyes widened at Jake’s words. He’d never heard the word marriage come out of Jake’s mouth in this context and it made his heart skip a beat. “You want to get married?”

Jake backpedaled real quick, he hadn’t even realized what he’d said or how Danny could take it. He only meant to reflect on the fact that the future of relationships that shared the same nature as theirs would always lay in the hands of others.

“Whatever. It’s going to get dark soon. I’m going to go chop some wood around back for the fire”. Doing something with his hands would help put his thoughts to ease, it always did.

“Want me to come help?” Danny backed away, thinking it better to just ask Jake if he needed space or not right now would be best.

“I’m from Michigan, I think I can chop wood on my own”.

He found an ax and got to chopping, focusing on his form and the feeling of his shoulders rounding before listening for the sound of the wood splitting in half. In fact, he was so focused he hadn’t even heard Danny come outside.

“Hey! Why don’t you have your jacket on?” He dropped the ax next to the stump he’d been working at and yelled at Danny who was walking briskly towards him with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I just came to steal a few of these” his steps turned into a little jog as he realized just how cold it was even with his sweater on. He picked up a few of the logs Jake had cut and paused to press a quick shivering kiss to Jake’s cold lips before turning and running back. “Hurry up! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Jake stacked as many of the leftover pieces as he could into his arms and carried them closer to the door for easy access, wondering the whole time what it was Danny was up to.

The first thing he saw when approaching the porch doors was the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a bright glow against glass.

The sun had gone completely down while he was in the back getting his frustrations out, and he was tired and cold now.

The heat from the fire Danny had already built hit him as soon as he slid the door open. He hung his purple jacket back up on the coat rack by the door behind the couch, searching the small room for Danny.

He didn’t find his boyfriend, but he did find that Danny had come across quite a few candles, and he had them lit in various dark corners around the room so that the entire cabin was flickering and cozy in the warm fire paired with the white lights on the Christmas tree.

“Danny?” He called out, stepping a few feet to the left to check and see if he was in the kitchen. It was empty, but he could see now that on the floor in front of the couch Danny had also scattered a few pedals from the roses on the counter. What a romantic he really was.

“Sit down” Danny finally revealed himself as he started down the stairs, clearly holding something behind his back.

Jake moved around and sat back down on the couch where he had been earlier, before his thoughts and emotions got the best of him.

“I was going to give this to you tomorrow morning, but I think now is better” Danny crouched in front of Jake, placing one hand on his knee, the other still hidden from sight.

“Danny-” Jake began, his voice getting caught in his throat until he cleared it and tried again, “what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry baby, it’s not what you think it is” Danny assured him, but then stopped to think about it for a second, “well, kind of… just let me say something really quick ok?”

Jake nodded his head and stared intently at Danny as he searched for the words he meant to say when he got the idea to do all of this.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier, and you’re right, but you know I don’t really care what other people think about us or our relationship. All that matters to me is you and making you happy any way that I can. It’s not a ring, but I got this for you thinking that it would serve as a promise from me to you. A promise that that I will always be there for you, to shield you and protect you, and that we are bound together”.

Danny showed that he had a small black box and placed it in Jake’s hands for him to open.

Despite the heat from the fire Jake felt like his fingers were still numb when he pulled the top off the box and revealed what was inside. A coin set in a halo of silver and hung on a braided chain necklace.

“It’s not a real Atocha coin, I had it made by this badass jeweler back home, but this one is special”. Danny picked the delicate looking piece up and turned it around in his fingers, “If you look closely she hid our initials in the design”.

Jake took the coin from Danny and brought it closer to his face, his eyes scouring the tiny detailed engravings until he found them. A DW and JK carved right there, not in plain sight, but now that he’d found them it was all his eyes could see.

“So, I know this may sound silly,” Danny started again after he was sure Jake had found the initials, “but Jacob Thomas Kiszka I gave you my promise, do you accept?”

“I-” there were no words that would explain how Jake felt at that moment. So instead he gently placed the necklace back into the box and set it down at his side before grabbing Danny by the back of his neck and pulling him into a passionate kiss.

“Daniel Robert Wagner, I promise that I will always be there for you, and that I will never give up on us no matter how hard the road gets. I promise that I love you and have always loved you. I do accept and I hope you do too”.

“I do” a couple of runaway tears fell down Danny’s cheek, it wasn’t often that he cried, but when he did it was always bittersweet. Jake kissed his tears away and Danny smiled at the feeling of Jake’s beautiful lips against his cheeks and eyelashes. “I love you too”.

Jake propped the box up open so he could see his promise when he looked over at the round table as Danny retreated back upstairs to collect the duvet and pillows from the bed.

They spread it all out in front of the fireplace before peeling each other's clothes off between sharing needy kisses.

“So, are we secretly married now?” Danny joked after they had both sunk to their knees on the floor. He held Jake against his torso and scattered kisses across his bare shoulder.

“Only if this can be our secret honeymoon” Jake replied as he pushed Danny’s boxers down over the swell of his ass.

“That sounds heavenly to me” Danny grinned, reaching his hand between their bodies and stroking Jake a few times causing him to shiver and tilt his head back with a moan. “How do you want it baby? You want me on my back for you?”

Jake nodded and pushed Danny down, mounting him like he did before when they had fallen to the ground outside. “I need to feel you though. I need you to fill me up”.

“Really?” It wasn’t often that they switched roles anymore. Jake liked to take charge in the bedroom and Danny never once had a complaint, but they weren’t in the bedroom. No, they were on the floor of a cabin at the top of a distant mountain. In a pile of blankets and pillows, their bare skin baking in the radiating heat of the fireplace. “Lift your hips up for me then”.

Jake was eager to obey. Usually he was the one giving commands, but tonight all he wanted was to let Danny take care of him in a way he knew only Danny could. Danny spit into his hand and brought it between their bodies again, only this time he slipped past Jake’s erection and to his entrance.

Once the first finger was all the way in he was sighing and groaning as he rocked back against it, his body already begging for more.

“So impatient tonight aren’t we baby?” Danny smirked as he lined up his second finger and pushed inside.

Jake bit down on his lip to silence his cry, his hands tightening their grip on Danny’s chest to show him he still had some sort of leverage.

Just then Jake pulled off, letting Danny’s fingers slip out of him, he was ready.

“Wait,” Danny asked Jake to hold on when he felt him shifting into position. He ruffled the blanket around, pulling the corner back to reveal he’d plucked their bottle of lube from Jake’s bag and brought it down with the bedding “here”.

“Thinking ahead were you?” Jake chuckled but graciously took the bottle and coated Danny up, letting his hand linger on him, getting in a few good twisted strokes before wiping the leftover on his own thigh.

“I’m always looking out for you Jake” he replied, fighting off a groan that made its way out by contorting his eyebrows into a knot.

Jake braced one hand onto the pillow beside the man below him and leaned closer, their chests pressing together as he lined Danny up. “I know you are” he whispered with a kiss to Danny’s ear then slowly pushed his hips back against him.

Danny gasped and threaded his arms underneath Jake’s so he could run his hands up his back, feeling the way the exposure to the fire left it so hot to the touch.

Jake bit down on his lip and buried his face in the crook of Danny’s neck to hide the way his face pinched at the pressure. He didn’t want his slight fleeting discomfort to diminish any of the pure bliss he knew Danny was feeling right now.

Three rough fingers circled around Jake’s upper back and gathered the hair that hung around his neck, guiding it over his shoulders to give Danny a spot to kiss and suck on while Jake adjusted to his size.

“You’re doing so good baby. Do you feel me?” Danny purred, his sweet praises and gentle touches paired with the proximity to the fire causing Jake’s brain to short circuit for a moment.

His body was tense and he figured he probably should have let Danny take more time to prep him, but Danny was right, he was just so impatient to feel connected.

Then he lifted his head from its hiding place and looked forward. Giving himself one last glance at the necklace hanging in its box above them and remembered everything Danny had said it signified. His body melted, finally resting completely against Danny without any pain or worry left.

“There you go” Danny felt Jake physically relax and wrapped his arms around him once more as he began to work slow deep thrusts, never once letting them loose their connection.

Jake’s own cock was throbbing, trapped between their bodies getting only some relief by the way Danny’s abdomen pressed against him with every rock upward.

This was euphoria, laying in a puddle as hot as the sweet liquid they shared earlier against Danny’s chest while he held him tight and fucked him slowly, but he wanted more. So he lifted himself back up, Danny’s hands sliding back down to his hips and squeezing as Jake sat up and used the muscles in his thighs to begin bouncing up and down.

Danny was fixed on Jake’s form above him, marveling at the shadows his features cast as they danced across his face with the flickering light of the cozy room.

No more words were said, but the room was all but silent. Moans and whines, the crackling of the fire as it slowly died down with their work, and the wordless reminder of their promises to each other as they watched the physical reflection of their love bloom between their bodies.

Danny removed one hand from its firm grip on Jake’s hips where he was guiding them against him and wrapped it around Jake’s pretty cock.

Jake clenched all his muscles and groaned something painful, nearly stopping the rapid motion he’d worked up to. “No, if you do that too I’ll-” he wasn’t as used to this position as Danny was, so the added stimulation of both pleasure points at once was sure to be too much for him.

“What is it baby? You don’t want to cum?” Danny asked sweetly, no teasing in his tone at all, just concern and love for this beautiful being that graced him with his affection.

Jake shook his head frantically, stands of his hair that had stuck to the sweat on his face falling free. “No, it’s not that”.

Danny cocked an eyebrow, squeezing his fist tighter over the achingly hard flesh which resulted in another loud choked cry from Jake. “You don’t want to finish yet?” He tried his question again, watching the way Jake’s eyes squeezed shut and his expression twisted into concentration as he resumed his speed again.

Jake opened one eye, jaw falling slack as the knot was beginning to tie itself around his insides and Danny then knew what he was holding out for. “Together?”

Jake nodded this time, he was past the point of being able to speak, just waiting for Danny to say the words so he could finally let go.

“Don’t worry, I’m there. I’ve been there. You just give it to me when you’re ready”.

The sudden realization that Danny had been holding back just as much as he had was the tipping point for his sanity. Danny had stopped stroking him but that didn’t matter. Hot streaks burst across his stomach as Jake couldn’t keep it in any longer.

It was the ‘O’ face that did it for Danny. He was used to seeing stars as Jake gave him earth shaking climaxes, or his face would be buried in the sheets with his back aching from holding its arch for so long, but this time he had a perfect view as Jake reached the peak of his orgasm and it was so sensual that Danny couldn’t help but finish as well.

“Want to go for a drive after breakfast? Figure out where that general store is that was in the rule book?” Danny asked as he rubbed soft circles into Jake’s back who had collapsed on top of him and hadn’t moved a muscle since. It was perfect.

“Anything you want” Jake replied, eyes wandering around the cabin to take it all in so that he’d remember this place in as much detail as possible when he thought back on tonight. Something caught his eye and he finally lifted his head from Danny’s chest to get a better look out the windows. “It’s snowing”.

Danny followed his gaze and gave a few breathy chuckles that shook Jake. “It tends to do that in the mountains” he jested and leaned forward to steal a kiss against Jake’s cheek. “Do you want to go back upstairs and get cleaned up or stay down here tonight?”

Jake settled back against Danny, this time turning his face towards the fire that was all but burned out, just like him. “I want to stay here” he replied as Danny got the memo and tossed the blanket over their tangled bodies. “Besides we will be getting messy again in the morning”.

“Is that so?” Danny laughed again and Jake smiled, he would never get used to how much he loved that sound especially from this proximity. “Good night Jake, sleep well”

“Good night Danny”.

Danny woke up with the sun shining through the many windows, only that wasn’t ultimately what had pulled him from his dreamland. It was the pouty pink lips wrapped around his morning wood that did the trick.

“Baby” he groaned in his raspy morning voice and threaded his fingers through the head of slightly knotted tousled hair.

Jake’s eyes gave him the ‘good morning’ that his mouth couldn’t as he really started to suck Danny off now that he was awake.

It didn’t take long for Danny to get the fuzzy feeling in his toes and head as he came with a sigh of profanities paired with his lover's name.

When Jake pulled off with a still sleepy but proud smile Danny motioned for him to get up and sit on the couch before shuffling on his knees to be in front of him.

Danny played with Jake a little first, cupping his balls in his palm as he licked around the tip. Jake squeezed the cushions to keep himself from bucking up when Danny did finally take him in.

Once Jake had finished too he finally let himself touch Danny. He leaned over and pulled Danny into a sloppy kiss, the taste of each other mixing with their saliva.

“I’m going to go get your present now” Jake said when he pulled away.

“You’re telling me that wasn't it? Or last night?”

“Course not” Jake chuckled, pointing at the mess of pillows and blankets still on the floor to silently tell Danny to ‘stay’ as he ran upstairs.

When he came back he had a small green paper bag topped with red and white striped tissue paper sticking out the top. “It’s not as thoughtful as the necklace, but here you go”.

He handed Danny the gift which he happily took and brought to his lap as he dipped his hand past the paper and pulled out a pair of brand new leather golfing gloves.

“You said you needed a new pair, so I got you some. I hope you like them”. Jake was avoiding eye contact, but still wanted to watch Danny open his present even if it always made him feel shy and awkward.

The leather was soft in his hands as he turned the gloves over and examined them, honestly so surprised. “I said that months ago, in a passing comment somewhere out west between shows”. Danny remembered the conversation they had been having on the tour bus when he mentioned needing new gloves, he just didn’t expect Jake to have picked up on it and gone out to buy him some. “Thank you so much!”

Jake crawled back over to him on the floor, Danny waiting to embrace him with a million kisses.

“Merry Christmas, I love you”.

Just before Jake could reciprocate he was interrupted by a phone ringing.

“That isn’t dead yet? I didn’t even charge it last night” Danny looked around the room, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“I think it’s mine” Jake replied.

Sure enough the last place he remembered having it, over on the counter by the vase, his cell was buzzing violently.

He attempted to move to stand up, but Danny wrapped his arms around him to keep him put in his lap.

“It could be mom” Jake said. He couldn’t remember the last time his mom hadn’t called him on Christmas morning no matter where in the world he was.

Danny let him go and he ran over to the phone before it could go to voicemail, not even checking who it was before answering.

“Jake! Where the hell have you been?!” Josh hollered from the other end before he could hear him turn to yell at someone, most likely Sam, I got Jake to answer!

“Hey Josh, I’m alright, just decided to get away for a bit.

“Get away for a bit? Jesus Jake you had us all scared you were drunk facedown in a snowbank somewhere! Is Danny with you? Sam hasn’t been able to get a hold of him either”.

Jake looked over at Danny who was still sitting on the floor, trying to listen in on the conversation as best he could.

“Hold on a sec” Jake walked back over to their little lovers nest and held the phone up, making sure they were both decent enough before hitting the FaceTime button. It rang for a few seconds before Josh and Sams faces popped up with shared confused looks.

At the same time they both realized what was happening and groaned in unison at the image of Jake and Danny naked, save for the gray fluffy cable knit blanket wrapped around their waists.

“Gross! My eyes!” Sam yelled, shielding them with one hand and slapping Josh with the other who held the phone and shook his head with fake disapproval.

“As you can see, we’re together and we’re fine, perfect even” he and Danny laughed and Josh rolled his eyes. “Phones about to die, tell mom we said we love her! See you guys after the new year!”

Just then Jake’s phone really did die, the screen turning black in place of his scarred brothers.

“Wait, I thought our flight home was on the thirtieth?”

Jake tossed his now useless phone over to the side and shrugged. “They don’t need to know that”.

“Now where were we?” He placed his hands against both Danny’s cheeks and smiled innocently. “Oh yeah, Merry Christmas”.

#this is my first Christmas fic! #greta van fleet #gvf #danny wagner #jake kiszka #greta van fic #Janny gvf #greta van smut

[aftg-ho]

"Riko, I know you're awake." For all the words were confident, Kevin's voice was a plea. Plaintive, soft, an exact replica of the way he used to beg Riko to stop. If only Riko had known then what he knew now, how much deeper he could twist a knife when it was metaphorical, how easily Kevin would forgive him for that kind of transgression.

He was tired, though he could not sleep, so he continued to ignore Kevin. One day Riko would convince himself he was stone again, as sharp and cold and unbreakable as he had believed himself at 16. He would be glad then to have excised the weakness Kevin inspired.

But Kevin was not done. He peeled back the coverlet, cool air prickling against the back of Riko's neck until Kevin replaced the blanket with himself. He draped himself across Riko's back and tucked an arm over his waist. They did not fit together the way they had before. Kevin hit his growth spurt at 13, long after Riko exerted his cruelty and driven away any comfort Kevin once spared.

Not that Kevin had often risked such care. It was dangerous if they were caught, more dangerous to suggest Riko deserved comfort. Every beating was supposed to be a lesson learned. His uncle had dislocated his shoulder after Riko failed to score in their very first match against the full might of the Raven team. That night, Kevin had tucked up behind him just like this, keeping him from rolling onto the injury in his restless sleep. But what Riko most remembered was the angry muttering Kevin could not silence. It poured out of him--it's not fair--a litany against the Master--how are you supposed to play better injured--and the Ravens they had gone up against--you're ninety pounds, of course a six foot backliner stopped you--but not a single word about how Riko should have done better. For one night, maybe Riko had believed he didn't need to be better. They'd been a pair and it was them against everyone else in the whole world.

But it was not enough for them to survive. Eventually, Kevin had subsumed himself to the Master's will and no words against him were ever spoken aloud again. And Riko had descended into the vagaries of physical power to insulate himself from the mental spiraling, turning on Kevin as much as he turned on the rest of the Ravens. A deeper betrayal against a deeper bond.

And yet, here Kevin was again. Despite it all, Kevin still wanted more, wanted now. Riko could no longer call it pathetic when he himself had come crawling back, asking for forgiveness after twelve years of misery. 

Riko only realized he was shaking when Kevin's arm tightened around him. There should be nothing for either of them here. Just a gaping pit of despair, dug deeper with every action. Riko was not blase enough to call them mistakes. He had known what he was doing and accomplished it well. 

"How?" he finally croaked out.

Kevin did not need him to explain. His voice was a whisper as he responded, "I don't know. I don't- How can you look at Nathaniel?"

Riko shook his head. "It's not the same, I'm not-"

"It is. It's all..." Maybe the trembling was not all Riko. "He's a monster and you're a monster and so is Jean every chance he gets and I-" Laughter bubbled out of him on the edge of hysteria. "How am I supposed to want anything else? When did I learn better than you?"

#ot4 fic has sprawled into like 18 supremely fucked up parts #but you can have a snippet that doesn't require a trigger warning #aftg #perfect court ot4 #rikevin #kevriko #riko moriyama #kevin day

[spacesurfing]

You don’t have to give me anything my love for you have already given me everything when you gave me yourself 😘

You would write for me my love? How sweet and generous of you. I am enamored by your writing. Hmm let’s see I very much enjoy you Dewdrop x reader fics. Maybe one of those, surprises me my love 🖤

All my love & affection

-🖤

OF COURSE OF COURSE!!

•--•

Must You Always Run?

Dewdrop x Reader Fluff

Summary: You were scared to be loved once again, but through all this confusion, you'd managed to feel your heart burst.

Warnings: self-indulging fanfic, this is genuinely a mess of different plots I tried implementing, a really bad work of mine and I apologize for that.

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

It was truly terrifying the situation you were in. At least that's how you viewed it. Your heart raced like mad and your face lit up in the most unnatural of ways.

When was the last time you had truly let someone in? Years? Longer than the time in which you had spent at the ministry surely, and how many tours was that? Five tours, maybe six? Was the last tour their sixth that they'd ever been away?

You hadn't remembered, but what you did remember was the people filling the banquet hall, served for dinners of importance and, of course, parties. The ghouls loved their parties, it was a chance for them to blend in, interact with the humans, drink the night away. Parties were usually held after the day Papa and the ghouls would come home. Hosted at sunset, guests piling in to listen to music and dance under dark lighting with the only thing shining in the room being portable beams of color flashing on them.

There wasn't a party without an epileptic person's nightmare being thrown into the mix as some of the lights danced along hazily with the guests, like the pop of color was also two drinks into the night.

And you stood at the edge of the room, back pressed against a wall as you watched faces with smiles wider than a ravine flash before you, eyes bright and full of excitement, some filled with love for another, some filled with the sinfulness of adultery. And through all of those eyes, all of those smiles, you were still alone.

You swirled the liquid in your drink around your red solo cup, watching as it splashed up against the sides in an effort to slip out of it's containment and into your mouth. You didn't like the feeling of being intoxicated - it felt good in the moment, a freedom from your overthinking and anxiousness. But the headache wasn't worth slipping away for a night, a few hours which would amount to nothing but words that didn't mean a damn thing and crying as you slipped back into bed.

You wanted to now though, seeing the bright yellow eyes of who was nothing but a few shots of fireball away from passing out at the foot of a toilet. Dewdrop's eyes were wide, watching you with a smile that spoke thousands of words. Whatever drink he had taken up was set aside, but it lingered on his breath as he spoke.

"Hey, why aren't you out there with everyone- and your drink's not even all that gone!" he exclaimed, looking in your cup and glancing back up at you with a childish expression that you had to admit was a tiny bit cute.

You shook your head, "You know I'm not a party person. Where's Aether anyways, I thought he was your drinking buddy for the night?"

Dewdrop grunted, leaning his shoulder on the wall that you were against, getting comfortable in his spot next to you. He looked like he was coming down from the excitement bubbling through his bloodstream, or he just really wanted to hear your voice.

His hair fell down his shoulders, his human glamour allowing for him to let loose tonight, though as the night went on, the ghouls would let out more and more of their features, knowing the intoxicated wouldn't remember a damn thing. The yellow in his eyes was toxic now, seeping through his irises and into the night.

"He was supposed to be! He found some pretty lady, so I'm not as important anymore," the ghoul complained, looking at you like he was waiting for some advice.

You sighed at the ghoul's dramatic words, "You are important, I think Aether just wants to blow off some steam after such a long trip."

Dewdrop rolled his eyes, letting them guide right back into the crowd where he watched couples - long term and short term - dance around with smiles plastered on their drunken faces. Whether they were drunk off alcohol or drunk off excitement.

One couple caught his eyes in particular, the unnatural glow of them softening down to a neutral yellow, one that was dull.

They were dancing with one pair of their hands interlocked, the other hands clutching each other with love. They shined with adoration and past memories. Dewdrop wanted that. Dewdrop craved that. But he couldn't ever get the courage to tell his special someone that he wanted them.

But his arms grew lonely at night.

Dewdrop turned his head to look at you, seeing as you were watching him. Had he made his heartache too obvious? Why were your eyes on him like that?

And with a burst of drunken courage, he sputtered out, "Al- Alright, I think I'm gonna go- have a good night gorgeous."

Dewdrop scurried away, leaving your face ablaze. What was that? Dewdrop, the ghoul who almost made as much love to his guitar on a stage as Swiss had, running away after complimenting you? Maybe he acted a bit jittery around you, but you never expected that reaction while he was drunk of all times.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage wildly. You weren't used to the attention of another - you were always difficult to like, especially in a non-platonic light. But Dewdrop just complimented you, and ran away in embarrassment without you having any time to react.

And that was only the prologue.

You found yourself crossing the 13th wing, a wing that housed three rooms dedicated to private prayer and a storage closet that was always open and always ignored. You peeked down the hall, trying to check if any of the doors were closed, wanting an escape from your duties for a chunk of time.

But, you saw all three doors, shut and - most definitely - locked. Sighing, you turned your head, colliding your chest into a hard shoulder.

"Fuck-" you cursed, stepping back and almost tripping clumsily over your feet, holding your cheekbone which now had a tender feel to it, and looking up.

"I'm so sorry! Are - Are you alright Sister?"

The scent of burning wood hit you, eyes going wide and your body distributing blood to the parts of your face that missed getting hit.

Dewdrop stood with hunched posture in front of you as his hands hovered around your head, waiting for some permission to touch you. You tilted your head into his hand, feeling the rough tips if his fingers softly touch against your head, threading themselves through the your hair discreetly.

He then moved them down, slipping those fingers under your palm to touch at your cheek. It was sore still and you winced at his touch.

"I- didn't mean to hurt you like that-" Dewdrop stuttered, heating up.

You tried to hold it in but you let a smile lip past your lips and up to the surface, "You're fine, Dewdrop."

The hallway was silent as he inspected your face, trying to pretend he wasn't using the fact that you bumped him as an excuse to look at you for up close for a prolonged time.

"Hey- about last weekend, when you ran off. Was everything alright?" you asked, trying to find some way to bring up the compliment he gave you that eventful night where you lied in bed for hours thinking about him.

Dewdrop's face tightened and he perked up to look at you, a stiffness to the way he stood. His hair even seemed to still on his shoulders, eyes glowing with a new flare.

He took a pause before responding, "I- had practice that morning, I couldn't stay."

"Rain told me you never have practice the week after a tour ends?"

The silence snuck back in again. And it was a swirling mess this time, watching Sodo trying desperately to think of a response, of an excuse. What did he run away for really? You wouldn't have thought of him any differently if he'd stayed.

"I- I actually have to go. I was- I was heading down to Papa's office actually. He really needs me," Dewdrop said, talking as he began to pass you.

You caught his arm lightly and looked at him, watching as he reached your eyes with his interested one.

You felt your heart thump in a nervousness you'd never felt before, something that worried you, scared you. Cause you knew that you were starting to feel for him. And that terrified you, wanting someone again, someone who you didn't know wanted you back after you'd watched them run from you few days prior. But you let your chest loosen and you asked him.

"Do you actually think I'm gorgeous?"

The pause he took was long in your mind, clouded by the panic inside of your stomach, curling at your heart, tugging it up towards the pit of your stomach where regret and rejection hid away for safety. But you saw when he was ready to answer, and your core tensed, preparing for the worse.

But it wasn't the worst at all. It was far from.

"The most gorgeous girl in this plane of existence - on every plane of existence. You're a work of art."

Your heart fluttered. Dewdrop relaxed suddenly, his shoulders and face and eyes all softening at once. Because on your face, you proudly held the widest smile he'd ever seen.

•--•

Masterlist

#ghost band x reader #ghost band x reader fluff #ghost band fluff #the band ghost x reader fluff #the band ghost fluff #the band ghost x reader #dewdrop ghoul fluff #dewdrop fluff #dewdrop ghoul x reader fluff #dewdrop ghoul x reader

[battlfofendorr]

Second

Christopher – Rio - is six foot one, so there’s never been any hiding in the crowd – no blending in – as if he ever would have had that chance, anyway with his jawline, his cheek bones?  He slinks low, hands in pockets, duck that head, minimizes himself with that trademark black-on-black-on-darkness wardrobe, the knit beanie – even as he makes sure it’s all pristine and brand name, the lot of it, because really, there isn’t any hiding.

As if the soccer moms in the neighborhood haven’t seen him often enough, haven’t already puzzled out their own reasons for him to be darkening their street corner.

And if there weren’t enough reasons for people to stare, there’s all that ink – a neck tattoo, and hands, arms, a roadmap on his body of all the places he never wanted to go. It enhances his looks – makes him not just good-looking, but slightly edgy. Slightly dangerous.

There’s scars, too, but isn’t that just a byproduct of life lived? Not that the old biddies peering around curtain panels can see the scars.

There’s something insubstantial to his attitude - the way he alternates between cocky and trying to fade into the background – as if he ever could? – that confuses them.  

It’s not the swagger of a fuck-buddy on his way to get some.

Maybe that’s what causes the old ladies to get the most gossipy – because he’s as good-looking as the mother-of-four he’s there to see, and everyone knows, beautiful people belong together.

It’s a silly notion – the kind you see on all that Hallmark crap that people pretend to buy in to.  

As if plans ever played in to it – as if he’d ever even planned to be exactly where he was: a former – and ongoing -  felon, part-time raising his kid, mostly not, and running – or at least managing – the better part of a crime empire, half his men on double payrolls, allegiances – loyalties – mutable as all hell?

His foundation’s rockier than a gravel pit, and the only part he’s absolutely sure on – besides Marcus, his boy – is her. The naïve little housewife with her foot sliding inch by inch into his world.   

Rio looks down – those cool brown eyes that make so many ladies giggle or back away, nervously skimming toward the ground, not avoiding eye contact exactly, or scrutiny, just moving out of the line of sight,  almost guilty as he cuts down the walkway to the back of the house in the too-nice neighborhood he’s spent far too much time in for his – or anyone’s – liking.

Maybe once that had been the dream. But if he’da known, then, what he knows now, how could he have even wanted it?  And maybe he wouldn’t have even gotten it, anyhow?

It’s the eternal question, though.  Would he have washed out as a boxer? Gotten his own gym, slipped into the role of coach?  Would he have his own proteges, and not just lackeys waiting to become statistics?  Would he have the house, the family?  Not just one kid, but the soccer team worth?  The naivety that let some people drift through life on a cloud of happiness?

Would it even have made him happy?

Doesn’t matter – he’s greedy as fuck, and he wants it – just for a moment – but then the bubble pops as his phone rings.

No point wanting what you ain’t got, right?

“Hey, Grams,” he says, answering the phone quickly, smoothly, prepared to dodge the many questions she’d bound to ask: how are you, where are you, are you being smart?  As if he’d ever had a choice.  “Wha’s up?”

But it’s not Grams on the phone – nah, his life ain’t that easy. It’s his best friend. Business associate. Right hand man.  Mick – because that’s who it is, Mick -  doesn’t have to say a word, because just the breathing – the quiet – tells him that much.

“Mick,” he says, and it’s a bullet to the gut. There’s only one reason for him to be calling on her phone. On her number. “Where’d they take ‘er?”

And for a minute, he’s so sure it’ll be a hospital, because crime life might be his inheritance, but Grams – the OG boss lady – is untouchable.

But that quiet – that stillness – it stretches on too long, then the phone goes dead, and just like that, his plans shift again. 

Maybe Mick hadn’t thought he’d be ID’s quickly. Maybe he’d ran out of words, or the strength to say them.

Didn’t matter, because the only other man that could pull Mick’s strings was incarcerated.

And if Nick was starting the old games up all over again – if he was putting Rio in the place he’d built for him, the cage he’d built on lies and slander – well, at least he had a second for the upcoming duel.

Rio glanced through Elizabeth’s window – just a glimpse of her moving canisters and bake wear in the kitchen, all done up like she's waiting for someone. Him, probably, because he really has made too much of a habit of dropping in.   It's like watching other moms do yoga. A zen space, all of her own. He could ruin it - pop her bubble like the phonecall popped his - but like a gift, he'll let her have that – let her have the night. If they're going to war with his brother-cousin, she’ll need the stored-up inner peace bullshit baking always gave her.

And really, he wasn’t a monster. Even he could admit she was damn good at it. In the morning, he’d need to rally all his troops. For better or worse, that means her – and her two little flunkies. Because really. If they can turn Mick, they can turn everyone else, too.  

Everyone but her. Might as well let her bring snacks to the war room. And maybe a juice box or two.

#beth x rio #rio x beth #good girls fanfic #I don't have the voice yet #but give me time - some characters are easier than others #I'll get it right in the end

[goddessapostle]

How to Survive your Haunted House

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs Characters: Chuuya, GN!Reader, Elise Summary: “You look like an Emma,” you told her after several minutes of staring at each other. This did not please her. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to ferocious rage. She stomped and ran at you, passing through your body with no more than a cool wind. When you turned around, she was gone. Should you be more concerned about living in a haunted house? Probably. But it’s your house, ghost or no, and nothing’s going to scare you off. Not even when she’s nothing more than a shadow watching you attempt sleep.

10.7k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: This is part of @thecoffeelovingfreak’s halloween collab, Season of the Witch!! I was so excited for this collab, I wrote….. a whole lot. This is the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, coming in at a whopping 10k words!!@_@ Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

The weight is unusual.

The noise you’re already used to; your keychain is always jingling against whatever else you’ve shoved in your pocket.

But this weight? This is new.

A thrill runs up your spine as your fingers brush the metal, warmed by your body heat. You pull your pocket open to peek inside. You know you have the biggest, goofiest grin spread across your face, but you just can’t help it. You can’t stop. You refuse to stop.

Even when your boss smacks the back of your head as he walks by. Even when your feet ache as you make your way to your car. Even when you find your mailbox half-buried in the roadside weeds for the fourth time this week.

You right your mailbox with a smile and a zip tie. Lets see those kids knock it off this time!

And then you open the gate to your new house.

It’s small and old and, if you’re being honest, kind of ugly. A drab gray in color, except for the lilac window shutters. Situated on a not-quite acre of patchy grass that’s only green-ish, bordered by a tall brick fence that’s only red-ish. It’s a cliché Halloween house, and you’re proud to call it home.

Or maybe that’s just the rush of euphoria brought on by the first taste of freedom since getting your driver’s license.

The rickety steps creak under your weight, and the crooked banister sticks another bunch of splinters in your palm — six in all, one for every day since you moved in. 

The key seems to burn when you remove it from your pocket.

The front door takes some jimmying (and a couple kicks) to open fully; the wood must be swollen, you decide, from the morning rain. You walk through the front hall, ignoring both the open doorways to other rooms and the little girl that stands between them, and straight up the staircase to the master suite. There, you shirk your work clothes and take the nicest, longest bubble bath in the enormous tub.

It’s the perfect start to your three-day weekend.

And then your stomach flips into your chest, and you realize you haven’t eaten in hours.

The little girl is at the bottom of the stairs when you reach the top. She glares up at you with the most adorable pout, and you can’t help but smile and wave back to her. It makes her stomp her foot and turn, mouth open to call for… well, you’re not really sure. A parent? A friend? A dog of some kind?

She begins to fade, starting from the tips of her Mary Janes and traveling up her poofy red dress. “See you later, Emma!” you call down to her. You glimpse another sharp glare just before she disappears completely.

Your stomach gives a low rumble, reminding you of why you were on the stairs in the first place.

You’d heard rumors about the ghosts before you moved in. About the house besieged with death. A bloody history filled with everything from murders to suicides to just plain tragedies. Everyone in town had a story. Some personal experiences, other general anecdotes.

The most prominent being the tale of the doctor and his daughter.

Their names have been lost to a game of historical telephone(something with an ‘R’, no, a ‘K’; wait, that was the other one–), but the story persists: one summer day, the doctor left town. He came back a week later with a child in his arms. No one was sure who the mother was — the doctor never told. But he claimed the child as his. All was well, until the doctor lost his hospital and was on the verge of losing his home. So he did the only logical thing he could think of — emphasis on ‘he’.

He killed his daughter and then himself. Their blood stained the walls in a morbid painting.

You don’t know if the story is true; all the newspapers were lost when a fire tore through the old library records around twenty years after the incident. The only thing that survived was a small photograph with a charred bottom corner. It’s hung on the wall of the current library, black and white and grainy, as part of a mural of the town’s history.

While the photo was nearly indecipherable when you first saw it, you can tell now that the girl in it and the girl in your house are the same. They have the same wide-set eyes, the same light and curly hair; they’re even wearing similar dresses — though the one in the photo is a deeper color, not the same dull maroon as the one in the house.

There were no names attached to the photo, so you had no idea what to call her when she just showed up three days after you moved in. “You look like an Emma,” you told her after several minutes of staring at each other. This did not please her. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to ferocious rage. She stomped and ran at you, passing through your body with no more than a cool wind. When you turned around, she was gone.

Should you be more concerned about living in a haunted house? Probably. But it’s your house, ghost or no, and nothing’s going to scare you off.

Not even when she’s nothing more than a shadow watching you attempt sleep.

You peek open an eye and scan the room.

You don’t see her, at first. She’s crouched in the corner, hidden behind the closet door that just won’t stay closed. You’d probably have to nail it to keep it shut, but what would be the use of a closet you can’t open at all?

She’s not all there, right now, not even a recognizable silhouette. Just a wisp of herself, dark and vague. She doesn’t respond so much when she’s like this. You don’t know if that’s an energy thing or a personality thing. A princess that doesn’t deign to speak with a commoner. She was rather spoiled by her father, after all, before he slit her throat.

“I see you,” you say. She must have liked Hide-and-go-Seek. That closet was probably her favorite hiding spot; she’s behind it a lot.

You feel a gaze crawl across your bed to land on your face. You give her a smile, and she decides to stand–

That’s not Emma.

That is not Emma.

Or maybe it’s just the dark. Maybe it only looks three heads taller than her. Maybe she can fly. Ghosts can fly, right?

The thing in the corner jerks forward.

It doesn’t move like a human.

The closet door slams shut.

You scramble to the opposite side of the bed and fall to the floor. That thing — person? It’s person-shaped. A lithe torso. Two… arms? Maybe? And a head that’s twisted just a touch too far to one side. A person-shaped blob of smoke.

Ha. Ha. That’s funny. That’s funny, right?

You press your back against the wall.

It creeps over your covers.

One smokey tendril reaches out. It brushes the hair above your ear–

And then it’s gone. The room warms without the presence of the whatever-that-thing-was-you’re-getting-some-sage-tomorrow. Except maybe it’s not gone? There’s something heavy in your chest — ah, wait, that’s just your heart, half-exploded.

Okay. So. There are two ghosts in your house.

Emma, who you’ve only ever seen on the first floor, now that you think about it.

And whatever that thing was. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it. You thought it was her. Emma. The doctor’s daughter. It showed up the same night you first saw her.

Why did it decide to move tonight? It usually stays crouched in that corner. What does it do? It watches you, you know, but why?

Is it the doctor? Someone else? Something else?

Your heart slows to its natural beat, but your limbs are still filled with jelly. You reach a hand out on the bed and find it cold where the thing was kneeling on it.

The door slams again, and you jump a foot into the air.

Fuck this. You snatch your pillow and blanket (both still cold) and run downstairs for the living room couch.

  Your three-day weekend is spent cleaning up — both physically and spiritually. You light some sage to smolder while you clear out the cobwebs you missed in your first few passes of the house. You dust and sweep and vacuum and mop. You have a housewarming party planned for later that you need a spotless house for. Then you watch Ghost Hunters: International while you wait on a load of clothes to finish washing.

  It looks a lot more dramatic than the ghosts you have, but it’s on one of the few channels you get right now and it’s kind of pertinent to your situation. One of the investigators points out a white spot zooming across the frame in one of the cameras and calls it an orb. A different investigator plays back some warbly audio and claims it saying ‘murderer’ over and over. Yet another investigator takes off his vest and shirt to reveal three scratches running the length of his back.

The washing machine beeps. You turn off the tv and go collect your laundry.

Sure, the show had similar experiences — they used thermal cameras to catch shifts in temperature, and they saw an apparition of an old man in the window before they entered the house. But it just wasn’t convincing.

Your ghosts are different. The show claimed they were just leftover memories from when someone was alive. That they can’t interact with living people.

Which simply isn’t true. Emma never spoke to you, but she responded. And then that thing last night touched your hair. You felt that.

So the show is all a bunch of hullabaloo.

The day outside is clear and crisp. A gentle breeze rolls down the hill to you and your laundry. You hum as you walk out to the clothesline, glad that the sun is shining so bright. Your clothes will be dry in no time!

You hang them up and sigh as you take in the view. If the front of the house looks bad, the back looks worse. One of the boarded-up windows is empty of glass — you’ve got someone coming to take a look at that next month — and there are scraps of paint peeling away from the gray wood beneath. The grass is even less green. Two garden beds house dead or dying rose bushes. There’s a shadow in the–

Your blood runs cold. There’s a shadow in your bedroom, looking out the window. Looking at you. It disappears when it catches you staring back.

Isn’t sage supposed to get rid of ghosts? You haven’t seen Emma since you lit it. Maybe because it’s not in the same room? You haven’t been upstairs yet. That must be it! You just need to smudge it separately!

You start towards the back door–

Didn’t you shut it?

You stop a good six feet from the porch. The back door hangs open. Its hinges give the quietest of squeaks as it drifts gently back and forth as you watch.

Just the wind, surely. There’s nothing actively moving the door. And it makes sense that it’s open. You had your hands full when you left. You just couldn’t close it. Yeah. That’s what happened.

Crash!

You land on your ass. A roof tile lays shattered between your legs. It would have landed right on your head had you not fallen back.

A chill runs down your spine. You tear your gaze away from the tile to meet the eyes of the spectre in your window. Pure fear pierces your heart.

You run inside to grab the bowl of burning sage and race up the stairs. You kick the door open and thrust the bowl out in front of you as you enter.

No one is there. The spectre is gone.

Your legs shake as you step into the hall. A flash of blonde catches your eye as you start down the stairs — so Emma isn’t gone, either. You glare at the sage in your hand before tossing it in the trash.

Screw the cleaning. Your clothes are out drying, but you don’t need to be home for that. And everyone has off days; your friends aren’t judgemental and the house is presentable enough.

You leave the danger of your home for the library. The earlier records may have been destroyed, but the house has been standing for a hundred years since. There has to be something out there.

But how to search for such a thing?

You go to the computers first and type in the house’s address. It pulls up twenty years of realtor advertisements. It’s changed hands at least seven times in that period; it ends with the tragic death of a Eugene Davis, hit by a car as he exited for school one morning. The driver was never found, and the family moved out the summer after. It’s been empty since — until you bought it one year later.

Further back you find more.

Dozens of names on the victim list, at least one every two years, but often more. In no particular order: Kouyou Ozaki was shot by an ex-lover. Chuuya Nakahara was found on top of the fence, speared through the chest by the iron spikes. Michizou Tachihara was beheaded by a corrugated metal sheet during a remodel. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa was killed during a home invasion, but not before taking out the three men attempting to assault his sister.

The longest the house has gone without incident is thirty-two years — while Gin Akutagawa, Ryuunosuke’s little sister, lived there. But whatever miracle protected her ran out, because she disappeared one day and is currently presumed dead.

It’s a chilling list. Not just how long it is, but how gruesome as well. You touch your chest where the spike had gone through Chuuya, then rub your neck where it had been separated from Michizou’s head. 

Gruesome.

Had they felt any pain?

There’s no way to know, unless…

Maybe the thing in your room is one of them. The people that died on the property. But there’s so many. Is there a cause for it? And why wasn’t it mentioned when you bought the damn house? You pull up the advertisements that led you to it in the first place, but they’re all devoid of any type of warning.

“You don’t want that one.” A deep voice pulls you from your thoughts. A man stands at your shoulder, staring into the computer screen. “It’s cursed.”

“Oh, really?” you say. Your sarcasm is either lost on the man, or ignored by him. His lips tighten into a thin line.

“Really. But I have a feeling it’s too late to warn you away.” Ignored, then. He takes a card from his notebook and sets it on the desk in front of you. “If you need any help,” he says by way of explaination.

And then he’s gone, stalked off on his lanky legs to some annoying-looking brunet hiding in the shelves. You examine the card he left behind.

Doppo Kunikida, it reads, Lead Investigator, the Astral Devoiding Agency. Ghost hunters, if you had to guess.

Well. Now you know the house is really dangerous.

That thought in mind, you decide to do a little shopping once you leave the library.

When you return home, your mailbox is gone. You sigh at the empty post and dig around in the weeds, but you can’t find it anywhere. The zip tie you do find, snapped just below the head underneath some… poison ivy, you think.

It can just stay there for now.

The shadows stretch in the evening sun, spreading the spiked tips of the fence across your legs. You frown up at them and wonder where, exactly, Chuuya died. It’s been… fifty years, almost. Though any evidence is long gone, you can’t help but wonder. There are rust-colored splotches all around the top.

Emma is waiting for you when you walk in. She seems to be in a good mood; she smiles and waves at you. You smile back. “What’s up?”

Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. By the time she stops speaking, she looks excited for something. Footsteps sound above your head.

Emma hops in place.

You stare up at the ceiling. Then you pull your newly-bought pocket knife from its bag.

The footsteps keep moving. You hear them wander down the hall and into your bedroom.

There’s a great clatter, then silence. Emma points up the stairs and places a ghostly hand on your back. Goosebumps rise around it.

You make your way up the stairs, holding the blade of the knife in front of you. Your bedroom door stands open into the hall, and across from it….

Your mailbox. You stop to stare at it. The knife shakes in your hand.

“You should really lock your doors.”

You turn your knife to the man in your doorway. The only thing you see is a flash of teeth that disappear as soon as you look at it.

Later that evening, as you’re changing for the housewarming party, you notice a bruise on your chest. A dark blotch just below your collar, with five thin, spotty growths spreading from it.

It’s a bruise shaped like a damn hand.

The couch isn’t comfy. You don’t want it anymore. It’s old and lumpy and has quite a few questionable stains. (Is that one juice or wine? Or could it be blood? That one is hopefully spaghetti sauce. And, um, that one looks like…. Gross.)

 It came with the house, like most of the furniture, and it just needs to be thrown away. You can’t exactly afford a new one, though, so you’re stuck with this one. You just can’t sleep on it.

And that is how you found yourself back in your bed. In your room. With the mysterious shadow-ghost-man.

You hate it. But you have to work tomorrow, so you suck it up like an adult(have you ever mentioned how much you hate being a real adult?) and snuggle deep under your comforter. Hopefully it, or he, or them — how many people died in this house, again? —won’t be able to get you. 

Whatever. It’s a well-known fact that monsters can’t get you when you’re tucked up under your covers. 

They can, however, make themselves known.

A weight settles in behind you. An arm wraps around your waist.

“I know you’re in there, Sweetheart.”

That’s the voice. The same voice that told you to lock your door(which you totally had). You hold your breath and hope he goes away.

He doesn’t. Instead he shifts closer, close enough to chill you beneath the blanket, to whisper in your ear. “Sorry about the other day,” he says. “Just wanted to get it over with.”

Get what over with?

You give yourself approximately two seconds to think it over, then, “What do you mean?”

“I’d get out if I were you.” Is-is that a threat? In your own home? In your own bed?

“This is my house,” you scoff, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your funeral.”

His tone may be mawkish, but was that a hint of sincerity just below that?

His weight shifts away from you, but doesn’t leave the bed. You lower your blanket a smidge — just enough to peek.

Damn, you’re glad the sun hasn’t set yet, or you’d never be able to see how goddamn gorgeous he is. Burnt orange hair curling up to frame his face. A lithe body reclined on your bed. Toned arms spread across your pillows as he cradles his head in his hands. Long, luxurious lashes that rest against his cheeks.

He is, pun intended, drop-dead gorgeous.

“Take a picture,” he says without opening his eyes, “it’ll last longer.”

“Sure,” you say sarcastically, “let me take a picture of the non-physical entity taking up half my bed.” He says nothing, just smiles. “Would you even show up?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs.

You stare. He opens one storm-gray eye to meet your gaze. “Here.” He reaches over you to pluck your phone from the bedside table and drops it on your half-covered face. “Picture. I’ll even turn to my good side.”

“Would that be the side that’s more or less transparent?” You roll your eyes, but take the phone anyway.

Sure enough, he’s just a smudge of darkness in the photo. If he weren’t still lying there in front of you, you’d just think the lens was dirty. You show him with a triumphant smile. “See? You don’t show up!”

“Guess you have no choice but to stare, eh?” He gives you a wicked grin that sends your heart flying.

And then you realize you’re talking to a ghost and roll over under the covers again. “I have work in the morning,” you tell him, “so be quiet.”

You don’t expect to sleep, but you also don’t hear a peep from him for the entire night. He’s gone when you wake up, but the memory of his smile remains through the day.

The man shows himself here and there, mostly to tease you. A gentle push into a counter that knocks you off balance. Appearing in a corner of the room you’re in. Even crawling into your bed at night for what you can only assume is cuddling. He hasn’t spoken since that first night, but he’s got plenty of personality.

Just another ghost, you guess. Emma and… Hopper, you decide. A dapper name for a dapper man. Emma doesn’t seem to like the name you’ve chosen for her, and there’s no telling if Hopper will, but until they tell you their names, they are stuck with the ones you made up.

It takes a month of calling him that for Hopper to show up again.

“Emma! Hopper! I’m back!” you call into your empty house. A chill crawls up your spine as you shut the door, but there’s no one in the entryway. You take a step toward the stairs.

An arm settles around your waist, pausing you in your tracks and pulling you back into his icy chest.

“Who are you calling for?” Hopper asks.

You shiver in his grasp, either from his cold or his proximity. You aren’t entirely sure.

“You,” you tell him, “and that little blonde girl.” You turn to face him but he’s not even visible. Just pressure on your side and whispers in your ear.

“That’s not our names.” The voice comes from farther away, but the hand still settles on your stomach.

“Well it’s not like I have anything else to go by.” You slip into the light jacket you’ve taken to wearing around the house. “You never gave me your names.”

Hopper is leaning against the counter when you enter the kitchen. Emma runs through you and out the door, presumably to haunt the front hall. Hopper points after her. “Elise.” He tilts his hand so his thumb points to himself. “Chuuya. Haven’t you done any research?”

Chuuya. You remember the name. Just not where it’s from.

“I have.” You start to put your groceries away around him. “But do you know how many have died on the property?”

Chuuya taps his fingers together as he thinks. “Six?”

“More like forty-six,” you correct, “and they didn’t show many pictures.” You shoo him out of the way to reach the cabinet below him. “Which one are you, again?”

“Guess,” he says, and his smile is obvious.

“Hmm…” You think as you push pasta onto the shelf. So many deaths, you have to narrow it down somehow. “Illness?”

“No.”

“Mysterious disappearance?”

“Nope. Keep guessing.”

“Can I get a hint?”

“Sure,” he says, and you can tell you won’t like his answer by the snark in his voice. “The hint is: I died.”

You tilt your head up to glare at him, but he’s completely unphased. It looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh, actually. That cheeky little shit.

You have half a mind to tell him to keep his secrets. You have no obligation to play this little game of his.

But oh, that smug smile of his drives you up the wall.

So you cross your legs and lean back against the counter’s door to study him. His clothes are old-fashioned — gray slacks, pressed into perfect creases. A white button-up covered by a silky suit vest just a shade or two darker than the pants. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black leather gloves on his hands. Shiny black loafers on his feet, and to top it all off, a fedora resting on his head. All expensive. All designer.

He could have been dressed up for a special occasion. Or, of course, he could simply be an eccentric man dressing in an out-of-date style.

You think you prefer the second option.

It’s still not a very good clue, though. “Murder?” you ask after a bit of self-deliberation.

He clicks his tongue. “Bingo.”

Okay, so. Murdered. How many people were murdered here? You suck on your teeth as you think. “In the house or out?”

“Outside.” His voice is sour. “Still on the property, though. Barely.”

“Does that matter? Whether it was here or not?”

“It does.” Chuuya walks around to lean on the island. “The last kid got lucky. He just missed the threshold.”

Got lucky. The kid still died, but he got lucky. Sure.

“What do you mean by threshold?” you ask after rolling your eyes.

“The house. Anyone who dies on the property is trapped here.”

“No way. That can’t be true.”

Chuuya shrugs. “It is. This land is a spiritual hotspot. The house is the strongest point. They can travel a few feet outside, but that’s all.”

You stare at him.

“It’s true,” is all he says.

“They’re trapped in the house?” Chuuya nods. “But you stole my mailbox. That’s outside the fence.”

He smirks. “Special privilege.” You raise a brow. “Granted by proximity to the border.”

“Okay, so,” you lean back against the cabinet door. “Why isn’t the house overrun with ghosts, then?”

His face doesn’t change much — it barely changes at all, except for a more dangerous tilt to his smile. But that alone is enough to send a sense of dread creeping up your spine.

“We eat them.”

Oh. They eat them.

Eat them.

Eat them?!

Your jaw drops. “‘Eat’ as in…?”

Chuuya’s tongue slides along his upper lip. You think you might throw up.

“What…” What happens to them after? you want to ask. Scared of the answer, you ask instead, “What do they taste like?” and immediately think you should’ve said anything else.

“It depends, really.” He takes no notice of your discomfort, or if he does, he ignores it. “Usually like mud. But there are some that taste immaculate. There’s a certain criteria that makes them beautiful.”

“And what might that be?”

“They’re brave.” He leans forward until he’s floating over the island and in your face. “They don’t seem to mind their undead roommates.” He smiles that shark’s smile and your stomach turns.

You’re listing off realtors in your head when he backs up with a more jovial smile. “Kidding.”

The air leaves your lungs in an audible whoosh and you slump back against the cabinet. You’re not sure what he’s kidding about, but you’re not sure you want to know, either. “I don’t think you count as ‘undead’. Zombies are undead.” You poke a finger through his cheek. "They come with corporeal bodies."

He tilts his head to you. "True. Dead but not gone.”

“Because of the house.”

“Yeah.” He looks away, through the window and into the back yard. He’s lost in something, some memory of his lost life or, perhaps, his new one. You give him the time he needs, studying his profile as he loses himself in his thoughts.

He’s a handsome man, you decide. Had you been born in the same time, there might have been something between you and him.

Could there be something between you now?

Ridiculous. You disregard the flutter in your stomach, choosing to believe it anxiety and not hope. It takes a lot of nerve to live with undead roommates, as Chuuya put it, and surely that nerve can falter every now and then.

He turns his gaze back to you and grins. The flutter kicks up a notch. “So you know I was murdered. What does that mean?”

You frown. “Jack shit. A murder doesn’t really narrow it down much.” The only murders you really remember are…

You eye Chuuya from your position on the floor. “You weren’t one of those guys that broke in to rape that girl, were you?”

“Hell no!” he growls, nose wrinkling with a scowl. Insult flickers across his gaze. “The fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Sorry!” You throw your hands up. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Trust me, I would’ve done them in if I had the chance. But Akutagawa got to them first. Sometimes I swear he’s not even human.”

“He’s technically not anymore, is he?”

“Guess not.” Chuuya wrinkles a bag on the counter. “He didn’t hesitate to deal with them on this side, either.”

Deal with them?

You hesitate before asking, “You mean he… ate them?”

Chuuya shakes his head. “He ripped them to shreds. There was nothing left afterwards.”

So ghosts can die, or something similar. You stand and finish putting away your groceries. “So what’s the criteria?” Chuuya grunts and raises a brow. “What determines whether someone gets eaten or not?”

“How strong they are, usually. As long as we can fight the others off, we’re safe.”

So the stronger ghosts eat the weaker ghosts. That makes an unfortunate amount of sense. It’s just the same bs that goes one in the world of the living on a more metaphysical(and literal) level. You think of your mortgage and bills and how easy it would be for you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.

You start a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

“What about Elise?” you ask as the thought occurs. “She’s a child. Don’t tell me she was able to fight off the strongest person here.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Chuuya stands at the microwave, transfixed by the rotating plate. “Her dad’s the most powerful spirit. He protects her.”

“Her dad? The one that killed her?”

“Oh, so you know their story but not mine?” he jokes.

“Come on, Chuuya.” His smile grows at the use of his name. “It’s been a famous story ever since it happened. I bet even you knew it before you died.”

“Yeah, and?”

You give him the flattest look you can, and he busts out laughing. “Y’know, I think I like you. Don’t leave anytime soon.”

With company like him around? “I certainly don’t plan on it.”

You smile wide and ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

Elise waits for you, every time you leave. She bounces around on your return, darts in and out of doors, appears and disappears randomly. She’s happy to play now that you know her name, and you’re happy to entertain her.

Chuuya, on the other hand, often waits for you to settle before he shows himself. He loves to drape himself across you, to make himself comfortable in your presence.

You ask him, one day, as you’re laying on the couch with his head on your chest, why he’s so touchy with you. He closes his eyes when you ask, humming in deep thought. 

“You’re warm,” he finally says, and you must have a look, because he cracks a face-splitting grin.

“What?” he asks, “Think I can’t feel it because I’m dead?”

“Kind of,” you say, “I didn’t think you felt things at all.”

He opens his eyes and squishes a finger to your cheek. "Feel me touching you?" You nod. “Well, I can feel you, too. Hard to touch something and not feel it.”

“That’s a fair point,” you admit, “but I do have one question.” He tilts his head, and you poke your fingers into his cheek. They sink through his face, his skin turning more translucent so you can see them beneath it.

He waits a full minute before saying, “That’s not a question.”

“I think it’s a valid argument.”

He considers for a moment. “You don’t feel anything? At all?”

You wiggle your fingers, then pull them out of his face. “Just a little chill.”

And oh, the smug look he gives you–

“Okay, smartass,” you huff, “you’re actually touching me, though. Your hand doesn’t just pass right through me.”

“Well yeah,” he says, and you get this vague feeling that he’s about to say something you won’t quite understand. “I use a lot of energy when I want to touch things.”

Aaaand you were correct. “When you say ‘energy’, what do you mean?”

Chuuya clicks his tongue. “Same way you use energy to walk or talk. Except I feel like I’m running the whole time just to touch you. It would be ten times worse if I made it where you could touch me, too.”

“I wish I could touch you,” you mumble. “Wait,” you sit up, and he slides to the floor, “you have to– like, activate your ability to touch me?”

He hoists himself back onto the couch and turns to face you. “Yeah. It’s not automatic.” He places a hand on your arm, but it travels right through, leaving goosebumps where it hit.

You have to shiver before he pulls away.

You lift one knee onto the couch as you turn to him. “So you expend a lot of energy to touch things. Where do you get it?”

Chuuya shrugs. “It just builds up over time.”

You rest your cheek against the back of the couch. “But it regenerates quickly?” He almost nods, but hesitates.

“For me, it does. I just need a few hours of rest.”

“And for the others?”

“It just depends. Not everyone has the same reserves as me. I saw someone sleep for almost a year after using too much once.”

“Is that how you gather energy again, by sleeping?”

“Sometimes. We can also pull it from things like wind or rain, or even people.”

You furrow your brow at that. “People?”

“I could even take energy from you. It’s kind of da–”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“You say it takes a lot of energy to touch me. Let me repay the favor by giving some to you.”

“You’re reckless.” He shakes his head, but smiles anyway. Then he raises one hand straight up, palm facing you, and nods to it.

You lift your head and stare before setting your palm against his. The leather is soft, but cold where you would expect warmth. You line your fingers up with his, only then realizing that you can feel them. Your eyes widen and you look from your hands to him and back.

“A gift. To thank you for trusting me.”

“Trusting–” you start. Then all the air is sucked from your body. You gasp, trying to breathe, but your lungs are frozen.

Your entire body is frozen.

Ice runs from his hand into yours. It spread through your arm and into your chest. Your breath clouds before you. You can’t–

Why can’t you breathe?!

Chuuya clicks his tongue as he pulls away, and you can finally catch your breath. “I tried to tell you it was dangerous, but I don’t think it would have mattered. You’re dangerous, too.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold back the shivers. Your teeth chatter when you speak. “Why didn’t y-you say it felt like that?”

“It was probably worse, since you were freely offering it to me.” He disappears from in front of you. Asshole. You wait before following him, eager to gather more heat first. A blanket drops over you, covering your head and shoulders. By the time you’ve wrapped it more properly around yourself, he’s sitting on the floor facing the couch. His arms rest on the cushion, creating the tiniest indent, and he casts a shadow you’ve never seen from him before.

He looks more alive than you’ve ever seen him.

“You alright?” he whispers. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach out to you, but you both know that will only worsen the chill.

“Yes,” you stammer out, voice as soft as his, “I’ll be alright.”

It takes him a minute to believe you, but he does, and he smiles. It’s a gentle smile, fun of warmth he can’t possess, and you feel your throat tighten again. There’s a glow to his cheeks, some sort of rosy color, and you’re not sure if that’s because of you or the energy you gave him.

“Hey…” you start once your heart slows, “were you the one in my room? Back when I first moved in?”

“I was the one that threw your mailbox from it.”

You shake your head, then pause at the bout of dizziness that causes. “No,” you say, “before that. Almost a week after I moved in. There was– I don’t know, a shadow man, or something.”

He lifts his head from the couch, smile fading. “‘Shadow man’?”

You describe to him the figure in your room. You hadn’t seen it since Chuuya revealed himself, so you thought it was him.

His souring face says otherwise.

“Let me know if it happens again,” he warns. “I don’t know who it was, but I doubt they had good intentions.”

Your face pales and he frowns. He reaches forward, offering his hand but not touching you. You reach forward, and he wraps his fingers around yours. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You’re sure he can feel your pulse race with the fluttering of your heart.

  Chuuya promised to keep the monsters at bay, and he has, for the most part.

Shadows disappear when you turn to look at them. Footsteps creak along the halls when you’re alone. Nightmares haunt your dreams every night. Emma clings to you more, trying to keep you close.

Your house has become more active, that much is obvious.

But whatever Chuuya is doing, it works. None of the other ghosts bother you.

You get comfy, as the days fade from summer into fall into winter. He limits his touches as the weather grows colder(your heating is busted), but still joins you in your bed. He waits until you’re snuggled under the covers to lay beside you, arm slung across your chest. You can tell — by the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes — that he wishes for more. He misses your warmth, but he’s not going to sacrifice your safety for it.

He’s halfway through a sentence, regaling you with tales of his living life, when he disappears mid-word.

“Chuuya?” You turn, but he’s not there. He’s not anywhere, you discover, as you sit up and study the room. You call out for him, increasingly frantic as he doesn’t answer.

The floor is cold on your feet. You ignore it to search for Chuuya.

And then you come to on the rooftop.

You teeter on the edge, a wisp away from falling, chilled completely to the bone. You gasp and fall back, scrambling away from the drop.

Ice wraps around your ankle and yanks you closer.

Your fingers scrape against rain-slick tile.

There is no stopping your fall.

You scream.

And then are pulled up.

Hands beneath your arms move you away from the edge. A leg kicks out against whatever’s holding you. A chill spreads across your back from where it presses into his chest.

“This one’s mine!” Chuuya growls.

It is utterly unhuman.

He pulls you into safety and steps between you and the edge. You can’t see anything there, except in the rapid flash of lightning. A boy, you think, based on the structure of their body. Whispers sound from all around you, and you can’t tell if they’re coming from the figure or from elsewhere.

Chuuya’s shoulders tighten. His snarl loosens into a scowl, and he glances back at you, searching your face.

“What are they saying?” you whisper to him, and his posture relaxes. He glances back and pushes you toward the open window you must have used to get on the roof.

“Tell ya later,” he answers. He helps you through the window. “Stay right here. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

“Safe?” you breathe, but he slams the window shut behind you. He’s not behind it when you look.

…safe? Is the house not–

Well, it’s haunted so–

Cursed? Is that what the ghost hunter called it? Is the house really curs–

Of course it’s fucking cursed. Chuuya told you as much. All the deaths should have told you. The house is fucking haunted.

The house is fucking cursed.

But what happened? The only ghosts to even touch you so far are Elise and Chuuya. Why did someone try to-to kill you? And who were they?

You slide down the wall beside the window. He said to stay here, right? In the attic? Or will the rest of the house be safe as well?

Are you really safe here?

Well. Obviously not.

You take a look around the cramped attic. You’ve hardly touched the place; the entrance is in the ceiling of a second floor closet and the ladder consists of half-rotted wood. All the boxes you saw on your first (and only) venture into it contain mysteries, still.

The trapdoor is open. Light leaks in from below.

You crawl closer to it, aware of every creak the floorboards make beneath your knees. Peeking into the opening reveals nothing, just the empty closet. The door to the hallway is open — it’s where the light is coming from — but you can’t see anything past it.

Until a woman pokes her head in. “I’m pretty sure he told you to stay up there, did he not?” she asks. She smiles, though, like she already knows the answer. “I won’t tell if you come down, though. I’d welcome it.”

Her hand lifts towards you with the grace of a ballerina. She stays in that position, an image of perfect beauty; golden hair framing her face, brown eyes wide and innocent. Not quite demure, but something like it.

“Um,” you squeak, “no thanks.” You back up and slam the door shut, plunging yourself into darkness.

Which isn’t any better than the woman, you think. You lift the door a crack and peek into the closet.

Nothing. The corridor is empty.

Who was she? What did she want? The way she looked… she had that same dangerous glint in her eye that Chuuya often wears when discussing the afterlife. What would have happened if you’d taken her hand? Nothing good, you imagine.

Something crashes inside the house.

A weapon. What you need is a weapon.

You search the boxes for something that could work as one. Not that any would, considering what you know of ghosts. But it’s to settle your mind more than anything.

In the third box, you find a pair of soft leather gloves. Petite, sized somewhere between adult and child. You place one in your palm, stretched out, matching your fingers to the ones of the glove, the same way you and Chuuya sometimes hold hands. They have to belong to him.

Where is he?

You hold the gloves to your chest, over your heart.

Is he hurt? Can he get hurt?

He could get eaten.

Oh, god, he could get eaten–

No. No, he has not been eaten yet. You’ve never discussed where he falls in terms of strength, but he’s survived fifty goddamn years in this house, he won’t be overcome so easily.

Another crash comes from below.

You have to get down there.

You cradle his gloves against your chest and make your way to the opening. The first step creaks under your weight, but it holds. It holds.

As does the next step, and the next. It’s the fourth one that cracks, sliding your foot past the fifth, sixth, seventh. You gasp as you slide, butt hitting each step until the bottom. You land face-first on the burgundy carpet. A quick body scan reveals a scraped nose, a sore rump, and — worst of all — a wounded pride. Surely you could have stopped yourself before you ate the rug? What the hell was that poor performance?

Never mind. It’s not important. Not as important as Chuuya, at least.

You peek through the closet door. Nothing. No shadow people, no strange women, no knight in designer armor.

Outside you venture, gloves pressed into your skin as though they were a worthy wooden shield and not soft leather smaller than your own hands.

The entire second floor is empty. You poke your head into each room several times to check, then head toward the staircase. You remember (now, after your fall) that stairs are stronger at the ends, away from the middle, so you walk with one foot pressed against the bannister. It is, perhaps, the quietest you’ve ever been inside the house.

There’s no one on the first floor, either, and you haven’t been able to find a basement. So where the hell–

Voices.

Voices coming through the floorboards.

You kneel down and press your ear against the ground.

The voices are muffled, but you can almost make them out. You hold your breath to hear more clearly.

The only thing you hear is your name, tossed about by several of the voices.

Chuuya’s isn’t one of them.

Someone shouts, crying out for blood. Their single cry turns into a chant, broken occasionally by a chilling shriek of your name.

They’re mine, you make out among chanting. After all…

“I found them first.”

You gasp and jump forward, twisting your body to see the man behind you. He towers above your crouched form, glaring down at you with something like malice. His shadow twists into yours, ignoring the light coming from the front hall. Pure hatred crawls up your spine, chilling to your bones.

There’s something deeply wrong with this man.

His fingers twitch.

Your hand erupts in pain.

You scream and hold it up. An inky black spike runs clean through the middle of your palm. You brace yourself for blood as it dissipates.

There is none, though. Just a cold white circle on your skin.

You look up at the man. More spikes rise around him.

You turn and pull yourself into a run.

They feel like bullets that pierce your legs.

You grunt as you hit the ground. The pain grows the longer the spikes are stuck in you. You don’t know how to pull them out.

Your hair rustles as he kneels and places a hand on your head. “It hurts, doesn’t it? It’s the same thing I felt when I died.” Your body goes numb. “It will be much worse for you.”

You swing backwards, fist making contact with his chest. He’s knocked off balance, and you spare a tiny moment for thoughts as to why.

And then you’re racing for the door again. The man shouts behind you, but you’re through the front door when his shadow spears your stomach.

The pain is intense, more so than before. A raging hellfire burning inside your abdomen, scraping itself into your chest and lungs. You heave into the grass; bile runs into the pathway.

You cough and look behind you, but the man stopped on the bottom step. There’s barely a foot between you and him, but all he does is glare down at you, teeth bared in a snarl.

He can’t go any farther. He’s at the boundary of the house.

Your trembling arms threaten to drop you face-first into your own vomit, but you manage to scoot away first. Then you’re laying on your back, and your heart pounds a mile a minute, and the rain is cold, and your blood rushes to your head because it’s on the downward slope of the hill, and you can breathe. You can breathe.

And laugh, apparently. Frantic, half-conscious giggles escape your mouth and are carried away on the wind. And then you groan as you sit up — the pain is not nearly as bad as it was a second ago, but still persists as a dull throb.

You shiver in the cold. You don’t have any shoes, or even any socks. You wrap your arms around yourself and feel something pressed into your shoulder.

Chuuya’s gloves. Wrinkled by your fist and dampened by the rain, they glow with a dark red light. You’re not sure what it means, but it scares you.

Where is he?

You make your way down the gravel path and to your car, sitting just inside the gates. Chuuya makes you keep it here so it wouldn’t be too close to the house. You never really understood why until tonight.

The dashboard lights up when you insert the spare key(kept taped to the underside of your seat), and the heat flares to life soon after. You wave your fingers in front of the vent until some feeling returns to them. The air does little to dry you out, but the gloves are dry before you know it. They still glow, faintly, fading, sputtering in and out.

You have to find him.

You’ll drive the car up to the porch, you decide. And you’ll stand just inside the spiritual boundary to lure out a ghost, and then you’ll step back and question them. It’s a sound plan. Probably.

You’re just swinging the car around when the headlights catch on a dark shadow above the brick fence. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Then falls silent in your chest.

“Chuuya!” you scream as you exit the vehicle.

He doesn’t move. You can barely reach his hand to shake him. You pull the car closer, as close as you dare, close enough to fold the passenger side mirror against the side of the car. You hop out and up onto the hood, then the roof, and you’re finally able to reach him.

He’s not breathing–

Which is normal, you remind yourself. He’s dead. Of course he’s not breathing.

“Chuuya,” you whisper, again and again, repeating his name like a prayer. He’s laying on his back on top of the fence. Four iron spikes pierce his chest, stomach, and leg. He looks solid, there, more solid in pain than he ever has before. You have to get him down.

Your hands pass right through him. You can’t touch him.

Tears well up that you refuse to let fall.

Why can’t you touch him? Sure, it takes energy, energy he obviously doesn’t have right now, but you managed to push the other ghost! What was different now? What was–

The gloves. You were holding his gloves when you shoved the other guy.

They creak when you put them on, but do not tear.

And, miraculously, amazingly, gratefully, you grab his shoulder.

You brace your knee on the concrete and pull. His fingers twitch, and his face contorts. You whisper apology after apology as you lift him off the spikes. He grunts as you pull him forward, resting his chest against your shoulder. You’re halfway through freeing his leg when his arms wrap around you and his fists close in the fabric of your nightshirt.

“Told ya to stay… in the attic…” he rasps in your ear.

If a voice could make people drunk, you’re pretty sure that’s what this feels like.

You sob into the air, hugging Chuuya with all your might. He gasps and pushes you away. He cradles your face, studying it.

“You… You’re still alive…” he breathes. “But you…” his hand squeezes yours. “How?”

You squeeze his hand in return, then release it. You hold it in front of his face. “This is yours, right?” The glow is stronger now, emitting a dark red light.

He slides his palm up and laces his fingers between yours.

It’s the first time you’ve properly held hands with him.

He moves his face forward, pressing your foreheads together. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “Thought I was never going to see ya again.”

“I’m here,” you whisper back. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t stay. They’ll kill you.”

You know that. You are highly aware of that. Your bones still tremble in the cold from the rooftop, your back still aches where it was stabbed. But you don’t want to leave him. “What about you?” You pull back to look at his face. “What’s going to happen to you if I leave?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll be fine. I can fight back.”

“What about this?” You grab his thigh where the tip of the spike pokes through. He flinches. “How did this happen?” you whisper.

He looks around before he answers, keeping one hand on your back and the other in yours. You shiver, despite the fact that his touch is no longer cold to you. “You need help, first,” he says, and lowers you to your car.

“What about you?” You grab the spokes to brace yourself against the wind. “You’re still stuck.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he tells you, “so just get in the car.” He holds your hand for as long as he can while you slide onto the hood and then the ground. You glance up at him as you open the door, but he waves at you to hurry.

Blessed warmth. You hadn’t realized how cold you were, but now your body aches in the heat blowing from the vents. Your fingers crack when they bend and your cheeks begin to thaw. You’re still shaking, though, despite holding your hands to the vents and rubbing them across your frozen skin.

Thud!

You scream when the car rocks.

“Just me,” Chuuya says, head sticking upside down through the windshield. He crawls onto the ceiling of the car, then plops into the passenger seat. He leans the seat back and places a hand over the wounds on his chest.

It’s not blood that oozes from it, but something darker, something almost black that spreads into the air like smoke. You hover your own hand over his, and he takes it with his free hand. “I’m okay,” he whispers into your palm before kissing it. “I’ll be okay.”

“What can I do?” you ask, but he shakes his head.

“You’re here. That’s enough. I just need sleep.”

You nod, and he drops his hand to the glovebox between you, still wrapped around yours. His head lolls to the side. In the reflection in the mirror, his eyes are slightly closed, his mouth is slightly open.

His body starts to fade. So does the glow from the gloves.

And that is very, very bad, you think.

“Chuuya?” You shake his shoulder. He doesn’t respond. “Chuuya!”

Your hand begins to sink through him, despite the glove.

He’s going to disappear.

You won’t let that happen.

You lean over him, hands pressed into his heart. You don’t know how he took energy from you before, but he did say it felt so bad because you gave it to him. You try to dredge up that feeling again.

It comes to you slowly, or maybe it only feels slow because of how cold you already are. All the warmth you’ve gathered since entering the car leaves you, flowing into Chuuya. His wounds close, and the fabric over them repairs itself. He grows more solid under your touch. His eyes begin to flutter as the ice spreads through your veins.

He shouts your name.

Your vision goes dark.

And then gray.

And then blinding white.

You blink against the light, squinting to see through it. Sitting up takes more effort than it should; your limbs are heavy and your head swims in circles. You raise a hand to massage away the headache that threatens to knock you out again.

“Oh, you’re awake!” A man saunters in, hands in the pockets of his tan overcoat. He calls out the door, “They’re awake! Told you, Kunikida!” He sits down in the chair beside your bed(your hospital bed; you find that appropriate, somehow) and says, as if he’s known you your whole life, “We were so worried about you! How’re you feeling? Hypothermia is nothing to take lightly, you know.”

……..You have no idea who this man is.

Kunikida, on the other hand, sparks a distant memory from almost a year ago. “You’re the ghost hunter!” you say, pointing to him. He grimaces, as does his partner.

“We are paranormal investigators,” he tells you at the same time his partner huffs, “Don’t ignore me like that!”

“What are you doing here?”

Kunikida unfolds a newspaper and offers it to you. You frown as you read over it. The article doesn’t bother you at all; it’s just a short rundown of your house’s morbid history, followed by a few sentences about the mysterious call that led paramedics to you, half frozen in your car. No, what bothers you most are the notes, written in scribbly red ink across the paper.

Your address, the nearest hospital locations, even your own name, which isn’t in the article in the first place.

You eye the two men, holding the paper like a shield between you. “Have you been stalking me?”

“Yep!” says the first man.

“No!” says the other. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “We like to keep tabs on the house at this address. But beyond an occasional drive-by, we don’t investigate further.”

Drive-by. Investigate. What.

“I… do not like that.”

“We’re sorry,” Kunikida says, “but it’s a necessary part of our job.”

“It’s a dangerous house, you understand,” the first man says. “I would gladly take your place, but my partner here won’t let me.” H takes your hand and holds it between his. “Unless you want to join me? It would be a beautiful double–”

“Yes, yes, you freak.” Kunikida interrupts, taking one of the man’s hands and holding it. “No one is going to commit suicide wtih you.”

You pull your hand away from his and into your lap. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“We just want to check in with you,” Kunikida says. He sinks into the chair beside the first man(you should really ask his name) and, while still holding his hand, pulls a notebook from his vest pocket. “We also wanted to ask about what happened two nights ago that led to you nearly freezing in your car.”

You…. don’t trust these men. “Why do you want to know?”

“I told you, we like to keep a record of all the incidents that happen there.”

“And why is that?”

“So we know what to expect when we investigate. Ranpo and Dazai have a pretty good idea, but I like to be thorough.”

“Investigate?”

“With your permission, of course.”

Oh. They want to investigate your house.

Wh-

Why?

You narrow your eyes. “What do you expect to find?”

“Ghosts, ghouls, and demons!” the first man exclaims. He swings his and Kunikida’s hands back and forth between the chairs.

“Don’t scare them, Dazai.” Kunikida admonishes. To you, he says, “You won’t have to worry about anything. We’ll do a thorough investigation and clean up all the spirits we find.”

Well. That’s not going to work, is it? Chuuya’s gloves are right there on the bedside table. If all spirits include him and Elise, then….

“We haven’t had a chance to explore it yet. All the owners sold it when the hauntings became too much for them. They didn’t even think to look deeper into it. But we have a whole team of psychics, all of whom have their own method of exorcism. There won’t be a thing to worry about once we’re done.”

Your frown deepens with every word. Dazai has to nudge Kunikida to quiet him. In the following silence, you ask, “Why are you so interested in my house?”

 “It is dangerous,” Dazai tells you again, “and it’s host to the most activity in town. It would be an interesting experience, if nothing else.”

“Is that it?” You shake your head. “I don’t feel comfortable letting complete strangers into my house for such a silly reason.”

“I assure you, it’s not silly.” Kunikida opens the notebook and starts reading off the stories he’s collected — stories you are well aware of, after all your research and everything Chuuya’s told you. It’s when he reaches the decade-old murder of a young woman that you interrupt him.

“I know the history of the house, thank you.” Did that sound sarcastic? That totally sounded sarcastic. It just wasn’t sarcastic enough. “I’m still not interested.”

“But this incident was only the first,” Kunkida says. “If you stay, you’re going to have another. And no one will be there to save you next time.”

You’re not so sure about that.

You return home the next day. You stand just outside the gate, staring up the hill to your house. You shiver in the wind that blows fallen leaves into your yard. The gate squeaks as you open it. Your car is still parked against the inner wall. You don’t know what awaits you inside the house, or even just inside the gate, but everything looks fine from the outside.

Except for your missing mailbox.

Your heart pounds as you make your way up the path and to your porch. The doorknob twists under your hand. You peek around the door, but there’s nothing behind it. It’s not even all that dark; sunlight streams through the windows in other rooms and leaks into the front hallway.

You step inside and close the door behind you.

And then are thrown back into it.

You gasp as arms wrap around you.

A face presses into your stomach.

And–

And–

And someone giggles.

You blink down at the head of blonde hair, tied back with a maroon bow. She raises her head to meet your gaze with bright blue eyes.

“Elise,” you breathe, patting her head with a gloved hand.

“You’re back!” she exclaims, and you blink — you’ve never heard her speak before.

“Well, look at that. She likes you.”

You jolt at the new voice. You have no idea who said that, but you do know it doesn’t belong to either of the two ghosts you trust.

Elise turns and huffs. “You promised!” she calls into the hall.

“Yes, yes, of course. I won’t touch them.” You blink, and a man appears at the base of the stairs. He’s tall and lanky, with slicked back hair and a piercing gaze. “I was just making an observation. You don’t usually let people hear you.”

“Well I like this one.”

“Right, right. I won’t take your toy away. Not yet.” He turns his attention to you. Your blood runs cold.

“Um,” you stammer, “you must be the doctor.” Elise’s father and murderer. “I-it’s nice to me-meet you.” You’re not sure if you should offer a handshake or not.

“I am,” he nods, “my name is Ougai Mori. I hope we can get along in the future.”

And just like that, he disappears.

You flinch. Elise huffs. “He won’t bother you,” she says, waving a hand. “He doesn't want to upset me, and he’s always trying to make up for killing me. Besides, I’m not the only one who will be angry if anything happens to you.”

Your eyes widen. “You mean–” you breathe. “How-how is…”

Something crashes upstairs.

Elise hops in place and points, setting a hand on your back.

You race up the stairs and to your bedroom. The door to it is wide open. On the floor across from it is your mailbox.

“You should really lock your door, you know?”

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd fanfic

[my-soupy-brain]

Hey there! Could I please request Ted Lasso comforting his pregnant partner who’s worried about becoming a mom?

Or maybe…. The reader talking to Ted about the possibility of having a baby together ? Thank you!

I know you said your on vacation, but I’m still checking every day to see if you post anything! 🥰

Oh this is cute. I love this. Both of them. Let's mix them together into one story, shall we? Let's goooo!

---

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader (f)

Warnings: Pregnancy, anxiety, comfort

---

Your foot tapped nervously on the floor while you sat on the couch, chewing your nail, waiting for Ted to come home.

You've been thinking an awful lot about your future together. Now that you're married, you wanted to bring up starting a family with him.

Not that you didn't already have one. Ted was your family. Henry was, too.

But last week Henry asked if you and his dad were going to have a baby so he could be a big brother. You gulped down the immediate answer (which was "I'd love to!") and said "I don't know, Hen, I think we'll have to talk about that.

You wondered if he'd asked Ted the same thing. And you're touched that Henry is comfortable enough to ask it.

So when Ted whistles his way in the front door, you smile at him brightly, but nervously.

"What's up sugar plum?" he asks immediately, sensing anxiety.

"Can we talk?"

His face drops. His stomach twists. "Yeah, of course. About...?"

You hold his hand and sit down, and now he's really getting nervous.

"I didn't tell you this, but..."

Ted's eyes are wide with panic. Oh God...

"A couple months ago, Henry asked me if we were going to have a baby."

Ted lets out a long-held breath and smiles.

"Oh thank goodness, you had me worried there," Ted says, grasping his chest.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I've been thinking about it and I didn't know how to bring it up..."

Ted chuckles, and you join, nestling under his arm and leaning on his strong chest. He smiles down at you.

"He asked me the same thing, sugar," Ted says. "I wanted to talk to you but I know we're still in the honeymoon bubble, and all..."

You run your hand down his chest and smile.

"I would, you know."

He stops and looks.

"I would absolutely have a baby. Anytime. A little Ted running around here would sure be a sight."

"Mustache and all?"

You laugh and nod. "Sure, mustache and all."

His voice is quieter, lower. The drawl more evidence.

'You'd make a perfect momma, ya know," he says, turning to look at you. "And it'd be fun to make a baby with ya."

You slap his chest playfully. "We're pretty good at practicing that already."

"Practice makes perfect."

...

So six months later, you're elated when the little white stick reveals a baby is on the way. You're elated. Ted's elated. He scoops you into his arms and dances with you around the room, a smile on his face.

But as your pregnancy advances, the morning sickness sets in. You're dizzy, unwell. You're growing a life!

And you're scared shitless.

You start thinking about your own childhood, how you behaved. You think about kids, and how they can be cruel to others for no reason.

You worry about all of it.

One night in bed, your face is scrunched while you try to read a baby book -- Ted reading his own next to you -- when he looks over at you.

"What's wrong, sweetheart," he whispers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers, and kissing it.

You put the book down and sigh.

"I'm just...scared I'm not gonna do this right," you say, rubbing your growing tummy.

"I'm scared this is going to change my body forever. I'm scared I won't know how to do things. I just want to have a healthy, happy child..."

Ted turns over and pulls you into his chest, looking into your eyes. His dark hazel orbs are so full of sincerity your heart could split in two.

"First: You'll always be a gorgeous knock-out," he says, kissing your lips, his mustache tickling.

"Yes, your body will be changed forever. You're growing a little Lasso in there. But golly, I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how beautiful and sexy that is. So strong."

Your heart flutters when his hand drifts under the covers to your belly.

"Second: Will we make mistakes? Yeah, we sure will. Will we also love this child with all our dang hearts? Absolutely."

You nod in agreement. "I know, but...once they're out in the world..."

Ted nods again. "It'll be scary for them, but with us as their parents, and golly, you as their mother? They'll be ready. They'll learn and adapt."

A tear falls from your eyes -- damn hormones -- as you listen to his words.

"You're the most caring, amazing woman I've ever met. There is no possibility in which our children don't go into the world with a good head on their shoulders."

You smile and Ted wipes your tear with his thumb, kissing your lips gently again.

"Henry is so lucky to have you as a dad, he's such a good kid," you murmur shakily.

"And this one will be lucky to have us as parents, too," he says, rubbing your tummy.

"Hen will be a good big brother, too."

'Yes, he will, darlin'," Ted says. "And he loves you, and I can already see how you influence him in the best ways."

Your heart flutters at that admission. You always wanted Hen to accept you. And hearing that he does... well...

"Oh Ted, I'm just... I'm just a ball of emotions."

Ted chuckles and pulls you closer to his chest, his legs twining with yours under the covers, his chest warm against yours.

"It's OK if you're a ball of emotions, I'm a round hole for that ball to fit into," he jokes, stroking your back.

"This life has been many things for me, but by far the best has been finding you..."

You smile up at him, his eyes looking with love into yours, his hand cupping your cheek.

"We can't prepare for everything that'll happen, darlin', but we'll be able to get through it all together."

---

This was achingly sweet to write. I know Ted would just be such an excited dad-to-be and over the moon when that baby comes. Maybe that's another fic to come? Thanks for the prompt, friend!

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso x you #ted lasso fluff #baby lasso

[clusterbuck]

If there's nothing going on you wont mind if I asked [her/him] out? Prompt. If it inspires 😊

(kiss me) beneath the milky twilight

2.3k, T, ao3 link // jealous!buck chaperones christopher's planetarium field trip

Christopher’s been talking about the field trip for months, from the moment he first heard his class would be spending the night in the planetarium. He’d marked it on the calendar in big red letters, crossing off day after day until it finally loomed at the end of the week. 

It’s all Buck’s been hearing about for months. So when one of the chaperones falls ill just a couple of days before and puts the whole field trip in jeopardy, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer. 

Christopher, of course, is overjoyed, and Buck is too—until he climbs aboard a school bus bright and early on a Friday morning and folds himself into a seat, Eddie slotting in right next to him, and realises exactly what he’s gotten himself into.

The bus bench is small—built for middle schoolers, not six-foot firefighters. With the two of them together like this there’s no extra room, no air between them. They’re pressed together, knee to hip to shoulder, elbows in each other’s laps. They probably shouldn’t be two to a seat like this, but Eddie had slid in next to him without hesitation.

And that’s the problem. 

Eddie’s always right next to him, always in his space without thinking twice about it. He leans across Buck to reach the window, pushing it open with with his hand on Buck’s knee and his shoulder digging into Buck’s chest. The top of his head brushes Buck’s chin, and when he sits up again he grins at Buck, easy, like there’s nothing special about any of it.

And that’s the problem.

Because Buck’s breath catches every time Eddie touches him. Buck’s heart starts racing when their shoulders brush, electricity sparks under his skin when Eddie hands him something and their fingertips touch. Buck forgets how to breathe, sometimes, when Eddie stands too close to him, and Eddie—

Well, Eddie doesn’t even seem to notice. And there’s nothing about the planetarium that should make a difference, not really, but it always feels different outside of their Buck-Eddie-Christopher bubble like this. When it’s just the three of them at the Diaz house it doesn’t matter if Buck’s heart skips a couple of beats, if he stumbles over his words or over his feet sometimes. It doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day it’s still the three of them.

But out here, out in the real world—Buck’s seen the way people look at Eddie. He can’t blame them. And he’s seen the way Eddie looks back, sometimes, thoughtful, like maybe he’s considering it. 

Buck’s not sure he wants a front-row seat to this show, but the bus is already moving and it’s too late to back out now. 

It starts earlier than he’d expected. They’ve just barely gotten off the bus and stowed their belongings in a storeroom, and the kids are milling around waiting for the guide who’s going to give them a tour of the exhibits. 

“Hey,” someone says behind Buck, and he turns to see one of the other chaperones, a dad he vaguely recognises as belonging to one of Christopher’s friends. “Buck, right?” 

“Yeah,” Buck says. “And you’re—I’m so sorry, I’m completely blanking right now.” 

The dad laughs. “No worries,” he says. “I’m Matt. Jenna’s dad.” 

“Of course,” Buck says. “We just saw you at Chris’s birthday.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Thanks for the party, by the way. I’m pretty sure Jenna ran out without saying that.” 

“Yeah, this age is like that,” Buck grins, glancing around the room to find Christopher, across the way with Eddie crouched in front of him, listening intently. Christopher looks to be explaining something, complete with hand gestures that threaten to clip Eddie in the nose every few seconds, but Eddie is grinning at his son.

Matt seems to follow his gaze, then clears his throat. “Actually—there’s something I was wondering.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks, still looking at Eddie, at the intent way he focuses on Christopher and the obvious joy and pride radiating from him.

“You and Eddie,” Matt says. “Are you two—”

Buck jolts, head whipping around to face Matt. “Are we—are we what?” His voice comes out a little hoarse.

“Together?” Matt asks. “I’ve been—it’s hard to get a read on you guys. Chris is always talking about you guys like you’re family, but then sometimes he says his dad is going on dates. So I just thought—”

“No,” Buck makes himself say, even as it scrapes his throat like shards of glass on its way out. “No, it’s not like that. We’re just friends.” 

Matt frowns. “Are you sure?” 

Buck swallows, closes his eyes for a second and tries to school his face into a smile. “I’m sure,” he says. “Nothing going on there.” 

“Okay,” Matt says. He’s quiet for another second, then—“So if there’s nothing going on, you wouldn’t mind if I asked him out? I mean—he dates men, right? I’m sure I’ve heard Chris saying that.” 

Silently, Buck counts to ten in his mind, then forces out another smile. “He does, yeah. Sometimes.” 

He dates men, just not Buck. It had been the final nail in the coffin of his dreams—Eddie had come out, started dipping his toes in the expanded dating pool newly available to him, and still never so much as looked in Buck’s direction. 

“Okay then,” Matt says. “Well, uh—thanks, I guess. For, uh—for the information.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, his smile growing increasingly tighter. “No problem.”

Eddie finds him later, when they’re all settling into their seats for the film screening. He drops into the chair next to Buck, leaning back as far as the chair goes and tipping his head back. He’s quiet for long enough that Buck knows he’s building up to something, but he doesn’t realise what it is until Eddie opens his mouth.

“So, uh—Jenna’s dad asked me out,” he says. “Matt. He’s—” Eddie sits up and cranes his head, like he’s trying to find Matt to point him out. 

“Yeah, I know Matt,” Buck says. “He works fast.” 

Eddie turns to look at Buck, frowning. “What do you mean?” 

Buck shrugs, as nonchalant as he knows how, and tips back in his chair. “He was asking about you earlier.”

“Asking about me how?” 

“Oh, you know,” Buck says, trying to keep his voice light. “Wanted to make sure there isn’t anything between you and me. That the coast is clear.” 

“Huh,” Eddie says. “What did—what did you tell him?” 

“He asked you, didn’t he?” Buck says. “Did you say yes?” 

“I—yeah,” Eddie says. “I mean, I didn’t really have a reason not to. At least—I don’t think I do.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Just like I told him.” He tries not to let the bitterness seep in, but he’s not so sure he’s successful.

Eddie shifts in his seat, turns almost all the way towards Buck and back again. He turns a third time and opens his mouth, but just then the planetarium guide stands up at the front of the room and starts telling them about the film they’re going to see. 

“Buck—” Eddie tries to say when the film begins, but Buck cuts him off.

“Shh. I’m trying to watch the Big Bang.” 

When the film ends Eddie turns to him again, blinking in the sudden light. “Buck—” he says, reaching for Buck’s arm. “About this Matt thing—”

Buck pulls his arm away. “What about it?” 

“It’s not—I don’t have to go,” Eddie says, staring at Buck’s arm where he’s crossed it against his stomach. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Buck says, forcing a laugh. “He seems nice enough. And it’s not like there’s anyone else you’re interested in, right?”

Eddie’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes still fixed on Buck’s arm, before he replies. “Right.” 

Buck avoids Eddie for the rest of the evening. He busies himself helping the other chaperones set out a picnic under the stars projected onto the curved dome of the planetarium ceiling, and sits with Christopher and a few of his friends swapping constellation facts until their eyes start to droop.

The planetarium has provided air mattresses, and Buck and the other chaperones spread them out, passing out pillows and sleeping bags and making sure everyone brushes their teeth.

Finally, when he can’t put it off anymore, Buck grabs a sleeping bag for himself and heads over to an empty mattress a little ways away from the half-asleep kids. He crawls into the sleeping bag and wriggles onto his back, clasping his hands across his stomach.

It barely takes two minutes for Eddie to appear, dragging his mattress over. Buck listens to the mattress squeak as Eddie gets settled, then to the silence as Eddie tries to get his words together. 

Buck’s not expecting the words Eddie ends up saying, though. 

“Tell me not to go out with Matt,” Eddie says into the silence between them, hoarse and a little ragged.

“Eddie—” Buck turns his head, his breath catching when he sees the intensity in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, worrying back and forth like he does when he’s nervous about something, and Buck wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb.

“I’ve been telling myself that you don’t—” Eddie starts, heaving a sigh. His eyes dart around, from Buck’s face to their sleeping bags to the constellations dancing across the ceiling. “I thought you didn’t, but then—” He meets Buck’s eyes again, drawing a shaky breath. “Tell me.” 

Buck swallows. “Eddie, what are you—”

“Cards on the table,” Eddie says. “I’m just gonna—just put it out there. I don’t want to date Matt. I don’t want to date anyone. Except you.” 

“But I thought—” Buck whispers. “When you came out, I thought you might—but then you—”

“I thought you might,” Eddie says. “But you never did.” 

“I wanted to give you time,” Buck says. “I didn’t want to pressure you. But I wanted—I still want—”

“Tell me,” Eddie says again, reaching across the narrow gap between their mattresses. Buck reaches out, too, clasping Eddie’s hand when they meet. 

“Don’t go out with Matt,” Buck murmurs. “Don’t go out with anyone. Except me.” 

Eddie’s face slips into a grin. “Are you asking?” 

“Maybe I’m telling,” Buck says. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, bringing their hands up and pressing his lips to their joint knuckles. “Tomorrow, when we get out here, we’re going to drop Christopher at Pepa’s and I’m going to take you on the best date of your life.”

“It will be,” Eddie says. “If it’s with you.”

Buck huffs a laugh. “But no pressure or anything.”

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs. “Come here.” He tugs on Buck’s hand, and when Buck leans forward on the sagging air mattress gravity does the rest of the work for him, propelling him down and into Eddie’s side. He lands half on top of Eddie, an arm thrown across Eddie’s chest and his head resting on Eddie’s shoulder, their faces barely heartbeats apart. 

“Hi,” Buck whispers, the only warning he gives before he leans in, closes the gap, completes the circuit that’s been sparking between himself and Eddie for longer than he even knows how to count. 

Eddie’s mouth is soft beneath his, pliant, opening for him the moment their lips meet. They fit together like it’s what they’d been built to do, and Eddie’s arms come up around him, cradling the back of his head and pulling him close.

Buck tries to shift closer, on top of Eddie, and the mattress below them squeaks loudly in protest.

“Okay,” Eddie says, breath already coming a little heavier. “Okay, maybe—I want to, but maybe we shouldn’t be—”

“Making out while surrounded by preteens?” Buck suggests, and Eddie snorts.

“Yeah, that,” he says, ducking his head to press a kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth. “Especially since that includes our preteen.”

Buck’s pulse jumps at that, and he’s sure Eddie feels it but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding Buck close. 

“If we can’t make out,” Buck eventually says, “Which, by the way, is a crying shame, I have another idea.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Shove over a little,” Buck says, shifting until he’s on his back next to Eddie, tucked against his side. Buck’s head rest on Eddie’s shoulder, and they’re looking up at the ceiling, at the thousands of stars projected on the curving dome. “See over there?” Buck asks, pointing at a tiny constellation near the middle of the room. “That’s Sagitta. There’s a couple of different stories, but I like to think of it as Cupid’s arrow.” 

“That’s fitting,” Eddie murmurs, so close to Buck his lips brush against his cheek with every syllable. “Tell me more?”

So Buck does, recounting names of constellations and the stories to go along with them at just above a whisper as kids drop off to sleep around them, conversations winding to a halt and soft snuffles filling the room. Buck starts drifting off, too, but Eddie slips a hand under Buck’s t-shirt and splays it across his stomach, and the warmth of his skin jolts him awake and makes anticipation sing under his skin.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers in his ear. “Want to go on an adventure?”

“What did you have in mind?” Buck asks.

Eddie reaches for Buck’s chin, turning Buck’s head to face him again. He leans in for a kiss, careful turning quickly to hungry as he licks into Buck’s mouth. “I bet if we explored a little we could find an empty office or a storage closet or—”

“Some other kind of room not filled with preteens?” Buck grins, and Eddie nods.

“Best idea you’ve had all night.” 

#911fic #buddie fic #buddie #ask emma #tulipintulle #emma writes

[alwaysbegrowing]

Foolish

The moment I heard that five-foot-nothing April’s birthday was on the first of the month, I knew just what to do. I got together with a few friends and we agreed to throw her a ‘surprise party.’ We waited in her little apartment until we heard the door shut and then, all at once, lept out from our hiding spots and heartily cheered “Surprise!” at the top of our lungs. April was so excited to see all of us there; I couldn’t wait to see how she reacted to the presents we had gotten for her.

April opened the first box and pulled out a pair of sweatpants so large she could nearly fit in just one of the legs. She broke into a fit of giggles along with everybody else. When she opened the next gift and found an equally-large button-down blouse she continued laughing along with everybody else. April brought out the last gift: a custom-made double J-cup bra, sized for a slim frame. It was completely absurd; a single one of the cups almost completely covered her entire head.

I nearly lost it when April started slipping her tiny body into the cartoonishly oversized clothing. She stuck to the pants and the blouse, comically holding the sweatpants up to her waist. Raucous laughter filled the apartment as she turned and comically wiggled the flappy rear end of the oversized garment. The gang and I had been careful to purchase pants with long legs but a lot of room in the waist, too. Maybe somebody six feet tall would fit the ensemble we’d bought, but as it stood, April was cartoonishly dwarfed at just five foot two.

Come to think of it, though, April had quite the reputation for her small but round ass. We had gone to the same university, and I remember she had never been embarrassed about being kind of a shortstack. She would often wear skinny jeans that deliciously contoured to her bubble butt. Rumors went around that April either spent all her free time doing squats or even that she’d gotten surgery. I was starting to question why we hadn’t opted for a larger waistband given her pear-shaped figure.

Hell, there was no denying it: at five foot five, April was about average height for a woman her age, but her dump truck of an ass, thick hips, and jiggly thighs looked like they belonged on a much heavier woman. The pant legs were a little long on her, sure, but her cheeks were so big the sweatpants were practically being swallowed between them. Every shake of her monstrous caboose seemed to threaten the inadequate bottoms’ stitching. Either one of April’s incredible cheeks might have been as big as my head, and I wasn’t alone in wanting to get up close to find out.

Having bought clothing that was a little big for April felt less funny now that I was seeing it in action, though. Being five-eleven made her pretty tall for a woman, sure, but we’d miscalculated just how much bigger we should have gone for this prank. April stopped shaking her moneymaker and turned around, though the curve of her ass could be seen from the front, with the added benefit that I could see just how much her thighs were stressing the sweatpants. It had been my idea to go for undersized pants, and it was paying dividends: most of her six-foot stature was in her legs, and her gigantic ass and hips were overflowing the waistband.

April was wearing the cartoonish bra under the blouse we’d bought for her. The top mostly fit, although it was exceptionally loose in the chest. The bra, of course, was nearly empty, but she had always been a good sport about her nearly flat chest. Being the girl with the fattest ass in town was a title April wore proudly. I will say, though, that people needed to give her more credit than that. She was a little unbalanced, sure, but I’d seen her wear her fair share of tight tops. I could only guess, but April must have been at least a B-cup.

I had heard stories that April had been the tallest girl around when she was young and ended up moving to a bigger city where she’d be able to live more comfortably. I don’t know what held her back from being a model, frankly. She must have been six foot four, and on such a tall frame her glorious ass looked even bigger. But there was more to her than that: she was smart, funny, kind, and had tits the size of grapefruits. Seriously, April always came off as the girl who had it all, but I had long been too intimidated to ask her out.

It’s not every day that you run into a woman packing double D-cups that she loved showing off almost as much as her booty. Even in modest tops, April always looked like she was smuggling volleyballs on her chest. Her figure was truly outrageous, like some fetish artist had drawn their idea of a perfect woman and she’d walked right off the page. I had been lucky when she showed up at the joint I bartend at; we hit it off instantly. It helped that to look me in the eye she had to lean down, which gave me an incredible view of her F-cup jugs.

I thanked my lucky stars every day that April and I had started dating, and that she was such a good sport about pranks. Even for a woman with her hourglass-like figure, the bra we’d gotten was just a bit too big. I knew she often had to get custom bras that would fit her; retail stores simply didn’t carry anything that could contend with boobs the size of basketballs. So, of course, I had led the charge for the prank. It had been my choice to buy pants that on her long, luscious legs would just barely fit her like capris.

I should have gone a little bigger on the bra and blouse, though. At nearly seven feet tall, April’s J-cups far exceeded the size of her head, and nearly covered her navel. People would look at her and ask me for the name of her surgeon, and they’d hardly believe it when I said that she was one-hundred percent all-natural. We had needed to build an entire house just so April could fit inside, but until that was done we were stuck in the tiny apartment.

I loved watching April bend down to keep her head from hitting the ceiling. This way, just about anything she wore gave me ample view of either her big bouncy butt or her quaking, mind-blowing beach ball-sized titties. It had been my idea, after all, to buy her a set of cartoonishly small clothing for her birthday. I watched her try to lower herself to the ground, where it would be easier for this nine-foot-tall woman to avoid smashing the ceiling, but the bra and blouse weren’t as stretchy as the sweatpants.

April’s boobs exploded out of her top, landing in her lap with a fleshy smack. She reached her long arms around to cover her nipples, giggling and sending delicious tremors through her gorgeous mounds. I stood up and approached the woman that was as tall sitting as I was standing. I made the right decision not inviting anybody else over to celebrate April’s birthday; spending it with anybody else would have been foolish.

#breast expansion #giantess growth #height growth #ass growth #ass expansion #beautification #expansion #unaware growth #reality alteration

[barry-j-blupjeans]

10 or 29 for Taako and Barry!

10. Zombie? Nah, that’s just my buddy. 

29. I’m only a little dead. It’s not that big of a deal. 

both both both !!!

((monster mash prompts here - still accepting!!))

--

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Taako said. "Just- hang on. We can- there's gotta be someone-"

"Hey," Barry said, catching his arm. Taako hand was shaking, the grip on his wand so tight that his knuckles had started to turn white. There was blood on Barry's shirt. There was blood everywhere. Fuck. "It'll be okay."

It was like the universe had woken up this morning and asked "what is the worst possible thing I could do to Taako"? And, well? It had fucking done its best. First, his toast had been burnt. Then, he and Barry were running behind on the deadline they were supposed to meet. He had thought that for once in his goddamn life, this mission would be easy! Grab the magical shoes from the magical lake, shake all the water out of them, and get 'em back to the boss. But nah! Nah! Taako had the worst fucking luck in existence, so of course, they were attacked by some fucked up fish, and of course, Barry dove in front of him to protect him, and of fucking course no one was around who could heal him and-

"You're not allowed to die," Taako said tightly.

"It'll be fine," Barry said. It certainly didn't look fine. His voice was coming out all wheezy and the wound in his chest was so awful that Taako was kind of stuck on the idea of how someone could have that and not be dead. Taako didn't know any healing spells big enough for this. He had exhausted most of his spell slots already getting Barry back to shore and, and, and-

"Barry," Taako said. "You're not allowed to die."

Barry just kind of smiled, squinting up at him.

"You said that already, bud," he said.

His eyes slipped close.

"Barry," Taako said, gripping the front of Barry's shirt. "I'm serious. If you fucking die I will kill you."

No response. Barry's hand fell from where he had been holding onto Taako.

Y'know, Taako had thought his life couldn't get any worse after Glamour Springs. It had taken him three whole years to trust anyone again and the only reason he did was largely to blame on Barry. He was a stupid, stupid man, with stupid ideas, and stupid pants, but goddamnit, Taako had trusted him. So much that it scared him, sometimes. Taako didn't do "getting close". He didn't do that with Sazed, but he had known Barry all of six months and somehow this felt a thousand times worse than what had happened at Glamour Springs.

He should have known better by now. He shouldn't have trusted Barry so much. They shouldn't have taken this job, they shouldn't have come out here today. Maybe the burned toast had been a sign and he should have just stayed in the wagon and then Barry wouldn't be...

Wouldn't be...

The skin below Barry's shirt was vibrating. Taako hadn't noticed it at first, but like, it was deffo vibrating. Taako laid his hand down flat against Barry's chest and the vibrations stayed. If anything, they only picked up.

And then, Barry's skin began to shift and bubble under Taako's touch. Taako yanked his hand back, scooting away a few inches, but now it was visible to the eye, even with Barry's shirt in the way. He felt a little sick. Did he get like, fish magic in his heart? Is that was killed him? Fuck, if Taako had gotten Barry killed with some weird fish magic, he was going to be so goddamn angry at himself.

But it wasn't fish magic. In fact, it wasn't any magic that Taako could identify at all. From the middle of his chest, a red figure began to rise. It was small at first but slowly got bigger as it emerged, until it unfolded itself to a foot tall, two feet, three. At last, an entire human-sized red robe had risen from Barry's form. The air around them seem to crackle for a second before taking shape, giving the robe hands and a face hidden in the depths of the raised hood.

"Oh," came Barry's voice. "Shit."

The Red Robe shuddered as if a chill had run down its spine. Did it have a spine? It was vibrating again, moving fast enough to blur the edges of the form. The Red Robe didn't seem to notice it was moving at all. Instead, it- he???- was mumbling things under his breath. It had to be another, un-fish-related type of magic, because Taako didn't know what the fuck it was saying. The noise grated at his ears, and shot a piercing headache right through his skull. Taako scooted away a little further, wincing.

And then,

"Oh, shit!" Barry's voice again. "Taako! Fuck, I almost forgot- heh, bad choice of words, sorry- I almost forgot you were here."

"What. The. Fuck." Taako said.

"Y- yeah, uhm, fair," Barry (maybe???) said.

"What the fuck??" Taako repeated, a little teary. From fear. And also, maybe a little relief. But mostly from fear.

"It's- it's a long story-"

"What the fuck!?" Taako said, a third time, because the situation called for it. "I saw you fucking die!"

"I'm only a little dead," Barry said. "It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" Taako demanded, snatching up his wand from where he had left it. "You didn't tell you were a- a fucking zombie or whatever the fuck-"

"Lich," Barry corrected. "And I, uh, I didn't know-"

"That's not the point!" Taako said. "You- how could you not know you were a lich?! Like, that seemed like something you wouldn't forget! It's not exactly a- a "oh, I forgot to buy milk again, aw shoot!" thing, you are an actual entire ghost or zombie or-"

"Lich," Barry said again. "Oh, you don't remember what a lich is, do you?"

"Of course, I know what a lich is," Taako scoffed.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," Taako said. "Again, not the point- the point is is that you're- you're..."

Dead wasn't exactly the word to use anymore. Taako sat back, feeling drained. He should have just eaten his burned toast. He was so hungry. He was this close to deciding to just quit adventuring or doing anything ever again. Maybe if he sat in a room for the next ten years, he'd finally get a fucking break.

Ghost-Barry- Lich-Barry, actually- floated a little closer to him. He was terrifying to look at. But Taako wasn't afraid. Not to him, at least.

"It's been pretty rough for you, huh, bud?" Barry said, in that stupid way that would seem patronizing if it was anyone else but him.

"If you could phrase "I killed forty people and then my best friend" as pretty rough that, like, yeah, sure, whatever."

"Yikes," Barry said. "Yeah, uh, that's- hm. Yeah, that's not fun. I could, uh. Possess my body again? If it would make you feel better? I might like, start decaying, though."

"I hate your fucking guts," Taako said, laughing a little, even though he was slightly weepy. Okay, a lot weepy. He bent over, putting his head in his hands. He was still shaking. Barry's undeath or whatever certainly hadn't helped with that. "How do I- fuck, Barold, how do you want me to respond to that? Yeah, sure! Possess yourself! Then when people see you fucking decaying in the middle of an inn, I can be like, "zombie? Nah, that's just my buddy Barry, who got killed by an actual fish.""

He laughed again, a little hysterically. Barry's spectral hand patted him on the shoulder. It felt like the physical embodiment of TV static.

"I can get a better body," Barry said, like that made any goddamn sense. But sure! Fuck it! Why not!

"Make the next one next stupid," Taako said into his hands.

#taako #barry bluejeans #taz #taz balance #mine #asks #anon #ise cube writing #tw character death #he gets better ! #tw blood

[ellen-shame]

Ten Opening Lines

thanks for the tag, @yabagofmilfs and sorry it's taken me soooo long to do!

Rules: list the first line of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any.

I have not yet published ten stories so I'll do some WIPs too!

(you and me) supersede - 'Sid can’t stop pacing around the covering bed.'

2. (begging for a piece of that) bubble - 'Sid tosses his robe on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and stands gloriously naked as he pokes around trying to find his sleep shirt.'

3. Gentle Violence

'r/penguins

4/3/2010 u/UserMcLoser Rumours that Malkin is scent marking Crosby on the reg?? Apparently it’s an open secret in the league that Malkin’s courting Crosby… View full post ⬆️90'

4. Reverenced Helplessness - '“Hot in here, eh?” Sid says.'

5. (this is how you make yourself) vanish into nothing - 'Maybe it starts like this:'

6. (wow wow wow wow) that's low brow - 'Six weeks after they start - dating? hooking up? having sex every night and sleeping next to each other every night and saying things like God, you’re really beautiful in bed, not like every night but not infrequently either -

(- which is like six and a half weeks after Jamie says with incredible, gorgeous, amazing casualness that he’s into men as well as women -)

(- and like six weeks and two days after Jamie becomes the first person Trevor ever comes out to on purpose, as in like, for the sake of being open and honest as opposed to for the sake of I think we’re about to jerk each other off but I don’t want you to punch me if I’ve misjudged the vibe -)

(- well like, not that Trevor totally wasn’t thinking that coming out to Jamie on purpose might increase the chances of them jerking each other off, because that’s also six weeks and a half weeks after Trevor realises with all the abruptness of an elevator wooshing down and leaving your stomach in your chest that he finds Jamie incredibly attractive -)

(- so anyway, six weeks and two days after Trevor says to him, I think I might be gay, and then really hates that might and decides it doesn’t count unless you do the thing properly and adds, I mean. I think I probably am, and Jamie says, Okay -)

(- which is to say, six weeks after Trevor spends two days dancing around Jamie, getting wound tighter and tighter, chest pounding, lowkey feeling like he’s about to puke, wondering if it’s all in his head or if he’s right to think Jamie’s also dancing around him, and then they go up to their roof to watch the sunset and both turn to each other at the same time and kiss like they’d planned it and Trevor’s head explodes -)

- anyway, six weeks after that, Jamie calls from the bathroom one morning that he’s thinking about growing a moustache.'

7. (WIP) steelheart - 'Geno was supposed to be back at 8, but at 8.06 he texts Sid sorry late.'

8. (WIP) (don't look at me, you've got a) girl at home - 'Nolan is sleeping less nowadays.'

9. (WIP) (i'm gonna pop your) bubblegum heart - 'Auston has been put on baby-sitting duty.'

10. (WIP) Encyclopaedia - 'There's a new guy in Auston's adult literacy class.'

Comments: Hmm, I think I have a tendency to start with short little sentences that sound fairly everyday and unremarkable, but which quickly lead into the main issue of the fic. However, I definitely played around with different forms outside my comfort zone in these fics - the most obvious examples being vanish into nothing and that's low brow. My favourite might be vanish into nothing because I really enjoy writing that self-consciously plays with the fact that it is writing. I also remember really wrestling with the opening of that's low brow, very aware that I was doing something very much outside my usual style, but trying to capture the maelstrom of feelings and experiences Trevor had just gone through.

Let me know if you spot any other habits of mine! I love talking about writing.

#my fic #my writing