Summary: You don't ever want to be the main character. In your town, that's deadly. Someone has to warn the new kid.
Someone has got to tell the new kid in town the Rules.
“Hey,” you say.
The new kid looks up at you. He’s sitting at his desk in the back corner of the classroom, right next to the windows. It’s a chilly day, but he’s got the window open so that the breeze ruffles his curly, black hair. “What’s up? Fern, right?”
“Don’t call me by my name,” you snarl. Then, realizing what you’ve done, you look over your shoulder. The other teenagers are still looped around the teacher’s desk, trying to get Ms. Slauson to move the test date so they could organize a welcome part for the new kid. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”
The new kid leans back in his chair and studies you. You know what he sees – a completely average high school girl in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a ponytail. There’s nothing remarkable about you. He tilts his head. “You don’t look like a bully.”
You frown. “I’m not.”
“You’re being awfully threatening,” he says in a drawl.
The accent is going to be a problem. It’s southern and sounds really cool. Honestly, it might be too late for him already.
But you still have to try.
“Meet me on the rooftop—no!” You press the heel of one hand against your eye. Fight it, you tell yourself. Fight it! “Meet me at the supermarket on Western Street. The dairy aisle. After school.”
You spin on your heel, head throbbing. Meeting on the rooftop is against the rules. You glance up at the ceiling uneasily. You’re not usually affected by the compulsion so badly. Are you being targeted?
If you were smart, you wouldn’t show up to the meeting. You’d just let the guy get sucked into the madness on his own.
But you also really need to buy some milk.
To your surprise, the new kid meets you in the dairy aisle after school. He actually gets there before you and you find him frowning at the selection.
“I’ve never heard of these brands before,” he says. He points to one. “Moo-ilk? That’s not a thing.”
“It is here,” you say. Like you’d hoped, the supermarket is nearly empty. It won’t stay that way for long. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, new kid.”
He turns to look at you. You’re tall for your age, so you stand eye to eye. “My name is Caiden.”
“I know,” you say. “You should stop telling people your name, especially when it’s such a cool one. It’s safer to just be a nameless face in the crowd.”
“That’s deep,” Caiden says. His drawl is clearly sarcastic. “That can’t be what you wanted to tell me.”
It’s not my problem if he doesn’t believe me, you tell yourself. You take a deep breath. “It’s part of it. This town is magic and the school is the heart of it. It forces people to live out popular tropes. If you’re popular or interesting in any way, it makes you the main character.” You take in the number of pockets on his black pants. “Unfortunately, you’re probably the coolest person to transfer ever and the magic is going to target you big time.”
Caiden stares at you. “You’re saying magic is real.”
“Yeah,” you say. You glance over his shoulder towards the front of the store. You can see shadows slanting through the windows as the sun starts to set. “All sorts. It depends what type of story you get pulled into.”
“But the main magic,” Caiden says, “is in the town itself which forces people to act like main characters?”
“Some people,” you say. You point at his trio of long necklaces. “Is that a wolf?”
Caiden looks down at the metal pendant. “It’s my favorite animal.”
“You are in so much danger,” you marvel. That’s the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. He also has a necklace that looks like an ancient coin and the other is a shark tooth. “The magic is definitely going to make you a main character.”
Caiden opens his mouth, closes it, then asks, “Are you insane?”
It really depends on what he thinks insane means. But going into that actually does make you sound insane, so you just sigh and shake your head. “You don’t believe me.”
“No.” Caiden doesn’t sound angry. He almost sounds apologetic. “I don’t.”
The bell at the front of the store rings. You reflexively look to see who came in. You see tennis rackets and gym clothes before you make yourself look away. A sports team, probably from a rival school. That…could be safe. Or safer. If they’re the first people he runs into, he might actually survive without having to believe you. “That’s fine. You do you.”
“…okay?” Caiden says.
He doesn’t follow you as you grab a gallon of milk and beeline for the self-checkout. You pass the tennis team in the aisle. They smell like sunscreen and don’t notice you dart past them.
“Hey,” you hear one of them say. They’re looking at Caiden. “I’ve never seen that guy around before.”
Another one hums. “There’s something about him. He looks…strong.”
“Why’s he just standing by the milk?”
You grab your purchase and calmly walk out the door.
It’s a month after Caiden first transferred when he marches up to your desk after the last bell rings and says, “You. I need to talk to you.”
You look up at him from under your bangs, hands stilling on the open textbook. Caiden looks a lot different. He’s always dressed in a tennis club uniform now and his wild, curly hair is held away from his face by a sweatband. He’s a little sunburned and there is a bandage wrapped from wrist to shoulder on his right arm. Your eyes dart down to see a matching bandage wrapped around his left ankle.
“Please,” Caiden says when the silence stretches too long. His voice cracks. “I was wrong. I was—”
You close your textbook with a snap. You weren’t really studying anyway. Studying makes you look like a background character, but the ace of the tennis team coming to talk to you cancels it out. “There’s a dentist on 3rd Street. Meet me there in an hour.”
“A dentist?” Caiden asks, bewildered. He dumbly moves out of your way when you stand to go. “Why a—”
“Not here,” you hiss. “Dentist office.”
You rush out of class before anyone notices him talking to you.
The first time this town killed one of your friends, you didn’t know about the magic.
You were just a kid, barely thirteen, and new in town. You didn’t know what you were doing when you decided you wanted the quiet girl in class to befriend. Jeanine always sat by the windows, staring out into the school’s courtyard by herself. Her black braids swung on either side of her face and her glasses were pressed high on the bridge of her nose.
You introduced yourself to her, complimented her on her book, and asked if she’d like to have lunch. Sometimes you remember the smile she gave you in that first moment. Surprised, vulnerable, secretly pleased. You treasure that moment where you were just two girls looking for friends. You remember all her smiles over that blissful period where you went to the bookstore and the library, to the movies and to sleepovers, to parties and to concerts.
Sometimes remembering those smiles even helps you forget the painful one she gave you before she lost her life saving yours.
Caiden is pacing in front of the dentist’s office when you arrive. The street is deserted and there’s a faded Closed sign in the window.
Caiden jerks his thumb at the sign. “It’s closed.”
“Yeah,” you say. There’s a little bench in front of the office where patients are invited to wait for their appointment. You take a seat and gesture for him to do the same. “Very few stories start at the dentist and, those that do, always start when it’s open. It’s unlikely we’ll run into any trouble here.”
Caiden clutches his bandaged arm, looking over his shoulder as if checking for pursuers. “So location is part of it? Even just…walking down the street can trigger it?”
“Depends which street,” you say. You twist so you can put one foot up on the bench, angling your body towards him as he sits next to you. “Setting is an important part of the story.”
“Okay,” Caiden says. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Sorry. I just—sorry. Thank you for talking to me. I know I didn’t believe you—”
“It’s hard to believe,” you say, “even without the magic.” You nod your head at his arm. “You okay?”
Caiden looks down at his arm as if he forgot about the bandages. “Oh, this? I’m not injured.” He unravels the strips to show unblemished skin. “Mark – the tennis team captain? – he’s worried about spies from other schools. I’m pretending to be hurt so they think I’m out of commission.”
“Thus giving you the element of surprise when you face them at Nationals next week,” you say with understanding. You eye the other bandage. “And your ankle?”
Caiden laughs. It’s not a joyful laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “No, no, that’s real. I got invited to a drama club after party and spent most of Saturday night running away from a werewolf. I sprained it in the woods.”
“The Drama Club President is a werewolf,” you say. If he’d believed you a month ago, you would have warned him. You were there when she got bitten, but you managed to escape that particular story by pretending to faint. “She’s really had a lot of character growth since she got bit. She used to be super mean before.”
“Oh, as long as it’s for character growth,” Caiden says sarcastically. He scrubs a hand over his face. “We barely got away. It was only because the track team was there that we managed to run her into exhaustion.” He looks up at you. “I think—I think she’s going to kill someone one day.”
“She already has,” you say. When Caiden’s eyes widen, you wave a hand. “It was a bad guy who was trying to turn our entire school into werewolves. We actually owe her a lot for managing to contain that particular plot.”
“How is she going to put that on a college application?” he asks.
You point at him. “See, that right there is why you’re already so deep into a story. Being funny when you should be panicking is basically a requirement for protagonists.”
“I’m panicking,” Caiden assures you. He points to himself emphatically. “I’m definitely panicking.”
“Good,” you say, “that means the magic doesn’t have complete control over you yet. I was worried. Nationals isn’t supposed to be for another four months. I thought the accelerated schedule was a sign you’d completely become the main character.”
“How do I get out of this?” Caiden pulls at his jersey. “I don’t even like tennis! I don’t even know how I joined the club, I didn’t sign up for anything. I don’t know how I got the equipment. My dad didn’t buy it for me.”
“Those details aren’t necessary for the story you’re in,” you say. You pick up your backpack and unzip the main pocket. “I have some Rules to avoid getting sucked into a role. No meeting people in Big Settings, first of all.”
“The lunchroom, the roof, the community pool, the lake, a love interest’s house, anywhere after curfew, etcetera,” you rattle off. You pull out a copy of The Rules and hand it to him. Even now, the mix of your handwriting and Jeanine’s sends a spike of sorrow through you. “There are some pretty specific ones on there too. I suggest you read through them all and pick out the common themes.”
The sun is getting dangerously low. You keep one eye on Caiden as he scans through the six pages of photocopied rules and one eye on the street. A couple cars pass by, but they’re all normal sedans. The moment you see a motorcycle or a van it’ll be time to leave.
“I can’t have an accent?” Caiden looks up from the paper. “But I’m not from here! How can I control an accent?”
“You can’t,” you admit. “But don’t use any region-specific idioms. That should help.”
Caiden points at the page. “Do not go to the library’s second floor?”
“Do not go to the library’s second floor,” you agree solemnly. When Caiden stares at you, you relent. “It’s super haunted. Also all the books in the back corner are cursed.”
“How do you know that?”
“They look super cursed. In a town like this, if it looks cursed, it’s cursed.”
“I guess I can’t say I don’t believe you,” Caiden mutters. “Werewolves are real, I’m pretty sure my club captain is some sort of spymaster, and I saw a kid fall four stories and land on his feet yesterday.”
“That’s Mark’s little brother. He’s got some sort of budding superhero thing going on,” you explain.
“Superhero implies the existence of a supervillain,” Caiden says.
“I try not to think about that.” A car turns onto 3rd Street a little too quickly. You tense and watch as a bicyclist comes screeching around the corner and pedal furiously in pursuit. “Time to go. Sunset is when rising actions get to climaxes. Read the Rules. We’ll talk about how to get you out of your current story tomorrow.”
“Wait!” Caiden scrambles up after you. “I can’t wait until tomorrow! Who know what will happen by then? A stalker could climb the trellis outside my window, or my house could catch on fire—”
“Do you have any little siblings?”
“Are you going to be out after curfew tonight?”
“No, but my parents—”
“Your house won’t catch on fire then,” you say. “You’re a main character right now. The magic won’t give you a tragic back story when you’re there to stop it. I’d leave now if I were you. There’s about to be a police chase down here.”
“How could you know that?” Caiden cries out.
“Did you see that bicyclist just now?”
“From a minute ago? Yeah, but—”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. If the police see you here, you’ll get dragged into it as a witness.”
As if on cue, sirens start up a couple blocks over. You duck into a side street without waiting to see if Caiden understands.
Your parents stop talking when you come through the front door. You set your backpack down slowly, taking them in. They’re sitting on the floor of the living room with a whole pile of newspaper articles and printed Wikipedia pages between them. They’re both dressed in all black and your mom has a grappling hook over one shoulder.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
“Costume party,” your dad says.
“Collage for my book club,” your mom says. When she hears your dad’s answer, she nods quickly. “My book club which is also a costume party.”
It’s sad to see your parents caught in the magic like this. You remember them when you were little. Your mom was an accountant, and your dad was one of the best mechanics in your hometown. Sure, they’d still been a little…odd. Your dad taught you to hotwire a car before you learned how to change the oil and your mom would bring you along into corporate fraud investigations, but that was what they wanted. Now their eccentricities make them main characters.
“Sounds fun,” you say with false cheer. You desperately want to beg them not to do whatever they’re planning. You want to plead with them to be safe. You want your dad to quit adding spy-like features to the family car and for your mom to stop breaking into the town museum. But you aren’t strong enough to protect them. You’re only strong enough to protect yourself. “I’ve got a history test tomorrow, so I’m going to study in my room. I’ll probably have my headphones in so I won’t be able to hear anything. Try not to scare me.”
Your mom’s eyes light. “We won’t bother you, sweetheart. Do you want to take some snacks to your room? So you don’t have to come in and out.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Does it hurt your parents are so eager to get you out of the way? Yes, but at least it’s an attempt to protect you.
You let your parents give you some mixed nuts, fruit, and popcorn before heading up to your room. While they plan whatever heist they’re doing tonight, you’ve got planning of your own. Caiden’s in a pretty tame story, but it’s still a story.
He’s got to get out as quietly as he can or else things will get messy.
“Let’s meet in the lunchroom after classes,” Caiden says the next morning. The circles under his eyes are even darker than they were yesterday, but his eyes are bright and alive. He ruefully gestures to his tennis uniform. “Before practice.”
You raise an eyebrow. The lunchroom will be empty, students choosing to use the more comfortable chairs and tables in the multipurpose room or library to study. “I’m impressed. That might be the only time the lunchroom will be safe.”
“I finally did my research,” Caiden says grimly. He flinches when the classroom door opens but recovers quickly. He walks away from your desk as if only passing by it, smiling easily at a fellow tennis player when they greet him.
“Hey,” the girl at the desk hisses at you. She’s a lower-level antagonist, easily identified by the bubblegum she’s always chewing. The teacher is always yelling at her for it, but she never gets in trouble unless the magic needs her to be a background character in detention. “Is it just me or is Caiden talking to you a lot?”
“I don’t think so,” you say. You frown at her like she’s the strange one, not you. “Are you feeling okay?”
Flustered, she pops a bubble and turns back to the doodles she’s scratching on her desk. “Never mind.”
Whew. That was a close one. Her words could’ve triggered a romance plot between you and Caiden with her as the third wheel. You’ve seen more than your fair share of those pan out. Best case scenario, one of you would end up studying abroad for a year. Worst case, one of you would end up dead.
Your heart races a little. Frowning for real, you press a hand to your chest. Could…could you actually have a crush on Caiden? After a moment, you shake your head. That’s ridiculous. You’re probably still feeling the adrenaline of escaping the pull of a story.
Even now, after four years, avoiding the magic still feels like a victory.
The thing is, you used to love the magic. When Jeanine first showed you how to watch people, it was like TV come to life. The teacher is in a slow-burn romantic comedy with the principal. The tenth grader who just passed you in the hall is actually one of the most respected journalists in town. There’s going to be a musical number in the park after school because the eggs the biology club has been looking after finally hatched into the cutest baby ducklings.
You loved it. You and Jeanine would race around after school every day to check in on each story. You remember the way her jacket would puff out behind her as she jumped the last few steps in front of the auditorium. The glint of the sun off the barrette in her hair that matched the one in yours. The joy when she would turn to smile at you like what you were witnessing was for just the two of you.
It got to the point where you could guess what sort of story someone would get caught in. You and Jeanine used to place bets on the genre, the cast, the ending. It was a game. It was all a fucking game until it wasn’t.
You were naïve. You thought that being watchers protected you from the bad endings. The Rules…you thought yourself clever for making them. You never saw how incomplete they were. That’s why you didn’t notice when Jeanine became withdrawn. She never told you about the threatening letters that started to show up in her mailbox. Her parents were always away working and she didn’t have anyone to turn to.
She should have turned to you. You believe that now. If she’d just come to you sooner, then the weight of the story you’d gotten yourself tangled in would have been bearable. Or maybe you should have been able to see it. You were right there, watching. You should have seen the mysterious cloaked figures. You should have known.
You didn’t know soon enough.
Jeanine died saving you.
And now it’s your turn to save someone else.
The end of the school day can’t come soon enough. When the bell finally rings, you make yourself count to ten before standing up.
Rule 14: Never be the first one out of class.
Rule 27: Never be the last one out of class.
You exit exactly in the middle of the pack. To your delight, Caiden is only a few people ahead of you. He read the Rules and he’s following them. That means this morning wasn’t a fluke. He’s still not completely bound by the magic.
He can be saved.
“Alright,” you say when you reach the lunchroom. Like you’d hoped, there’s no one there. You slam you backpack on top of a table and start pulling out folders. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how to get you out of your story.”
Caiden twirls the racket in his hands. “Can’t I just quit the club?”
“No, that’ll just turn it into a story about getting you back in time for Nationals,” you explain. You flip open the first folder. “One option is to get arrested for something. Sure, it’ll make you a criminal for a little bit, but your team won’t come looking for you. Heck, they might kick you off the team entirely.”
“If they’d come after me for quitting, don’t you think they’d just bail me out?” Caiden asks.
You pause. You didn’t think about that. “Would they even have the money to do that?”
“Mark’s estranged Dad is a millionaire,” Caiden says. He pulls out his phone and flips to a picture. “Here he is on a yacht.”
“I don’t really pay attention to the adult stories,” you say. You examine the picture. Yep, that’s definitely the start of a millionaire romance trope. “Good thing my parents are still together.”
Caiden frowns. “Mine aren’t.”
“Don’t let either of your parents meet Mark’s Dad,” you say apologetically. You flip to the next folder. “Next option is to pretend to be possessed by a famous tennis player. Then, when you lead the team to victory, you say it’s because of the ghost, the ghost gets exorcised, and the team loses interest in you when your abilities fade.”
“That’s pretty convoluted,” Caiden says. He pulls the folder towards him and examines the doodle of a ghost you did. “You don’t know if I’ll lead the team to victory.”
You scoff and gesture to him. “Look at you. Of course, you will.” Before he has a chance to respond, you reveal the last plan. “That’s why I think this one will work. Instead of leading the team to victory, you become a supporting character.” You open the folder to reveal a picture of Mark. “In short, you make Mark a main character.”
“What?” Caiden yelps. He casts a guilty glance towards the front of the lunchroom, making sure no one in the hall heard him. He lowers his voice. “You want me to sacrifice Mark? The guy’s already been through a lot!”
Caiden looks awfully heroic with the way he’s squared his shoulders. He’s genuinely a good person and if you’d meant to sacrifice Mark in his place, you’d feel very villainous right now. “No,” you say, “don’t you see? Making him the main character will actually help him.”
“His little brother’s got powers and his dad is, apparently, a millionaire.” You hesitate. You don’t really want to say it, but you don’t think Caiden’s quite understood what it means to be surrounded by main characters. “The way it is now, Mark is in danger.”
Caiden goes still. “What?”
“What’s more powerful than a superhero fighting to protect his brother’s memory? Or a millionaire who only needs the right romantic interest to recover from the grief of losing his eldest son?” You flip over the page and grab a pencil. You draw a circle on one side of the page. “Imagine that’s a superhero story.” You draw a dot in the circle. “That’s Mark’s brother. He can only be affected by superhero-related things as long as he’s in that circle. Their dad’s millionaire-romance story won’t stop him from being a hero, just like his son being a hero won’t stop their dad from becoming a sugar daddy for some lucky single in town.”
“Definitely keeping my dad away from him,” Caiden mutters.
You draw another circle and put another dot in it. “That dot is their dad. He’s protected from any superhero stuff because he’s the main character in the romance stuff.” Between the two circles, you draw a third dot. “In the center? That’s Mark. And right now he doesn’t have a circle to protect him from the superhero stuff or the romance stuff. Do you understand?”
“You’re saying that Mark needs to be a main character so he doesn’t become a tragic backstory,” Caiden says. He scrubs a hand over his face and collapse onto a chair. “This stuff is messed up.”
“Sometimes,” you say, “being outside the magic is just as dangerous as being in the magic.”
That’s what you and Jeanine never understood. There’s a difference between being a background character and being an exception. Exceptions make great protagonists. When the sorcerers that live in the park noticed that you and Jeanine never fell under their hypnosis, they took interest.
“Hey.” Caiden reaches out to place a comforting hand on your arm. “You okay?”
You shake yourself. The quiet of the lunchroom makes you feel like you’re the only two in the world. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to talk to someone that’s not under the town’s magic. You swallow. “My friend,” you say without really knowing you’re going to say it. “The one who wrote the Rules with me.”
“Jeanine?” Caiden asks gently. When you shoot him a surprised look, he says, “You guys signed the Rules.”
You’d forgotten about that. You hardly ever read the Rules anymore. You know them all by heart. You nod. “Yeah. She saved my life. The town isn’t evil and the magic isn’t all bad. But when it’s bad, it’s really bad. You’re doing Mark a favor by making him a main character. You might even be saving his life.”
That seems to break through to Caiden. He takes his hand off your arm, eyes far away as he considers that. When he looks back at you, there’s no resolve in the set of his jaw. “Okay. I’ll do it. How do I make Mark a main character?”
You pass the folder over to him. “It’s all there. You’re going to have to go to Nationals but, after that, you should be back in the background. Just like me.”
“Perfect,” Caiden says with a sigh. He stands, taking the folder with him. “I gotta get to practice.” He pauses in front of the door. “Will you come see us at Nationals?”
“Probably not,” you say. You scrunch your nose. If you go and meet Caiden after the game, you could be in danger of triggering another romance plot. You start packing up to hide your blush. “I’d hate to be caught up in a sports story.”
“Right, rule #35,” Caiden says, laughing a little. He looks awfully cute when he laughs. “If you’re good at sports—”
“—no you aren’t,” you say with him. You grin and wave him off. “See you later.”
Caiden glances down the hall for other students before leaning back into the lunchroom. “Thanks, Fern,” he whispers and then disappears out the door.
Your face feels hot as you make your way home.
You find yourself at the park the day of Nationals. You can’t bring yourself to watch Caiden. On paper, the plan is simple. He has to let Mark play all the singles and, if he plays doubles, Mark needs to be the one to score the most points. Or whatever the right terminology is. Even if it wasn’t dangerous to know too much about sports, you wouldn’t care.
Jeanine would care.
You wander past the kids’ playground and head across the lawn to where there’s a cluster of birch trees. In your mind’s eye, you see this place four years ago. It was night then and there weren’t any kids on the swings or parents idly chatting around the water fountain.
No, it was dark and empty and the only sound you could hear was the harsh panting of your own breath and the slow, rhythmic chanting of the sorcerers about to sacrifice your best friend.
Jeanine was an exception. She was someone who’d grown up here her whole life but was just…average. Average grades, average looks, average worries. Average. She was never compelled into a story as a kid. She wasn’t called on to fight dragons and she wasn’t recruited to be a child spy. She was just Jeanine.
The birch trees are looking a little weak. You stop just where the grass changes to dirt and stares up into their thinning canopies. Good. You hope these trees die. Then the sorcerers trapped inside of them won’t ever emerge and, at last, Jeanine will be avenged.
“If that’s even possible,” you say absently,
The truth is some days you feel like you killed her. Jeanine was average. You were the transfer who knew how to do too many things. You were the one the town took an interest in. Of course it did. You were a 13-year-old who could hotwire a car and who regularly broke into corporate offices searching for dirty books.
Jeanine saved you. She saved you from all the fates she’d seen her classmates fall prey to over the years. She taught you how to watch. She taught you how to survive. Sometimes you wonder why she did that for you, knowing what it could potentially (and did) cost her.
The truth is you would have done the same for her.
You kick at a root with real anger. When the magic couldn’t drag you into a mundane story, it escalated. The sorcerers that lived in seclusion on the other side of town got tipped off. They made a prophecy.
A prophecy about you.
You know the story that you should have had. You were supposed to be a lonely transfer student with only one shy friend. You were supposed to be excited when the sorcerers came to recruit you into their epic fight against evil. You were supposed to learn their spells and their ways and forget all about the normal life you once led.
Jeanine noticed the hooded figures first. She intercepted them before they could get to you. That’s what finally caught the magic’s attention. Here was a girl who would do anything for her friend. A beautiful girl with quick wits and an amazing loyalty.
Here was an obstacle that the sorcerers had to kill. Here was the final piece of your tragic backstory.
But Jeanine didn’t let that happen. Quietly, desperately, she worked to change your fate and, in exchange, sealed hers.
There is a reason that there aren’t any prophecies in town anymore. Jeanine’s sacrifice not only saved you, but everybody else from that fate. She gave her life to seal the sorcerers here, in these woods where they’d meant to kill her and take you away.
What you’re doing for Caiden isn’t like what Jeanine did for you. He’s not in danger of being whisked off into another dimension or being tortured by power you’ll never understand. He’s on a tennis team he doesn’t want to be on. But you’re teaching him like Jeanine taught you.
You just hope he sticks around long enough to learn.
You get to school early on Monday. It’s against the rules, but you can’t help it. You need to know how Nationals went. You need to know if Mark won the title for them or Caiden.
You see the back of Caiden’s head in the hall outside of class. Your heart races. “Caiden!”
Caiden turns. When he sees it’s you, he raises two fingers in the air. “We won!”
Your heart sinks. “No, I’m so sorry—”
“I mean, I didn’t win,” Caiden says. He gestures down at himself. “Look! No tennis uniform!”
For the first time you realize that Caiden’s wearing normal clothes. Black cargo pants, a Henley, and boots. Normal clothes might be a bit of an overstatement. You try to focus on the positive. “Nice job! Did Mark score the last goal?”
“Not how that works in tennis, but kind of,” Caiden says, grinning. “He got scouted. That means he’s the main character right? He’s safe?”
“Yeah.” You eye Caiden’s necklaces. He’s still got the wolf pendant and the shark tooth on, but now the ancient coin has been replaced by a tiny sword. “I don’t think you’re in the clear yet though.”
Caiden deflates. “What? Why not? Can you see something on me?” He turns in a circle as if looking for note that says main character stuck to his back.
“You’re still way too cool,” you say. You point at the sword necklace. “Where did you get that?”
“Found it on the ground,” he says.
“Oh my god, take that off right now,” you say.
You’ve really got your work cut out for you.
Thanks for reading! I love writing semi-meta stories like this and you know it’s not the last you’ll see of Narrative Town!
I post all my stories early on Patreon (X) Join me there to read stories a week ahead of time and to see exclusive continuations!
Next week’s story is already up!
Summary: When Shireen's city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren't any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.
Thanks again for reading :)
i think the height of luxury for me would be a nice big tub. what use is a big bed to me, a bed that i could roll over ten times and not fall off? i have no one to share it with. what use is a big screen to me, a screen to put theaters to shame? i have no one to watch it with. but a bath tub, ah a nice big tub, one that allows me to fully submerge like i havent known since the time months ago i had access to a public pool, to submerge fully underwater, and not just any but warm, sweet smelling, private water that belongs to me me me. thats my luxury. thats my poison
sleep pile with bruno and his nieces and nephews!
Thank you for the request 🥺 Somehow this turned out to be over 1,000 words! Here’s the AO3 link!
“But we should—“
“Leave him there. Good idea.”
“Not what I was going to say!”
“Whaddya mean? We’re practically twins! We finish each otherrr’s…”
“Like I’d ever fall for that.”
“Hey. What’re you guys just, standing there for?”
Mirabel and Camilo startle at the voice behind them.
“Luisa! Keep your voice down, okay,” Mirabel hisses. “It’s Tío Bruno.”
The tall young woman crosses the courtyard and gazes in the direction her sister has indicated with a pucker of lips. Her powerful body is immediately tense, ready to spring forward and pluck their tío out of whatever situation he’s landed in. The instant she sees him, she gives a low little laugh.
“Oh, he’s sleeping.”
“Yeah. On the floor. Just. Dead to the world, right there.” Camilo, heaping on the obvious statements.
“Which is why we should move him to the couch!”
“He looks… comfortable?” Luisa shifts from one foot to the other. “Haven’t you seen this before?” The younger kids shake their heads. “He used to do it a lot. Before he, uh, left. I remember seeing him asleep on the floor, or like in a corner somewhere. Mamá said that as long as he wasn’t in danger, wasn’t going to fall or get stepped on or anything, it was okay to let him be. Said he needed the rest.”
She doesn’t mention the part where she’d plunk down in front of Bruno, a doll and stuffed animal in tow, or sometimes blocks. Or that she’d sit with him until he woke up (once or twice prodding him awake herself). Then her tío would blink at her through those ever-sleepless eyes, never upset with her, even if she roused him earlier than he’d wanted. Just a crooked smile and a bleary but tender, “Buenas, Luisita.”
Camilo is gesturing at the man’s form in the center of the living room. “See? I was right. Also, wow, fu—ay! Wh—“
“Shh. I still think we should move him.” Mirabel’s brow is furrowed.
“…What if he wakes up?”
“Yeah. And anyway, he’s probably too heavy for us n–ow! Stop pinching me, Mirabel!”
“He’s not!” Mirabel says, while Luisa crosses her arms, biceps bulging. “And I won’t, because you keep being an—“
“Let him stay there.”
All three of them jump in spite of the sound of a well-practiced whisper beside them. Turning their heads in unison, they see Dolores peeking around the threshold at their passed-out uncle.
“He’s still lighter than you, Camilo.” She adds, humming, lest she squander the opportunity to defend Bruno and jab back at her brother, who simply shrugs, even as he fixes her with a too-wide smirk.
Looking back at Mirabel, he says, “Our majority grows. And our seniority stays!”
Mirabel is familiar enough with their mothers and Bruno’s banter as triplets to know it’s hopeless to argue that Camilo being two months and one week older than her totally does not count as seniority. Still, the words chafe.
“Well, unfortunately for you, primo, brains beat age,” she counters. Smiling at her own private triumph. “You guys, come on! Dolores, don’t worry, we won’t wake him.”
“Oh. No, it’s not that–“
As if on cue, the quiet, piping voice of the youngest Madrigal sends the four bigger bodies shuffling. They watch the boy’s curly head bob toward them—the rest of him is nearly obscured by the thick woolen blanket he’s hugging to his torso—and as he weaves through and on into the room.
Antonio had been the first to stumble upon Bruno like this, after consulting the rats over his whereabouts (“I need to find your mamá,” is how he framed it). It was seeing his tío fast asleep on the floor that made the boy shelve his pursuit of story time in favor of the next most logical thing.
Sure, the kid may have gotten distracted by his toucan friend along the way, but he’s back now! And once he reaches his destination he promptly arranges the blanket in a pile next to Bruno before plopping down on his side and snuggling his cheek against the man’s rounded belly.
The sight makes Dolores and Mirabel grin and Luisa’s lower lip quiver.
“Looks like Toñito’s found a middle way.” Camilo arches an eyebrow.
No one is at all fazed when Mirabel darts away, skirt fluttering. Nor when they hear a few muffled thumps somewhere above them, followed by the sound of her shushing herself. Within moments she’s at the living room entrance again, heaving blankets and pillows at the others (Casita must have helped with the load), and bounding ahead, lightly, with hers. She motions c’mon just as she’s starting to lay out her blanket in order to curl around her little primo, who wiggles his fingers at her.
“Tío Bruno’s tummy keeps making noises,” Antonio whispers, stifling a sleepy giggle.
Mirabel’s mouth forms into an o-shape. To her right, she catches a glimpse of Luisa settling on her quilt above Bruno’s head. “Maybe it’s better not to lie on it, hombrecito…”
“It’s okay,” Dolores says with an unconscious tilt of her head, from where she’s making a spot for herself at the man’s other side. “Tío ate a little over an hour ago. He’s just slow to digest.” A satisfied Antonio buries his whole face into their tío’s soft stomach.
“Hey, save some room for your big brother.”
The teenager has shape-shifted into a… smaller version of himself—a bit smaller than Antonio, even. Nudging in between Dolores and Bruno, he steals the former’s pillow, rolls onto it, and rests his head opposite his brother’s. After a second or two of mild contemplation, he pulls an expression that reads not bad and gives an exaggerated yawn.
Pepa and Félix’s eldest shakes her head. Then her eyes flick to either side… barely catching the shadow moving past the room.
The last things Dolores sees before she lies down beside Bruno are Luisa curved in an arc over him, body completely slumped and a gentle smile playing on her lips; and Mirabel rubbing circles into Antonio’s back as he drifts off, trying to fight the same fate…
In due time, the air turns fragrant with the scent of various wildflowers. Isabela slips into the room, a rolled blanket in the crook of her elbow, and conjures crowns for each of her family members. (No outrageous blooms, though she considers making an exception for Camilo.) When she’s finished putting the final touches on Bruno’s clovers, she claims the space by her youngest sister.
“Duerme bien,” she murmurs, letting her forehead rest against the already-slumbering girl’s shoulder.
Everything falls silent.
Maybe he would have moved earlier, or said something. But, oh, these kids…
Bruno allows one eye to open a crack, then the other. Gingerly, he extracts his rather stiff arm out from under Mirabel, gives it the tiniest stretch and twist before placing his hand on Antonio’s head.
He smiles, and closes his eyes once more.
Hi, what about a fic where reader likes Vincent, and Bo likes reader. You can choose Vincent's opinion on the matter. Thanks :)
Bo Sinclair likes you but you like Vincent Sinclair:
It drove Bo insane. The way you behaved differently towards him and his brother. It was so obvious but his twin seemed completely oblivious.
Whenever Vincent walked into the room, your face lit up. You greeted him with a smile, and you couldn't do enough for him. You fed him, made sure he drank water, you made sure he got decent amounts of sleep. You cared so much about him, he and Lester knew that. How couldn't Vincent?
On the other hand, when Bo was around, you were quieter. You were still kind and caring towards him, but it was like you didn't want to put a foot wrong, worried that he would snap at you. Maybe that was his fault...
He knew he hadn't been the friendliest brother when you first started staying in Ambrose. He had probably been difficult to be around, always suspicious of you.
Either way, it didn't matter. You so clearly only had eyes for Vincent and Bo fucking hated it. Couldn't you spare him just a fraction of the attention you gave Vincent? Bo had never felt so pathetic.
The little things you did just prompted this...fuzzy feeling in his chest that he wasn't used too. But Vincent got more of your attention than he did.
Bo was the traditionally attractive twin, but he knew that was all he had over his brother.
Vincent might have had some unfortunate scarring, may not have much of a voice, but he was talented and creative. He had been their mother's favourite, so why wouldn't he be your favourite as well?
Sometimes, as pathetic as he thought it was, Bo would try to picture himself in Vincent's place.
Being on the receiving end of you affection.
He would picture how he would notice the hearts in your eyes, unlike Vincent, and take the initiative.
How he would hold you when you embraced him, how he might even surprise you with a kiss.
Of course, you would return his kiss eagerly, grateful that he had finally noticed your feelings and helped you move to that next stage.
Bo pictured how you would cling to him, fingers running through his hair as you pull him closer.
He pictured you pulling away from that kiss with a breathless smile, telling him that you love him.
But by the end of the fantasy, Bo is reminded that it is just that. A fantasy.
It wouldn't be him who you greeted with a hug, who could kiss you as you pleased. It was Vincent who's hair you would play with, it was Vincent who you would whisper words of love to.
That would never be him, but it could be Vincent.
Goddamn it, Bo was almost annoyed with Vincent for being so oblivious, for not making a move, for wasting so much time.
Vincent was exactly where Bo wanted to be, the centre of your attention, and he wasn't appreciating it the way he should.
Fuck, Bo feels pathetic.
It's torture, watching you both pining for each other but he can't bring himself to push either of you in the right direction because it would just hurt him too much.
The tragic irony is that Bo can get snappier at you from time to time when you've been particularly affectionate towards Vincent. The last thing he wants is to hurt you but sometimes it's just easier for him to push you away, to blame your lack of interest in him on that.
It takes time but you and Vincent eventually get together.
Just more torture for Bo, and in his own home of all places.
He is happy for Vincent, he really is. He loves his brothers, he loves Vincent and is glad that you're making him happy, he deserves that but, fuck, does it hurt.
And he's glad that you're happy, he likes seeing you smile, but he wants to be the one who makes you smile, who makes you happy.
Perhaps of you were with somebody else, a stranger, he would pursue you without hesitation. But it was Vincent, he couldn't do that to his brother.
That's why he couldn't have you, because he wouldn't hurt Vincent...not because you only had eyes for one twin.
Release (Jake Lockley x Female!Reader)
a/n: didn’t proof-read that, ya’ll know that Holychild song? yeah, that’s basically it
Warnings: Dub-Con, just straight up filth, manipulation, semi-public-bathroom-donging
Summary: Steven has been acting strangely today, but when you decide to confront him about it, things escalate (in your favor...or do they?)
- D'you need any help with that, love?
A familiar tone of voice startles you enough to completely lose any semblance of balance you'd previously had. The red plastic bucket perched on your hip slips past your grasp, and clatters to the floor, various cleaning supplies flying out. You swear under your nose and bend down to pick up your scattered stuff, throwing a gray rug into the offending bucket with an annoyed huff.
- I didn't... - your voice comes out raw and utterly venomous.
The man, who was responsible for this whole mess, laughed quietly from above, before joining you on the floor. You gave him a quick, angry look and immediately couldn't shake a weird feeling, that something was not exactly right. He held your eyes a bit longer than you were used to, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pressed tight. He looked like Steven, sure, but at the same time, he didn't...
- Didn't know you are that much of a scaredy-cat - Steven muses, putting a plastic container of a floor cleaning product into the bucket.
Your eyebrow raises at the quip, but instead of saying something extremely clever, you stick out your tongue. Steven has been a dear friend of yours for quite some time, introducing himself as the gift shop seller a while back. After that, you both would spend your breaks together. He would talk about Ancient Egypt, a subject he was clearly passionate about. And you would pass him some pastries off-charge. That, and you get to stare at his handsome face while he talked.
You weren't exactly sure when this crush has started, only that you've slowly grown attached to those little talks of yours. Soon after, you started to notice the way his dark eyes would light up, whenever you'd ask a question, it didn't matter if it was truly inquisitive, or just plain stupid. He answered all of them without as much as a blink of an eye. Then, there were his lips. His stupid lips that curved up so sweetly, when he saw you walking towards him with almost-illegal sandwiches, you've managed to sneak out of the cafe. Oh, and you'd be a fool to forget those wonderful hands, sorting through piles of educational booklets at a lightning speed. Slender fingers gliding across the pages, making your head swim with the most delicious ideas.
That is, until you'd remember yourself, and mentally slap across the face.
Steven was your friend. One, that, to your knowledge, harbored no romantic feelings towards you whatsoever. And so, you'd bottle up your frustrations, and join him on the breaks with a tight-lipped smile.
- Oh, don't look so mad, sweets - he chuckles, sliding the bucket into his own hands, before you even think of reaching for it yourself - See, I'm helping you clean up, gotta mean something.
It's the voice, you conclude. He sounds different, like he's lowering his tone artificially. You've spent quite some time listening to him talk at lenght, which is why this sudden difference really stood out to you.
You both stand up, knees cracking as you do. Steven watches you puff out your apron with a small smirk, that looks somewhat foreign on his sweet face, but you decide not to question it for now. Just like you decide to ignore the sudden shift in his accent, making it sound like a bad, American parody, of how British people talk. You jot all of that down to exhaustion after a long day at work. With a shrug and a wave, you lead him towards the staff room of the cafe.
He follows silently, ducking slightly when shoving aside the beaded curtain of the entrance.
The room is so messy, it's honestly embarrassing, but neither you, nor the other workers have found the strength to tidy it up before closing it for the night.
- Where should I put this? - his voice sounds different as well, lower and gravely, it sends a slight shiver running up your back.
You crane your neck back to look at him. He's leaning on the door frame, some of the beaded threads fall over his shoulder. His eyebrows quirk up when he notices you looking, a bigger smirk playing around on his lips, and you nearly do a double take, because this expression is just so not-Steven-ish.
- The - you swallow hard, and swear he watches your throat move - The chair, just chug it somewhere, will you...
Turning your head rather quickly, you listen as the plastic bucket hits the floor somewhere. With trembling fingertips, you start to fiddle with the knot tying your apron on your back. Your nails scrape the coarse fabric, as you dig into the ribbon. Then, suddenly, you gasp, as another set of calloused fingers joins you. You can't find the courage to turn back and look at him, as the presence of his larger frame looms over you. His warm breath tickles the stray hair at the top of your neck, the feeling making you sway in place, as you let your eyelids flutter shut.
You have no idea where this newly found confidence came from, but your mind was running wild with too many possibilities, to truly question this situation. That is, until you felt the apron loosen, and fall from your waist. White fabric pooled around your feet, and you stared dumbfounded at it for a moment, completely lost in the unlikeliness of this situation.
- Y'know - he drawled in a way that reminded you of an old-timey Hollywood movie - You have a really pretty neck...
A sudden flood of flushed panic washes over you, and with a jerk you grab your tote bag from the nearby chair, and rush towards the exit, clearly refusing to even look at the man. The apron lays abandoned, partially stuffed under the small space between the floor and the counter.
- Do you need some help locking up the stand? - you call over to him and try the best you can to ignore the low chuckle he lets out.
The beaded curtain hits you in the face, as you all but run out of the staff room. He follows, naturally, with a relaxed pace and a knowing smirk.
- I'm actually done for today - you can hear the smile in his voice.
Both of you enter the main hall of the Museum, where finally, you stop. A deep breath later you're turning around to face him, and yet again are struck with this looming feeling that you're looking at a completely foreign person. Steven stands a couple of paces before you, arms crossed on his chest, his body leaning nonchalantly on one leg. There is this energy swarmig around him in waves you've never experienced before. It feels like he has undergone some kind of transformation before arriving here today.
- You're acting very strange - you murmur, finally voicing your concern.
To that, he immediately straightens up, a flash of concern coming over his features, but dissapearing almost as fast as it came. His body shifts, shoulders slouching over ever so slightly. You catch it all, the change, eyebrows raising pointedly.
- I don't know, what do you mean? - there it is again, that weird parody of an accent.
It makes you laugh in confusion and mirror his previous stance by crossing your arms and leaning slightly back.
- Is this, like, a bit you're doing? - you chuckle, giving him a once over - I mean that accent is ridiculous, you sound like Keanu Reeves in that one Dracula movie. All "paaardon my intruuusion" - you laugh, giving an overly-dramatic reenactment.
- Again, don't know what you mean - he mutters, taking a step back.
Oblivious, you walk up to him, looking up at his red face. You've never seen Steven this flustered, and you've seen him blush before. This time, his entire face goes beetroot red, even the tips of his ears are flaming up. You notice his eyes shifting around, dark and endless, they jump from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling, finally landing on your smiling face.
- Honestly, what is this? - you reach up to touch his forehead, pressing the outside of your palm to his skin, as if cheking for fever - It's like you're a different...
The rest of the sentence dies down on your lips, as Steven reaches for your hand, fingers encircling your wrist in a tight hold. You freeze, finally getting a closer look at him, at the way his jaw clenches, the upturned corners of his mouth, the wild eyes.
He smiles, teeth on full display, something Steven never did.
- Now, are you that smart, or am I just that fucking awful at acting, carino? - the man, who was Steven just moments ago, leans in, his breath fanning over the soft skin of your wrist.
At first, it's confusion, plain and simple. Yu're staring up at the man in front of you, wide eyed and shaking. No way this was true, how could this even be possible. You've known Steven for such a long time, and he never mentioned having a twin. A kind of creepy, kind of hot twin.
- Who are you?
The man smiles, exposing his straight, white teeth. His smile has a bit of a sinister curve to it, one, that makes your stomach tighten in anticipation.
- It's a bit complicated, but for now... My name is Jake - the man bows his head slightly.
- Where's Steven? - your eyebrows scrunch together, the muscles of your arm working under your skin, trying to wrench yourself out of his grasp.
- Oh, he's out there somewhere - Jake waves his free hand around his head, and your confusion continues to grow. - I just...
He sighs deeply, frowning slightly, as he pulls on your hand, making you step closer. Then, his head dips down, like he's about to share some terrible secret with you, and in a way, he does.
- I just couldn't keep listening to him fumble around you - the man explains, his dark eyes captivating yours in an intense stare - He would just fidget and fidget, and do nothing, even though we could all see clearly, he wanted to ask you out.
- Wait, he did? - despite the strangeness of the situation, you can't help but ask, blood immediately flowing up to your face.
- That and so much more, corazón. You have no idea, what is going on in this... - his hand comes up, pulling at the curly strands of his hair - This nerd-head of his.
You're going to pass out, you're sure of it. Everything is too hot, you can feel your chest expanding and contracting with every breath you fight for. He smells of Steven's cologne and cigarette smoke, which should've been a dead giveaway that something is wrong. Steven doesn't smoke.
- Marc would never help out, he's still hung up about that Layla of his - the man mutters, words coming out rushed and frantic, like he couldn't quite keep up with his brain. - But I could do something. I wanted to do something.
He leans impossibly close, those dark eyes of his flickering briefly to you parted lips. You start to hold in your breath, but before Jake can close the distance, you jerk back abruptly.
- Wait, hold on a minute! - finally, you take a long step back, tugging at your wrist with enough force to make him let you go - Who is Marc, what the fuck is going on?
Jake puts his hands up in an expression of surrender, trying to pacify you, as you throw an angry look his way. Then, he sighs, rolls his eyes and you want to scream at this patronizing gesture.
- Do you know what DID is?
Suddenly it all clicks into place, a wave of realisation crashing over you. Yeah, you know about DID. It was one of the interesting things that appeared on your 3am raid on Wikipedia. Random facts, collected through half-concious research. Multiple personalities, alters, trauma, all that shabang. With a shuddering breath, you look up at the man you though you knew.
- Are you protecting Steven? - your voice is quiet and uncertain.
Jake blinks a couple of times, before shrugging nonchalantly. You can see his hands form fists at his sides, making your heart jump.
- I don't know who is who - he explains, finally letting go of the British accent - All I know is that Steven is too much of a wuss to ask you, so I will.
Your breath catches in your throat, as he takes two long strides towards you.
- Do you want to fuck in the bathroom?
- I said...
- No, no don't - you wave your hands in front of your mortified face - Don't say that again.
The man smirks, trying to catch your eye contact.
- Why not? - you know a teasing tone when you hear it, and this is deffinitely one.
- Because it's embarrassing! - you whisper-scream, finally looking up.
The moment your eyes meet, everything seems to stop. Jake's expression changes slightly, from the ever-present smirk, to a fond smile, one, that makes butterflies have a seizure in your stomach. Slowly, as if giving you an escape route, should you need it, he raises his hand towards your face, fingertips sliding from your jaw, up to your cheekbone, and then back down. His thumb gently swipes at your lower lip, pressing slightly to expose your white bottom teeth.
You're pretty sure you're going to die of heatstroke, if this keeps up any longer. His eyes catch yours in a swallowing gaze, and you jump right in without a second thought, the deep waves of chocolate enveloping you completely. It's getting harder to breathe, your chest rises and falls rapidly, heart beating wildly, so hard, you can almost feel it slamming against your ribs.
- It wouldn't be fair to Steven - you try to reason, voice weak and breathy.
- From what I can tell, Steven is equally excited - Jake laughs quietly, eyes flickering quickly between your eyes and your parted lips.
His hand leaves your face in favor of sliding down the front of your neck, fingertips grazing your skin, creating delicious shivers in their wake. Now you can truly feel it, the coil tightening rapidly in the pit of your stomach. That one gesture wakes something fiery in you, and your whole body sways in tandem to Jake's touches, which finally reach your waist. Delicately, as if testing the waters, he spreads his hand on your upper thigh, dragging your flowy skirt up ever so slightly.
- But - he stops, eyebrows scrunching together, as he looks you square in the eyes - If we are going to do this, I need to hear you say, that you want this.
Your teeth catch on your bottom lip, a gesture he immediately notices, and swallows with his eyes. There are several thoughts filled with worry running across your mind, but it all goes down a mental drain, the moment you feel his thumb carressing small circles into the flesh of your thigh.
- Is Steven truly okay with this? - you ask, holding onto crumbs of reason.
- I could let him front, but I think he actually prefers it to happen this way - Jake smiles, showing off two rows of perfectly white teeth.
- Fucking hell - is all you manage to say, before nodding once, then twice, then three times, before finally taking a long breath in - Yeah, okay yeah, let's do it, let's fuck in the fucking bathroom.
Jake actually snorts a laugh at that sudden vulgarity, but you choose to ignore the spark in his eyes for your health's sake. Emboldened by the worries you chose to throw away, your hand finds Jake's, prying it from your thigh and lacing your fingers together. He follows you without a word, as you lead him towards the guest bathrooms, hidden behind heavy-looking, ornate doors.
The inside is basked in a warm light, the stalls are all closed, and Jake makes a run through all of them, knocking on every single door. You watch his eager moves with amusement. Finally, he turns to you and nearly trips on himself, when trying to get to you. There is darkness in his eyes you would've never anticipated, when he finally reaches you, hands immediately flying towards you hips.
- I've been waiting for this moment, for a very long time, gatito - is all the warning you get, before he dives down, lips smashing into yours at a bruising pace.
There is no sweet and gentle in this kiss, only hunger, deep and unrelenting. Your hands fly up to his shoulders and chest, trying to find balance, as Jake starts to push up on you with his entire body. There is a telltale feeling of something hardening quickly against your leg, and the realization, that you've managed to make this man fold in such short time makes you moan into his mouth with delight.
His hands travel up, one of his big palms giving your left breast a small squeeze. Then, in record pace, Jake slides his hands to the meat of your thighs, grabbing a hold of them, and yanking you up onto the sink with surprising ease. You squeal at the sudden feeling of being lifted, before your ass hits the cool, marble counter. There are sinks on both sides your body, and the mirror behind you is almost touching your back.
Finally, when you think you're going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, Jake tears himself from your lips, giving them a parting bite and a scandalous lick of his tongue. Then, he sinks further, teeth scraping the skin of your throat. You're shivering under his touch, as he goes further down, kissing your collar bone and the space between your breasts. Then, in an unexpected show of tenderness, he presses a kiss to the tops of both of your breasts, peakig from under the dress.
- You're so sweet - he mumbles - So sweet I could just eat you up.
Your skirt is slid up, until it pools right under your stomach, and for a second Jake freezes, staring rather obviously at your underwear, which by this time has become a small mess in its own right.
- But, we don't have that much time - he sighs, and it almost sounds regretful.
- We don't? - if your mind was in it's right place, you would've found the whine pathetic, alas, all you could really focus on at the moment, were Jake's hands, kneading your thighs and spreading them further apart.
- We don't- he concludes, shooting a quick look towards the bathroom door.
To be quite honest, you don't even get the chance to feel disappointed, as Jake suddenly stands to his full height. One arm encircles your waist and forcefully slides you forward, while the other has a small fight with your underwear, trying to push it aside. You yelp, head falling onto the man's shoulder, when his fingers finally reach their goal, swiping at your bundle of nerves.
The first contact nearly makes you jump, and Jake wastes no time, as he immediately grinds his palm onto your clit, his long fingers searching for the entrance.
- So tight - he huffs a laugh into your hair, and the gruff sound of his voice sends delicious shivers up your back.
Your hips jolt in place, as he enters two fingers into you, palm still grinding on your nerves, like his life depended on it. The pace he sets isn't the fastest, but it surely is hard. It's not long before he pulls a long moan out of you, accented by the obscene sound of his fingers pumping into you.
- I-fuck! - you curse under your breath, when he curls his digits into you, hitting a spot you almost forgot existed - Jake, shit, oh my god!
- Yeah? - he sounds almost as out of breath as you are - You wanna cum?
It's tempting to say yes, so very tempting. The coil in your belly is tightening by the second, but there is a part of you, that still wants more.
- On - his fingers curl again, and your words are interrupted by a high squeal - On your cock, Jake, please fuck me.
He pulls out so quick it's jarring. Doesn't even bother to wipe his glistening hand, instead it flies straight to the belt, unbuckling it in record time.
- The lady gets what the lady wants - he laughs to himself - Turn around and bend over.
His only answer comes in forcefully sliding you off the sink and manhandling you into his preferred position. Soon, you're looking at your own face, hair tousled, cheeks red and eyes glistening. He stands behind you, his figure towering over your frame. He braces one of your legs up on the sink, and after an awkward pause, where he gives an appreciative nod at your exposed pussy, you felt him nudge your entrance.
You held your breath and closed your eyes, but nothing happened. When you cracked one eye open, you could see in the mirror's reflection. You give him confused, and frankly annoyed look.
- Are sure? - he asks seriously, bith hands gripping your hips tightly.
The question actually startles you, making you sway your ass in front of him, in a clear display of impatience.
- Wha-?! Yes! Fucking yes, Jake, Jesus Chriiiiioh-! - your voice drifts into a sharp moan, as he enters you in one sharp thrust.
- Shit - he curses behind you, and for just a second you catch a glimpse of his furrowed brows and tight lips, before all thoughts disappear from your head.
The pace he sets is punishing. Every thrust makes you jump on the marble counter, your head rests on the mirror, where it starts to fog over, because of your ragged breaths. Jake's hands grab at everything they can. Your shoulders, your bouncing tits, your hair, your bruised hips.
Your stomach starts to tighten with every move. Jake seemingly senses your approaching peak, molding himself over your body, so his right arm can easily slide between you and the counter. Suddenly, you're being lifted ever so slightly, forced to look at reflection of the mess you have become. He's close to, if his stuttering rythmn is anything to go by.
Finally, his fingers fond your throbbing clit, and with an intensity of a man on a mission, he begins to rub quick circles. There is no sound coming out of your mouth anymore, the pleasure knocking the wind out of hour lungs.
Your nails scrape the marble counter, as the band in your gut snaps. A high-pitched cry escaped your lips, echoing through the empty bathroom. Your body spasms around him, and the pulsating heat causes Jake to moan into your ear. His thrusts become shallow and crushing, and soon after he's cumming as well. He's grunting lowly into your ear and your eyes snap open, to see his face twisted in pleasure. He looks beautiful, as his thighs begin to shake, and you feel hot liquid on the inside of your thigh.
The both of you stay like that for a second, regaining your composure. His ragged breaths tickle your oversensitive skin. Slowly, like he's handling a small porcelain doll, he slides out of you, hands giving your back muscles something that might've resembeld a massage, if you both weren't so completely out of it. Then, after a shorl while, you feel him try to clean you up to the best of his capacity, using, what you deeply hope was a handkerchief.
- Are you alright? - he asks, bending down to slide your underwear up your legs.
- Mhmmm - is all you can say, not trusting your voice completely.
Finally, with a groan, you unfold yourself from your bended position, Jake helping you regain your balance, as he leans down to press quick kisses along your shoulders. You let yourself enjoy the feeling of being cared for, as he steps around you and starts to put your hair into place, starts to straighten your clothes. The last thing you would've expected after this whole ordeal, was aftercare in a museum bathroom. And yet, here you were, melting into his gentle touches.
- You were amazing, sweetheart - he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you hair - But I have to go now.
For a moment, you think he means literally walking out of the bathroom, but soon after, his whole body becomes rigid, eyes rolling to the back of his head, as a strong shiver runs through him. Then, as if a magic spell has been lifted, a familiar lopsided smile falls onto his features, and his eyes regain the gentleness they have been missing all day.
Steven is back, your Steven is back, and suddenly your face grows red. Has he seen it all? Will he say something? Anxiety runs through you in waves.
- Y/N - he looks at you, then around the place, his eyebrows furrowing slightly - WHy are we in the bathroom?
Cold sweat climbs down your back, as you watch confusion and utter obliviousness paint Steven's features. Your throat closes, as words refuse to form in your mind, the realization of what just happened hitting you like a bus.
- Did you close the cafe already? - Steven asks, starting to make his way towards the door - We can wait for the bus together, if you want?
With a sharp intake of breath, you shake yourself out of the initial shock. Then, as if on autopilot, you let Steven lead you out of the bathroom, following like you always did. There is a pinprick of anger, brewing under your skin, as you watch his back intently, knowing somewhere in there, hidden in Steven's psyche, sits Jake.
I’m a newish follower so sorry if you’ve done something like this before but the reader wakes up sick in the middle of the night and Harry comforts her? Tysm in advance 🌺
Hey Nonny! Welcome 💛 thanks for your request! Here you go, I hope you like it.
It’s the middle of the night and you’re cuddled up into Harry’s side. The sheets are cool under your skin and the fan feels fantastic as it blows air throughout the room. Jamaica is hot. Always. And Harry is a human heater, so the fan is a necessity.
You normally sleep phenomenally next to Harry, but tonight, you can’t quite get comfortable. You’re hot, even sleeping in just your underwear, and you feel a bit sick to your stomach.
Harry notices you shifting in bed and rolls over, looking at you sleepily.
“‘S wrong, love?” He asks. His voice is low and quiet and the words rasp out of his throat.
“I feel a bit sick,” you whisper. “‘M hot and my stomach feels off.”
“Take a shower,” Harry suggests. “A cool one to cool yourself down. Maybe that’ll help your stomach, too.” You nod and move to get out of bed, but the movement lurches your stomach and you feel your muscles squeeze.
“Ope-“ you say, staying in place for a moment to let your stomach settle.
“Y’alright?” Harry asks, concerned. He places a hand on your back and rubs in slow circles and long strokes down your spine. You nod slowly, but stay where you are.
“I think I may need help to the bathroom.” You’re too sick to be shy about it, and Harry certainly doesn’t seem to mind helping.
“Of course, babe. C’mon.” He stands and moves so he’s in front of you, helping you up from your precarious position in bed.
Slowly, you rise to your feet. You lean on Harry as he walks with you to the toilet, him letting you set the pace. Once you’re there you thank Harry, then shut the door for a bit of privacy.
When you lift the lid to the toilet and kneel on the floor, your stomach empties itself into the porcelain bowl. You’re sure harry is right outside the door and you know he can hear you, but you can’t help it as your stomach purges itself.
Once you’re finished, you close the lid and flush the toilet before washing your mouth out and brushing your teeth. You feel much better, but you’re still hot and sticky from the Jamaican heat.
“Hi,” you say to Harry, opening the door and leaning against the frame. He’s sat on the bed with his head in his hand and his eyes closed.
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you? Y’alright?” He stands, walking over to where you are in the door frame.
“Now, yeah. I don’t know what I ate, but it didn’t agree with me at all.” You scrunch up your face and Harry smiles at you tenderly.
“I think I’m gonna take a shower,” you tell him. His eyebrows tick up at that and you laugh, smacking him in the chest. “Well I never! Not that kind of shower, H.”
Harry laughs and kisses you on the head. “I know, m’ only jokin’, love.”
“You can still join me if you want,” you tell him. “It’ll be a cool one, though.”
“Y’know, I have a better idea.” Harry says, handing you a T-shirt of his to wear. “‘S go for a swim.” The villas where you’re staying has a very nice pool and it would be so nice to dip into it. You let yourself imagine it but then remember what time it is.
“You know it’s like-“ you squint to see the numbers on the digital clock across the room. “One in the morning, right?”
“So we’ll have it all to ourselves!” Harry exclaims. You can’t deny him when he’s like this, so happy and spontaneously goofy.
“Give me the shirt,” you say, holding out your hand. Harry beams and passes you his vintage Hot N Hard KISS shirt because he knows how much you love it.
Taking your hand, Harry leads you out of the suite and into the night.
Leia is nineteen and she has just watched everyone she loves die.
There is nothing but absence where she could once feel her parents' love, and it's colder than space and just as empty. So she stokes the flames of her rage until she finally feels warm again, even as she slowly burns alive.
And then there's a cocky flyboy and a short stormtrooper who feels a little like home and as she approaches their getaway ship, an ugly hunk of junk, her eyes follow a familiar tug in her chest and she sees an old man, lightsaber crossed with Vader's.
He turns to look at them. To look at her. His eyes are warm and he smiles, soft and sweet, a secret little thing just for her. And then, all of the sudden, he's gone.
"BEN!" Luke screams, and he sounds like he's lost everything, too. Leia's heart twists in her chest.
She tries to tell herself that he wasn't who she thought he was, because her Ben had been sad and mistrustful and grumpy, and surely not quite that old, but she knows.
MORE DARK MEAN DBF NICK 💓💘💓🌸💞💘💓❤️🌸💘💓☹️🌸💘🌸🌼☹️🌸☹️
can i tell you how much i love seeing you in my notifs? for real <3
i am a lil tipsy and wine does not mix well with my medication so if this comes out... y’know. you know why.
warnings: smut ofc (dubcon, humping, vaginal sex, dirty talk), age gap (late 30s/early 40s, 19-early 20s), coercion, degradation, slightly manipulative nick, inappropriate relationships, mentions of divorce, cheating, pet names (hun, honey, baby, bunny), slight size & breeding kinks, kind of innocent reader
i always make these longer than expected 😬
Nick’s voice awakes you from your train of thought, eyes focusing on the TV as your mind lands back into reality.
It’s ten at night, completely dark outside, nothing but a shitty action movie playing on the television. Nick has tagged along for your family vacation, claiming loneliness from his pending divorce, unwilling to spend the summer holiday by himself. Your father was quick to invite, seeing how long him and his wife had been together, and how droopy Nick had gotten since the news. It’s what any friend would do.
The vacation was a simple beach trip, lodged in a three story house right across from the sandy shores, farther away from the tourist activity. After a full days drive, you all settled down, thrown on a movie and popcorn, huddled together on the family sized couch the renter had supplied you with.
Your parents had gone to bed thirty minutes ago, claiming tiredness at how they kept switching driving shifts, leaving you alone with Nick to finish the film you were still uninterested in.
“Just checkin’ in,” Nick motes, rubbing your thigh back and forth under his large hand, “Seemed distracted today— think every time I looked at you, you were staring into space.”
“Just checkin’ in,” Nick motes, rubbing your thigh back and forth under his large hand, “Seemed distracted today— think every time I looked at you, you were staring into space.”
“Worried about me?” You quip, light with an airy giggle. You turn to lift your arms to the air, stretching them out— along with your back, with a quiet moan.
You can see his gaze shift, a tongue darting out to wet his lips. He takes a brief, thoughtful pause, before looking you back in the eyes.
“You tense?” He asks, watching as you pull the pants of your pajama shorts down (which he finds more appealing than he should) to cover more of your cold thigh. “My wife used to say I was practically a personal massage therapist.”
“Ex-wife.” You correct.
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you offering a massage?” You blink.
“Not like I’m perving on you, hun.” Nick assures. “Never gotten a massage from your dad? Mom?”
With a blank stare, you contemplate his offer. Your muscles are locked up, joints reeling at the tensity of being locked in a car for a ten hour drive, all cooped up in the backseat filled with bags full of snacks. The overwhelming cramp is killing you�� and it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s just like getting a back massage from your mom… right?
“Okay.” You say, voice quiet and mouse-like, staring at him from underneath your lashes. He gives you a smile, one bright and charming like a Disney prince, slick with something underneath.
With a brief gaze, Nick grabs hold of your leg, hoisting it onto his lap to give himself free access. His hands are warm as they dig into your cold flesh, massaging the muscles like he’s kneading bread— goddamn, was his wife right.
“That feel good?” He asks, with a light chuckle as he hears the breathy moan you let out at one especially good dig.
You hum a yes, almost letting your eyes closed to the feeling of his fingers. With your eyelids fluttering, you can barely catch the way he’s staring into your pupils, barely looking at the skin he’s so expertly kneading.
After some time, he takes the other leg, switching it out and letting you readjust. He applies the same treatment, breathing heavy as he listens to the way you emote your pleasure, focusing on the feeling of you under him. Your skin under him. He can feel his pants tighten, just by the light grunts you let out— wondering what sounds you’d make if you were really under him.
You let out a pained grunt, and his eyes shoot up; “Whats goin’ on?”
“My back aches,” You moan, pressing on the small of it with your palm, “Sat up for too long.”
Nick hums, slowing down his motions on your leg. He pushes it off of his lap, letting it fall back down to the floor, pressing on your arm with his hand. “Turn around.”
When you do nothing but stare quizzically, he laughs, “Gonna do the same thing to your back, honey.”
You breathe in, still reeling from the relief he’s given your legs. You end up complying, maneuvering to face away from him, trying to figure out where to put your hands.
Nick’s fingers dig into your shoulders, pressing down at your tense points to relieve you. It’s almost better than what he was doing to your leg— your breathing quickens, eyes shut as you bask in it.
When you feel his hands on your skin, underneath your shirt, you almost jump out of your skin— “Hold on,” Nick coos, “‘S gonna feel better like this. I promise.”
You slowly ease, getting used to the feeling of his hands skin-to-skin with your upper back, bunching up the fabric of your shirt to allow free roaming.
Your skin is so soft, so untouched, so unfathomable— it has him almost foaming at the mouth, the sight of your bare shoulder enough to send him into the atmosphere. The goosebumps that land on your skin as he massages it, the way you shiver with each touch, the moans and gasps you let out with each press; it’s a symphony to him. An intoxicating, dizzying symphony that makes his cock throb in his sweatpants.
He finds himself pressing his hands down, pushing you forward onto the cushions. You let out a confused sound as your chest lands, cheek pressed up against the soft fabric.
Nick moves to practically straddle you, “Just relax. It’ll feel really good, I promise.”
You whimper as his weight lands on your thighs, fingers pressing deeper into your skin. He’s bunching your shirt up higher, stroking your skin with his large palms, lust fueled by how your body feels underneath him.
Nick leans down to your ear, mouth pressed up against your cheek, “Lemme ask you something, honey,” He says, hands moving south, “That boyfriend of yours ever fucked you?”
You whimper, confused and surprised, eyes jolting wide awake. When you don’t answer right away, he swats the swell of your ass, hard enough to make you feel it properly underneath your flannel shorts, but light enough to not be too painful. He’ll work you up to that.
“Y-yes,” You stutter, grabbing the bottom of the couch cushion with your hand.
Nick hums, an almost surprised tone in his throat, hands kneading into the covered flesh of your ass. “How many times?”
“Ooh,” He coos, “Did it feel good?”
“What?” You whine.
“Answer me.” He grunts, swatting at your ass again.
“Yes.” You’re whispering, breath fanning against your face as you pant against the couch.
“Don’t lie to me.” He tsks. “I bet he was all soft and sweet. Takin’ his time,” His hands move upwards, placing themselves underneath your body to knead at your breasts, “But you don’t want that, do you?”
Nick takes one of his hands, sliding it down against your skin, before slipping it underneath your shorts. You’re trapped— stuck between him and the couch, his full bodyweight keeping you locked down on top of the cushions. You can feel his fingers glide over your pussy, chuckling as he finds you already wet— you squirm, whimpering, legs flying up in the air.
“Already fuckin’ wet,” He says, almost in awe, “I made you feel good, didn’t I, bunny?”
You can’t say it, can’t let him know— can’t let him know how just his hands made your pussy drip, how the moment he offered to relieve you of your stress you felt your panties dampen with arousal. It’s all so embarrassing, so demeaning, so wrong— but you’re dripping, slick soaking his fingertips with each glide, your whimpers giving yourself away.
“I can make you feel so much better than he did,” Nick’s whispering, grinding his clothed cock against your ass, fingers rubbing sloppily at your clit, “I could fuck that slutty fuckin’ pussy so good.”
You can feel him pushing your shorts down, just enough to leave your lower half fully exposed— before you hear him pulling his own shorts down. He grunts as his cock is freed, slapping up against his stomach, taking the hand that was on your clit to give himself a few pumps.
“Your parent’s bedroom is on the third floor,” Nick whispers, lining his cock up to rest on-top of your asscheeks, “They’re not gonna hear a damn thing.”
Nick starts humping at your ass, cock sliding up and colliding with your arched back with each thrust. He’s leaning down to grunt in your ear, pulling your hips back to meet him at every grind.
He laughs every time you moan, every time you let out a broken whine— tears forming at your waterline as he licks the side of your face.
“Fuck,” He grunts, “Love using your ass, makin’ me feel so good.”
“Please,” You pant, insure of what you’re even begging for. More? For him to stop? For him to keep going? Whatever it is, you’re pleading, panting.
“Want me to fuck that slutty fuckin’ pussy?” Nick’s in your ear, hips moving faster, cock gliding up and down your ass, “You’re so fucking desperate. Boyfriend of yours isn’t fucking you good enough. Isn’t fucking you deep enough. Need me to come around to pound your little hole full.”
“Please,” You beg.
You’re so fucking embarrassed. Embarrassed by how much you’re leaking onto the couch, embarrassed by how exposed you are, embarrassed by how he shames you— embarrassed because he’s right. Right about you being unsatisfied, being bored, being desperate. Embarrassed by how bad you want him to fuck you, you’re literally begging for it.
“One fuckin’ move and I slip my big cock in that tiny pussy,” Nick’s groaning, precum staining your skin, “One move and I’m filling you up.”
He grabs you by the neck, pulling you up to his level. You choke, gasping, his nose digging into your hair as he speaks;
“Beg me to fuck that slutty pussy.”
“Please!” You sob, tears practically pouring.
He tsks, “That’s not fucking good enough.”
“Please, please,” You sob, “Please f— please fuck my s-slutty pussy. Please.” You’re stuttering, sniffling and sobbing, a mess.
Nick groans, deep in his throat, eyes practically rolling back in his skull. With his grip tight on your neck, he pulls you back, slamming his lips on yours. It’s all teeth, tongue and saliva, practically eating you alive— but it’s so, so fucking good.
When he pulls back, a string of spit follows with him, falling down onto your skin as he pushes you back down. With one hand holding your head down, your hips lifted up high, he takes hand of his cock, aligning it with the entrance to your sopping hole.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, bunny, you’re never gonna want another dick. And that’s a fucking promise.”
His cock slams into you almost immediately— hitting that spot that sends an ache into your belly. Your first instinct is to move away, crawl away from his bigger body, but his hold on your head and hips is harsh enough to make sure you stay where he wants you.
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ move,” Nick grunts, already fucking into your pussy, cock slamming at your walls repeatedly, “Your cunt fucking needs this. I fucking need this.”
You dig your teeth into the cushion, stained with both pussy slick and tears. He’s got you right where he needs you. His hand is pressing down so hard you think he might crush you, crack your skull open right here— but something in you tells you that wouldn’t deter him.
“God, what would your parents think?” Nick’s moaning, grunting, panting into the summer air, “Getting fucked silly two floors down? This slutty little pussy’s gripping me so tight, begging me to cum in her. Begging me to fuck her harder. You’re such a slut, honey, lettin’ a man twice your age use your cunt to get off, like a cheap little hole.”
You can feel your orgasm bubbling, feel the way it’s curving in your stomach, tightening like a rope. It makes you dizzy, the way he’s fucking you— it’s nothing like the sex you’ve experienced. It’s sloppy, rough, violent, degrading. You cannot believe you’re getting off on it.
“Come around my dick, bunny.” Nick reaches down, grabbing you by the throat like he did before. He pulls you up, grabs at your tits, bites into your neck with heavy groans, “Milk my cock for me, baby. Squeeze it fuckin’ good. Gonna fill that pussy up so good, breed that little hole of yours. Knock you up, really show everyone what a fucking whore you are.”
You’re too close to worry about his comment, too on the edge to care about how he’s manhandling you. Your release is so close you can taste it, feel it on your tongue— feel it, as drool lulls out to drip down your chin.
With a loud whine, you find your cunt clenching down hard, orgasm ripping through you like a stab wound. He has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream, dig his face in your hair to cover the way he’s shouting, completely abandoning himself to pleasure.
“Oh god,” Nick gets breathier, sloppier, “Fuck, I’m cumming, take it, bunny, take it all in that slutty pussy—“
He slams into you one last time, erupting in a strained groan as his cum fills your insides. You’re both left painting, moaning, whimpering against each other, chests heaving after your shared workout.
He sits back, pulling you with him, not letting his cock slip out of your cunt just yet. He situates you on his lap, pulling your shirt down, covering your lower half with a blanket, legs spread wide.
“It’s only eleven,” Nick whispers, stroking your now damp hair, “Let’s stay up a little while longer, okay?”
And when he presses a light kiss to your cheek, you find yourself agreeing.
Okay so for the past week I’ve been meaning to make a list of my current WIPs and I’ve been putting it off so...procrastinating no longer! Most of these stories I started sometime after my last story “A Voice Only Heard in the Dark” (which I posted 6 months ago oops). I didn’t feel like adding to my original WIP list bc it was long and annoyed me to look at. Anyways without further ado:
And How Do the Peasants Die? (Soft SciFi with little technology): Several years after being deposed, the region’s former emperor finds himself reaching the end of his life, living off the charity of a young woman. Though he has concealed his identity from her, he slowly begins to suspect that she knows more than she has let on. (The title is the alleged last words of Tolstoy. Themes center around: relationships between a country and its ruler(s), race and gender dynamics, atonement, and what forgiveness means)
Gethsemane: A Guide to Losing to the One You Love (SciFi, told in 2nd person): Your lover tells you that the planet’s orbital defenses have been shut down. She tells you that she is the one who did it. At the very least she has the decency to look guilty, ashamed of the devastation yet to come. You want to ask how long she had been thinking of this. Why would she deliver a death sentence to her own people? Did she even love you? Outside, satellites and space junk fall to the surface, lighting streaks of red across the sky. (Title refers to that place Isa (as) went to pray before he was...well you know. The title was originally “Sweeter Than Death, a Deception” before just becoming “A Guide to Losing to the One You Love” I heard Gethsemane mentioned on something I watched and, context aside, I loved the name so I wanted an excuse to use it hehe. Themes are: race and class dynamics, betrayal (in both the interpersonal and social sense), imperialism)
The Sea, The Sea, The Open Sea (SciFi): After sustaining heavy damage, the starship Love-In-Winter has lost most of her crew and is unable to use faster-than-light travel. The two survivors set to work repairing as much as they can, attempting to find a way to make it home faster than the projected 97 years. One of the women suggests that they make use of a highly experimental technology to ease them on their way home: a device that risks making them inhuman. (Title is the opening line to Barry Cornwall’s poem “The Sea”, because the sea is space and the vacuum of space is the sea, y’know? Themes revolve around: humanity and identity as a marginalized person, isolation, technology as a means of harm, recognition of the self through the other)
A Mote of Dust (Realistic Fiction, Soft SciFi): Qadira finds herself floundering after the death of her cat proves to be the proverbial straw which breaks the camel’s back. She goes through the motions of life: going to work, calling her dad, going to her appointments, taking her medication, and spending time with her alien spotting group (which devolved into an excuse to smoke weed and watch DS9). However, she slowly finds herself withdrawing from the world as her 28th birthday approaches. She begins to reckon with her own place on Earth and the unaddressed trauma of witnessing her mother’s abduction by extraterrestrials. (Title is from a Carl Sagan quote about Earth, “A mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.” There’s more but I’ll leave that to you to look up. Concept came about while looking into the Fermi Paradox: with the overwhelming evidence pointing to proof of intelligent life outside Earth, why haven’t we come in contact yet? Themes are: what we owe each other, mental health and mental illness, ableism, the “other”, and what makes an alien an alien?)
Special Dreams, in Which You Exist (SciFi, Tragedy): Mercedes Imperial was a figure that haunted the Nor-Am continent, credited with killing politicians, scientists, and wealthy patrons alike. Through discovering and stealing various technology, she was able to extend her life and cause disorder for roughly 200 years. Twenty years after she was caught and executed, archivists revive her by using her cyberorganetic data, hoping that they could interview her and learn the secrets of her resistance. To everyone’s surprise, Mercedes -the old Mercedes- installed a fail-safe in her data, effectively erasing every memory and experience she had past her 23rd birthday. The new Mercedes awakens to a world where she is both folk hero and boogeyman, her person already defined for her. Unsure of what is true, she must discover for herself who she used to be and determine what it means to exist. (Okay I know, I KNOWWWWW, that I’ve been writing this story on and off for 2 years but I’m on again so you’re going to get Mercedes Content damnit. Title is from Harlan Ellison’s “Delusion for a Dragon Slayer,” the quote itself is long so I’m not going to type it all out. Themes include: identity, stories as a form of oppression, stories as a form of idolatry, sacrifices for a greater cause, hauntings, all forms of American Bigotry, and strength through love/connection)
Haircuts and Happy Endings
Summary: Spencer's partner is taken off guard when they see his new haircut
Word Count: 1450
Note: Ahh so this is written for Nat!! I hope you feel better & thank you for converting me to reason lol
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader | Rating: Sexually Suggestive (implied/fade to black sex)
Haircuts & Happy Endings
Some weeks, you could go days without seeing Spencer. You hate the days when you wake up to a cold bed and a silent apartment. It only makes you yearn for the mornings when coffee is brewing in the kitchen and books are waiting to be read.
Sadly, this week is starting to look like one of those long, lonely weeks. Talking on the phone and near constant texting can hardly cut it.
You just simply, miss Spencer.
You miss him so much that you neglect to read your book because you much rather read it sitting on opposite sides of the couch. The pair of you would choose a night spent reading over any date outside of the apartment. But the moment Spencer gets back, you'll be insisting to take him on a date outside of the apartment as well as an overgenerous amount of time spent inside the apartment, specifically the bedroom. It is hard to be annoyed at your boyfriend for never being home when he's out risking his life for the most vulnerable.
Technically, Spencer isn't away this week. He's just loaded with paperwork and lectures at Fredericksburg College, which means he slips out of bed at 5:00 am and slips into bed around 12:00 am. Each time, he does manage to kiss your forehead, but most times you're just still sleeping or too tired to wait up.
At this point, you're just too tired of all these near misses. You want those lazy mornings spent drinking coffee and eating pastries and reading books you've always wanted to read. You want those late nights spent loving each other how you've dreamt of being loved.
So, you're hellbent on waiting up for him. Even if you're notorious for knocking out before 10:00 pm on most days.
You've prepared yourself with three coffees, a pile of books, and re-runs of medical shows that make Spencer cringe with inaccuracies. Usually, you'd run your hands through his hair and tell him it's just for the drama. He'd roll his eyes and tell you that you can watch it only if you braid his hair.
And of course, you'd agree.
The show plays in the background, a quiet hum of comfort to your otherwise lonely night. All these days spent alone help your case for adopting a cat with Spencer. You know you can totally convince him with more promises of braiding his hair.
Checking your phone, you see that Spencer texted that he was on his way home twenty seven minutes ago. Given that you live a half hour from his work, you expect him to be home really soon. Reading your book and even watching re-runs of your favorite medical drama proves to be futile as you anxiously await Spencer's arrival.
Luckily, thinking about Spencer coming home is an excellent way to let the time pass. The next thing you know, you hear the door knob rattle as he makes his way in. Usually, you're long asleep, but suddenly the energy from all that caffeine proves true. You swing your feet out from under the blankets, rushing to meet Spencer at the door.
"Spencer!" you call, not caring that you look totally ridiculous running in your mismatch pajamas. You just missed him so much.
You take him in. His eyes look the same, honey brown and slightly green. His smile is the same, sweet and kind. But his hair.
His hair. It's short?
"Y/N, god, I've missed you so much, darlin-" Spencer says, holding his hands out to you for what you know would be a bone crushing hug.
You stop him in his tracks, pushing your palm against his chest as you look him up and down.
"What the hell did you do you do to your hair?" you say, your voice rising a couple octaves as your realize exactly what he's done.
"I cut it?" Spencer says, sheepishly shrugging his shoulders as he realizes you've never seen his new hair yet.
"No shit, Sherlock," you say, walking around him in a circle to check out the new style, "It's so short. Oh my god, Spencer,"
"Y/N, it's just hair," Spencer chides, attempting to grab your hand as your continue to circle him, "It's just hair, darling,"
You shake your head, clearly still shocked about the new hair. It's so much shorter than it was just last week. His curls used to fall down passed his ears in brown waves, but now they lay restlessly on the top of his head. You can't say you don't like it. For all you care, he can be bald or dye it neon green and with a mohawk and you'd still be ridiculously in love with him.
"I just-"you say, this time too caught off guard to slip out of Spencer's grasp, "Hey!" you shout as Spencer's hands rest against your waist.
"I guess I forgot to tell you," Spencer says, smiling because he knows better than you that that is a complete lie.
You loop your hands around his neck, unable to hide the smile that forms on your face. You sigh, so happy that Spencer's finally home.
"What?" he says, quickly kissing your cheek. You thread your fingers through is now considerably shorter hair.
"You're just really handsome, Spencer," you tell him, "But, I'm just going to miss braiding your hair," you admit, laying your head against his chest as you both begin to sway without music. His hands rest against your back, drawing shapes through the fabric of your tee shirt.
"Ha!" he shouts, chuckling loudly that you can feel the vibrations against your cheek, "So you did like it?"
"I loved it," you admit, "At least we still have photographic evidence of it," you tell him, referencing the countless polaroid photos you've taken of Spencer with his hair braided in all sorts of ways.
"Well, I'm glad you'll like it," Spencer says, "And I'll promise to take you to that bookstore tomorrow,"
"What as a way to make up for chopping off all your beautiful, beautiful hair?" you tease, "You know what you really could do?" you ask, lifting your head so Spencer knows you're serious.
"Anything," Spencer says, his eyes looking both earnest and exhausted as he looks at you.
"A cat," you say, "I want a cat. Maybe two,"
"Hmm, a cat? As long as I can pick the name," Spencer says, "Something like Sherlock or Darcy or Jules, if he's an energetic cat, maybe"
"Really?" you say, "That easily? You'll get a cat with me?"
Spencer kisses your forehead, mumbling the words into your skin as he whispers, "Of course, I would,"
You reach for his hand and squeeze it twice. Leading him to the bedroom, Spencer follows immediately, very ready for what's bound to be a marathon sleep.
"I thought you were going to say I can make it up you by asking you to marry me," Spencer whispers so quietly you're not even sure you heard him say it, "And I would have said yes, no hesitation,"
You blink. Unsure if you've actually heard what you thought you heard. This time Spencer squeezes your hand and you wonder if he thinks it's to remind you to breath.
"Spence," you choke out, "Is this you? Are you asking me..."
"Yes, Y/N. This is me asking you to marry me in a very confusing way," he admits, "Will you marry me, Y/N?"
You don't even answer him. You just fling yourself at him, not caring that he tumbles backward onto the bed on top of the pile of books and snacks that allowed you to stay up this late. When you kiss him it's as magical as you imagined. It's all teeth and your both overtired and drunk off each other. But it's magical.
"Yes," you breath into his mouth, "Yes, even though you cut your hair," you tease, sitting up so you straddle his waist.
Spencer's hands hover over your waist, just skimming the your skin. You look down at him, desperately wanting to freeze this moment in time.
"Suddenly," Spencer says, somehow siphoning the strength to flip you down on your back, "I'm not tired anymore," he finishes, as he crawls down the bed with his hands still holding your hands.
You smiling, ignoring the time on the clock and simply enjoying the night with your now fiancé.
Sleep, as it turns out is for the weak. Or, rather, at least for Saturday mornings when there's nothing to do.
- Taglist -
@reidsbookclub @reidslibrarybook @fandomfriend33 @folkreid @the-chaotic-cow @muffin-cup @jswessie187 @spaeve @doctorspenceryeet @cncos-baby @reidslovely ely @shemarmooresfedora @strawberryspence @drayshadow @navs-bhat @mimischaos @nomajdetective @xoxospencerreid @gspenc @ssa-uglywhore27 @spencerreidat3am @reidsmilf @reidsacademia @kitkatkaitin @fandomstuffff @greengarsstuff @foxy-eva @fightingdragonswithreid @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @xoxo-jnh-xoxo @reidselle @sleepyspencer
Lo único que te pedía es que quitaras mis dudas y confusiones dándome la seguridad de que tu amor por mí era real, pero nunca lo hiciste, y ahora todo se está derrumbando.
cringe is dead, take your f/o(s) on dinner dates. carry a plush of them in your bag and hold it gently in your lap. keep a heart locket with their picture in it like they're a lover out at sea. use body wash that smells like them & cuddle a shirt￼ that's as soft as you think they would be. frame pictures of them like family photos. put a heating pad under your sheets so it's warm where they lay beside you. openly talk about your partner(s) with people you'll never see again. life is so unbelievably short— do what makes you happy and love your f/o(s) as hard as you can, no matter how silly you think it might look ♡
Sirius Black was levelling a particularly filthy look at the steaming, divine smelling fry-up in front of him. It was loaded with sausages, crackling bacon, eggs, and beans. With a sigh, he dumps half his plate onto James’, who beams around a mouthful of toast.
A single, red eyebrow raises itself elegantly.
“Turning vegetarian, Black?” Lily Evans asks, ignoring the way James’ neck snaps towards her.
“Vegan,” Sirius grumbles, flicking the remaining egg off his plate.
He straightens out immediately when Remus slides in next to him, a book in one hand and an apple in the other.
“That better not be your entire meal, Remus,” James says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans over and slides a plate towards him, loaded already with sliced fruit, oatmeal, and honey.
“He’s not actually vegan, is he?” Lily asks, turning towards Remus, the only one who she greets with a brilliant smile.
“Sirius thinks he’s a bad boyfriend if he eats meat in front of me,” Remus says mildly, the corner of his lip twitching.
Sirius scowls down at him. His black hair is in a half-bun today, and locks of it fall elegantly onto his shoulders. Remus, enamoured, immediately returns to his book.
“I’m being supportive,” Sirius huffs.
Remus doesn’t take his eyes off the page.
“Didn’t ask,” he says, and James and Peter both snicker.
Sirius sniffs regally, crinkling the perfect ridge of his nose.
“I don’t need you to ask. I’m being an amazing, supportive, handsome-“
“Egotistical,” Remus mutters.
Across the table, Lily snickers.
“-kind, loving boyfriend.”
“I bet Dorcas he’ll only last a week,” Marlene tells Lily casually, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork, waving it tauntingly in front of Sirius, who throws it one longing look.
“Remus, how do you do it?” Sirius begs.
“I want in on the bet,” James says, smacking his lips, “I bet he’ll last nine days.”
Mary raises an eyebrow.
“That’s very specific.”
James looks entirely too smug, armed with the knowledge that in nine days it would be the day after the full, meaning Sirius would shift back into human form with a particularly ravenous craving for meat.
Sirius glares, turning back to Remus with gritted teeth.
“Moony, you’ve been ignoring the temptation for meat since you were five-
“You’ve been vegan since you were five, Remus?”
Remus flushes, and throws a half-glance towards Sirius, who cowers like a scolded dog.
“My mum is vegetarian,” he says mildly, “and we’ve always had a big veggie garden.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Lily says wistfully, “my parents don’t have much of a green thumb.”
James straightens, grinning stupidly.
“My mum grows flowers,” he says, proudly.
Sirius rolls his eyes.
“His house elf grows flowers,” Sirius corrects.
Lily pointedly resumes conversation with Marlene, distinctly unimpressed, and James scowls.
“You know, I don’t like this new you, Padfoot. It’s making you cranky.”
Sirius sticks his tongue out.
“At least you can eat eggs. You know how much I love eggs. And cheese. And milk. And-“
Remus, sinking further and further behind his book, ignores the sympathetic look James shoots him.
“Don’t feel bad, Moony. It’s his choice.”
He stands, clapping Sirius on the back with one hand and grabbing his broom with the other.
“Come on, practice.”
As soon as they're out of earshot, bickering nonsensically, Remus straightens, and smirks at Lily.
“I’m not actually vegan, just vegetarian,” he explains, “Sirius didn’t realise that I wouldn’t be eating chocolate otherwise, so I didn’t correct him.”
“You’re evil, Remus. I love it.”
Kane & Jim AU: Early Pickup
content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker (or “nice whumper” since kane’s here involuntarily this time?), reluctant caretaker, semi-defiant whumpee, failed escape attempt, starvation, begging, captivity, muzzle
an AU inspired by this ask and ESPECIALLY these wonderfully whumpy asks!! in this AU, Jim learns Kane is being held captive by the hunters after Kane has only been there for a few weeks instead of five years. Kane is starving, tortured, scared, but not broken. have a series of little drabbles from this timeline.
This was the absolute rock bottom of Kane de Sang’s life.
With the hunter gone, he was alone with his human. Cuffed and muzzled, burnt and cut and bruised all over, half-naked, starving to the point of powerlessness. He was completely at the mercy of his own human. And the worst part was, he was terrified.
He wanted to keep his dignity, he really did. But it was so hard. Kane had nothing, the human had all the cards. The human could leave him in the sun again if he wanted to. Fuck, he couldn’t do that again. He’d do anything to not have to go through that a second time.
The human could also kill him.
Kane didn’t want to die. He was only one-hundred and ten, he had so much life left to live. He wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and forget about this horrible nightmare.
Despite himself, the fear overwhelmed him. Kane’s defiant glare faltered, exposing his terror.
“It’s been a while.” the human said.
Kane nodded warily. There wasn’t much more he could do with the stupid muzzle on. A thought crept into his head telling him at least it’s not exposed silver this time. At least it’s not burning you. Kane shoved the voice down. There was no way he would ever be thankful about the type of fucking muzzle he was forced to wear.
“If I take the muzzle off, you’ll behave?” the human asked.
Oh, Kane hated him.
He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment and nodded.
The human reached down to unbuckle the damned thing. The smell had been tempting before, but now it really hit him. Kane had chosen this human for his delicious blood, and with his face freed, it was driving him crazy. He hadn’t fed in... at least a couple weeks, maybe more than a month? He had no way of knowing.
He’d begged for food time and time again during his stay with the hunters, but he wouldn’t debase himself like that in front of his own human if he could help it. And attacking was out of the question- he was weak, and they were right in front of a building full of hunters. He wouldn’t make out out alive.
“What are you going to do?” Kane asked instead, trying and failing to keep his voice from wavering.
“I came here to talk.” the human looked nervous too, fiddling with the muzzle in his hands.
Okay. Talking was good. That wasn’t I’m going to kill you. That wasn’t I’m going to burn you. “What about?”
The human hesitated. “...You’re hurt.”
“Yeah.” Kane wished he had clothes to cover himself. He was so visibly weak. It was humiliating.
The human sighed. “Talking can wait. C’mon.” He opened the door to his truck. “Don’t try any shit. I have a stake and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“How did you sleep?” the human- no, Jim, Kane corrected- asked.
“Fine.” Kane stated simply. Truth be told, the strange air-filled human mattress had provided the best night of sleep Kane had had in quite a while. Much better than a cold concrete floor.
God, the smell of the human’s blood was going to drive him mad. He had to ask. He had to.
“Can I... ask you a question?” Kane started, hating the trepidation in his voice, the fact that he was asking such a thing to his own human. But he knew this would be a touchy subject, and wanted this conversation to go over well. It had to.
“Are you going to feed me?”
It didn’t go over well. Jim backed up toward the stairs, fear written all over his face. The same fear Kane was used to seeing when the human mouthed off too much and realized he had earned a punishment.
Kane was surprised to find guilt bubbling up inside him at the thought. He knew that fear all too personally, now.
“I, I don’t...” the human trailed off, backing up far enough that he’d started to re-ascend the stairs. You don’t what? You don’t know? You don’t want to?
“Wait!” Kane pressed. “I just...”
He couldn’t do this. He needed blood. He certainly needed blood more than his pride.
Kane dropped to his knees, bending his head forward submissively the way the hunters liked.
“Please. I’m so hungry it hurts. I haven’t eaten in- however long they had me. I’m so fucking hungry, Jim, I can’t take it. Please feed me. I’m sorry, just... It hurts.” His face heated up in shame as he begged, his nails digging into his thighs.
He dared to look up just enough to see Jim’s face before lowering his gaze again. The human’s hand was clamped over his neck as he trembled in fear. Great. Just great.
“What- what do you want?” Kane asked desperately.
Jim took a couple deep breaths. “D-do you remember what you did to me when I begged you not to break my legs?”
Kane could almost feel his own blood drain from his face as he nodded, remembering the crack Jim’s arm had made as he snapped it between his hands. The scream he’d personally ripped from Jim’s mouth.
“And when I begged you not to feed from me when I was sick?”
Kane nodded again, trying not to cry. Of course he’s not going to fucking feed me. He hates me. I’m going to starve down here until I die.
“Well, thank your lucky stars I’m nothing like you.” Jim said. “Wait here. I’ll... I’ll bring you blood.”
Kane’s head snapped up in shock. “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Yeah. I’m not gonna fucking... deny you when you’re begging for food. I’m not cruel, okay?” Jim’s shaking had gotten worse.
Kane sighed in relief at the promise. “Thank you.”
Kane couldn’t run. The chain binding his ankles together made sure of that.
Still, he tried his best to walk at a brisk pace. The fact that he’d managed to get out of Jim’s house during the nighttime was a small miracle. He wasn’t anywhere close to fully recovered from the hunters’ starvation, but a few days of Jim’s blood had him much better than he’d been.
The week had gone better than expected. Kane had expected Jim to exact some sort of revenge on him, but he didn’t. He treated Kane... better than Kane had treated him. Didn’t even seem to care about Kane’s snarky comments, though half the times Jim responded with similar banter, the human flinched away afterwards as if Kane would still hurt him for his rudeness.
His escape was going okay. He wasn’t sure how long it’d take him to make it to vampire territory when he couldn’t run- he’d never travelled long distances without the use of his speed before- but surely it couldn’t be that long.
But then, the tell-tale blue started to peek out of the horizon, sending a jolt of panic through him.
No no no no no, he couldn’t deal with the sun again! Not after last time. The pain had been like nothing he’d ever felt before, nothing he could even describe. He couldn’t.
Kane scrambled until he found a suitable tree to hide under. The canopy of leaves wouldn’t do shit to protect him, sun filtering through them like little death rays, but he could use the large trunk. All he had to do was scoot around in the shadow as the sun changed its angle throughout the day.
He’d be fresh out of luck when the sun was directly overhead, though. Kane whimpered just thinking about it. But at least the leaves would block out some of it. At least he was wearing clothes this time. At least he was fed and would heal faster. It wouldn’t be as bad as before. These reassurances did little to quiet the dread building up inside him at the thought of experiencing that horrible burning pain again.
That wasn’t the only thing causing him dread. Looking back, it was apparent that the chain dragging behind him had left a visible trail. Jim would wake up and realize he’d escaped soon enough. And when he did...
Kane hugged his knees to his chest. I don’t want to die. Not like this.
The sun rose, striking fear into his heart, but the tree’s shadow protected him from being burnt. For now.
Hours passed, and the shadow grew shorter and shorter. Kane found himself pressed up against the tree in his shortening pocket of protection.
That’s when he smelled Jim.
He couldn’t run. The surrounding ground was more sun than shade, he’d be incapacitated from the burns before he got further than ten feet, and he still had the stupid ankle cuffs on. He was trapped.
Kane covered his mouth with his hands to keep from audibly crying out in fear, his heart pounding as the smell grew stronger and stronger, accompanied by matching footsteps.
And there he was.
Jim looked straight into his eyes, but all Kane’s eyes could focus on was the stake gripped tight in Jim’s trembling white-knuckled hand.
“Don’t kill me.” he choked out through his tears. “Please, I don’t want to die!”
“This is so fucking weird.” Jim muttered.
Kane just stared, awaiting his judgement.
Jim gestured toward himself, then to Kane. “How things change, huh?”
That gave Kane an idea. He hastily put forward his left arm as much as he could without putting it in the sun, presenting it like an offering. Jim flinched backward at the motion.
“Here. Break it. Revenge, right?” Kane insisted. Maybe Jim would accept this and not kill him.
Jim shook his head. “I’m not going to break your fucking arm. And even if I did, it’d heal by tomorrow anyway. Not exactly revenge for what you put me through.”
“Don’t kill me.” Kane repeated, trying his best to kneel pleadingly while still keeping himself scrunched up against the tree as the sun encroached. It was too much. Even if Jim decided to spare his life, he was about to get burned by the sun again. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. “Fuck, please. I don’t wanna die, don’t kill me, please!”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t. Calm down.” Jim said, removing his flannel and tossing it to Kane. “Here, use this.”
Kane took the jacket gratefully, throwing it over his head and arms like a tarp. He was fully covered now, the only thing visible its square pattern.
“Why are you helping me?” he blurted out.
“Fuck if I know.” Jim answered.
Kane felt warm. The sun was shining on him, he knew it, the only thing in its way some pieces of fabric. His breathing quickened as he panicked.
“You’re alright.” Jim assured. “I’ll let you know where to move when the shadows grow out again. You’re gonna be fine.” he paused, then added, “I just don’t like seeing people in pain, I guess. Not even you. To answer your question.”
“Oh.” Kane would have scoffed at the idea a month ago, but... he knew pain now. Knew fear. And Jim’s worldview was the only thing saving him from burning alive or getting a stake in his heart.
After some time, Jim spoke up again. “Scootch around the tree, to your right. I’ll let you know when you’re good.”
Kane awkwardly maneuvered himself clockwise until Jim called out an all-clear. Hesitantly, he removed the flannel. When no pain came, he tossed it back to Jim with a “Thanks.”
“Sure.” he replied, putting it back on. “Listen. When the sun sets, I’m gonna walk you back with this stake over your heart. Don’t make a break for it and I won’t have to do anything. Got it?”
That was about what he’d been expecting, though the thought of someone with such a grudge against him holding a stake to his heart the whole walk back made him squeamish. “And... after we get back?”
Jim huffed. “After we get back nothing. Like I said, I’m not like you.”
So there would be no consequence.
“Why’d you have to be so cruel, anyway? You didn’t have to be. I couldn’t do anything to resist. I was scared. I just wanted to go home. I never did anything to you.” Jim’s words came fast and frantic, as if he was afraid to say them.
“This the talking you said you wanted to do last week?” Kane asked.
Jim shrugged. “Part of it, at least.”
“I was just mad that...” he hesitated. He didn’t want to anger Jim while he he had so much power over him.
Jim filled the silence. “I’m not in the business of punishing people for speaking.”
“I was just mad that everyone else’s humans were perfectly obedient and mine wasn’t. Talking back, trying to escape. No one fucking respected me, not just my family, even my own human.” Kane recounted.
“So you took it out on me, since I was the only one who couldn’t fight back.” Jim concluded.
“You’re a piece of shit.” Jim immediately winced after making the comment, putting his hand over his mouth and eyeing Kane fearfully.
“What are you looking at me like that for? You ran five years ago. You’re not my human anymore.” Kane reminded him.
Jim dropped his gaze to the ground. “Force of habit.”
When the sun eventually began to set, Jim approached Kane, stake in hand. “No funny business.”
“I get it.” Kane put his hands up. Jim moved behind him, reaching his arm around and resting the tip of the stake against Kane’s heart. Kane was sure Jim would be able to feel his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest.
“If- if you let me go, you’ll never see me again, you know.” Kane pointed out. “Wouldn’t have to feed me, either. I’d be out of your hair forever.”
“If you think I’m gonna risk you doing to someone else what you did to me, you’re out of your mind.” Jim grumbled. “Liz told me those hunters caught you trying to kidnap another human literally last month.”
“I won’t. I’ve fucking had it with humans. I’ll never do it again, I swear.”
“I can’t take that chance. Quit while you’re ahead, it’s this or the stake. I won’t hurt you, but I can’t let you go.”
They walked, slowly and steadily. It wasn’t until they were fully back in the basement that Jim removed the stake-point from Kane’s chest, Kane letting out a sigh of relief as the anxiety left him.
“Don’t try to run again.” Jim warned.
“I won’t.” Kane lied.
sorry to the anon who sent those amazing asks that it took me over a month to get to this <3
When Sokka was young, his mother would seat him on her lap and read him stories about soulmates. Two lovers born on opposite sides of the war, destined to kill each other. Until they come face to face on a battlefield and fire with all they’ve got, only to realise that they can’t harm their opponent. They realise that they just tried to shoot the person they’re supposed to love most in the heart.
They never forgive themselves after.
Or, soulmates can’t hurt each other, and Sokka finds his other half the hard way.
day 5: soulmates
THIS IS LATE BUT written for day 5 of @zukkaweek
We back at it y’all. I wrote a fic in honor of Iruka’s birthday. I also am double dipping for a couple of discord events: @the-umino-hours Iruka Birthday Celebration (prompt: Greatest Prank) and the @kakairu-discord-server Iruka Birthday Bingo (prompt: Proposal). Thank you to all the beautiful mods for running these events. I love them.
But we're really NOT married!
(2009 words) by
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Umino Iruka, Maito Gai | Might Guy, Yamato | Tenzou, Uzumaki Naruto
Additional Tags: Discord: Umino Hours, Swearing, rokudaime era, Discord: KakaIru (Naruto)
Everyone is congratulating Iruka on finally tying the knot with Kakashi but there's just one problem: THEY AREN'T MARRIED.
prompt/theory for what happens in the next owl house episode. Belos realizes Luz and Amity are together and immediately flashes back to seeing his brother and realizing he fell in love with a witch, sending him into a rage and attacking the girls.
The witch ran to the young man, arms outstretched and eyes wide as his shirt grew red. Her arms wrapped around her, hugging her close.
“Amity!” Luz said, hugging her tight, eyes scrunched close. “Are you-”
“Alright?” Caleb gasped out, fingers digging into her arms, eyes locked onto her face. “Are you alright?”
“Don’t worry about me,” the Blight girl said. She held Luz tight, a smile forming. “I was so worried!”
He loved her, didn't he?
It couldn't be like this. It wouldn't be like this.
Anger rushed through him. "STAY AWAY FROM HER!"
* unlocked *
I love that you feel everything when you feel me
the deepest parts have always been kept under lock and key. so safe behind my walls
held captive, bleeding out
dying to be free
too many hands, too many meaningless words touching in all the wrong places. keys nonexistent
it is because those portions,
they weren’t meant for anyone
a magnetic drawing
our wounds, our scars
were destined to find one another.
they needed love to exist
so they could heal
I have felt you far more than one life shall
© ScriptedSilence.All rights reserved