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roses-for-rosalyn · 9 months

Note

Hey sweetheart, I have this idea about cop!Ellie and cop!reader I've never shared bc I'm so shy to ask, but if you are open to write about it here it is.(sorry if something doesn't make sense inglish is not my first lenguage)

Well Ellie and reader are work partners and they don't really like each other because Ellie is kinda mean?(she is the director btw) but there's a tension between them anyways. So they have a night shift together and on the way in the car the reader begins to flirt, like touching ellie's thigh, and she stops in a field and fucks the reader brains out<33

-💌

This took forever but I hope I did your idea justice!

a/n: sorry I haven’t written anything in so long, life is crazy

Ellie x reader

Wc: 3k (roughly)

Minors dni 🔞 (I will jump through your screen and poke you in the eyes I stg)

CWs: police officer! Ellie and reader, play girl Ellie, fem reader, cop stuff idk, enemies to lovers (ish?), thigh riding, overstim, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), multiple orgasms

—

As a small town cop things rarely became dangerous, so on the rare occasion things did go awry no one was really prepared. You got a call about a car speeding through town at about 90 miles an hour. It quickly becomes a chase with Williams at the wheel. Before she even starts catching up to the car you both begin bickering on what roads to take to catch up and who can read the license plate better. The world becomes a blur as the car picks up speed, the roaring of the engine and the sound of the sirens make it hard to hear anything.

You attempt to shout over the noise, “Williams we might be able to catch them if we take-”

“Shutthefuckup I know what I’m doing!” She yells back even louder, more irritated because you dared tell her what to do. She didn’t even let you finish and she missed the turn that would have taken you ahead of the car to block their path.

“Williams we’re gonna lose ‘em.” You couldn’t convince her, you’re not sure anyone could have. The car takes a sudden turn and she misses it, she quickly reverses and turns down the dirt road only for the car to disappear from sight. She tries to make a few turns but it’s useless, these roads went in every direction with thick woods surrounding them. Even townies got lost in there.

She slows the car down eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the road and quietly mutters “Fuck.” under her breath.

“Maybe you should have listened to the directional advice from someone who was fucking born here instead of trying to do everything yourself.” You can’t help but notice you scolded her like a primary school teacher, but she makes it so hard when she acts like this.

“Please I don’t need a fucking ‘I told you so’ talk right now.” She huffs.

“I hope you know this is completely your fault, I can’t fucking believe-”

“I swear to god if you keep talking I’m going to kick you out of this goddamn car.” She turns and looks at you straight in the eye, challenging you. Her tone is eerily calm. You narrow your gaze but say nothing, turning to look straight ahead. And with that she drives you both back to the station, defeated with only half of the criminal's license plate.

- -

Patrol partners are supposed to be friends- Or at least friend-ly. That’s what anyone would assume, you have to spend every day together, not getting along would just result in various inconvenient miscommunications and misunderstandings.

Yeah, well you weren’t that lucky. Your patrol partner is Ellie Williams aka “Williams” according to her various male coworkers. Her female coworkers tended to lean more towards nicknames like “whore” or “slut” considering she hooked up with a couple of them and then acted like she barely knew them at work the next day and did it all over again. She had to start finding hookups outside the station last month because all her go-tos had refused her unless she wanted something serious. On top of that the few that she got with turned the rest of the girls against her, all she had left was you and all the guys at the station- and you didn’t really count since you were forced to be with her. This meant recently she was particularly irritable considering she couldn’t find a lot- if any- women to relieve any of her tension, so patrolling with her for the past 30 days has been hell.

On a more positive note it made gossiping with your coworkers over coffee the best part of your day. They would talk about their hookups which would inevitably lead back to shit talking Williams- which you would enthusiastically participate in considering how she treated you on the job. However they all agreed that they tolerated it for as long as they did because the sex was good. And you believed them because they had to put up with some crazy bullshit from her. A tiny part of you yearned for them to explain just how good it was, but you’d never ever give in to that curiosity.

Williams- on the rare occasion she would say anything- was mean, she would make snide comments all the time no matter what task you were taking on. She had some sort of superiority complex because she was- admittedly- very good at her job. She had transferred from some big city to your small town station and she had much more experience. She was incredibly skilled at taking people down when she needed to. However, compared to her old job, barely anything happens here. When something did happen she would insist on taking over the task almost every single time, the only thing she couldn’t trump you in was de-escalation. She was terrible at communication and that was most of the job. Calls would mostly be noise complaints or welfare checks, so you took the lead for those and it drove her crazy. She couldn’t stand being inferior to anyone, especially on the job. So you were squabbling constantly.

And for some reason tonight she was in a particularly bad mood. You’re stationed on the side of the road, keeping watch for anyone disobeying any road safety laws and Williams is silent. Not particularly unusual, but her body language was odd, she was weirdly tense. She sat fidgeting with her hands, picking at her cuticles, occasionally glancing up if she heard a car. Nothing in you wanted to show you cared at all for her, because you didn’t, but at this point you were so bored you didn’t care if you started one of your usual squabbles.

“Something wrong Williams?” You tentatively ask.

“ ‘m fine, just tired.” she says, still not glancing up.

“You seem offly tense for a tired person.” You try to push her a bit.

She finally looks up at you, her expression remaining neutral “Considering your observations, you really think now’s a good time to test me sweetheart?” God you hated when she called you that, she refused to refer to you by your last name, always resorting to some condescending nickname.

You roll your eyes, just as you were about to respond a staticky voice interrupts, asking for anyone available for a call about a noise complaint about two minutes away. Ellie picks up the walkie and calls in saying she could take it and starts the car.

You drive there in silence and to no one’s surprise it’s Mrs. Taylor. She frequently calls at night whenever she hears her teenage neighbors so much as talk loud enough for her to hear. And every time she would make you both walk over to them and ask them to quiet down.

This time though when you got out of the car you could hear muffled music coming from the neighbor’s all the way from Mrs. Taylor’s lawn. You walk up to her door, Williams following silently, and knock gently a couple of times. You hear soft shuffling, a lock clicking and then the door opens revealing the grumpy old woman’s tired face. She’s wearing a long dusty pink robe, striped pajama pants and ratty slippers, clearly she had been recently woken up by the noise.

“Hello Mrs. Taylor.” You smile politely.

“Hello dear.” She smiles back at you, but falters for a moment when she spots your partner, refusing to acknowledge her presence. She used to babysit all the kids in the neighborhood, you were always her favorite. She treated everyone else like they were some sort of pest, especially outsiders.

“Neighbors bothering you again?” You already knew the answer, but you felt the need to be polite.

“I can’t sleep with all that ruckus, rotten children they are. Too bad too, they used to be the sweetest when they were little.” She shook her head.

“Alright we’ll get it all sorted out, you can go back to bed.” You nod your head.

The old woman smiles before reaching forward and pinching your cheek while saying “You’re so good to me dear. Come over for dinner some time so I can make it up to you.”

“Just doing my job ma'am.” You reassure her.

“Well, goodnight. Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll sort something out.” She begins shuffling backwards, and grabs the door handle.

“Good night Mrs. Taylor.” You wave at her and she closes the door.

“God you’re unbelievable.” Ellie scoffs from behind you.

“What?” you turn around to face her.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me like that once in a while?” For the life of you you could not figure out where this was coming from.

“You have to earn it.” You retort, while beginning to walk to the neighbors house. Ellie just huffs and jogs a bit to catch up to you, god forbid you get ahead of her in any way.

You make your way to the house, the bass rattling your teeth by the time you're on the front stoop. Ellie takes her usual spot behind you and you knock loudly, bashing your fist against the door. Hopefully someone hears so you don’t have to make a scene, they weren’t bad kids. Sure enough the music turns off and the door opens slowly revealing a set of scared, round eyes.

“Hey Kelly.” You knew her well from the past complaints, she was pretty polite especially for a teenager. The poor girl was practically shaking. “You probably know why we’re here.” She nods slowly. “Ok, so just do us a favor and turn your music down so we don’t get another call from Mrs. Taylor alright?” you say gently, knowing when you’re in uniform everything about you was intimidating enough without you having to yell.

“Th-that’s it?” She asks, her whole body shaking with adrenaline at this point.

“Yup, just make sure this doesn’t happen again. Shouldn’t have the volume that high anyway, it’s bad for your hearing.” You smile, “Probably don’t want to go deaf by the time you’re 20.”

Kelly just nods again “O-ok thank you. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Alright have a good night, stay out of trouble.” You turn away and Ellie does the same.

The walk back to the car is silent except for the steady hum of cicadas. You’re about to put your seatbelt on when Ellie says “So what do I have to do?”

You pause your movements, “What?”

“What do I have to do to earn it?” When you still look confused she elaborates “You being nice to me. What do I have to do to earn that?”

“I don’t know. With the way you treat me it’s almost like you enjoy me being mean to you.” You let out a dry laugh.

She slowly leans towards you, “Oh, I do.” She says, her tone changing completely, her voice becomes raspy and deep, almost like a whisper and a smirk tugs at her lips. “I love making you mad, but something tells me you’re even more delightful when you’re all sweet like that.”

“Williams what-” She leans even closer, inches away from your face and suddenly you forgot everything that wasn’t Ellie. You couldn’t utter a word if you tried.

“Tell me.” Her eyes flicker from yours to your lips. “What.” Her lips are so close you can almost feel her words. “To do.” You let out a sigh and give in, abandoning all logic you press your lips against hers. She stiffens but then her hands automatically move to cup your jaw so she can deepen the kiss. Her tongue swipes across your lips, inviting them to open. You can’t really move, unable to completely process what’s happening. She’s so warm and soft and everything you didn’t expect.

She starts making her way down to your neck, exploring your reactions as she kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin. A small whimper escapes from your lips, and Ellie is sure she’s never heard something more intoxicating.

“Williams-” She finds a particular spot behind your ear that causes you to let out a quiet moan, making you forget how to speak for a moment.

“W-we can’t do this here, you know that.” She stops and moves her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re right, we should probably find someplace where we don’t run the risk of teenagers or Mrs. Taylor finding us.” That wasn’t what you meant but it was probably the first time she had ever agreed with you the entire time you’ve been partners.

She pulls off the road into a field and as soon as she parks she immediately starts where she left off. Somehow she knew exactly how to reduce you to a whimpering mess in mere moments. In between kisses she whispers “Take off your belt.” Her tone was so sure and dominant it sent a wave of arousal straight to your center. You do as she says, you forgot you had put on your utility belt for the call, but she clearly took note. You try not to move too much as she continues marking up your skin. She stops again, “Now get in the back.” She doesn’t wait for your response before taking her own utility belt off, leaving it in the front seat and opening her door. It was a little more work in a patrol car considering there were bars separating the front and backseat, but at this point neither of you cared much.

Ellie is first to sit down in the back and shut the door behind her, you do the same and crawl over to straddle her lap. “You feelin a little eager, sweetheart?” She looks at you with that obnoxious smirk on her face, but this time it didn’t annoy you as much as it usually did. You kiss the grin off her face before moving to her neck, listening to her little sighs and moans as you press your lips to her soft skin. The noises she’s making send arousal straight to your aching center and you begin to grind down on her lap, desperate for some kind of relief. She starts taking off your belt with trembling, eager fingers and throws it off to the side. You reach for hers as she untucks your shirt and begins unbuttoning it as quickly as she could, leaving you in your tank top. Your lips meet hers and the kisses grow hungrier by the second, each of you becoming more and more eager to undress the other.

As you begin to unfasten Ellie’s shirt she sighs in frustration, “Jesus christ all these fucking layers are driving me crazy.”

You laugh and say in between kisses, “Gotta make you work for it Williams.” With that she rips off your tank top, and immediately begins groping your breasts over your bra. You moan into her mouth and begin to grind down onto her even harder. Ellie notices and spreads her legs a bit, moving your leg in between hers so you were straddling her thigh. Relief rushes through you as you lower down onto her muscular thigh and begin moving your hips back and forth. She reaches behind you to unclasp your bra leaving your top half bare for her. She can’t resist breaking the kiss to move her focus to your chest, taking your nipple in her mouth with a satisfied hum. A soft whine escapes your lips as her warm tongue circles your sensitive nipples. Her hands have a steady hold on your hips, encouraging you to move against her thigh, harder and faster. Yours have found a home in her hair, tugging harder and harder as your pleasure builds on itself causing Ellie to groan as arousal begins to pool in her boxers.

“Get up.” Ellie commands in a hoarse whisper that sends butterflies straight to your cunt. You climb off her and lean against the car door. The sight of you in the dim moonlight, topless with spread legs and unzipped pants, a fucked out expression on your face almost has Ellie coming right then and there. She unties your shoes and gently removes them, before grabbing the hem of your pants and tugging them down in one swift motion. She crawls between your legs and wraps her arms around each of your thighs, gently kissing a path to your dripping cunt. A wet spot had formed on your panties causing your face to become hot from embarrassment, but Ellie seemed to have a different reaction “God you’re so beautiful, it’s driving me crazy.” She begins teasing you over the fabric of your underwear, running her fingers up and down your slit. A whimper escapes your lips as a silent plea for more, but she continues teasing. She finally pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and takes a moment before gently blowing on your soaked folds.

“Please-” you manage to whimper as the cool air from Ellie’s lips hits your warm center sending a pleasurable shock through you. You would expect for her to make you beg for it, but she immediately obliged, licking a line from your dripping entrance to your clit. You gasp and grip on to her hair, searching for anything to hold on to as pleasure overwhelms every one of your senses. Ellie groans at the feeling as she begins gently licking at your clit, teasing you. The sound sends vibrations through your lower body and you moan at the feeling, now losing any control you had over the volume of your voice. She begins moving her tongue in circles over your sensitive bud as she teases your entrance with a slender finger. You let out the loudest moan yet, encouraging Ellie to plunge her finger further inside you. It slides in easily, arousal practically coating your thighs at this point. Suddenly she hits the spot causing a desperate whiny “Oh fuck,” To escape from your swollen lips as you clench lightly around her finger. She adds a second, the feeling of her two fingers causes a satisfying amount of pressure to fill your cunt. She hits a spot that you swear sends white light through your closed eyes and keeps hitting it with every rough, slow thrust of her fingers. Your hips begin to move, trying to get her to fuck you harder but she only pins your down by your waist with her free hand forcing you to endure her painful pace. “Ellie,” you whine, “please- I-“ you cut yourself off with a moan.

“What do you need sweetheart?” She pauses briefly to look at your fucked out expression and your arousal has dropped all the down her chin. The very sight almost does you in.

“Please,” you beg her in hopes she’ll spare you the humiliation of asking her.

“Mm mm,” she lightly shakes her head “words baby.” That was a much better nickname, the way she said baby made your cunt flutter around her fingers

“P-please-” you sigh before finishing “-fuck me harder pleasee.” You think that’s probably the most pathetic you’ll ever sound but Ellie obeys. She sucks your puffy clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hypersensitive nub before moving her fingers faster. She picks up speed until you can’t think about anything but Ellie’s mouth and fingers. The pace was practically inhuman, you tilt your head back as a silent scream rips it’s way through you before you moan “fffuuckk,” in a high pitched tone. She continues moving her hands rapidly in and out of you curling them at just the right angle. You begin to flutter around her fingers and she knew you were close.

“Almost there baby?” All you can do in response in moan, she has you practically incapacitated. She giggled a little “Good, come for me.” As her words reached your ears your pleasure finally hit it’s peak. You begin writing against Ellie’s fingers as you roughly clench down on them. Your pleasure rips through you in overwhelming waves, moans uncontrollably leaving your lips as Ellie’s fingers continue their brutal pace. She doesn’t let up though, she keeps going as your clit grows more and more sensitive. You tug at her hair but she doesn’t move, she continues as your hips begin bucking against her arm that was pinning you down.

“Ellie it’s too much I can’t-”

“You can take one more can’t you sweetheart?” She asks sweetly as she fucks your sensitive hole with no mercy. You just nod and she continues sucking and licking at your clit, occasionally moaning which only enhanced the overwhelming pleasure. This time you were more tightly wound up and faster. It didn’t take long before you approached the edge again, the feeling twice as intense. You almost worry as it begins to build and build, just as you thought you had reached your peak it kept going. You finally topple over the edge as Ellie’s teeth lightly graze your clit, the feeling sending you into overdrive. You tugs Ellie’s hair harder than you ever had before as you make a mess all over the seats and Ellie’s mouth and fingers. She laps it all up contently, actually backing down when you pushed her away this time. She leans back into her knees and tries to catch her breath.

A smirk grows on your face as you begin leaning towards her, “it’s your turn.”

—

Idrk how I feel about this but at least I finished it 😀👍

Reblogs and notes are always appreciated and encouraged 💕‼️

Hopefully I will start updating more but I can’t really promise anything lmao

#ellie williams #the last of us 2 #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #cop! Ellie Williams

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e-adlirez · 6 months

Text

An Independent Callout Update

Hi everybody, this is uh, this is exactly what it says on the tin, and I figured I'd make one.

Last you saw me I was offering some appreciation for some funni Tumblr art, and sharing a project long-ish in the making (it was like two months it's not that long). I figured y'know, maybe we can let sleeping dogs lie, maybe I can work on other things and maybe take a br--

NOPE JUST KIDDING someone's still up and about and still trying to prove himself somewhere in the blameless route. I've genuinely never seen someone make this many backflips to make them look innocent since Grace Chastity, which is an accomplishment, by the way! Not a good one by any means, but an accomplishment nonetheless!

Let's dive into it, shall we?

Here we have a Cadillac trying to claim that he was hacked. As you can see, he's failed miserably at trying to ping @2deadkat, @ratonahat and @bloombirdreads, in an attempt to call for help. He's failing to ping them because they blocked his ass a whiiiillleeeee ago. And of course, the "it wasn't his fault, it was someone else acting in my name!" excuse! This is peak "I can't be having impure thoughts! This is the other guy's fault for making me horny!" Cadillac is there something you wish to confess in front of the class?

Two holes in his excuse:

One, you didn't seem to have any issues when you were trying to convince me into thinking that you were trying even the tiniest modicum of owning up to your mistakes (which I have screenshotted here in case you think you can delete them and say I can't prove anything). It was really more of a "I'm changed in literally 2 days, I'm not like that anymore!", which is about as believable as falling into a black hole and coming out alive. In other words, not at all. Even less believable since your writing style doesn't seem to have changed from your older posts to your newer posts, hm....

Two, Cadillac, even if you were telling the truth and got hacked, how did you not notice? Getting your account hacked is a very big deal! You could lose personal information, get doxxed, have your account become a mouthpiece for scams, and that's only the half of it! How did you only notice this just now, on December 22nd of 2023? This is a big affront to your internet safety! It would be impossible!

And if you want to say this is a recent development, then uh, buddy, I have some news for you.

Here I have a screenshot from one of my personal Discords, and so far it's the earliest secondary record I have of Cadillac's shenaniganery.

And you can tell it's really early because a reply to the mini-rant around the same day mentions this funny little detail:

This was back when Cadillac had only made two shirtless G posts on his blog. From July 26th, 2023 to December 22nd, 2023-- that's a five-month time period! Almost half a year of not realizing that you've been hacked! And the strangest thing is you haven't changed a bit before or after! This hacker must've done a very good job making your posts sound like your own by extrapolating your internet personality from-- and I counted-- eight bare-bones posts, hm? /sarcastic

Well okay, remember how I said Cadillac's been very consistent this whole time? Well, I lied. There's Cadillac's most recent post as well:

Dear me, you're sounding awfully mature and respectful here! Is this a miracle? Could you possibly have actually been hacked and the person behind the screen is actually a decent person all alo--

OOP I GUESS NOT!

Buddy, I didn't even need to pull up GPTZero for this, you were sounding so corporate and so fake it wasn't even a contest. You ain't slick, Cadillac, not slick at all.

And for the record, I plugged my entries in the callout post in there too because why not

Yep, a lotta hooman to go around with me, Cadillac. This one in I'm writing right now took about an hour :D Whether or not it's because of having to find sources or just to find a good way to say what I want to, I'll leave that for everyone else to decide.

Anyway, this is your Cadillac callout update, goodnight tristate area.

Yes Cadillac you can bet your ass that the only reason anyone would ever be unblocking you would be for no other reason but this: making callouts that aren't going any time soon. I will admit, one flaw in my original post was the fact that I hyperlinked more than I screenshotted, giving you an opportunity to wipe the evidence. Well, you've got nowhere to hide now, Cadillac. I've caught you in 4K, and these posts aren't going anywhere.

#geronimo stilton #callout post #update #also the “I'm clean now” post has only one like which I can only assume was him self-liking his post #can I get sad trombone noises please #and cadillac if you really wanna make things right #stop replying and making excuses and making a fool of yourself in every way possible #just #show us that you've changed #and stop trying to pin the blame on someone else or trying to rope other people in this mess #they're not helping you and they never will #the pingfail is just proof of that

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lemonduckisnowawake · 8 months

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Living Before the Edge

Okay wow. I did not expect to actually do the @inklings-challenge but I somehow did! This was so fun, as well, so many thanks to the organizers who created this! I was on Team Lewis and decided to take the more sci-fi-ish prompt (though I fear it's more fantastical regardless). I shouldn't have to give and content warnings but please let me know if you think I do!

“Are you lost—”

“meluAAAAAAAAAN!”

A sigh.

“Are you—”

“Meluan, where are you, you little brat?”

The voice is close.

“Are you lost in the—”

The door burst open, interrupting Meluan’s third attempt to record her advertisement. She swiveled on her chair to see a very irate Wynan standing at the entrance, one hand on the door to keep it open.

Meluan considered jumping out of the window into the deep expanse of space, but she was pretty certain that Meryan had installed safety locks to avoid that happening…again. Eh, she’d get past them like always, but Meryan’s inventions were getting a lot harder to reverse engineer these—

A smack on the head and the door creaking shut reminded her that she currently had company.

“Ach, what do you want? What do you want?!” Meluan complained, shaking her head and rolling back, her chair crashing against the desk and jostling all the equipment on top of it.

Wynan was still glaring, her deep violet-black eyes boring into Meluan’s displeased form.

“You’re such an idiot,” Wynan stated, as if it was a fact rather than an opinion, her gaze settling back into something more neutral and relieved. “Meryan and I have been calling and texting your phone for the last half-hour. Relani even went outside to look for you, thinking you’d thrown yourself out again.”

Meluan grumbled, rubbing her head where Wynan had smacked it and using her other hand to dig through her pockets to fish out the phone she’d put on mute. “I was fine. I left you guys a note in the kitchen…”

Her words trailed off as she fished out both a phone and a sticky note attached to the back that said, ‘Will be in the silent room. Get me in an hour if I don’t establish contact within then.’

She stared at the yellow piece of paper with black ink stains.

“Oh…whoops.” Her eyes flickered to Wynan, who rolled her eyes. “Hey!” Meluan protested the action. “I was fine! I was planning on leaving a note, see?” She waved her phone with the note still on it at her sister.

“Key word being planning, actual fact being that you worried the three of us sick by disappearing during the morning,” Wynan sighed, settling down on the other chair and taking out her own phone. “Anyway, what were you doing?” she asked conversationally, texting the Meryan and Relani that Meluan had been safely located.

“I was just recording an advertisement for our station,” Meluan explained, pocketing her phone and the note once again and gesturing to the recording equipment on the table. She tapped the mic, sending an echo bouncing within the silent room. “But why were you guys looking for me? I’m not usually up in what we’ve established as the morning.”

Wynan raised an eyebrow at the first statement but didn’t comment, instead choosing to answer, “We have a new guest.”

Oh.

Meluan hopped out of her chair, remembering to switch off the mic. “Right, sorry…” she winced, fetching her jacket. “Lead the way.”

And lead the way Wynan did, going through the hallway of their space station, dramatically nicknamed the Abode Before the Void, then the A-Void, thanks to Meluan. It was a rather small station—not really a station at all, actually.

A-Void was a three-story house, to put it simply. It had a few extra features, such as a rocket engine and some additional parts that made it more…rocketish/stationish. But when one lost in the deep abyss of space would find it, their first comment would likely be and astonished, “Well, what’s a house doing floating at the edge of space?” When going inside A-Void, the same person would probably continue to be astonished on how it looked like a completely ordinary home with completely ordinary rooms, save for two, inhabited by completely ordinary-looking women.

When Wynan and Meluan found their way to the living room, they indeed found one such astonished person sitting on the sofa, blanket around them and steaming mug of one of Meryan’s concoctions on the coffee table in front.

“Welcome to the place you should A-Void!” Meluan exclaimed by way of greeting, sliding down the banister and bouncing up to land lightly on the coffee table.

While the figure in front of her did jump at her sudden entrance, the drink amazingly did not.

“Off the table, Meluan,” a new voice spoke up.

Both the figure wrapped in the blanket and Melun looked up to see a smiling woman with round glasses coming from the door. She carried a tray full of biscuits and cakes, which she promptly set on the table once Meluan had jumped off it.

“Sorry, Meryan,” Meluan muttered, not sounding sorry at all as she grinned impishly at their guest.

The figure swallowed, their eyes flitting from Meluan and Meryan.

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” Wynan spoke up, settling behind the sofa. When the figure flinched at her voice, jolting to look at her, Wynan added more carefully, “…would you care to give us a name?”

The figure swallowed, opening their mouth before closing it, hanging their head.

Meluan and Wynan exchanged a glance.

“Ah, can’t speak?” Meluan guessed, staring at the person, trying to get a better read when they nodded, confirming Meluan’s guess.

At first glance, the figure seemed to be a rather short and scrawny man, with dark brown hair closely cropped and sharp almond-shaped eyes. Their skin was about a shade darker than Relani’s but lighter than Wynan’s, and though their hunched posture was not very impressive, the knives they had strapped in multiple places and the muscles carefully hidden under their concerningly sheer sleeves—almost covered by the blanket—were not missed. Also not to be missed, Meluan noted, were their prominent tapered ears decorated with rather intricate earrings.

“Uh, don’t hate me for this but are you a man?” Meluan decided on blathering, sensing their discomfort at her staring.

Their guest blinked and rather guiltily nodded before grimacing at Meluan’s nonjudgmental gaze and quickly shook their head.

“…woman?”

A pause before they nodded, not really meeting Meluan’s eyes.

“Do you want to write down your story? Would you rather sign? Meryan here knows all the languages in the multi—er, world,” Meluan continued easily, taking a seat on the coffee table and smiling at their guest.

Their guest hesitated before slowly taking out her arms. “…who…are you? All of you.”

Fortunately, the sign language was one all three present knew. Given that, Meryan and Wynan stayed silent, letting Meluan do all the talking.

“Us? Uh…well, that’s difficult. You could say we’re sisters—we have another one but she’s currently outside,” Meluan answered, leaning back and looking up to the ceiling. Thinking about it some more, she returned her gaze to their guest. “I mean, our living situation is odd but we’re not anyone you should know, you know? But what about you? Do you have a name?”

The guest hesitated before signing the symbols for “solar eclipse.”

Wynan and Meluan both glanced at Meryan, unable to parse the language from the signs. For her part, Meryan took a seat on the rocking chair, frowning.

“Your name is…Sinnelia?” she tried and received an eager nod. Meryan smiled. “That’s a lovely name.”

The beam Sinnelia gave back to Meryan transformed her hesitant and somewhat pinched features into something softer, rather…adorable, too, despite her height. Actually…

“One moment, Sinnelia. You don’t have to answer this if it makes you uncomfortable,” Meluan broke in, tilting her head in suspicious curiosity. “But you’re…not a man or woman, are you? You’re a child, a girl.”

Sinnelia froze, whipping her head at Meluan, her brown eyes widening in fear.

“Woah, no need to look so afraid of us,” Meluan soothed, tapping the table. “We’re at the edge of the universe. And there’s no reason for us to send you back to wherever you came from. You’re a guest here, and you can run away from here at any time, too…though, uh, please at least steal some provisions from us first. And preferably a space suit.”

While Meluan’s words managed to take the edge of Sinnelia’s skittishness, she still looked tense. And also confused.

Wynan sighed. “Ignore her, Sinnelia. She doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time.”

“Well, it’s true,” Meluan protested, making a face at Wynan before her expression morphed back into something friendlier for the wide-eyed Sinnelia. “Don’t listen to her either, dear. Wynan’s just cranky because I caused some trouble.”

“If I was cranky every time you caused trouble, I’d be perpetually in a bad mood.”

“Are you not?”

A loud sigh from the stairway leading to the living room interrupted their argument. “Children, don’t fight,” Relani’s quiet soprano voice chided them.

Sinnelia jumped at the new voice, turning to see the other women’s dark-haired “oldest” sister in a space suit. When Relani caught Sinnelia’s gaze, she gave her a kind smile. “Welcome to our humble home.”

“And that’s Relani, our oldest sister,” Meluan explained to Sinnelia, handing her the still-steaming drink before the child could huddle back into the blanket.

Sinnelia took it, gratefully sipping the warm liquid and blinking at the pleasant taste. That was Meryan’s specific kind of magic for you.

“And our guest is called Sinnelia,” Meluan introduced. “Happy to see you back, Relani! How was space?”

The flat look Relani gave Meluan was response enough, and Meluan took that as permission to focus on their guest again. “Sooo…Sinnelia. Again, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what brings you to the edge of the universe?”

Sinnelia stopped drinking, the mug still in her mouth before she set it down and looked down at her lap, her hands tightly clasped together there.

“You don’t want to tell us? That’s fine,” Meluan waved off, nodding with a look that one would call smug if it wasn’t so full of mischief.

When Sinnelia looked up at her, she laughed. “I’m serious.” Meluan gestured at the other women and herself. “Again, we have no reason to probe about your life story, though you’re welcome to probe us about us! We love talking.”

“You love talking,” Wynan corrected while Meryan and Relani laughed. But her expression softened somewhat when Sinnelia stared at her. “But she’s not wrong. You must be feeling overwhelmed, after all, lost in space and now suddenly having four people be loud around you. We’re always happy to answer any more questions you have.”

Slowly unfurling her fingers from their tight grip, Sinnelia looked up, blinking at Wynan and Relani behind her before her eyes traced the line between Meryan and Meluan, settling at the last woman.

Lifting her fingers, she carefully asked, “What…is this place? I thought…there was nothing at the edge of the universe.”

Meluan laughed, throwing her arms out and almost hitting Meryan. “This place? This is the Abode Before the Void—”

“That’s the best name we have so far,” Wynan supplied.

“—it’s a…resting stop, if you want,” Meluan continued as if uninterrupted, tapping her fingers against the wood again. “It can also be a place to resupply, a place to talk, a place for…anything, really. Because you’re right that there’s nothing at the edge of universe, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something before it.” Her sparkling dark eyes softened as she met Sinnelia’s brown ones. “And, you know…it can also be a home.”

Sinnelia blinked. “Is it…your home?”

All four residents of said home nodded as Meluan chirped, “Yep! It used to just be Meryan’s home here, then Wynan’s, then Relani’s, and finally mine. We weren’t always sisters but…the relationship kind of built from there.”

Meryan’s eyebrows went up at the comment. “Uh huh…don’t listen to her, Sinnelia. It was actually Meluan here first.”

Meluan glanced sideways at her sister. “Well, perhaps, but I said it was your home first. It was never my home until all three of you were here.”

At those words, Meryan and Relani’s eyes almost instantly teared up, and even Wynan looked away.

“Meluan…” Relani sniffed, skirting around the sofa to crush said woman in a hug.

“Argh, get off, Relaniiiii! What did I do this time?!” Meluan protested, startled at the sudden display of emotion from the other ladies. “Sorry, sorry, Sinnelia!” she sputtered, looking over Relani’s shoulder at the girl. “They’re all so sensitive, honestly, and I always make them cry—ouch! Too tight, Relani…”

“Sorry,” Relani unrepentantly apologized, letting the shorter woman go, turning to smile at Sinnelia. “Do you want a hug as well?”

Sinnelia startled and shook her head, blushing at the offer. “I see that you’re all very close…” she quickly commented. There was something almost longing in her gaze, a story untold before she shook it off, adding, “But I still don’t understand this place.”

Still behind her, Wynan crossed her arms over the sofa’s backrest, humming in thought. “Well, I’m not sure how to explain this,” she pondered. “It’s like Meluan said. It’s an abode at the edge of the universe…and anyone who finds this place can do whatever they want. Stay, leave, rest, even attempt to destroy it.”

There was a knowing smile exchanged between all four women at the last words that seemed to bewilder the poor child.

“Preferably don’t destroy it. I’m rather fond of this place, not that it can be easily destroyed,” Meryan added, grinning mischievously as she took a biscuit from the plate. She broke half of it and offered it to Sinnelia, who took it after some hesitation.

“Just know,” Meryan continued between bites of the bready pastry, “we’re very serious in telling you that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. Or want.”

Setting her treat back on the plate, Sinnelia stared at Meryan, her hand gestures small and tense as she asked, “I’m not…intruding?”

“Of course not. This house is always open to anyone who needs a home for the time being,” the bespectacled woman assured. Her eyes falling on Meluan, who was stacking the cookies while Relani was carefully rescuing them from breaking, she added, “And to anyone who ever needs to come back.”

“You couldn’t intrude on us if you tried,” Relani agreed. “Besides, didn’t Wynan and Meryan bring you here?”

They had, in fact, and while neither Relani nor Meluan had been present, they could guess that they had saved the poor child from the emptiness of space. The somewhat healthier state they saw Sinnelia in right now was probably due to Meryan’s particular touch on the drinks. After Wynan used her own touch to give the girl a restful sleep, and Relani whipped up some of her special food, she’d likely be in tiptop health.

But the child didn’t know any of that.

She merely nodded at Relani’s observation, her shoulders relaxing from the tension they’d been locked in. And looking back at Wynan, Sinnelia signed clearly to her, “Thank you for helping me when I was going to die…I suppose…I didn’t really want to die, given how grateful I am to be alive.”

“And thank goodness that you’re alive,” Meryan quietly muttered, rocking back and forth quietly. “I hope you don’t ever feel so burned and trapped that you believe you must flee to the cold edge of the universe to find healing.”

“Mhmm,” Wynan agreed, smiling when Sinnelia’s head jerked back forwards to gape at Meryan. “I’m just glad we found you when we did.”

Tears began to form in Sinnelia’s eyes.

Clearly, they had touched a sensitive area.

“Oh, woah! Ladies, keep the sappiness down a bit!” Meluan stammered, back on her feet. “There, there, Sinnelia, don’t cry. Or, no…just let it out. You’re all right to cry here.”

And she did…crying silent tears, head lowered and one arm covering her face. Wynan rubbed the girl’s back soothingly while Relani went to the kitchen to fetch some of her more savory treats and warm up more of Meryan’s drinks.

When Sinnelia had collected herself, however, she looked up at them all, eyes rimmed with red and looking more and more like the child Meluan had earlier noted she was. “I’m sorry,” she managed shakily. “I just…am scared that this is a dream.”

“No, no…dreaming is for sleeping—oof,” Meluan sputtered when Wynan threw a pillow at her face.

“There’s no real way to tell if this is a dream, true, except for our assurances that this is very real,” Wynan offered the girl. “But there’s nothing to be scared of here.”

That only set off more tears, though they seemed tears of relief.

“Unless you want to be scared! But again, if you want to run, at least steal some of our stuff before heading back out—ach, Meryan!” Meluan gagged when the other woman unexpectedly grabbed her in a chokehold.

Meryan chuckled. “Enough, Meluan, you’re confusing the poor girl, and she seems confused enough already.”

Tentatively, Sinnelia wiped her eyes as she offered the two of them a smile. “I’m…all right. And…if it’s all right, can I stay? Just for a little bit. I know I’m asking a lot when you don’t know me but I…want to stay.”

“Of course,” Relani laughed, offering the girl one of the more savory cold pastries. “I wish we could explain better what this place is, but for now, if you know that you’re allowed to stay here at this Abode Before the Void and rest, that’s enough.”

And after another drink from the mug, Sinnelia took the pastry, watery eyes shining.

…………

“Are you lost at the edge of the universe? Have you reached the final frontier and realized you want to go beyond? Well, my friends traversing this cold emptiness, my fellow lost ones who have wondered if going beyond to the void and emptiness is better than wandering this eternal frost…before you decide to take that step across the edge of your universe, won’t you consider sharing a meal with four rather bored personages? Our company may be wanting but our home and food should hopefully be enough to make up for it. And you won’t even have to look for us either. We’re more than happy to find you if you so wish. And anyway…”

A merry little laugh interrupts the cheerfully dramatic monologue.

“Our home is always right there before the edge of the universe. Feel free to come in.”

#inklingschallenge #team lewis #genre: space travel #theme: shelter #i suppose food and drink and a touch of visiting the sick as well?#story: complete #for the words!#lemon duck quacks #i hope i got the story posting format right for tumblr....#anyway christian themes in spaaaace! woohoo!#lemon duck tales

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coffee-writesthings · 3 months

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I may or may not have been feeling inspired-- might try to expand it into a proper fic later but this is more of a refined-ish idea dump. A fic of a fic (Taking Running Blind by @thetriggeredhappy and having a similar plot with different main characters. Congrats, your peer pressure worked! :))

Summary: Spy is blinded, and after an earnest attempt to hide it, Engineer and Sniper notice (not crossteam btw, tho that would be another cool angle). They try to help him as best they can. (It's those 3 being shipped together, since I have trio relationships on my mind lately cus i read this rly good book with one in it it's called Iron Widow you should go read it rn)

At the moment it's more like an organized-ish infodump that I might turn into a proper fic at some point

Okay so Spy going blind, I think he would still be able to see light but nothing else. It'd happen because of some sort of injury that Respawn couldn't cover for some reason and that leads to Medic and Engineer getting anxious as all hell about Respawn. Medic would make Engineer take breaks, and it's during these breaks that he is trying to help Spy deal with day-to-day stuff.

I think the first to notice would've been Sniper, honestly. Looking through a scope it's not hard to assume that his sorta-friend is struggling with backstabs for a reason he can't place. What's going on with the Spook?

It gets even more obvious when Spy's knife lands, not into someone's spine, but their shoulder. it still does damage, but it's not a backstab. he's killed immediately by Pyro who was nearby and he's still blind. He thought maybe respawn would fix it but no nothing was fixed. Fuck.

Since he can only perceive light, he has to hide out for the rest of the match, using his Cloak and Dagger to remain alive and make an excuse as to why he wasn't seen on the field. I think he would hide out with Sniper, trying his damndest to not give the game away.

It's in this next half-hour that he starts getting used to how loud everything else is, without the visual clutter to distract him. For some reason he hears the other team's Heavy nearby, and it tips him off that that's actually the other Spy, using a new tactic.

The knife sinks into Sniper's back easily, but he never expected the second spy (our pov spy) to pin him down and start stabbing wildly, finishing him off with a carefully aimed gunshot before returning to the shadows.

Once the match is over, he makes his way back to the base, using the light and large colored arrows he can process as a guide. All of this is under the guise of his cloak, so nobody notices.

Or, at least that was the plan. He manages to fall into the Engineer, knocking both of them over.

"Spy what the hell are you trying to pull?"

"That's not your business." is the lousy attempt at a coverup he gives. If he knew the only way he could tell who he was talking to was by the sound of his voice... that would be bad for him.

"Then get off me, will ya?"

He does so without making eye contact, he couldn't imagine what his eyes looked like at the moment but it couldn't be good (they probs look normal, if the research i've done is correct)

There isn't another battle for two weeks, so during that time he rests up and figures out some very basic echolocation so he can make his way around the base. it's better, in his mind, to look competent than it is to be hidden. So long as nobody can tell he has a problem, that's fine by him.

~~~

Engineer and Sniper get to talking, and find they both think something's up.

"You think his sight's gotten worse?"

"I can only tell ya what I saw mate, and I saw him swinging blindly. You've seen how his stabs usually are, they're point-perfect on that specific spot on everybody's spines! Just doesn't make any sense."

"He did trip over me... Kinda thought it was some short joke but, now that'cha bring it up, it's kinda suspicious."

"He'd never want us to notice."

Engie snorts, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he'd rather die than admit he needs help."

"What do we do then?"

"We help him, whether he admits he needs it or not."

~~~

The first way they try to help him is subtle, reaaaaal subtle. Sniper asks to take him on a walk, holds his hand and tries to talk to him about that day's battle-- he's a bit blunt but he's got the spirit. Spy complains some, but doesn't really say anything substantial. He's actually surprisingly good at not getting off-track (i've been doing things with my eyes closed as an experiment and your steps can legit get wobbly), using sniper's voice as an anchor of sorts

~~~

Engineer takes the next attempt at getting him to open up, just sort of chilling together though. It's a normal thing they do every couple of weeks to de-stress after battles. Today he thought that it would be nice to watch a tv show together, and it's some history thing idk. He describes some of the images to him, which makes Spy feel a mix of thankful and scared about-- Did he notice something? And he confronts Engie on it, asking what's going on?

"It's been both you and Sniper, what do you think happened?"

"There's no think to it. He pointed it out to me-- you botched a buncha backstabs and it looked like somethin' happened.

"This stays between the two of you and me..." he proceeds to explain what he knows about what happened. He does admit that he is, in fact, blind. He explains that he can perceive changes in light but nothing else. "It's... something like closing your eyes, permanently."

Engie is conflicted, having very little of an idea how to care for someone having vision in a state like that. He's especially not sure what to do in terms of telling Medic for instance (since respawn didn't fix it like expected)

~~~

Still though, he tells Sniper about it after staying up all night doing research on like a million specifics about vision loss (causes, treatment, what to do if it can't be fixed, etc etc)

"Huh, so what can we do right now?"

"He's gonna be real concerned about visibility, so honestly our best bet might be teaching him echolocation."

"You're kidding me!" he lets out a wheeze of a laugh, "Spy, echolocating? Yeah right. By the way when was the last time you slept?"

Engineer responds, "uh, yesterday."

Sniper proceeds to herd him into bed like a border collie, doing everything up to and including a brief attempt to pick him up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Engineer blushes, maybe makes some joke about being a princess

~~~

So anyway they teach Spy how to echolocate (Sniper does, specifically, since he just forced Engineer to get some sleep).

Spy: 'this is a joke, right?"

Sniper: "do you want to do this without help or not? I don't see you being willing to get a white cane" (note: it's super good actually for figuring out ur surroundings and materials, i didn't think it would be as good as it looks but the way it works sounds really damn useful)

Over the next hour or so they do echolocation together, starting with simpler sets of noises (snapping, clicking of tongue, things like that) and then just walking and talking around the base. After a little bit, Spy is able to get a general idea (hehe i misstyped that at first to be gender. Spy is certainly able to get a gender alright) a general idea of the layout of the base. He can't really figure out the rooms without touch and counting the individual doors, and stairs are his worst enemy, but he can do the base mostly.

~~~

The next day is a CTF battle (completely spontaneous for some unknown reason) and Spy hangs out with the intel with Engineer (yknow what fuck it i'm being fancy this isn't 2fort it's Landfall, the foresty one), hoping that the administrator will just think he's having a bad day. They chat while Engie builds and tinkers, about all manner of things. Probably more about what Engie found and remembered in his research.

~~~

Anyway I've been sitting on this a few days, felt like sharing a collection of vibes which may someday be expanded. Btw writing this actually inspired me to take a different direction in an original work lol, I might try to share some of that in the future when I have proper snippets to share

#tf2 fanfiction #running blind remix #sniperengiespy #sniperspy #engiespy #engiesniper #sniper x engineer x spy

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goddessapostle · 2 years

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How to Survive your Haunted House

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

10.7k // AO3 // Masterlist

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

The weight is unusual.

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

But this weight? This is new.

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

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

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

And then you open the gate to your new house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You peek open an eye and scan the room.

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

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

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

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

That’s not Emma.

That is not Emma.

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

The thing in the corner jerks forward.

It doesn’t move like a human.

The closet door slams shut.

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

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

You press your back against the wall.

It creeps over your covers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it the doctor? Someone else? Something else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So the show is all a bunch of hullabaloo.

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

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

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

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

You start towards the back door–

Didn’t you shut it?

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

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

Crash!

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

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

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

No one is there. The spectre is gone.

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

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

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

But how to search for such a thing?

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

Further back you find more.

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

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

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

Gruesome.

Had they felt any pain?

There’s no way to know, unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Now you know the house is really dangerous.

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

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

It can just stay there for now.

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

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

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

Emma hops in place.

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

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

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

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

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

“You should really lock your doors.”

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

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

It’s a bruise shaped like a damn hand.

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

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

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

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

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

They can, however, make themselves known.

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

“I know you’re in there, Sweetheart.”

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

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

Get what over with?

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

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

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

“Your funeral.”

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

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

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

He is, pun intended, drop-dead gorgeous.

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

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

“I don’t know.” He shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you calling for?” Hopper asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Mysterious disappearance?”

“Nope. Keep guessing.”

“Can I get a hint?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think you prefer the second option.

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

He clicks his tongue. “Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way. That can’t be true.”

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

You stare at him.

“It’s true,” is all he says.

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

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

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

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

“We eat them.”

Oh. They eat them.

Eat them.

Eat them?!

Your jaw drops. “‘Eat’ as in…?”

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

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

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

“And what might that be?”

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

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

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

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

“Because of the house.”

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

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

Could there be something between you now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deal with them?

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

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

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

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

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

You start a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

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

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

“Her dad? The one that killed her?”

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

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

“Yeah, and?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it’s a valid argument.”

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

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

And oh, the smug look he gives you–

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have to shiver before he pulls away.

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

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

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

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

“And for the others?”

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

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

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

You furrow your brow at that. “People?”

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

“Show me.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your entire body is frozen.

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

Why can’t you breathe?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His souring face says otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you come to on the rooftop.

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

Ice wraps around your ankle and yanks you closer.

Your fingers scrape against rain-slick tile.

There is no stopping your fall.

You scream.

And then are pulled up.

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

“This one’s mine!” Chuuya growls.

It is utterly unhuman.

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

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

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

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

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

…safe? Is the house not–

Well, it’s haunted so–

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

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

The house is fucking cursed.

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

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

Are you really safe here?

Well. Obviously not.

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

The trapdoor is open. Light leaks in from below.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. The corridor is empty.

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

Something crashes inside the house.

A weapon. What you need is a weapon.

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

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

Where is he?

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

Is he hurt? Can he get hurt?

He could get eaten.

Oh, god, he could get eaten–

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

Another crash comes from below.

You have to get down there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voices.

Voices coming through the floorboards.

You kneel down and press your ear against the ground.

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

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

Chuuya’s isn’t one of them.

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

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

“I found them first.”

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

There’s something deeply wrong with this man.

His fingers twitch.

Your hand erupts in pain.

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

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

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

You turn and pull yourself into a run.

They feel like bullets that pierce your legs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where is he?

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

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

You have to find him.

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

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

Then falls silent in your chest.

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

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

He’s not breathing–

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

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

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

Tears well up that you refuse to let fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the first time you’ve properly held hands with him.

He moves his face forward, pressing your foreheads together. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “Thought I was never going to see ya again.”

“I’m here,” you whisper back. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t stay. They’ll kill you.”

You know that. You are highly aware of that. Your bones still tremble in the cold from the rooftop, your back still aches where it was stabbed. But you don’t want to leave him. “What about you?” You pull back to look at his face. “What’s going to happen to you if I leave?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll be fine. I can fight back.”

“What about this?” You grab his thigh where the tip of the spike pokes through. He flinches. “How did this happen?” you whisper.

He looks around before he answers, keeping one hand on your back and the other in yours. You shiver, despite the fact that his touch is no longer cold to you. “You need help, first,” he says, and lowers you to your car.

“What about you?” You grab the spokes to brace yourself against the wind. “You’re still stuck.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he tells you, “so just get in the car.” He holds your hand for as long as he can while you slide onto the hood and then the ground. You glance up at him as you open the door, but he waves at you to hurry.

Blessed warmth. You hadn’t realized how cold you were, but now your body aches in the heat blowing from the vents. Your fingers crack when they bend and your cheeks begin to thaw. You’re still shaking, though, despite holding your hands to the vents and rubbing them across your frozen skin.

Thud!

You scream when the car rocks.

“Just me,” Chuuya says, head sticking upside down through the windshield. He crawls onto the ceiling of the car, then plops into the passenger seat. He leans the seat back and places a hand over the wounds on his chest.

It’s not blood that oozes from it, but something darker, something almost black that spreads into the air like smoke. You hover your own hand over his, and he takes it with his free hand. “I’m okay,” he whispers into your palm before kissing it. “I’ll be okay.”

“What can I do?” you ask, but he shakes his head.

“You’re here. That’s enough. I just need sleep.”

You nod, and he drops his hand to the glovebox between you, still wrapped around yours. His head lolls to the side. In the reflection in the mirror, his eyes are slightly closed, his mouth is slightly open.

His body starts to fade. So does the glow from the gloves.

And that is very, very bad, you think.

“Chuuya?” You shake his shoulder. He doesn’t respond. “Chuuya!”

Your hand begins to sink through him, despite the glove.

He’s going to disappear.

You won’t let that happen.

You lean over him, hands pressed into his heart. You don’t know how he took energy from you before, but he did say it felt so bad because you gave it to him. You try to dredge up that feeling again.

It comes to you slowly, or maybe it only feels slow because of how cold you already are. All the warmth you’ve gathered since entering the car leaves you, flowing into Chuuya. His wounds close, and the fabric over them repairs itself. He grows more solid under your touch. His eyes begin to flutter as the ice spreads through your veins.

He shouts your name.

Your vision goes dark.

And then gray.

And then blinding white.

You blink against the light, squinting to see through it. Sitting up takes more effort than it should; your limbs are heavy and your head swims in circles. You raise a hand to massage away the headache that threatens to knock you out again.

“Oh, you’re awake!” A man saunters in, hands in the pockets of his tan overcoat. He calls out the door, “They’re awake! Told you, Kunikida!” He sits down in the chair beside your bed(your hospital bed; you find that appropriate, somehow) and says, as if he’s known you your whole life, “We were so worried about you! How’re you feeling? Hypothermia is nothing to take lightly, you know.”

……..You have no idea who this man is.

Kunikida, on the other hand, sparks a distant memory from almost a year ago. “You’re the ghost hunter!” you say, pointing to him. He grimaces, as does his partner.

“We are paranormal investigators,” he tells you at the same time his partner huffs, “Don’t ignore me like that!”

“What are you doing here?”

Kunikida unfolds a newspaper and offers it to you. You frown as you read over it. The article doesn’t bother you at all; it’s just a short rundown of your house’s morbid history, followed by a few sentences about the mysterious call that led paramedics to you, half frozen in your car. No, what bothers you most are the notes, written in scribbly red ink across the paper.

Your address, the nearest hospital locations, even your own name, which isn’t in the article in the first place.

You eye the two men, holding the paper like a shield between you. “Have you been stalking me?”

“Yep!” says the first man.

“No!” says the other. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “We like to keep tabs on the house at this address. But beyond an occasional drive-by, we don’t investigate further.”

Drive-by. Investigate. What.

“I… do not like that.”

“We’re sorry,” Kunikida says, “but it’s a necessary part of our job.”

“It’s a dangerous house, you understand,” the first man says. “I would gladly take your place, but my partner here won’t let me.” H takes your hand and holds it between his. “Unless you want to join me? It would be a beautiful double–”

“Yes, yes, you freak.” Kunikida interrupts, taking one of the man’s hands and holding it. “No one is going to commit suicide wtih you.”

You pull your hand away from his and into your lap. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“We just want to check in with you,” Kunikida says. He sinks into the chair beside the first man(you should really ask his name) and, while still holding his hand, pulls a notebook from his vest pocket. “We also wanted to ask about what happened two nights ago that led to you nearly freezing in your car.”

You…. don’t trust these men. “Why do you want to know?”

“I told you, we like to keep a record of all the incidents that happen there.”

“And why is that?”

“So we know what to expect when we investigate. Ranpo and Dazai have a pretty good idea, but I like to be thorough.”

“Investigate?”

“With your permission, of course.”

Oh. They want to investigate your house.

Wh-

Why?

You narrow your eyes. “What do you expect to find?”

“Ghosts, ghouls, and demons!” the first man exclaims. He swings his and Kunikida’s hands back and forth between the chairs.

“Don’t scare them, Dazai.” Kunikida admonishes. To you, he says, “You won’t have to worry about anything. We’ll do a thorough investigation and clean up all the spirits we find.”

Well. That’s not going to work, is it? Chuuya’s gloves are right there on the bedside table. If all spirits include him and Elise, then….

“We haven’t had a chance to explore it yet. All the owners sold it when the hauntings became too much for them. They didn’t even think to look deeper into it. But we have a whole team of psychics, all of whom have their own method of exorcism. There won’t be a thing to worry about once we’re done.”

Your frown deepens with every word. Dazai has to nudge Kunikida to quiet him. In the following silence, you ask, “Why are you so interested in my house?”

“It is dangerous,” Dazai tells you again, “and it’s host to the most activity in town. It would be an interesting experience, if nothing else.”

“Is that it?” You shake your head. “I don’t feel comfortable letting complete strangers into my house for such a silly reason.”

“I assure you, it’s not silly.” Kunikida opens the notebook and starts reading off the stories he’s collected — stories you are well aware of, after all your research and everything Chuuya’s told you. It’s when he reaches the decade-old murder of a young woman that you interrupt him.

“I know the history of the house, thank you.” Did that sound sarcastic? That totally sounded sarcastic. It just wasn’t sarcastic enough. “I’m still not interested.”

“But this incident was only the first,” Kunkida says. “If you stay, you’re going to have another. And no one will be there to save you next time.”

You’re not so sure about that.

You return home the next day. You stand just outside the gate, staring up the hill to your house. You shiver in the wind that blows fallen leaves into your yard. The gate squeaks as you open it. Your car is still parked against the inner wall. You don’t know what awaits you inside the house, or even just inside the gate, but everything looks fine from the outside.

Except for your missing mailbox.

Your heart pounds as you make your way up the path and to your porch. The doorknob twists under your hand. You peek around the door, but there’s nothing behind it. It’s not even all that dark; sunlight streams through the windows in other rooms and leaks into the front hallway.

You step inside and close the door behind you.

And then are thrown back into it.

You gasp as arms wrap around you.

A face presses into your stomach.

And–

And someone giggles.

You blink down at the head of blonde hair, tied back with a maroon bow. She raises her head to meet your gaze with bright blue eyes.

“Elise,” you breathe, patting her head with a gloved hand.

“You’re back!” she exclaims, and you blink — you’ve never heard her speak before.

“Well, look at that. She likes you.”

You jolt at the new voice. You have no idea who said that, but you do know it doesn’t belong to either of the two ghosts you trust.

Elise turns and huffs. “You promised!” she calls into the hall.

“Yes, yes, of course. I won’t touch them.” You blink, and a man appears at the base of the stairs. He’s tall and lanky, with slicked back hair and a piercing gaze. “I was just making an observation. You don’t usually let people hear you.”

“Well I like this one.”

“Right, right. I won’t take your toy away. Not yet.” He turns his attention to you. Your blood runs cold.

“Um,” you stammer, “you must be the doctor.” Elise’s father and murderer. “I-it’s nice to me-meet you.” You’re not sure if you should offer a handshake or not.

“I am,” he nods, “my name is Ougai Mori. I hope we can get along in the future.”

And just like that, he disappears.

You flinch. Elise huffs. “He won’t bother you,” she says, waving a hand. “He doesn't want to upset me, and he’s always trying to make up for killing me. Besides, I’m not the only one who will be angry if anything happens to you.”

Your eyes widen. “You mean–” you breathe. “How-how is…”

Something crashes upstairs.

Elise hops in place and points, setting a hand on your back.

You race up the stairs and to your bedroom. The door to it is wide open. On the floor across from it is your mailbox.

“You should really lock your door, you know?”

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd fanfic

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wildrangers · 1 year

Text

If You're a Bird, I'm a Bird / Ryan Lindgren

Word Count: 4.6K

Enemies(ish) to Friends to Lovers

Warnings: *MINORS DNI* Smut (oral {f receiving}, protected sex, mild dirty talk, praise kink), cursing, drinking, mentions of previous toxic relationship

In the time Hanna finished showing you around her and Adam’s first home together, the housewarming party was in full swing. “It’s beautiful, but really, we both know why I’m here” you replied, grinning at the annoyance in her face.

“Fine, let’s go find Stewie” she replied and you followed as she led you into the main living area.

You spotted Adam caught up in conversation with who you assumed were some of his teammates. A small yip caught your attention as the small puppy you’d been looking for flew towards you.

“Stewie Doo!” you cheered, leaning down to scoop him up. “Watch the makeup, dude” you laughed as he began kissing your face.

“Y/N! I didn’t see you get here, how are you?” Adam asked, giving you a hug. Before you could answer, a man’s voice called out, “I can’t believe you left me dude!”

You glanced up to see a bearded guy smiling at Stewie, who began wiggling in excitement.

“Hey, I just got him” you joked, holding the puppy closer. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Alexis” he grinned, hand outstretched to shake yours. Hanna must have trusted you two would get along because she and Adam left to make their rounds.

“I’m guessing you play with Adam?” you asked, glancing over to the group of guys he’d separated himself from while attempting to steal Stewie back.

“Yup, how do you know the happy couple?”

Conversation flowed easily between you as you told him funny stories from when you and Hanna had worked together. Turned out Hanna was right in assuming you two would be fast friends. “Want to meet some of the other guys?”

“Sure” you smiled, grateful for an in with a group since you didn’t know anyone there but Hanna and Adam.

“Guys! This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Key, Ryan, and Braden” he said, pointing to each guy as he said their name.

“Nice to meet you all” you smiled before setting down a newly whining Stewie who bee-lined it for Ryan. “Here I thought Alexis was the competition for Stewie’s affection.”

“Nah, me and Stewie here go way back” he quipped and you laughed. You quickly stopped when he didn’t join you; maybe you’d misread his tone. Awkward silence descended until Alexis, thankfully, started up the conversation again.

Several hours later, your mind wandered back to the party as you drove home. You’d easily gotten along with the guys, except for Ryan, who didn’t say a single word to you following that initial, awkward encounter. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be at too many other gatherings that Hanna and Adam hosted.

***

“Maybe you can talk to her this time, yeah?” Alexis teased Ryan causing his frown to deepen.

“Oh, fuck off Laf” he grumbled, walking away as his teammate laughed.

“Need anything in here?” Ryan offered as he entered the kitchen.

“Boys giving you a hard time?” Hanna questioned, probably noting his blush reddened cheeks.

“If you and Foxy hadn’t insisted Y/N and I would hit it off, maybe I would have acted half normal when I met her” he sighed.

“We didn’t mean to freak you out! I just thought you two could be a good match but she would absolutely murder me if I even suggested it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, when we first met, she’d just gotten out of a really shit relationship, so the timing sucked. And the better I got to know her the more I learned she hated being set up with people. Another coworker tried and she ghosted the guy out of spite.”

Ryan felt his lips quirk up at the anecdote. “So, it falls to me to be sneaky about it?”

“Oh, stop it. You don’t have to be sneaky, I just wanted to plant the seed in that thick skull of yours.”

“Which I warned her was a bad idea” Adam chimed in, entering the kitchen and shooting his girlfriend a look.

“Yes, he did, but he also agreed you’d get along and, of the two of you, you’d be the better one to nudge in the right direction.”

“Which really says more about Y/N than you” Adam teased and Hanna jokingly smacked his shoulder as the doorbell rang.

“Ryan, could you greet whoever that is?” Hanna asked sweetly and he shot her a mock glare before doing as requested.

He pointedly ignored Laf and Key shooting him thumbs ups as he made his way to the front door. He took a deep breath as he pulled it open, revealing you standing on the doorstep.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” he asked, he thought, fairly smoothly.

“Yup, that’s me” you grinned at him and he felt his nerves fully kick in; he was noticing your smile did that to him.

“Hanna sent me to let you in, her and Adam are finishing up in the kitchen” he explained, moving out of the way so you could escape the cold.

“Sorry you got stuck with the task.”

“Well, someone’s got to do it, right?” he joked but you only nervously smiled at him before going to greet Key and Laf.

The rest of the evening passed in much the same way. You joked and laughed easily with everyone but shut down when he tried to join in, to the point that he finally gave up and just stayed quiet. He felt his heart drop as you gave everyone a hug goodbye before simply shooting him a little wave.

***

“Why can’t Laf be Adam’s best friend?” you grumbled as you and Hanna got ready to meet up with them.

“What’s with you? Ryan’s seriously one of the nicest guys.”

“He basically told me I was a burden to interact with last time I saw him!” you scoffed.

“Babe, he has a dry sense of humor, like you do with literally everyone but him” Hanna chastised.

“I tried! When we first met, I joked with him and he looked at me like I had eight heads and all of them offended him” you grumbled. Truth be told, that initial meeting had left a bad enough taste in your mouth that you hadn’t really given him another chance the next time you saw him.

“You’re impossible, that’s just his face” Hanna insisted but you didn’t feel like arguing anymore.

An hour or so later, you were seated at a high-top table with Hanna, Adam, and Ryan; a few other guys had stopped by to greet you but went off with their own partners or friends to celebrate their win. You’d think that a win would put Ryan in a good mood but he still sat there, slightly scowling, while conversation flowed around him. When Hanna’s favorite song came on, she pulled Adam onto the dance floor, leaving you and Ryan in awkward silence.

“Hey, do you think you could grab me another drink?” you asked. “My heels are killing me or else I’d go myself.”

“Sure, vodka cranberry?” he asked and you were shocked he’d noticed your drink of choice.

“Yeah, thanks” you smiled, handing him your debit card.

“No worries, I got it.”

“No, I insist” you said and his lips flattened into a grimace as he took your card and headed to the bar.

You had a wonderfully calm few moments to yourself, taking in the crowd and chuckling at some antics the other guys were getting into when you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N?”

You turned, expecting to see Laf or Ryan but your blood turned cold as your eyes met your ex’s.

“Can I help you with something Kyle?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Shit, just wanted to see how you were. No need to be such a bitch” he smirked, knowing how much that would upset you and doing it anyway. You tried hiding your shaking hands in your lap before he saw them.

“Well, I was fine until you showed up. Now can you leave?”

“You’d really treat an old friend like that?”

“She said she’d like you to leave.”

***

Ryan turned from the bar to see a smarmy looking guy with you. He’d planned to hang by the bar for a minute to give you two privacy but changed his mind when he saw your shaky hands beneath the table and remembered Hanna mentioning you had a shitty ex. As he made his way to you, he caught the tail end of the conversation.

“She said she’d like you to leave” he said sternly, settling your drink in front of you on the table before placing himself between you and the man.

“Oh sorry, didn’t realize I was interrupting a date” the guy said, shooting you a look that made Ryan see red.

“You’re not but I’d still suggest you leave.”

“Or what?”

Ryan chuckled, like he did when someone challenged him on the ice. “So, I could easily rock your shit myself but see that guy dancing? Oh and that pair at the bar? We could all meet you outside if you’d like” he replied, sending the dude a menacing grin. The guy tried to hold Ryan’s gaze but quickly turned and fled.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked quietly, finally turning to face you. His heart sank at the terror in your eyes and how queasy your expression looked. You shook your head, chugging the drink he’d set down. “Let me get Hanna.”

Before you could answer, he went and retrieved her, quickly filling her in as they walked back to the table. Hanna helped you up onto shaky legs as Adam placed a hand on your back to guide you out of the bar, his girlfriend whispering soothing words in your ear the whole way. It wasn’t until he watched your taxi leave that he realized he still had your debit card in his pocket.

***

The next morning was a Sunday, which you were immensely thankful for. Last night was still replaying in your mind when your phone buzzed on your nightstand. Figuring it was Hanna checking in, you grabbed it only to see a text from a number you didn’t recognize.

It’s Ryan, Hanna gave me your number. I have your card. I can drop it off if you want.

You chuckled to yourself, unsurprised that he was such a stale texter. You mulled over his offer. He’d really saved your ass last night and you felt a flood of gratitude fill your chest. You weren’t sure you liked him but he’d certainly helped you in a way he had no obligation to.

Let me come to you, I need to get out of the house anyway. Text me your address and I’ll come by in a couple hours?

All he sent back was a thumbs up emoji followed by his address. You realized it was only a few blocks away and figured the walk there would be good to clear your head. You got out of bed and preheat the oven—baking also steadied your mind and cookies made a nice thank you gift.

The next few hours were spent whipping up chocolate chip cookies and making yourself look somewhat presentable to head out into the world. The crisp air grounded you on the short walk to his apartment building. You sent him a text you were there and the front door immediately buzzed open for you.

You didn’t expect to see him waiting in his doorway, shooing someone back into the apartment behind him. “Hey” you greeted, feeling shy all of a sudden. You hadn’t really thought about how it would feel to be alone with Ryan, especially at his place.

“Hey, sorry, want to stop in for a minute? Jax here loves to run for it whenever he can” he smiled, gesturing behind himself. Confusion flooded your mind as your heart fluttered at his smile and you realized it was the first time you’d ever seen it.

“Sure, I come bearing gifts anyway” you smiled back, holding up the cookies. Ryan moved just enough to let you in while keeping his body between you and the large dog behind him. “Hi there, Jax.”

At the mention of his name, Jax turned his attention from the door to you, his tail wagging eagerly at the attention. You offered the plate to Ryan before leaning down to pet him, surprised to see a smaller dog wander out from another room to join you. “And who are you, cutie?” you cooed.

“That would be Jasper. And you didn’t have to bring me anything” he replied and you glanced up to see his cheeks pinken.

“Jasper, so nice to meet you” you said, giving both dogs a final pet before standing. “I know, but I wanted to thank you. I really appreciated what you did for me yesterday.”

“Y/N, you don’t need to thank me. Are you doing okay today?” he asked, eyes searching your face in a surprisingly gentle way.

“I’ve been better but yeah, I’m alright. He’s a real prick.”

“Yeah, I noticed that much” he quipped. He seemed to be trying to match your tone and joke it away but you noticed the anger that lingered in his eyes.

“I don’t want to keep you though, I just wanted to bring you those and grab my card. I’m sure you have practice or something soon.”

“I’m actually off today and don’t really know what to do with myself” he admitted, laughing quietly to himself. “Would you like a drink? I’m dying to try one of these.”

“Sure, water is good” you replied, quickly grabbing a cookie before he took the plate with him into the kitchen. You took the chance to look around his apartment while his back was to you and you nearly choked on your cookie.

“You okay over there?” he called as you fought for your breath back. You couldn’t quite answer so he returned to check on you, face paling as he noticed what had caught your attention. He grimaced as he handed you the water bottle that he’d gotten for you.

“The Notebook?” you questioned, suppressing a laugh.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite movie” he admitted, avoiding your gaze.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not!” he replied defensively and you finally let your laugh out. “Great, the first time I make you laugh and it’s at me not one of my jokes.”

As you caught your breath, you noticed a cat tree in the hallway. “You have cats too? I’d pinned you for a dog guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you’re just this big, stoic guy I assumed you’d have dogs” you admitted, now feeling embarrassed at your assumption.

“I’ll have you know Lily and Luna are actually my favorites” he countered and you felt your eyebrows shoot up. “I may as well just show you.”

He made his way down the hallway without another word so you followed. He turned left and gestured for you to enter the room. “No fucking way” you breathed out, taking it in.

The entire room was dedicated to his pets. There were shelves strategically built into the wall for the cats, who were snoozing in a window seat, to climb. There were at least half a dozen beds of varying sizes, tons of toys strewn everywhere, and a cabinet full of their food and treats.

“Holy shit, this is amazing” you breathed out, shocked at the love that had clearly been poured into this room.

“You think so?”

“I mean, it shows you’re actually just a big softie despite the tough guy act.”

“I do not have a tough guy act” he argued and you shot him a look. “I can’t help what my resting face looks like and if I recall correctly, you weren’t exactly the warmest person. At least not to me anyways.”

You felt guilt hit you, sharp and painful. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

He seemed surprised by your admission but just nodded. “I’m sorry too, I know I don’t make great first impressions.”

You two stood in awkward silence before you finally spoke up. “So, I’ve never actually seen The Notebook.”

“Well, we should fix that, don’t you think?”

***

“Birdie, can you grab me the bag of pretzels while you’re in there?” Ryan called from the living room.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname he’d given you that first day you’d spent together. After watching The Notebook, you’d admitted it was a sweet movie but had teased him relentlessly about how obsessed he was with it.

“I can’t believe you don’t love it! I mean, ‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird?’”

“So, you’re a softie and a secret romantic” you’d goaded and he’d rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, birdie.”

Despite you arguing for months now that it was a dumb nickname, your protests had only made him dig his heels in more. Hanna found it endearing but Adam agreed with you. While the four of you hung out, most of the time it was just you and Ryan at his apartment. You were obsessed with his animals and they quickly grew attached to you, to the point that when Ryan had road games you just crashed in his guest room and took care of them so he didn’t have to get a sitter.

“Dude, you finished the pretzels yesterday, I told you that” you chastised and he groaned in annoyance. You smirked at his bad memory and grabbed a bag of popcorn for him instead.

“Will this do?” you questioned settling in beside him.

“Given what you’re about to put me through, it’s the least you could do” he frowned, digging into his snack as he hit play. It was your turn to pick and Ryan wasn’t pleased that you’d chosen a horror movie.

“Big baby” you teased, knocking your shoulder into his. He proved you right by jumping and swearing every five minutes, finally curling up beneath a blanket. Once it was over, he left to use the restroom and you were playing on your phone when his lit up on the couch. You noted an unfamiliar name had sent the text…who the fuck was Rose?

Jealousy surged into you, unexpected and fierce. You had no claim to him but that didn’t stop your chest from aching. Since your friendship had started off so tensely, you’d tried pushing your growing feelings for Ryan as far down as they’d go—you didn’t want to complicate things.

Ryan returned a moment later and scooped up his phone, smiling at whatever Rose had messaged before typing his response. You heaved a big sigh before getting up to grab your coat.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, surprised.

“Nothing, I’m just going to head home” you replied shortly.

“Bullshit, you’re pissed.”

“I’m not mad, just don’t want to interrupt you and Rose” you snapped before you could stop yourself. A long silence filled his apartment.

“Y/N?” Ryan questioned, amusement in his voice.

“What?” you sighed, refusing to turn around.

“Rose is my cousin.”

Jealousy was quickly replaced by embarrassment as you bent down to grab your shoes. “Y/N, stop just look at me” he begged.

You took a deep breath before finally facing him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, just don’t leave” he requested quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because if I saw a random dude’s name on your phone, I’d react the same way.”

His admission hung in the air between you before you both surged for each other. Your lips crashed together and his hands quickly removed the coat you’d just put on, your own fingers finding the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

Coherent thoughts left your mind as you pulled him back to you and felt his growing eagerness press into your stomach. You groaned at the sensation, making quick work of removing his jeans.

“No fair” he breathed out raggedly, shaky hands reaching for your shirt to even things out a bit more. You grinned at his comment, removing the sweatpants you’d stolen from him before palming him through his boxers “Fuck” he breathed out unevenly.

“Okay?” you questioned, noting his nerves.

“I’ve wanted this for months” he confessed, eyes boring into yours. The admission stole your breath away and him kissing you again didn’t help you regain it. Your tongues twined deliciously together as he backed you down the hallway. His hands, a bit steadier now, removed your bra somewhere between the living room and his bedroom. He gently nudged you onto the bed, hovering over you, one hand kneading your breast while the other teased the hem of your underwear.

“Please Ryan” you breathed out, bucking your hips up towards him. He smirked, dropping his head to suck on a nipple before placing teasingly gentle kisses along your stomach down to your hipbones. His blue eyes rose to meet yours as he slid your underwear off and you shivered in anticipation.

He spread your thighs, head dipping down to lick a slow, tantalizing strip up your center. You hissed at the contact and his hand pressed your hips down before they could buck up again.

“No patience” he chastised.

“I’ve been patient for months, Ryan, would you just, fuck—” he silenced your complaints by plunging a finger inside you.

“Better birdie?” he teased. You wanted to say something sarcastic back but he quickly added a second finger and dropped his lips to your clit which made forming a sentence impossible, so you just moaned in reply to his question.

He curled his fingers and found your spot quicker than any of your exes ever had. Between the steady pumping of his fingers and him sucking on your clit, you were writhing beneath him within moments. “Oh my god, Ryan” you breathed out, digging your heels into his back.

“You’re already so wet for me” he breathed out, taking a second to glance up at you. The sheen of your arousal on his mouth made you all the more impatient so you sat up, dragging his face to yours. You moaned again at the taste of yourself on his tongue while his hands dug around in his nightstand for a condom. You flipped yourself on top of him once he was ready for you and sank onto his length.

“Shit, give me a minute” he ground out and it took all your willpower to just kiss him for a moment while he composed himself.

***

Ryan was overwhelmed. He’d wanted you since that first party and his desire had only deepened in the months your friendship had grown. Now, you were wrapped around him and his senses were in overdrive. He nodded into the kiss and you rolled your hips drawing a groan from both your mouths.

You rested your hands on his shoulder as you rocked into him and he opened his eyes to look at you. Your eyes were closed and your face looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen it. Your mouth was parted ever so slightly, your lips kiss swollen, and he finally let himself acknowledge that he was in love with you—that he had been for quite some time.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he breathed out, gently running a thumb over your cheek. Your eyes met his and he swore he saw the same emotion in them as you leaned down to capture his lips again. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer, your chests flush together as your tongues moved in perfect rhythm together. He noticed your movements were getting sloppier so he snuck a hand between you, finding your clit.

As soon as he ran his thumb over your bud, you pulled away to rest your forehead against his shoulder, your breath becoming more ragged as your speed picked up. “I’m so close Ryan, please don’t stop.”

“I’ve got you, birdie” he replied and to his surprise that nickname, the one you hated, was your undoing. As your walls clenched around him, he squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation. Your whines were driving him crazy and he quickly flipped you so you were beneath him.

***

You had barely caught your breath when Ryan was suddenly on top of you, plunging in even deeper as his hands roughly grabbed your hips. His eyes were shut and his face was twisted with pure pleasure as he set a rough, ruthless pace that quickly had your core tightening again.

“How the fuck are you going to make me cum again?” you breathed out without thinking and he laughed.

“Because you’re taking me so good” he praised and you whined in pleasure at his words. “You like that huh? Like being told what a good girl you are?”

“Fuck, yes, yes” you panted out, hand reaching between you to circle your clit. You felt yourself tightening, the sound of skin slapping skin intoxicating.

He groaned at your response, his rhythm getting a little sloppy but his speed never letting up. Your eyes met and he dropped his forehead to yours, your breath mingling together. “I can feel how close you are. Cum for me” he demanded, his eyes locked on yours and your second orgasm tore through you at his command.

You fought the desire to close your eyes at the pleasure, even more desperate to see him come undone for you. The intensity of your gaze seemed to push him over the edge and he groaned as he slammed into you a few more times before stilling, buried deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N” he breathed shakily, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “That was incredible.”

“Yeah, you weren’t so bad yourself” you replied, trying to catch your breath. You stayed together like that for another moment before he gently pulled out and cleaned you two up. Your eyes remained shut as you slowly came down from your high and settled back into your body.

You felt the bed sink as he returned but you couldn’t make yourself open your eyes yet; you felt so peaceful, so safe, like this with Ryan and you wanted to relish in it.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen” he said quietly, and the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.

“You’re just saying that because we had mind-blowing sex” you replied, trying to downplay how much his words impacted you.

“Hey, look at me” he commanded quietly and your eyes drifted to his. “I’m saying that because I’ve thought it since I first saw you at that party.”

“You don’t have to say that, Ryan” you argued softly.

“But I want to, because it’s true. Why do you think I was such a weirdo that night? I was dumb struck.”

You chuckled at his words, finally turning to face him fully. Your thumb gently traced his cheekbone as you replied, “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at taking compliments.”

“You don’t need to be sorry” he insisted, his hand resting on your hip. “I have all the time in the world to show you I mean what I’m saying…if you’ll have me.”

“I want nothing more” you admitted, emotions swelling in your chest. He smiled and it knocked the wind out of you, the love and affection apparent on his face.

“Then I’m yours” he promised and you allowed yourself to believe him. But you also couldn’t help yourself from leaning in slowly, noting the catch in his breath as your lips met his ear.

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird” you whispered.

“Oh, fuck off” he groaned, jokingly shoving you away as your giggles filled the room.

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed! I have been wanting to write about grumpy man's obsession with The Notebook for a hot minute so I hope this finds its niche audience.

#ryan lindgren #ryan lindgren blurb #ryan lindgren fic #ryan lindgren imagine #new york rangers #new york rangers imagine #new york rangers blurb #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fic #ryan lindgren x reader

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ultimateaclrecovery · 9 months

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Went to a 1920s themed murder mystery party for my friends 30th birthday!

I had fun dressing up and vaguely attempting to play a character

I am a little disappointed in myself because he had a cool photo drop set up and I didn’t get a photo. I asked my BFF is he wanted one and he said he didn’t care, and instead of saying that I would like one (to which he almost certainly would’ve come and taken one with me) I just said okay. And know I don’t have a photo because I didn’t ask for one.

But I did have lots of fun putting the fringe on sequin dress to turn it into a flapper dress. And I got to drink more of my sparkly purple cocktail left over from my birthday which was great.

And then the next morning me and the boy went to see the little mermaid 😊 he had no interest in the movie but went because I wanted to see it. It was my favorite movie as a kid so it fun to relive the nostalgia and overall it was v cute, but I think I prefer the animated version. It was fun that they had new songs but they just weren’t as good as the originals. And flounder was quite frankly horrifying. But I still had a good time and I enjoyed the mermaids and all the scenes where they were exploring the island were really fun and delightful.

But then on the car ride back it was just really quite and when I would ask him things I would just get short or even one word answers and he wouldn’t ask me anything in return and just felt like trying to talk to a brick wall and it made me so sad. And then he collected his stuff my house and left and like as soon as I closed I burst into sobs. And just like full on cried for several minutes. And then found my self looking into trying to change my Japan flight, but I bought an un changeable flight so there’s nothing to do there. Because I was convinced that being that sad over nothing had to mean it was a sign that the relationship was over and completely doomed and that it was a sign that he no longer liked me.

And then several hours later I felt better about everything and back to day dreaming about how we’re going to be together. It’s so strange. Objectively everything is fine with the relationship. We hang out a couple of times a week, he’s super considerate and generally a really good boy friend, I still think he’s super attractive, wee still mostly have a good time together. It’s just sometimes a little quite. And he does leave the toilet seat up. But that’s it. That’s the list of complaints. But have had this nagging feeling sometimes that he likes me in spite of all of quirks (like he finds all the purple and glitter annoying instead of endearing) and not because of them. Like maybe maybe I’m just the hottest person he could get to date him so he’s settling for me. It doesn’t help that last fall I lost like ten pounds so when we started dating in January I was the smallest I’ve been in a while, and now I’ve very slowly gained back maybe three ish pounds. Which like in the grand scheme of things is nothing, but you can’t logic with insecurities.

Or maybe he’s just been super tired lately and I need to supportive and do more for him instead of him always doing things for me (he doesn’t legitamently Plan most of our dates, admittedly partly because he just cares way more about food places than I do). And that I should generally stop freaking out about nothing. But also if like half of our interactions make me cry that’s not a sign that things are working. Even if I can’t pinpoint exactly what, it’s not a good way to be.

Anyway the party was fun!

#1920s #murder mystery #and then boy ramblings #because everybody loves a good boy ramble #sigh #I mean clearly I need to communicate more #or better somehow #but it feels so hard when it feels like he doesn’t want to communicate back #and getting him to actually tell me anything is like pulling blood from a stone #or so it feels #and then I just ask about frisbee because then he’ll actually talk #but I do not want to talk about frisbee all the time #and it feels like I’ve just committed to at least trying until after we go to Japan together in November #and then maybe I just call it a day #if you barely want to talk to me what are we even doing

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ebookporn · 1 month

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That time I took all the buses in Buenos Aires in order to write a book about taking all the buses in Buenos Aires

by Daniel Tunnard

Taking all the buses of Buenos Aires, a writer on a mission makes the city his own.

Around 2008 I made the unlikely decision to take all 140-ish bus lines in the city of Buenos Aires and write a book about it, after devouring A. J. Jacobs’s book about reading the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica and seeking a marathon project of my own. I had been gazing at the map of Buenos Aires on our kitchen door and contemplating how little I still knew of the city after ten years here. It is standard for the long-term expat to get to know two or three areas of their adopted city and draw a blank on the rest. I didn’t want to be that guy. I took it upon myself to take all the buses in the city. I took the 1 and the 2. The 3 doesn’t exist anymore. I took the 4, the 5, the 6. I spent half an hour waiting at a bus stop in the back of beyond waiting for the 7. It was cold. It was boring. My best friend’s first son was born, and I wondered where my life had taken this turn.

I gave up. I wrote a novel about a man trying to write a screenplay for a Freddie Mercury biopic who finds Brian May hiding in his cupboard (Freddiementary, still mysteriously unpublished). Clarín newspaper asked me to write an unpaid article for them as a foreigner living in Buenos Aires. I took the opportunity to promote my unpublishable novel and mentioned—only in passing, just one line—that I had once attempted to take all the buses in Buenos Aires. They titled the piece “The Englishman who tried to take all the buses in Buenos Aires.” This, apparently, is how journalism works. Three radio stations interviewed me excitedly about this nonstory. My wife, grimly aware of the economic limitations of my writing, suggested I put Freddie in the cupboard and do something useful, like taking all the buses in Buenos Aires. So I did. It took me seven months.

#writers and poets #writing inspiration #writers life #buenos aires #the care and feeding our our city buses

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captainsspnanon · 2 years

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The Kingsley Commentary

My rants about Kingsley, removed from the main reaction post

Putting in the obvious disclaimer that this is all my personal opinion and my interpretations of a character may not match the interpretation that you have of the character. Feel free to think that I am wrong as much as you like! But holy shit I needed to VENT.

With the Beau and Kingsley conversation before break

“I can see Jester, I can see Fjord, I can see Caduceus” fucking where? I’m believing that this is fully pulled from Beau’s/Marisha’s ass, as Kingsley is all the worst parts of Molly and Lucien without having the benefit of being a fun villain. He smarmily backtalks every line, he’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t really like Jester or Fjord much and is heavily dismissive of them (and he’s done it loudly enough and constantly enough that it feels like the ‘i’m making a Joke TM but it’s actually true’ versus a friend just picking at each other. Yes, I did still try to look at this aspect without bias – it’s INCREDIBLY different than when Veth and Fjord pick at each other, versus how Kingsley does.) *watches more of the conversation* Well, there’s confirmation Kingsley doesn’t have respect for Fjord. And I call bullshit on the respect for Jester. Then again, I’ve lost my attempted non-bias at this point. Kingsley ‘taking care of the crew’ is technically true, though I have no clue how much of it is actually taking care of them or just trying to undermine Fjord – cause part one made it feel 98% undermining Fjord. Even his asking about Molly is based in “I want to be better than the other two” but in a way that feels arrogant rather than anything else. YES THIS IS INCREDIBLY SUBJECTIVE OF ME I DON’T CARE

Plank King ending

No. Fuck you. I hate this ending because it is the most unearned bullshit ever.

Percy and Vex’s ending? Earned, because we followed their entire story through the campaign, see every step and struggle they take, and getting the Good Ending is narratively earned.

The endings from the very end of C2, where Kingsley joins the Revelry, NOT becoming Plank King (I still can’t find how the hell this entered fan consciousness, as 141 and the wrap up never ever state it), and the rest of the Nein have quiet, normal-ish lifes? Fucking earned to hell. In a narrative that was NOT about the big heroes, their biggest reward was being happy. Even the recap epilogues here which are basically the same thing as 141 are perfect. But in 141, Kingsley becomes part of the Revelry? Worked because it matched with his personality (and lol this two shot proves that even more) because he wants to sail and adventure (and steal and kill and be a cruel dick to people that he doesn’t give two shits about).

Being the Plank King though? Sitting on a throne while people just bring him treasure, and he has to essentially govern the whole Revelry (even though it’s more of a laissez-faire thing?) That doesn’t seem to match with his character at all.

ALSO is the fact that it’s narratively completely unearned. A character that shows up for two full episodes and I dunno, maybe half an hour in the main campaign? Suddenly in the ruler of a whole big plot setting from early in the campaign? Feels like grubby grabby hands gimme the coolest ending. Not only that, but give me a position of authority that can show up in future campaigns even though I’m still essentially a complete unknown. Oh, and let’s not fucking forget the “I wave my hand and wipe away a big conflict from the campaign with absolutely no real resolution whatsoever aren’t I so awesome?” No, and fuck this ending forever. I don’t care if it’s canon, I’m full on headcanoning it away because fuck that shit. You know what this feels like? You want to know??? It’s like if fucking Darrow of the Stubborn Stock suddenly sent Caleb a message going ‘no worries, have taken down the Cerberus Assembly, you’re fine!’ It’s not fucking EARNED. Beau and Caleb slowly slowly slowly taking down the Assembly, or even just clearing out maybe one or two more people? Fucking earned! Darrow? HOW MANY OF YOU ACTUALLY REMEMBER WHO DARROW IS??? But he’s been around for just as long as Kingsley, if not fucking longer.

I went into the two shot giving Kingsley a chance and I’ve ended up fully fucking hating him, officially what I consider to be the worst part of the entire campaign. Probably even the worst part of ALL campaigns.

#cr spoilers #cr discourse #critical role #the mighty nein

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glittertrail · 1 year

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Happy astromonday!!

For the last in the Mars asks, I have a story about the earliest picture from Mars' surface. This was taken in July 1965 by Mariner 4.

Mariner 4 was an orbiter, it didn't land on Mars, but in 1965 it sent back the first digital images from Mars. Sent over 8 hours to the NASA computers, it comprised of 240,000 numbers, bits of binary code, to make up the 40,000 patches of colour on its surface.

When the code was received back on Earth, the picture was likely to take a while to develop. But the scientists were too impatient to wait. So they printed all the numbers onto long, narrow strips of paper, stuck them to a wall in order, and coloured in each number using a paint-by-numbers method. This eventually created a piece of art you can see with today's ask, a replica of a picture taken from the surface of Mars!!

It really struck me again the love people have had for space and for Mars throughout history. This was 40,000 numbers that were coloured by hand, and how beautiful is the image!!

This week I have a question for you!! Tell me about something you've loved creating or taking part in. This can be art, writing, music, a project, or something else entirely.

I hope you've liked this little series on Mars, have a fantastic day!! 🪐

Happy astromonday guess who had to come back to the office bc she realized at home that she left her canvas bag in her chair, like a dumbass? 🤦‍♀️

I love that story so much 🥰

Things I've loved creating under the cut bc I got sentimental and it turned kind of long lol

In uni we had to make a self portrait short film talking about ourselves. I, of course, waited for the absolute last minute to film mine because I have no understanding of time management (and I was also editing a tv pilot that literally took all of the time me and my friends had back then bc that thing was worth about half of our grade) so I spent an entire weekend rolling w a suitcase through all of my favorite parts of Madrid w the help of one of my cousins and a friend, changing at various bathrooms so I could have different outfits (brought in said suitcase) so it didn't look like I filmed it all in two days, I took inspiration on one of my favorite poems (the artist creed of Aquiles Nazoa) for the monologue and in the video of Vanessa Hudgens in Lisbon for find your California for the imagery. It works both as a self portrait and a love letter to the city and the people that took that weekend to help me (either by filming me or helping with the suitcase or to make sure random passerbys didn't fuck up a take). It was Eurovision weekend and we ended filming by getting drunk at the flat of my friend watching the last few performances.

A sentimental thing but I cajoled about 15 cousins, a very shy brother, two German exchange sisters and an uncle with a 4yo into participating in a mother's day video. Decided literally two days before mother's day, i have family living currently in six countries. And absolutely no one knows how to follow instructions. But it did succeed in making all of the aunts (and my mother) happy. My grandma didn't remember the video when i asked her about it (but apparently when somebody else did when she was a little more lucid she was pretty sure it had to be the idea of one of my eldest cousins🤣) but the wife of my grandpa (who i never called my grandmother but I was closer to than my grandma) did cry bc I made a point to name her in my part of the video. I spent an entire night editing three versions (one for my dad's side of the family, one for my mother's and one in particular for my mom that was my brother, our German sisters and me).

Glitteraks and the drag race Spain reference posts. I am actually kind of shy online lol so the glitterasks were my attempt at both keeping the Sunday horrors at bay for me and the few-ish people I talked to here when i stopped being deadly afraid of talking to people and make some new friends. Mostly I am proud of being able to keep it up for a year. It was a total of about... 60 questions? If I'm not mistaken? And at it's busiest I think the list got to be 85 people. The reference posts are included there because they were very self indulgent, i can admit to that, but new episodes come on Sundays too so I spent a few Sundays nursing migraines of my own making for spending entire days staring at screens between glitteraks, episode watching and reference post making, because my mental deadline for said posts was Monday evening and I do have a job 🤣 despite what the chronically online behavior might suggest

How about you, Juno? What are some of the things you're proudest of creating or being a part of?😊

#replies #astromonday #astronomy nerd (affectionate)#junosjukebox

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traipseartist · 17 days

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May 14th & 15th - South Bend and Beyond

The final two days of the trip are condensed into one blur because visiting my family in South Bend, Indiana was in the middle. The McMillen clan likes late nights, cards, wine, and Oingo Boingo, so it's hard to say where Tuesday stopped and Wednesday began.

Lewis and I packed out of Pike Lake early, deciding not to swim at the Milwaukee metropolitan area's finest open-to-the-public swimming lake in the 55°F morning temps, alas. Since we'd been dragging our feet on early mornings this whole trip, we decided to set out before 10am and plodded around Chicago in slow but probably still record time.

We decided to detour out of Milwaukee before heading down to Illinois as a sort-of salute to my original plan and so that I could relive the glory of this city as my 15 year-old self remembers it. I was also on the hunt for some New Glarus Spotted Cow, one of my favorite easy-drinking beers that you cannot nab beyond Wisconsin state lines. We search for beer and liquor stores (uncannily all open at 9am or earlier) and come up short for the kind of craft selection we know must be lurking here somewhere. After browsing past Bacardi Whipped Cream Vodkas and Colt 45s I give up and resort to Reddit which points us to... a local grocery store? named Woodman's. Lewis remarks upon my uneasy disposition that Woodmen gave us good luck in Omaha and perhaps they'd have more than your domestic spread.

Oh. So, did they have more than Corona and Bud? This was no grocery store. Woodman's is a beer SUPERSTORE that happens to sell bread and laundry detergent out the back. We lollygag in the aisles of just Wisconsin local craft beer for about half an hour, overwhelmed with the selection and exasperated that we cannot buy it all (Bad Farm Pilsner? Ma'am this is a Wendy's Summer Sour? Billy Rae Citrus IPA? Get! in! my! cart!). We buy my New Glarus, a Hazy called THE NEEDLER (depicting a pine tree with a Snake-esque head scarf tied around it's erm... tip? running recklessly and dual wielding those weird alien guns from Halo 2), and a dark beer as requested for Elaina who would touch base with Lewis at his final destination in DC.

We got settled in Stacey once more, but after 9 full nights together, we were beginning to feel the fatigue of travel, shared space, and the unwavering rhythm of Stacey over rough pavement. It seemed that all of what was left of Wisconsin and Illinois smelled like sulfur, we surmised, because of swamp gas or the like. The dense cloud cover and less-than-warm conditions began to invite a sort of listlessness amongst us.

We changed and got cleaned up at a gas station before finding breakfast--today we were aiming for Culver, my military(ish?) boarding high school in the middle of rural Indiana, then finally my Uncle Joe and Aunt Wendy in South Bend about an hour's north for dinner and some familiar (to me) faces.

We stopped at Pancake Point in Gurnee, Illinois for brunch and an attempt at clearer heads only to be immediately endeared to a character of a waitress who swore Lewis was her son's friend--but not. When we told her of our journey, she chittered anxiously about a road trip she'd just made to Colorado to visit her son and how all of the McDonald's looked the same(!) after a while. Lewis and I had to restrain ourselves from asking if this tiny, maraca of a woman was available for adoption and instead ate GIANT bowls of hash browns piled high with eggs, peppers, beans, chorizo, and the tastiest homemade pico. I nibbled at a pancake while we tried to shake our funk and hype ourselves up for the next four hours of driving into the cornfields of my past.

Fortunately, it was Alumni Week at Culver when we rolled in, so two strangers wandering the campus did not make us extra-out-of-place to the teenagers plodding about the quadrangle in their regulation recreation attire. I took Lewis to my favorite pockets of my adolescent years and gawped unattractively at all of the buildings they've since demolished and all of the buildings they've since built as is my job as a graduate.

I felt sheepish as I continued to run into faculty that remembered my face (especially those responsible for... disciplinary action) and fought my impulse to revert to my younger self (it's 4pm on a Tuesday... I should be at Speech practice right now!) but a small part of me was overjoyed to find the place still felt like home some 13 years later. Also wow... what a fucking ingrate I was for not truly appreciating the endless resources available to me as a bratty little teen (Horses! A photography lab?! A library and academic buildings peppered with ancient art??? A FULL SIZE THEATER FOR PERFORMANCE AND TECH!?) Lewis asks if this ruined it for me--college and the great beyond. I mused on the question. I never thought that any place should be like Culver... it is its own animal, its blessings almost inseparably tied to its curses. But no doubt, it changed everything in me as much as I want to temporally separate myself from this tiny cornfield bubble with time and distance.

After doing a small circle (the campus is enormous, acres and acres, it's hard to relay without a map and a meter stick) around the heart of the main quad, we boarded Stacey once more and rode the hour north to South Bend to meet with Joe, Wendy, and their children Jacob and Rachel at their home in Granger, IN.

By the time we were back on the main highway going north, the sulfuric smell was absolutely overwhelming in Stacey's cabin and I began to suspect that it was not the Midwest that was the stinky culprit. An hour later, after parked in a beautiful suburban neighborhood, thankful and light headed upon arrival, we pop the hood in front of Joe and Wendy's beautiful darkly wooded, 1970's style single family home to be greeted by a weak fountain of acid seeping down the side of Stacey's main battery. Oops.

While Lewis phoned AAA, I greeted the family. The kids were bumming it for the week at home because Rachel was graduating this weekend and was prepping by being hung-over by day, and partying by night (and some day, too) with her classmates on campus. Jacob was lassoed into redoing the front deck for her ensuing graduation party the coming weekend. Jean, Wendy's mother, was also there to set us straight with her sharp strategy in a few rounds of 3-13 we'd have later into the night.

Lewis and I were happy to be surrounded by some other humans for a bit, to eat veggie pizza (and share with the winded AAA guy swapping out Stacey's innards) and pet a dog or two. We slept hard and fast in a spare bedroom, anxiously awaiting tomorrow to race home and meet my Mom and Grandfather at Pittsburgh International before flopping down in a place familiar to us both.

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

I anticipated we would scuttle home in a boring and direct fashion along the Ohio turnpike because time was of the essence and Lewis and I had not been historically early risers for this trip. Mom & Pop were to touch down at 5pm and it's a tight 6 hours back home from the outskirts of South Bend.

Unfortunately for them, and maybe fortunately for our timetable, their Southwest flight was delayed a full five hours due to weather surging up through the Columbus, Ohio region that was dramatically disrupting air traffic.

Amazingly, after replacing Stacey's battery, she no longer needed the precious white glove service of hand-jumping and we took it as a sign of renewal in its own way, waving good-bye to relatives I'd see again in 48 hours time for a graduation ceremony, we hit the road for the final lap.

It didn't take but two hours before Lewis and I decided to deviate from the sling-shot trajectory we had up until this point mostly avoided taking as a matter of principle. We slid up to the coast of Lake Erie to visit the Port Clinton lighthouse and eat a few french fries while looking directly at a giant body of water for a bit. Port Clinton appeared to be preparing for the Walleye Festival (???) that would arrive the coming weekend and so the town felt a lot less sleepy than was surely normal, despite being adorned in adorable maritime statues and public parklets that betrayed the slow plod of this place otherwise.

We poked around the promised light house, the chilly shore of Erie, a store for the supernatural (I bought a new pair of sunglasses to replace a pair I had gifted to a nail salon back in Minneapolis). We ate french fries while listening to the bartendress relay her morning struggle of finding someone to cover her shift while she took her son to the doctor for a surprise broken arm. We stared hard into the distance, still processing all that had gone and all that was yet to come, and rolled into Stacey for the last time. Pittsburgh bound, at last.

I read an experimental piece Lewis is working on from his bestickered laptop from the passenger's seat. We listen to the end of a playlist all about lyrics, and when we start to recognize bridges and tunnels, we breathe a sigh of relief. I play 31 by Ceann and sing the words at the tippy top of my lungs when we pull into my driveway at the tippy top of Stanton Heights:

"Soon we'll be home In the places I know Where the boys say "Yinz" And the girls say "Ope" 31 miles east of Ohio(oooo) Where Iron still flows In watering holes We'll go where the Monongahela goes To the city that was built from underground For Pittsburgh I am bound!"

#road trip #travel #south bend #pittsburgh

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my313 · 3 months

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beautiful stranger ⟡₊ 🚎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ choi beomgyu

now playing 𝄞₊ ⊹ beautiful stranger - laufey

⋆ pairing: beomgyu x gn!reader

⋆ summary: what better way to romanticise the commute to class than listening to laufey and re-living that elevator scene from 500 days of summer?

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: slice of life, university au, fluff, love at first sight, strangers to ???, crack-ish lol, also kind of loser simp manic pixie dream boy gyu, lots of laufey mentions and references, 500 days of summer reference (the i love the smiths scene if anyone hasnt watched but has seen it on tiktok)

⋆ word count: 1591

a/n: if ur looking for realism this isnt it ... this is me trying to imagine my own romcom. also my bad i think i got too carried away yapping and with too little dialogue. this is definitely self-indulgent but!!!! here’s my first post :) i’m thinking of making this a laufey songfic series for all of txt but depends on my inspo LOL. this was inspired by a girl on the bus who was tryna show me her taehyung lockscreen cuz she probably saw my soobin one HAHAHA. hope u guys enjoy :3

act i. looked back for a second didn’t want to be rude i tend to fall in love on the tube

falling in love is simple for choi beomgyu. his eyes sparkle on default, glossy and rose-tinted - at least, on days where he can bring himself out of the university dorms. on most days, he finds that the world has a dull enough filter to put his pink-coloured frames to rest. he definitely thinks so every time he has to begrudgingly work on his assignments.

the universe decides today is not one of those days.

it really should be, though. the bus is overcrowded on a monday morning and he’s running on four hours of sleep after regretfully queueing on league with soobin and kai. he taps his foot impatiently, unable to hide his discomfort from all the squeezing and lack of personal space. his final saving grace is the tune of paramore’s the only exception from his headphones, only slightly distracting him from the screech of the tires and the chatter of freshmen. the public transport announcement for the next stop comes as a breath of fresh air for beomgyu as people rush out the doors. he breathes a sigh of relief and absentmindedly takes the closest unoccupied seat.

it’s not everyday that beomgyu gets to see the outside world (willingly), so he decides to challenge himself on the remaining half hour he has on the bus. he blinks, once, twice, more. anything to keep him awake.

the announcer’s voice fills the bus again to call for the next stop, but that’s not what wakes beomgyu up. no. the doors open and he catches a glimpse of someone’s cute plushie strapped on their bag. like a cat follows a laser beam, beomgyu’s gaze is fixed on the plushie until it stops moving. it’s right next to him. he raises his head, trying to be discreet and potentially avoid looking into this stranger’s face. unlucky as he is, beomgyu is met with your eyes almost immediately. his brain freezes in the way it did when he tried yeonjun’s mint chocolate ice cream out of summer heat desperation. it short circuits, and all he can think is so pretty; like it’s the only word in the dictionary, and right next to it is your name (even if he doesn’t know it yet). he swears he almost says it out loud.

taken aback, beomgyu can only hold your stare for a second before quickly turning away. his cheeks flush as he attempts to appear nonchalant (he is anything but), fishing into the pockets of his leather jacket to find his phone. he aimlessly unlocks it, showcasing his ‘romanticizing & touching grass’ playlist at full brightness. he cringes, thinking how ironic it is to have laufey’s beautiful stranger playing as he quite literally tries to avoid looking at a beautiful stranger in real-time. half of him entertains the thought of you seeing it and sparking up a conversation, a meet-cute that rivaled the quirkiness of the elevator scene in 500 days of summer. the other half of him continues to sink into himself, cringing at the thought.

still, he lifts his head and quickly glances at you, his phone screen lit up in anticipation.

act ii. beautiful stranger catching my stare it’s fate we collided right then back there i wonder if he felt the same thing too innocent crush on the morning commute

the boy next to you has looked up thrice in the ten minutes you’ve boarded the bus. if he wasn’t the prettiest you’d ever seen in your time riding this specific commute, it definitely would have been weird. it’s even more adorable that he’s tilting his phone screen towards you, a laufey song proudly on display as his attempts of appearing casual throw him under the bus.

you laugh to yourself, lips tugging into an amused smile. lightly nudging him with your elbow, beomgyu’s shoulders jerk as he looks back at you. he has his headphones on, so when you gently say, “i love laufey!” he doesn’t entirely understand. his eyebrows slightly raise in confusion. in the midst of taking his headphones off to hear you better, he stills when you move closer. your lips are too close to his already warm ears, and it certainly doesn’t help that you’re practically whispering “i love laufey” with the most unassuming, goofy yet endearing smile. your excitement must be contagious to beomgyu, because his embarrassment is quick to dissipate. you haven’t moved away. he’s not sure if you’re doing it on purpose - if this was how strangers on buses flirted. if that ever happened at all.

“oh, um,” he starts off awkwardly, “me too!” beomgyu’s stumbling over words he hasn’t even had a chance to get out yet, they’re all rushing to leave his mind but the damned announcer beats him to it. your gaze flickers from him to the blinking sign ahead. by now, you were back to leaning on your seat and away from beomgyu’s face. you really wished time slowed down, but the next stop was yours. you pursed your lips and contemplate your next words. what are the chances you’ll see this guy again?

“by the way,” you turn to beomgyu, expression determined like braving getting on a rollercoaster. “you’re really pretty.”

the announcer cuts through the silence and you’re quick to be up on your feet, ignoring the rising pink on both yours and beomgyu’s cheeks. “it was nice meeting you!” you manage to squeak out. just like that, beomgyu’s lost you.

act iii. but my beautiful stranger will have to remain a stranger until i see them again

beomgyu’s gone delusional over the past week. he’s sure that laufey will be his top artist on spotify this month, all because of you.

it’s monday again, his classes are canceled and yet he’s seated in the bus hoping to catch a glimpse of you. no, he wants more than a glimpse. this time, he’s certain he can do much better than a bunch of ums and awkward smiles. his posture straightens sharply as the bus makes a gradual stop. it’s yours.

this time, beomgyu’s quick to crane his neck over and look outside the window to make sure you’re there. the universe is kind, because there you are. the corners of his mouth rise on their own accord when you meet eyes, tapping the seat next to him that he totally did not reserve for you the whole ride.

you’re pleasantly surprised by the pretty boy’s re-appearance, smirking while making yourself comfortable next to him.

“i should’ve known you were one of the crazy ones. nobody listens to laufey normally…” you sigh, tone satirical and disapproving, but your expression is anything but. it’s obvious you’re glad he found you again. he wasn’t the only one squealing over the past week.

beomgyu’s voice comes out more confident than last monday, playful yet baritone. “nah, you got it wrong. i’m only crazy over you.” you’re both looking at each other in silence before bursting into fits of laughter. beomgyu tries to keep his giggles polite by covering his mouth with his palm, but you’re flailing and find yourself leaning into his shoulder to muffle your laughs.

that only makes beomgyu grin wider, lifting his hand from his face and training his eyes on you. he doesn’t wait for you to stop laughing, sneakily capturing your hand together with his. the sudden warmth melting your frigid hands makes you jerk away from the comfort of beomgyu’s sweater. you’re instantly faced with his wide eyes. before uttering a word, beomgyu cuts you off with a silly expression, eyebrows wriggling mischievously, “so that scored me a date, right?”

“you’re such a freak,” you taunt. “i don’t even know your name!” beomgyu rolls his eyes, brows still raised comically. “you laughed into my sweater, i think we’re so past that.”

“but since you asked… how about i give you a good deal?”

“i’m listening.” you play along with his banter, nudging him to go on. beomgyu nods smugly as he lays out his cards, confident you won’t say no. you couldn’t, right?

“i propose that you get my name right now.. but only if you take my number too,” he says cheerfully. “great deal, huh? can’t get it anywhere else. a bus 11 exclusive!”

you pretend to give it a thought, complete with a pondering stance and looking up at the bus ceiling in contemplation. when you look back at beomgyu, you can’t help but smile at his overly-excited puppy-eyed look. it makes you want to tease him even more, but you decide against it. your stop is threatening to cut this short again.

you bring out your phone, unlock it and hand it over to beomgyu. “gimme it then, stranger.”

“it’s beomgyu,” he says as he types up his number. he locks your phone before returning it into your hands. “i’m saved as love of your life though, so…”

“weirdo!” you shriek while opening your phone to double check. it’s just beomgyu with a heart. “i thought you actually did that.”

beomgyu laughs. the announcer’s familiar voice fills the bus again and it’s your stop next. swiftly, you open up a new chat with beomgyu, sending him a message before standing up and waving bye. he returns the gesture fondly, watching you get off and walk away.

once the bus starts up again, beomgyu sees the notification from you:

wanna hang tonight? :)

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geekgirlunderachiever · 2 years

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Achievements: 2,5 ish?

So, I'm a chronic underachiever. It's 10:30 p.m., I created this blog several hours ago, half-assed the template and the icon, and then promptly logged out, proving my point.

I start things, then I back out or abandon them when it turns out they're too much work. I do this across the board. At work, in my hobbies, in my relationships. I was supposed to be this genius who would go far in life, but I spent the last ten years in mediocre jobs and now that I finally got the courage to try something more challenging, I'm crippling under the pressure and having a mental breakdown every two days. I've been trying to write a book for the last fifteen years, with no results. Even the one longfic I wrote took me 5 years to complete (and it was only 50k words!). I've been dancing lindy hop for nearly 4 years and I don't have much to show for it. I took up some embroidery, did a couple of projects, and I've been languishing on the next one for two months. Don't even get me started on relationships, I don't even want to go into this right now.

For the past seven or so years I've been on a "healing journey", first alone, then with a therapist, then with productivity youtubers and many a self-help book. I've come a long way from the person I was when I first started, but it's still way, way below the "potential" I was supposed to have as a gifted, straight A student back in the day. I'm getting tired of myself, of the weight of inertia and the inability to DO THINGS, when everyone around me is busy actually doing stuff and achieving things.

I'm also tired of completely unrelatable youtubers and podcasters giving tips on how to start your own business or how to quit your job and backpack through Europe, or liveblogging from Bali or some shit. I mean, sure, I owe them a lot, some of those tips saved my bacon many a time, but I'm completely over this mental abyss between our experiences. Sure, I review my weeks, have a habit tracker and I journal, but I do those things to get through my day in my peripheral town in a peripheral part of my peripheral country. Basically, I do those things so that my life doesn't only involve scrolling through tumblr all day (even though sometimes it really, really does). I don't go to yoga retreats, get coached by Tony Robbins, or quit my extremely lucrative and successful corporate job to pursue a life of passion and discovery, or whatever. (I wish I could, but you know. You gotta eat.) I also haven't overcome any particularly gruesome trauma or hardship, only to flourish into an unbelievably successful individual. My trauma was mediocre, as mediocre as my "healing journey", basically.

This blog is another mediocre attempt at achieving something. For one, it's on tumblr, where no one will find it, because no one is looking for content like this here. Second, it's supposed to be an account of my "healing journey" going forward, but I'm not gonna tag it with anything just yet, nipping the accountability aspect in the bud. Finally, it's supposed to be a vague try at portraying a somewhat realistic perspective on the productivity/healing/psychology part of social media, for other people like me, who don't live in New York or Paris or wherever and don't lead humble-glamorous lives and who don't have the strength or the ability to pursue those big-ass dreams, but still try to chip away at their circumstances bit by excruciating bit, while doing a lot of scrolling through tumblr. Only, you know, I'm too chicken shit to tag it yet, so no one will find it.

It's entirely possibly this will be the only post on this blog, ever.

tl;dr: I'm an underachiever who's trying to do something anyway and document my small achievements in the process.

Achievements of the day: made blog (1), made post (1), thought of two ideas for my job-seeking portfolio, but didn't actually start them (0,5)

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sluttywonwoo · 3 years

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high-rise || k.sy x reader

Summary: (ceo!au… ish) walking around your apartment naked has never been a problem, since you live in a high-rise and no one can see in, at least that’s what you thought…

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 9.1k

a/n: reworked this piece originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, choking, degradation, sir kink if you squint

Your scarf was the first thing to hit the floor, followed shortly by your blazer. You toed off your heels as you simultaneously fumbled with the zipper on the back of your skirt, cursing when the fabric snagged the metal teeth. You were sweating with effort by the time you started rolling off your tights, making the task at hand that much more difficult. You kept your button-down on and kicked the rest of the clothes to the side, making a mental note to add them to the laundry later.

One of the (admittedly many) perks of living in a New York City penthouse was the view. Your apartment was ninety percent windows, which were a bitch to clean, but the sights you were privy to made it all worth it.

Manhattan was beautiful at any time of day, but you especially enjoyed it in the evenings. By the time you got home from work the late afternoon sun had begun to set, and you got to watch the soft pinks and oranges of the sunset fade into dusk. Rainy days and snowy days were up there on the list too. You were so high up that your apartment sometimes found itself submerged in the middle of a cloud. You could watch the rain fall onto the city below, or try to make out the horizon through the fog.

Even though your apartment was practically a glass box, being so high up offered you the luxury of privacy, which was why you usually didn’t bother with clothes. The only reason you were still wearing your shirt now was to shake off the chill from outside, but it would soon join the pile by the door.

You turned on the gas fireplace in the living room before making your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of the white wine you had opened earlier that week. It was a gift from a client, and not something you would have picked for yourself, but alcohol was alcohol and you wouldn’t dream of letting it go to waste.

You knew you should probably eat something before diving back into the paperwork you had brought home with you, but you were itching to get to it. You would never admit it, but your relationship with your job wasn’t the healthiest. All of your friends knew you were married to your work. Your colleagues and bosses knew it too. And deep down so did you. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t been on a date in... a while. It’s what you told yourself.

Even as you were perusing the options of takeout containers full of leftovers in your fridge you couldn’t stop thinking about the files waiting for you in your briefcase. You had to go over resumès and applications for an open position in your company to familiarize yourself with the candidates before you interviewed them in-person tomorrow.

Your fridge beeped at you, letting you know its door was still open as if you had walked away and forgotten to close it, unaware that you were still standing right in front of it.

“I know, I know,” you sighed and grabbed the styrofoam box of half-eaten sarme from your favorite Albanian restaurant down the street.

As the food warmed in the microwave, you gave in to the urge and retrieved your briefcase from by the door, discarding your shirt with your other clothes while you were over there.

You were just in your panties now, a thong if you were being specific. As much as you hated wearing them, they were the only underwear that wouldn’t show through your skirts and slacks.

You settled on the floor in front of the coffee table with your glass of wine and folder full of documents. The fire burned steadily as you flipped through them and made notes in the margins. Your cabbage rolls were lukewarm around the edges and cold in the middle, but still good nonetheless and you finished the rest. You had been hungrier than you thought.

“Mark Wescott... graduated from Georgetown University in 2013, nice! With a degree in... business admin... real fucking original,” you muttered to yourself, “but he’s got good references and decent experience... so... maybe?”

You uncapped the yellow highlighter in your hand with your teeth and ran it over his name and info at the top. You had a color-coded system for applicants. Pink for top priority, yellow for mid, and orange for low.

“None of these are impressive,” you decided after combing through all of the applications. You shook your head at the stack of papers and pushed them to the side. “Maybe they’ll be better in-person.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but it was getting late and you knew you should get at least a little bit of sleep before tomorrow. You had a lot riding on this hire, so you knew you needed to be coherent enough to sit through eight hours of interviews.

You brought your glass of wine to your lips and downed the last of it. “Here’s to hoping we’ll find the one.”

Soonyoung ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. He was already overwhelmed just looking at the stacks of cardboard boxes in front of him, he couldn’t even think about unpacking them yet.

He needed to find the box with all of his suits, at the very least. He couldn’t roll up to his interview tomorrow in the gray sweats and t-shirt he was wearing now, not if he actually wanted the job.

Moving into his new place the day before an interview had been a good idea in theory. But as he grabbed the box cutter from the counter and started slicing open random boxes with no sense of direction Soonyoung was beginning to rethink his decision.

“Why didn’t I label any of these?” he muttered to himself, cursing at yet another box full of DVDs.

It didn’t help that everything was wrapped in newspaper and impossible to identify at first glance. He knew it helped protect things from breaking and shifting around during travel, but it was already making the task at hand twice as long. He had planned to route the walk from the subway station to the office that evening. He wanted to practice the commute and time it so that he wouldn’t be late in the morning, but as the sunlight began to dwindle from the room he knew he wouldn’t have time. He would just have to get up extra early tomorrow.

At least the new apartment was nice. His last job back in Seoul had set him up nicely to be able to afford a place in the heart of Manhattan. It was on the small side compared to what he was used to, but he didn’t need much space since it was just him living there.

Everything was up to date and all of the appliances were brand new. There was an in-unit washer and dryer tucked away in one of the closets, and the dining area had real exposed brick walls. Soonyoung didn’t know what those things meant, but his realtor had told him they were good.

The sun had set completely by the time Soonyoung finally found his suits. He’d had to plug in one of his table lamps and set it on the floor in the middle of searching just to be able to see what he was looking at.

He hung a few options up in his new closet, hoping some of the wrinkles would ease from the fabric overnight.

With that done, Soonyoung figured he might as well unpack some of the boxes he’d already opened. It wasn’t efficient work, seeing as he had neglected to label anything, but Soonyoung managed to put away some dishes, shoes, and miscellaneous sheets and towels before he finally checked the clock again and realized how late it was.

Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings had already gone dark for the night, except for those of the apartment directly across from his. It was in the only other high-rise that was as tall as his, making the illuminated unit at the top stick out even more.

It was then that Soonyoung realized he could see directly into the apartment. He smiled to himself, taking comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone in being up at such a late hour. He wondered who his night-owl of a neighbor might be. His question was answered moments later when a shadow of movement caught his attention.

A woman who looked to be about his age emerged from a hallway carrying a stack of papers. He couldn’t make out the details of her face from where he was, but as she stepped into the light he could tell that she was naked.

Soonyoung immediately averted his gaze, snapping his head in the opposite direction so fast that he heard his neck crack. He gave it a second or two before looking back, assuming she was gone annnd nope. He squeezed his eyes shut a second time and turned his entire body away from the window. Now she was just... sitting in her living room? Completely naked? He wasn’t one to judge, but the knowledge alone was enough to make being a gentleman harder... amongst other things.

“Focus,” he told himself, resisting the urge to glance at the window. “Don’t be a creep.”

He attempted to resume his unpacking, only to find himself distracted every few minutes, sneaking glances at the window unconsciously. Every time he caught himself looking he was doused in a fresh wave of guilt. He knew it was wrong, but for whatever reason he couldn’t stop himself. The irony of being a peeping tom was not lost on him.

Soonyoung watched as the girl in the window stood from her spot on the floor and stretched, watched as her muscles tensed and relaxed when she raised her arms above her head. A mix of shame and arousal burned in his stomach as his eyes traced the outline of her curves.

All of the sudden it occurred to him that she could also probably see into his apartment. If she were to look over right now she’d see him standing like an idiot in the window practically gawking at her from fifty feet away. He panicked and lunged to turn off the lamp that was still sitting on the floor so that the whole room went dark.

That night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep, Soonyoung thought about the stranger across the way. He wondered if there was a reason for her state of undress. If she had been waiting for someone, or if that someone had just left. Was that why she was up as late as he was? At least she was getting some. He wished he could say the same for himself.

“This is starting to get sad,” he mumbled and buried his face in his hands. ‘Starting to’ was being generous and he knew it.

He wished the morning would come, wished he was on his way to his job interview already, but every time he checked the time only a few minutes had gone by. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway, at least if it was morning he’d be able to do something productive and get his mind off the girl in the window.

Soonyoung rolled over away from his bedroom window and pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders. He could hear ambulance sirens and car horns from the street down below, the ambience of the traffic lulling the city to sleep.

Your morning started like any other. Your alarm went off at six-thirty and you snoozed it until seven, groaning when you finally dragged yourself out of bed. You turned on the shower and brewed a pot of coffee while you waited for the water to heat up.

You had been trying to get into tea recently, slowly working on cutting coffee out of your life completely and making the switch to the much healthier alternative. Tea had less caffeine and offered a whole range of health benefits that coffee didn’t. You’d read endless articles about how much better it was for you, but it wasn’t as coffee

The switch would be going a lot better if you didn’t let yourself make excuses to keep drinking coffee every morning. It would probably also be going a lot better if you weren’t guilt-chugging that cup (or two) of coffee before leaving your apartment six minutes earlier than usual to catch the 8:00 train instead of the 8:10 train just so you could grab a to-go cup of earl gray from the tea shop down the street from your office and drink that as you walked into work so that you could continue to keep up the charade that your tea-drinking endeavors were going well in front of your coworkers.

The glass was already foggy when you returned to take your shower. You wanted to be at the office early today to set up for the interviews so you tied up your hair and quickly rinsed off. The soapy water hadn’t even finished draining from the tile floor before you were out and wrapping yourself up in a towel.

You dried yourself off and dropped the towel in your hamper, not bothering with clothes yet. You walked back into the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

You sipped it as you turned on the stove and cracked an egg into a pan. You usually liked to have a bagel or a quick granola bar before work, but when you were feeling fancy you liked to make yourself a couple slices of avocado toast for breakfast. You had decided that today was a fancy day.

You popped the bread in the toaster as the eggs fried and sliced a ripe avocado in the meantime. As soon as you were done with that, it was time to flip the eggs and put the toast on a plate.

You finished your first cup of coffee and went to pour yourself a second, but thought better of it. You’d be sitting in one place for a majority of the day and too much caffeine would make you fidgety and anxious if you didn’t have a way to diffuse the energy.

You ate your breakfast at the bar in your kitchen, looking over the stack of resumes one last time as you did.

“Are you ready for today?” one of your supervisors, Carolina, asked as soon as she saw you walk in the door.

You took a sip of tea from the paper cup in your hand and grimaced. “I’ve been dreading it all week.”

“At least it’ll be over by tonight.”

“Sure, this round will be over, but then there’s still follow-up interviews and training and-”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is the worst part, and we’ve just got to take it one thing at a time.”

You sighed. “You’re right, sorry.”

Carolina smiled and nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “Conference Room B is all set up for you when you’re ready. Page me to let me know when I can send the candidates in.”

“Got it, thanks.”

You set yourself up with your laptop and paperwork at one end of the table, and left the seat across from you open for the interviewee.

The morning dragged by at an agonizingly slow pace. Each potential hire seemed determined to bore you to death with their graduate school anecdotes and corporate buzzwords. They were all the same. Too stiff, too self-absorbed, too-

“Y/n, we’ve got your next one ready for you.”

You cleared your throat before pressing the speak button on the intercom, having been lost in thought when Carolina’s voice began echoing throughout the room.

“Sounds good, you can send them over to me.”

You sat up a little straighter in your chair and brushed yourself off. You’d been interviewing for a couple hours straight already, but you still wanted to look fresh-faced for everyone who came in. You were representing the company, after all, and interviews were just as much about trying to impress the candidates as it was about them trying to impress you.

You reached for your cup of tea before remembering it had probably long since gone cold and grimaced, perking up when you heard the familiar squeak of the door.

The young man offered you his hand before settling in the chair opposite yours with a polite smile.

“Mr.... Kwon,” you said, reading his name off of his resume in front of you. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he agreed. “And you can call me Soonyoung.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but nodded. Straight past his last name and right to Soonyoung, interesting you mused to yourself as you scanned his profile again.

“Nice to meet you, Soonyoung. I’m y/n y/l/n. I’m a Senior Associate here and I’m just going to ask you a few questions about yourself, your work, typical interview stuff. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You paused and pretended to organize the papers in front of you while you discreetly gave him a once-over, making mental notes to yourself. He wore a Rolex on his left wrist. That told you that his last job had paid well enough to be able to afford one- either that or his parents came from money. You had a lot of trust-fund kids wasting your time today, you hoped he wasn’t another. Your office already reeked of nepotism and you just wanted this new hire to be on your side of things.

He was rather handsome too. Smartly dressed, sharp jawline, hair that was just barely tamed by gel, warm brown eyes that crinkled up in the corners when he smiled- you had to remind yourself not to stare.

“Alright, Soonyoung, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” The question always tasted bitter when you asked it and it was hard not to cringe. It was the most basic question in the book, but it was a good way to get to know what kind of an employee someone was.

“Uh, well, I just moved here from Seoul. I got in yesterday afternoon and still have loads to unpack, but I’m hoping to adjust quick. I was an Executive Consultant for five years at my last firm, and had just been promoted to Executive Manager last spring.” He paused to think. “What else... I really love to golf on my days off, and if I’m not golfing I’m usually at home watching movies.”

“A lot of our clients like to golf,” you commented off-handedly. “Are you any good?”

Soonyoung shrugged, smiling humbly. “I’m decent. I haven’t had the chance to play for real in a while.”

“Why’s that?” you were aware you were moving away from interview territory, but you told yourself it was relevant enough to pursue.

“Most of my recent games were taking clients out to golf at my old firm. I had to play like shit on purpose so they’d win and we’d close a deal.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe they were just better than you?” you asked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes the tiniest bit, but kept a polite smile on his face. “Trust me, I had to try very hard to lose.”

“So you had a pretty successful closing rate?”

“About twenty-six percent.”

You tried to hide your surprise, nodding as if that was a completely normal closing rate for your company.

“May I ask why you moved?” you continued.

“I’ve lived in Seoul my entire life. I wanted a change of scenery, I suppose.”

“Moving across the globe without the security of a job? That seems like quite a big risk.”

He gave another shrug. “What’s life without a few risks?”

You nodded, writing what he’d said down on the yellow notepad in front of you. Soonyoung shifted in his seat, subtly craning his neck to see across the table at what you were jotting down.

“Moving on,” you said and flipped the notebook over abruptly. The slap of the movement startled Soonyoung momentarily and he only let the deer-in-the-headlights look cross his features for a second before recomposing himself. “Do you consider yourself to be a leader or a follower?”

“I’m a switch,” he answered easily, eyes only widening in realization once the sentence left his mouth. “I mean, I can switch. I was in a management position at my last job, but I still had plenty of superiors to answer to. I started at an entry level in that company and worked my way up, so I have experience with both.”

“And do you have any qualms with being a subordinate to a woman? I ask because if you’re offered the position I would be your boss.”

Soonyoung shook his head in response, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Like I said.”

The rest of the interview passed by smoothly, and you didn’t realize how much time had passed until you glanced up at the clock above the door. You straightened the stack of papers in front of you to indicate that you were wrapping things up and stood from your chair to shake Soonyoung’s hand again.

“To be completely candid, Mr. Kwon- Soonyoung, you are overqualified for this position. However, our company offers plenty of mobility and your starting salary would be almost equal to your previous one. If you’re interested, I’d like to set up a follow-up interview with you tomorrow.”

Soonyoung smiled, and there went the crinkles of his eyes again, softening the sharpness of his features and making him look a couple years younger. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

“Great. On your way out you can schedule a time to meet with Carolina.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he assured you. “Thank you again.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?” you hoped the question didn’t sound too hopeful.

“See you tomorrow.”

You went home feeling a thousand times better than you had that morning. The rest of the interviews had been a blur, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Soonyoung. He surpassed all of the other candidates in almost every aspect, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

You knew your attraction to him was a problem. You couldn’t hire someone just because you thought they were hot. It was insanely biased, and extremely inappropriate, yet you couldn’t shake the thought of him from your mind. You would be crossing every line in the existence of lines by sleeping with him- that was, if he even felt the same way about you. It would be an unethical use of power, and totally unprofessional so you resolved not to even think about him in that way. Because there was no way around it. He was the best candidate for the job and a perfect addition to your team. You couldn’t not hire him.

The route home usually took about half an hour, but you walked at a faster pace this time because you were supposed to have dinner with a colleague at your apartment and you needed time to cook so there’d be food on the table when he got there.

You made it home in half the time, and kicked off your shoes by the door like you usually did, but kept your work clothes on.

To say you were unprepared for this dinner was an understatement. You barely had anything in your pantry and your cooking skills were subpar at best. Add the time crunch into the equation and it was a recipe for disaster. You could only throw a pot of water on the stove and crack open a jar of marinara sauce and hope for the best.

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide as he walked out of the interview. He needed to remind himself that the job wasn’t his yet. He still had another interview to get through. Still, he figured a follow-up to be somewhat of a success and a good enough reason to treat himself to pizza.

By the time he made it back to his apartment it was almost dark out. His interview had been in the morning, but after walking two miles to get to the pizzeria he’d found on Yelp, getting on the wrong train twice and missing his stop, it was well into the afternoon. He was glad he’d ordered a whole pizza so he could have the leftovers for dinner, and wouldn’t have to venture out into the city again.

The cardboard boxes sprawled across his living room floor were an unwelcome sight, taunting him with their unlabeled contents, but he tried not to think about it. He deserved at least an hour of rest before he started unpacking again.

He pushed one of the heavier ones into the center of the room to use as a table and set the pizza box on top of it. After changing back into a t-shirt and sweats he settled on the floor with a grunt, twisting the cap off a bottle of beer with the hem of his shirt. He took a sip and let the bubbles soothe his throat.

He stared off out the window, attention snapping to the apartment across from his. Soonyoung realized he hadn’t thought about the girl in the window all day, and silently patted himself on the back for it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to live with, and he wouldn’t have to spiral into a pattern of self-loathing every time he found himself looking. As long as he kept himself in check.

He let himself look for a little longer, promising himself that he would look away if he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to. The lights were on, like they had been last night, but he didn’t see the woman. He scanned the array of windows until he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. She wasn’t alone tonight. There was another person at the table with her, a man.

Soonyoung bit his lip and tried to ignore the way his heart sank. He didn’t even know this person, didn’t even know what her face looked like and here he was getting jealous of another person he didn’t know.

He tore his gaze away from the window and stared down at the floor.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself and took another bite of his pizza even though he had lost his appetite.

People had crushes on strangers all the time. His would fade and soon he wouldn’t even be thinking of whoever it was in that apartment across the way. And if things went well with tomorrow’s interview, he had you. He hadn’t expected to be interviewed by someone his age, let alone someone as pretty as you. It had caught him off guard in the best way possible, and he found himself hanging onto every word you said.

But he wouldn’t be able to act on his feelings with you either, because if he was hired you would be his boss. And it would be completely inappropriate to harbor feelings like that for a colleague. He’d only lived here for a day. He would meet someone eventually. He just needed to give it time.

Joshua Hong wasn’t in town for long. He never was. You wondered why he bothered flying all the way to New York for a few conferences when he could just join them online, but he insisted that having face-to-face interactions were important for interpersonal connections and relationship building and so on.

Secretly, you believed the real reason to be that he missed you and your colleagues on the east coast and used business as an excuse to see you. He had lived in New York for a few years before moving to the LA division of your company. The shift in the dynamic of your team had taken a toll, and it took you months to forgive him for leaving. The first few times he came back to visit were nearly impossible to endure. Everyone was happy to see him, but you. You faked a smile and played along, but your relationship had never fully recovered.

Maybe it was because you’d always had a little crush on him, or because no one was there to take his place, leaving your team dividing his workload amongst yourselves with no additional compensation. The position you were currently hiring for actually used to be Joshua’s. It had taken nine months to convince the CEO to finally fill it, and he only agreed after one of your coworkers threatened to sue over breach of contract.

Even though you were certain that you and Joshua would never be as close as you had once been again, he still had you wrapped around his finger in some ways because you could never say no to him. When he’d asked to have dinner with you under the guise of work, you’d agreed on instinct, not considering how tired you would be or how strenuous it would be to see him again.

“This is really good,” Joshua complimented, twirling spaghetti around on his fork.

“You’re just saying that,” you countered and rolled your eyes as you sipped your wine.

“I’m not!”

“Please, I know LA has ruined you and turned you into a food snob. I watch your Instagram stories.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love a good classic.”

“You and I both know this marinara is from a jar.”

He chuckled. “So? That doesn’t change the fact that it’s good.”

“Whatever.”

Joshua gave you an amused smile from across the table and placed his fork back down on his plate. “So I hear they’re finally replacing me?”

You nodded. “They are. ‘They’ being me.”

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Anyone promising?”

“There’s this guy, Soonyoung, who might fit.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s Korean, actually just moved here. He’s pretty charismatic too, but not in a sleazy salesman way. Kind of like you.”

“Is he better than me?” Joshua pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“You know there’s no way to tell that yet,” you chided. “But he shows promise.”

“Let me see his profile.”

You shook your head. “Sorry, but you don’t have the clearance to see it.”

Joshua’s eyes widened like he couldn’t believe you were saying no to him, probably because he rarely heard it from you. “What, do we work in a government agency all of the sudden?”

“I have a lot riding on this hire, Joshua. I can’t let anything screw it up.” He seemed to surrender at that, nodding in understanding. “Did you ask me to dinner just to grill me about the new guy?”

“No! I wanted to see you,” he paused, “and make sure that you wouldn’t forget about me when I was replaced.”

You sighed, giving him a tired, perhaps wistful look. “Trust me, I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Joshua left around eleven, after several glasses of wine and helping you with the dishes. As much as you hated to admit it, you missed him. But you needed to move on, in more ways than one.

You stripped as soon as you locked the door behind him and threw your work clothes into the laundry basket.

You were a little tipsy from the wine, but you still had work to do before you could go to sleep. There was paperwork to finalize, and you still had to draft a rejection email for all of the candidates who weren’t moving on in the interviewing process.

You grabbed your briefcase and returned to the kitchen table, rolling your neck as you realized you had another long night ahead of you.

Soonyoung wasn’t aware that he was staring until the man stood from his seat and took the dishes from the table to the sink. The sudden motion pulled him back to reality and reminded him that he was sitting alone in the dark once again. He cursed under his breath and chugged the rest of his beer.

His pizza had gone cold in the time he’d spent trying to determine the relationship between the man and the woman in the apartment across from his. He couldn’t tell what they were, and not being able to read their facial expressions made it even harder.

He watched as they washed dishes shoulder to shoulder, telling himself that it was no different from people watching, which was untrue since the people in question weren’t in public, but he ignored the guilt twisting in his stomach and continued to watch. At least no one was naked this time.

The woman’s shoulders moved up and down in laughter, suggesting the man had said something funny. But then she was walking him to the door and letting him out, and that was it. Show was over.

So they weren’t together. At least, not yet. Soonyoung hated himself for the conclusion he’d just drawn, and he hated himself even more for feeling relieved.

Soonyoung leaned back to reach the lamp that was still on the floor and flicked it on so that he could see. He shoved the leftover pizza into the back of his fridge and returned to the living room to try and get a little more unpacking done.

He started with one of the boxes he’d opened the day before when he had been in search of his suits, and began sorting through its contents. He allowed himself another glance at the window to check if the man had returned, only to see the woman completely naked. Again.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he groaned and forcefully turned his eyes to the floor. He needed to buy some curtains as soon as possible because there was no way he would be able to be a respectful neighbor otherwise.

He blinked the image of her silhouette from his mind, trying not to dwell on the thought of her sitting at her kitchen table with nothing between her thighs and the chair.

He couldn’t focus. Every time he tried to get back to the task at hand his thoughts went to her. It was getting pathetic.

One more look. One more and then never again.

It seemed like a simple enough resolution and he promised God he would go to confession at the end of the week- even though it had been years since he’d been to mass.

He gave in to his curiosity and gave the window one final, longing glance. The woman was still at the table, concentrating on something in front of her. But something else caught Soonyoung’s attention this time. It was a snakeskin briefcase that sat on the table next to her. He had only noticed it because of the gold details on the bag that reflected the light, just like the one you-

A thousand different emotions flooded Soonyoung’s senses as the realization set in. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. There was no way-

It had to be a coincidence. Had to be. Two people could have the same briefcase... and the same body... and the same hair. As he thought back to his interview earlier that day he saw more and more similarities between you and the girl in the window.

He definitely needed to go to confession now. Not only had he been staring in the window of some naked woman, the woman might just be his future boss.

He felt sick, and despite it all he felt the familiar burn of arousal flicker to life in his stomach. There was no way he’d be getting any sleep tonight.

Soonyoung seemed different. Yesterday he had been confident, charming, and on top of every question you threw at him. Today, he seemed nervous. He was fidgety and distracted. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. He kept his gaze trained on your briefcase instead, refusing to take his eyes off of it.

You had been so sure that he was the one, but now you were thinking you might have to start from scratch.

“Soonyoung, are you okay?” you asked, your frustration turning into concern when he failed to answer your question for the third time. “Do you need me to repeat the question again?”

He looked up at you finally, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I- I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- fuck,” he paused to take a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know how to put this, but I think... we’re neighbors.”

“Oh, you live in my building?”

You didn’t see a problem with that. You weren’t sure why it was something he would be tearing himself up over either.

“No, I don’t.”

“So... then how would we be neighbors?”

He averted his gaze again and swallowed harshly. “I live in the high-rise across from yours.”

You raised your eyebrows in question, feeling your pulse jump in warning. Your fingers inched toward the phone, ready to call security at a moment’s notice.

“And fuck, I really wanted this job, but um, I only know that because my apartment is literally right across from yours. And you have a lot of windows... that I can see into.”

You let his words sink in, hand retreating from the phone. “Oh my god.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to look or anything, I promise. Your windows are just so big. I didn’t even want to come in today because I felt so bad about it, but I figured you should know that it was possible to see into your apartment. Like other people might also be able to see you too. I just came to tell you that because I don’t think I’d be able to live my life just knowing that information and not telling you.” Soonyoung stopped talking finally, giving you an opportunity to respond. The tips of his ears were red with embarrassment and he looked like he wanted to jump out the window.

You were covering your mouth with shock by now, absolutely mortified. “I am so sorry,” you yelped. “I had no idea, oh my god. I hope you don’t feel... violated or anything.”

“Oh, not at all,” he assured you. “I felt the opposite, actually- I mean, I hope you don’t feel violated.” He stood from his chair before you could say anything else. “Anyway, thank you for your time.”

Soonyoung kicked himself the whole way to the subway station. That job had been the best opportunity he had at breaking into the industry here in New York and he’d fucked it. He could’ve kept his big mouth shut and pretended like everything was normal- but just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of his throat.

No, he was glad he had been honest. It just sucked that he’d lost such a good position, and ruined whatever nonexistent chance he had with you.

When he got home he threw all of his energy into unpacking. He was determined to make a real dent in the pile of boxes this time, and then maybe afterward fill out some job applications.

His apartment was actually starting to look livable by the time he took a break to eat leftover pizza for dinner. He’d unwrapped the plastic covering and bubble wrap from his couch so that he actually had a place to sit now, and he’d found a standing lamp to replace the table lamp sitting on the floor.

He was about to move on to a box full of clothes when he risked taking a look over at your apartment. To his surprise, you were standing in your living room, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. He furrowed his eyes in confusion, wondering why you were still choosing to walk around your apartment undressed with the knowledge that he could see you. But before he could look away his phone started buzzing in his pocket. It was an unsaved number, but he suddenly had the feeling he knew who it was.

“Hello?”

“Soonyoung?”

He recognized the voice immediately, and snapped his attention back over to the windows where he could see you looking back this time, phone pressed to your ear.

“Y/n.” He realized he had never called you by your first name before, and hoped you weren’t offended by it.

“The job’s yours if you want it.”

He blinked, staring right at you. “What?”

“The position. It’s yours if you want it. You were the best candidate by far and I think you’d make a great addition to the team.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am.” He heard you take a breath before continuing. “You have time to think it over, of course. Let me know by the weekend.”

“I don’t need time to think,” he heard himself say.

“No?”

“No. I’ll take it.” “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked, reaching behind you and unclipping your bra. You caught the fabric and pressed it against your chest so that it wouldn’t slip down.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if I’m overstepping.”

“You’re not overstepping,” he breathed, hand already traveling down to the waistband of his shorts.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He watched with a slack jaw as you let the bra fall to the floor. You moved to the couch and draped yourself over it, opening your legs to give him a view of your whole body, from your pussy up to your neck. He pulled off his shirt and shimmied out of his shorts quickly so that you were on an even playing field. It was still uneven in his opinion. You were so beautiful, he felt inadequate in comparison. But the moan you let out upon seeing him shirtless boosted his ego the tiniest bit.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured quietly into the phone.

“I don’t want to stop,” Soonyoung admitted.

“Me either.”

His breath caught in his throat as you pulled your panties down and let them join your bra on the floor. He was too far away to see anything in detail, but he could imagine. You brought a hand down in between your legs, spreading your wetness around with your fingers.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He was hard. He was so hard that it was starting to hurt, and all he could think about was running his cock through your folds. Being the one to make your back arch off the couch like it was now.

He spat into his palm and began working his hand up and down his cock, sighing in relief.

“You sound so pretty,” you echoed, and Soonyoung straight up whimpered in response. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “God, I wish I had your fingers instead of mine. They’re so much longer.”

“Guess you’ll just have to imagine them,” Soonyoung said, finding his voice out of nowhere. It was your turn to whimper. “Picture them working you open, stretching you for my cock.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked hoarsely.

“Yeah?”

“Come over.”

“Fuck, right now?”

“Yes right now. I need you,” you whined. “Fiftieth floor, the door code is 0716.”

He heard the phone click as you hung up and that was all it took. He scrambled for his pants and shirt that he’d thrown somewhere in the room, tripping when he tried to jump into both legs of his shorts at the same time. He rushed out into the hallway and pressed the down button on the elevator repeatedly, like it would make it come any faster.

He tried to act like he wasn’t out of breath and held his hands together in front of his crotch in an attempt to hide his erection. The other people on the elevator ignored him, only addressing him to ask which floor he was going to.

Soonyoung swore he’d never run so fast in his entire life. He dodged taxis, bikers, and pedestrians as he crossed the street illegally and made it to the elevator of your building right before the doors shut.

You had put on a sheer robe while you waited for Soonyoung, not wanting to open the door completely naked, but you were beginning to have second thoughts. You were officially Soonyoung’s boss now, which meant that having sex with him was at the very top of the list of things you shouldn’t do. It would no doubt be considered a gross misuse of power, and to make matters worse he had literally just been hired. His first experience with you shouldn’t be in bed-

You heard the lock click and turned around to see Soonyoung standing in your doorway. He was breathing hard and practically dripping with sweat. All doubts about crossing the line vanished when you looked into his eyes and saw how dark they were. He hadn’t even said anything, yet you knew how much he wanted you.

Even more evident was the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his sweat shorts. You tried not to stare, but you figured it was only fair, given how he was staring at you.

Soonyoung let the door shut behind him before approaching you. His hands trembled as he brought them up to your shoulders, like he was unsure of where to start. He slipped his thumbs under the hem of your robe finally and you shivered at the contact. You bit your lip and nodded at him to keep going.

He pulled the fabric down off your shoulders and let the robe pool at your feet. You looked down at it and then back up at him expectantly. He took the cue to follow and yanked his shirt off over his head, followed by his shorts so that he was in his underwear.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice sounded an octave lower than it had been over the phone and it made your knees weak.

“Please,” you choked out.

He placed one hand on your cheek and tilted your head to the side, pressing his lips to yours. It was needy and desperate, strung with promises of what was to follow. His peppermint chapstick made your lips tingle and you leaned in, deepening the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist as he took control, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Soonyoung’s hands made their way down to your ass and squeezed, making you yelp in surprise. He chuckled against your mouth and broke away from the kiss.

“Should we move this to my bedroom?” you asked, breathless.

Soonyoung shook his head. “I want to take you here.”

“Where?”

“Here,” he repeated and nodded toward the windows.

“O-okay,” you agreed, a little unsure on the mechanics of how it would work. But Soonyoung seemed confident, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand.

“C’mere,” he said. “I know you said you wanted my fingers, but I’m dying for a taste of you,” he admitted. “Is that okay?”

You nodded desperately as you watched Soonyoung sink to his knees in front of you. He pushed his hair back with his hand and used the other to hike your leg up over his shoulder. You felt his breath on your clit before anything else, felt the way he was hovering inches in front of your cunt like a goddamn tease.

“Soonyoung, please,” you begged.

You jolted when he suddenly buried his face in between your thighs, letting out a strangled moan as his tongue circled your clit. It was all too much and you had to pull on his hair to maintain your balance. Soonyoung didn’t seem to mind too much, in fact it only spurred him on as he moved even further down and began to tongue fuck you.

His nose bumped against your clit as he worked his tongue in and out of you and it was all you could do not to black out from the pleasure. You braced yourself against the window with one hand, trying to hold off the orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

“Soonyoung, wait,” you cried and tugged him away from your pussy by his hair.

He jutted his lip out in a pout and frowned like he was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to finish you off. His chin was glistening in your arousal and his lips were pink and swollen from sucking on your clit.

“I want you inside of me,” you pleaded. “Please, Soonyoung?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose from his knees, smirking as he took the advantage of height back.

“Of course, angel,” he said, pulling you closer so that he could kiss you again. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue, ignoring the way he laughed at your neediness. “Turn around for me, love,” he instructed as he pushed his boxers down. “Hands on the window.”

You did as you were told and bent over. Soonyoung’s hand made contact with your ass just once, the harsh smack echoing throughout the room. You cried out, body shaking even when he ran a hand over the mark to soothe it.

He took his time lining himself up with you, wanting to tease you as much as possible before he finally gave you what you wanted. You tried pushing yourself back against him, but he was having none of it and put you back in your place every time.

“I didn’t take you for a brat,” he mused.

“I didn’t take you for a tease,” you bit back through gritted teeth.

“Yes you did.”

“Fine, but I didn’t take you for someone who was all talk and no follow-through.”

That seemed to work because Soonyoung pushed himself inside you as soon as the sentence left your mouth. You lurched forward, hands on the window slipping as you cursed him out.

“What were you saying?” he taunted, running a hand down your exposed back.

“N-nothing!”

“That’s what I thought.”

He gave you a few moments to adjust to his size, but you were too impatient to wait and began fucking yourself on his cock, desperate for the release that had built up when he was going down on you. Soonyoung brought his hand down against your ass again and stilled your hips.

“Did I say you could move?” he demanded. “Answer me.”

“No!”

“Then why did you?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your cock-” you choked out, “felt so good. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, darling. You’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He seemed satisfied with your answer and thrust into you once, then again, slowly building up to a steady rhythm.

For a moment or two all that could be heard was the slapping of skin and your shaky gasps. Soonyoung’s cock was bigger than you expected, and each time he hit your g-spot you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure.

You weren’t even trying to hold back your moans at this point, too fucked out to care. Soonyoung let a hand wrap around the front of your body and travel up to your throat. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, pressing it against your lips for you to suck on.

You took it into your mouth eagerly, letting him push it further and further until you were practically gagging on it. When he was satisfied with your work he took his finger out of your mouth and wrapped the same hand around your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you whined.

“Are you close?” Soonyoung asked, likely because he was also teetering on the edge.

“Yes, so close.”

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he pressed, tightening his grip on your neck. “Think anyone watching you get fucked like a slut against the window deserves to see you cum?”

“No one can see me,” you insisted. “It was only you.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, feeling like the invisible string inside of you would snap at any second.

“You could have a whole audience and not even know it, y/n. What do you think, should we give them a show?”

All you could do was nod as he continued to pound into you from behind, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Soonyoung, please let me cum I can’t hold it-” you gasped as you tipped over the edge before he could respond, clenching around his cock harder than you knew you were capable of. It felt as if you were falling from the window of your apartment, hurtling toward the ground some fifty stories below.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Soonyoung muttered, his hips faltering.

“Cum inside me, please cum inside me,” you begged. “I’m on the pill you can cum inside me.”

He came with a groan of your name, pumping his cum further into you with every thrust. “So fucking tight,” he sighed as he continued to lazily rock his hips into yours. “Is your poor cunt so sensitive now?” he asked, voice dripping with fake sympathy.

“Yes,” you answered quietly, feeling tears prick in the corners of your eyes at the overstimulation.

Soonyoung pulled out of you finally, making you whimper at the empty feeling. He chuckled and helped you stand up straight, ready to catch you if your legs gave out.

“That’s what you get for cumming without permission,” he said.

“You’re an asshole,” you mumbled, eyes only half open. “I’m your boss. You should let me cum whenever I want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Soonyoung assured you.

You watched as he picked up his clothes from around your living room and wondered if you had just ruined everything. Once he was dressed he made his way back over to you and kissed you chastely on the lips. The kiss didn’t help you relax at all. It only confused your feelings for him even more.

“See you monday?” you asked hopefully. If nothing else, you hoped he would still accept the position for the sake of your team, even if things between you were awkward and he never wanted to sleep with you again-

“See you monday,” he repeated in confirmation. “And next round’s at my place.”

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