#Fate & Alcohol

[jmunneytumbler]

Entertainment To-Do List: Week of 10/18/24

Keepin’ it poppin’ (CREDIT: CBS/Screenshot) Every week, I list all the upcoming (or recently released) movies, TV shows, albums, podcasts, etc. that I believe are worth checking out. Movies –Anora (Theaters) –Goodrich (Theaters) –Smile 2 (Theaters) –Woman of the Hour (October 18 on Netflix) – Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut. TV –Happy’s Place Series Premiere (October 18 on NBC) –…

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Rock Me - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer decides to surprise Rockstar!Reader on the road after one of her tour stops, so they fuck each other’s brains out.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I made my first custom fic header! I really wanted to capture the vibe I was picturing for this so I hope y’all like it! Decided to combine my love of music with my love for Spencer Reid, I was def picturing the vibes of The Pretty Reckless and In This Moment for the kind of band reader is the frontwoman of, reader plays the bass guitar because I always wanted to play bass when I was younger lol. Very short outro cuz I felt like it was getting a little too long lol, p.s. yes the title is a one direction song, fight me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: sub!spencer, mommy kink, established relationship, lots of teasing, playfully mean dom!reader, degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, penetration, afab + fem reader, slight alcohol mention, cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob, typical criminal minds level violence at the beginning.

Rating: R, 18+

——

You were a force of nature. Spencer knew that from the moment the team walked into that concert venue in search of a serial killer targeting high profile rock musicians. Your voice captivated him, strong melodies reverberating inside his mind, snaking around his every thought, he was hypnotized like a sailor drawn to your siren song.

When the unsub ran on stage and held a knife to your throat, Spencer’s heart stopped, until you used the headstock of your bass to uppercut the criminal, forcing him to drop the knife and stumble back into your bandmate’s drum set. You weren’t going to wait for someone to rescue you no matter what you were ordered to do, your fate was in no one’s hands but your own.

That was the moment Spencer knew he had to have you, and he’d do whatever it took to see you as often as possible. He spent the next six months bouncing back and forth across the country, from whatever state the latest case was in to wherever your next tour stop was. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Now, as he waited anxiously on your tour bus with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand ready to surprise you, he found his mind wandering back to every dirty encounter the two of you had leading up to this. He catered to your every whim, falling to his knees to eat you out whenever you asked, in your dressing room before a show, in the bathroom on the moving tour bus, even side stage right after you’d just finished performing, smelling like smoke and sweat, ripping your fishnets so he could devour your cunt on top of an amp.

What the two of you had was utterly filthy, and he loved every second of it. You hadn’t given him the pleasure of properly fucking you yet, but that’s not to say you disregarded his pleasure all together, far from it. You loved to let him put on a show for you, sitting on the bench across from him on the bus as you watched his brow furrow, his large hand fisting his cock impossibly slowly as you talked him through masturbation, reveling in the way he whimpered when you finally gave him permission to cum, shooting a massive load all over his lightly toned stomach.

He felt free with you, like he could lull the constant noise in his head for a short while and just be whatever you wanted in the moment, whether that be a loving boyfriend who’d hold you and let you bitch to your heart's content about your in-ears malfunctioning during the show, or a mere tool for your pleasure, he was content.

But right now, he was really, really hoping you’d use him like your own personal sex toy.

-

You raised your bass in the air, screaming an enthusiastic ‘goodnight!’ into your mic before running off stage, desperate to rip your clothes off and cool down after sweating your ass off under the stage lights for the last hour and a half.

You handed off your gear to the sound techs before saying congratulatory goodbyes to your band mates, making as close to an irish exit as you could, shaking off any fleeting guilt you had about it knowing you’d do the whole thing over again together in a couple days when you arrived in the next city.

You grabbed your bag from your dressing room, taking a couple snacks for the road from the basket the venue provided in accordance with your rider before heading out to the bus, ready to take a cold shower as soon as possible. You yanked open the bus door handle, climbing the short steps into the central seating area, nearly dropping your bag when you finally saw him.

“Spence!” You cheered, a little too giddy to see your boy wonder. You quickly tossed your bag aside and straddled his lap, taking his face in your hands and crashing your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue danced with his, desperate to taste him after two weeks of no physical content. Spencer had sent you as many tribute videos as you’d asked for while you were apart, but it just wasn’t the same as getting to feel him.

When you pulled away, the deep red of your lipstick was smeared across his plush lips, and you would’ve giggled if the sight hadn’t turned you on so much. He really was so pretty, you absolutely understood why his teammates nicknamed him pretty boy. You kissed him one more time on the cheek, placing a perfect kiss print on his soft skin before reaching for the flowers he’d brought you. You took in the fresh floral scent, admiring the flora for a moment before thanking him and getting up to put the stems in the neck of an empty liquor bottle in lieu of a vase.

“I’ve missed you.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched your handiwork over your shoulder.

“Not more than I missed you.” You challenged, setting the makeshift floral arrangement on the small countertop. You turned to face him, your platform boots putting you right at his eyeline. He may have been taller than you but that didn’t stop the hold you had over him.

“It doesn’t have to be a competition.” He laughed, pulling you closer.

“But it does Spence, do you know how many times I got off stage and wished you were there to see the killer show we put on?” You were earnest, something only he seemed to be able to pull out of your usually headstrong facade.

“Ah, every show you put on is extraordinary, watching you is transcendent, you’re otherworldly up there, even on what you consider your bad days.” He praised, showering you with his famously flowery language. You felt a special appreciation for it, because despite the messy rocker chick stereotype, you held a life-long love of literature close to your heart.

“God, you are so whipped!” You teased, lightly pushing at his chest. Despite your deflection, the blush creeping across your cheeks showed him just how much his words meant to you.

“Maybe, but I know you love it.” He called your bluff and the back and forth was starting to stir something in you that needed attention, now.

“You know what I missed the most?” You asked, unable to keep your eyes off of his mouth.

“What?” He knew where you were going with this but needed to hear the words from your perfect lips.

“Seeing you cum all over your stomach live and in person.” Your sultry tone sent blood rushing straight to his cock, eidetic memory pulling clips of your mutual masturbation to the front of his mind.

“W-what if I came somewhere else tonight?” He stumbled over his words, having a hard time maintaining eye contact as he asked the awkwardly worded question.

“Like where?” You played dumb, exaggeratingly tilting your head and twirling your hair around your finger.

“Inside you.” He whispered, gaze locked on the wall behind you.

“Hmm I didn’t quite hear that, can you repeat it for me?”

“Inside you, I want to fuck you.” He blurted out, lipstick-stained cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. You took his chin between your fingers, forcing him to look at you as you pondered your next move.

“I have a mountain of fan mail full of guys begging for the opportunity to fuck me, what makes you think you deserve it more than any of them?” You prompted, watching the way his features contorted in reaction to your somewhat harsh question.

“You’re being mean.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, brown irises glazing over as a lump formed in his throat. Despite how sad the thought made him, it also had his bulge straining even harder against his pants than it already had been.

“I know baby, but you’ve gotta prove how badly you want this, I’m not just going to give you the privilege without earning it.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt debating what he could do to demonstrate his worth to you. His demeanor started to shift, holding eye contact as his shoulders straightened, practically puffing out his chest.

“I think I’ve already proven myself to you, given that you’ve cum on my tongue more times than you could count.” This sudden surge of confidence from Spencer was unexpected, but something about it had you hungrier for him than ever.

“Fair, although I do think that eidetic memory of yours gives you an unjust advantage.” You teased, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. You took a step forward, closing what small gap was left between the two of you before bringing your hand to graze over his bulge. He let out a breathy whimper, pupils dilating as you applied slight pressure to his almost painfully hard member.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I just need you to touch me.” He breathed, bucking into your hand. You began to undo his belt, pushing him back until he fell back onto the leather bench. You loomed over him, low cut top giving him a face full of cleavage as you worked to slide his pants down just enough to free his aching cock. You moved to straddle his lap, sitting back on his thighs to leave ample space to toy with his member.

“Can you be a good boy for me?” You purred, starting to pump your spit-covered hand up and down his shaft.

“God yes.”

“Yes, what?” You stared him down, watching his lips part with a gentle moan.

“Yes Mommy.” The groan ripped from his throat, prominent veins framing his adam's apple.

“That’s right baby, let mommy take care of you.” You kissed his cheekbone, then his jawline, admiring the way your crimson lipstick contrasted against his pale complexion as you worked your hand over his cock, feeling every curve and contour of his thick veins against your palm.

“Take off your shirt.” You ordered, your free hand skirting under his layered vest and button-up to feel his abdominal muscles flex with every shallow breath he took. He did his best to quickly undress, lifting the vest over his head before shaky hands began unbuttoning each adornment, finally shaking off the garment and exposing his bare chest.

You trailed your kisses down his neck, peppering lip prints across his chest, stopping periodically to suck and nip until dark red and purple bruises bloomed over his skin. You could tell he was holding back, front teeth biting into his bottom lip to stifle his sighs.

“Spencer, I need to hear you.” You bring your hand to a stop, waiting for him to release his lip from the bite before starting up your movements again. You brought your other hand down to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you increased your speed, rotating your wrist to maximize the stimulation against his increasingly sensitive shaft.

The moans and whimpers falling from his lips grew louder, his mind abandoning all inhibitions as his approaching orgasm clouded his judgment.

“You’re so loud, the rest of the band is in the bus right next to ours, do you want them to hear how big of a whore you’re being right now?” You teased, snapping him out of his love-drunk stupor.

“I-I thought you wanted me to-“ He stuttered out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re right sweet boy, I want them to hear exactly how good I make you feel.” You cut him off, a wicked grin spread across your face as you focused your movements on the tip of his cock, your thumb smearing the pre-cum dripping from his slit all over the swollen head. His moan caught in his throat, breathing becoming increasingly labored until one final twist of your hand had him falling over the edge.

“Mommy!” He cried out, his thighs flexing as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. You slowed your movements just slightly, milking him for all he has. You took your free hand and picked up some of his spend on your fingers before bringing them to his parted lips, prompting him to suck them clean. He does as he’s told, utterly shameless about everything he does for you.

“You’re such an obedient slut Spencer, I love it.” You praised, pulling him into another heated kiss. You pulled away, watching him catch his breath and look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky.

“I think you’re ready for me, if you’re up for it.” His eyes went wide at your proposal, his heart feeling as though it could beat right out of his chest.

“Yes, yes, I just need a minute.” He panted, his cock already semi-hard again.

“Take your time sugar, I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You patted his cheek before rising off of his lap and walking to the small bus bathroom, stripping out of your black latex mini dress and shredded fishnets to wash off the sweat and body shimmer from your time on stage tonight. You didn’t bother removing your makeup, too excited to finally have Spencer’s perfect cock inside of you to waste any time.

He didn’t need to know how badly you wanted him, the cat and mouse game the two of you played was unlike anything you’d ever had before and it beyond satisfied you to know how much power you willingly held over him, and how much pleasure you mutually received from it.

When you finished scrubbing down you made your way to your small bedroom at the back of the bus, finding Spencer ready and waiting for you on your bed. He was laying nude on top of the comforter, messy strands of hair resting against his forehead, pillow sitting in his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch for you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He greeted you, watching as you rubbed body lotion over your skin. When you reached your chest, you spent a little extra time kneading the lotion into your breasts, putting on a bit of a show for him. He loved all of you, that much you were sure of, but he always had a special appreciation for your breasts.

He’d find any opportunity to lay his head on your chest while you laid in bed together on your off days, watching Doctor Who and nerding out over through lines and plot holes alike. It was days like those that had you really falling for him, your souls finding ways to both mesh with and contradict each other in a perfect harmony.

“You’re too sweet to me.” You smiled at him, rubbing the last bit of lotion into your skin before walking to the end of the bed. You reached forward, observing as his eyes went straight to your chest when you bent over to pull the pillow away from his lap. His cock stood straight up, bobbing slightly. A deep blush creeped over his cheeks, his shyness endearing, especially given that you had just had your hand wrapped around him twenty minutes ago.

“Do you want to be on top, sweetheart?” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he just figured you’d be the one in control of the whole thing, but the thought of hovering over you, getting to have a perfect view of your hair all splayed out over the pillows, your face contorted in pleasure, had goosebumps rising over his skin.

“If that’s what you want.” He surrendered, always looking to please you. You nodded, climbing onto the bed to lay down, waiting for him to reposition himself between your legs. He knelt there, reaching to grab the pillow from the end of the bed, bringing it behind your thighs. You understood what he was silently requesting, lifting your hips to allow him to slide the pillow underneath.

“Where’d you learn that, wonder boy?” You giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows to watch him.

“I read that it can ease the tension on the lower back created by repeated movement during intercourse, I want you to be comfortable.” He explained, bleeding heart showing once again. You nodded, smiling at him. His fingers slid up your thigh, pausing at the apex before dipping into your folds, his digits welcomed by your warm arousal.

“Y-you’re so wet already.” The look of amazement on his face amused you, as if he was somehow completely unaware that you were, in fact, truly attracted to him.

“Spencer, believe it or not, I actually do enjoy our time together.” You teased, raising your knees to your chest to give him a better view of your cunt. His features softened, your joking easing his nerves as he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

“Can I start?” He asked, positioning his hips just above yours.

“Yes baby, go slow.” You locked eyes with him, pushing a strand of hair away from his face. He brought his cock to your cunt, rubbing the head through your folds before tapping it against your clit a few times, making absolutely positive that you were relaxed enough. He positioned his head at your entrance, slowly pushing forward until his head popped into your welcoming hole.

“Stop.” You commanded, voice firm. His eyes widened in panic, freezing his movements.

“W-what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He rambled, fear in his tone.

“I’m okay Spencer, I just want you to stay like that until I say otherwise.” He could hear the amusement in your tone and although he was no longer concerned, confusion quickly replaced it.

“Why?” He questioned, apprehensively obeying your request.

“I’m just doing whatever I want, just like you asked me to. I want to see if you can resist your urges.” He was almost annoyed, knowing that this was another one of your power plays, but the shiver that ran up his spine told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

So he stayed there, wincing every time you clenched your pelvic muscles around his tip, trying to break him. You knew it wouldn’t work, he was the definition of obedient, but it was oh so fun to watch him squirm in anticipation. After a good five minutes you decided you’d had enough, ready to let him fill you.

“You are so deliciously pathetic.” You laughed lightly, pulling him down into a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand snaking up your stomach to grope your breast. Your nipple hardened against his palm, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“Move, Spencer.” You finally gave him permission, your hand tangling in his messy locks. He pushed further into you, his thick girth stretching your walls in a way that had you begging for more.

“So tight.” He moaned, pausing to just feel the way your pussy hugged him before pulling out and thrusting quickly back into you, his eyes shut tight in concentration.

“Look at me.” You moaned, needing to see the pleasure in his beautiful eyes. His eyelids fluttered open, catching your gaze as he found a steady rhythm inside of you. Each thrust of his hips made the filthiest sound, wet slapping skin mixing with both of your moans, his whines and whimpering music to your ears.

The pillow beneath you made for the perfect angle, allowing the veins on this cock to rub deliciously against your sweet spot. He grabbed the side of your face, his mouth practically devouring you as he swallowed your moans. When we pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips fell to your chest, and without hesitation he dipped his head down to lick it up, repeating your earlier actions as me marked your chest, working his way to your breasts.

He increased his speed, pumping in and out of you at an animalistic pace, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking hungrily. You threw your head back into the pillows, your hands finding his back and your acrylics digging into his delicate skin. You scratched up his back, surely drawing blood and for a split second you worried you’d taken it too far, until he moaned loudly against your chest.

“I’m gonna cum.” He panted, shifting so his face was above yours again. He looked to you for permission, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“No, not until you beg for it.” You told him, digging your nails into his back again. He slowed his pace just slightly, his free hand finding your clit and rubbing quickly over it, hoping it would soften your conviction just a little.

“Please let me cum, I need it.” He weakly pleaded, his actions growing increasingly desperate.

“Come on baby, I know you can do better than that.” You encouraged him, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. He whimpered, hanging his head for a moment to center himself.

“Please Mommy!” He groaned, watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Do it, fill up Mommy’s cunt Spencer.” You finally allowed him to let go, getting in a few more hard thrusts before his hips stuttered, his cock twitching and coating your walls with his warm cum. The feeling of his warmth deep inside coupled with his hand on your clit sent you over the edge, every nerve in your body on fire as the tension in your core dispersed through your body, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

When you both came down from your highs, Spencer collapsed face down on the bed next to you, his head turned to face you.

“I love you.” He whispered, half hoping he’d said it low enough that you hadn’t heard.

“I love you too, Spence.” You returned the favor, any fear he had immediately dissipating with the mutual confession.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Destiny & The Destruction Of Fate

Destiny & The Destruction Of Fate https://ift.tt/Adz0beU by FallenAngelOfThursday Dean knows what happens if they lose to Lucifer. He's seen what becomes of his brother. Of Castiel. He knows the kind of man he's destined to become when the world dies because of him. It was always bigger than them. Whatever you do, we will always end up here. While Dean grieves for the brother imprisoned in his own body by the devil, Castiel hunts for the father who brought him back from the dead only to abandon them all. But the world is slowly ending around them, and sooner or later they have to accept that here at the end of all things, all they've got left is each other. It's the end, baby. There's nothing they can do but brace for the storm. Words: 3789, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Endverse Castiel/Endverse Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Camp Chitaqua (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, what if sam never broke through lucifer's hold in detroit, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Sharing a Room, dean's slutty little thigh holster, Falling in Love at the End of the World, the band ghost references, Self-Worth Issues, POV Dean Winchester, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Eventual Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/a2B43mC February 05, 2023 at 12:33PM

[anystalker707]

I need you

Pairing: Mikey x Vampire! Reader Word count: ~ 4 000 Genre: Angst / Comfort Warning: Blood / Death themes Summary: (Y/n) didn't mean for Mikey to find out they're a vampire that way, but now they need to deal with the consequences---Mikey also wants to be a vampire.

Requested by anon [ (...) I’ve always had this thing for vampire fics but to me, most are the same kind of thing. So what would happen if y/n, ( who is already a vampire) tells her boyfriend Mikey that she is one. (...) ]

This fic has TWO ENDINGS! Ending [A] and ending [B]. You'll know when you get there. Choose your fate.

Something thick hovers in the air, probably intensified by the loud music playing in the background—I can feel the bass drum in my chest at times—and the food smell that fills the room, faintly. It is almost like drowning in music. The warm colors cast by the stage lights and the fake smoke coming from the machines by them add up to this numb feeling. It is almost like being human again, in a way, almost.

This sensation takes place in my chest as Gerard’s voice travels around the room, trapped inside the small bar as the amps, as shitty as they are, are tuned a bit too loudly. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I allow myself to close my eyes for a moment while he stretches the word sunsets. I’m thankful I could fix them a place that doesn’t smell like pure alcohol or sweat and the payment isn’t about one percent of the total money made that night. Thank hell that they don’t know it was me who recommended them. I don’t need to be interrogated by Gerard again. I think the guys still need to get more used to me, even more after I started tagging along with them to the concerts—sometimes I wish I didn’t, given the basements they sometimes play in, with the exposed water pipes shuddering every time someone uses the water upstairs.

No matter what, even if I tag along with the only intent of supporting Mikey and his band, I can’t deny these concerts are more convenient than hunting, sometimes. Pulling a random bastard to the alley to get a few chugs from their blood is easier than needing to wait for the streets to empty or someone dare taking a walk through a remote area of the city. Still, it does take me some time to choose so I won’t accidentally bite someone who’s damn drunk.

I observe the dirty ground for a moment, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean back against the wall, and Mikey is looking at me when I look up, as if waiting for me to do it, finally cracking a smile after I hold his gaze for a few seconds before he looks away once again.

As much as I love watching Mikey and his band play, my dead lungs somehow plead for fresh air at the same time my throat aches around nothing with a dry swallow; I try to warn Mikey about it, at least motion that I’m going outside. He has his back to me, however, bending forward a little as he looks at the bass. It remains like this for a few seconds, so I simply start to step away, squeezing through the public until I make it past the guard by the front door, nodding at them.

The streets are quiet, receiving me with a ringing noise in my ears whilst I’m hugged by the cold air, fresh and nice. I take in a deep breath before I can look around, observing the cars parked down the side of the street, some of them halfly up the sidewalk, and aside from a couple of people smoking while leaning back against the wall, there’s someone talking on the phone—or whisper-yelling at it—while pacing around. With a last look to make sure we are the only ones here, I finally take a step towards them after they put the phone down.

Given how deafening the sound of My Chem’s music is in that damn club, I doubt anyone could hear the scream of the human when I pushed them into the alley. The way they could barely resist—not for lack of fight but of strength—how I immobilized them was something also very convenient, making it all a perfect situation if it weren’t for how salty their blood actually tasted; salty and... something else. They were nothing but a distraction to the hunger. I wish I knew the human’s health condition before I could actually do anything to them. Were they actually human, though?

Eventually, the person passes out from blood loss, though I make sure to leave just enough blood for them to continue alive, and that they’re at least a little hidden away in the shadows so no one will rob them before I go back inside the pub, cleaning around my mouth just in case.

The pub’s warmth feels uncomfortable now, but I try to pay little attention to it, squeezing past the people until I reach the spot I previously had been on, grabbing a glass of water from a waiter’s tray on the way. Mikey does look at me again, shoulders relaxing as his lips are released from the tight line they were pressed into.

This time, heavier notes fill the place instead as Gerard screams 'stand up fucking tall, and don’t let them...’ into the mic. Holy Mary. I sigh.

Some of the metallic taste remains in my mouth, between my gums and the inner side of my cheek, between my teeth and under my tongue. No one’s looking—and it wouldn’t make a difference if they did—, so I make sure to at least clean my teeth since as much as the pub’s lights are colored and dim, I doubt Mikey wouldn’t catch on the blood stains once we step under the fluorescent lights outside.

Someone almost falls on top of me, stepping backwards until they stumble and it almost sends them on my way, then they’re dancing again as if nothing had happened, with a clear cup of beer in hand. Danzig better start checking on the pub’s clientele again. I haven't even seen a single werewolf since I got here.

“...You can find us, uh...” Gerard’s words run one into the other as he speaks, mouth probably too close to the mic, “Mikey works at Barnes N’ Noble, and Frank’s at... y’know, that—”

“Staples,” Frank groans. Drunk again, I presume. I’m surprised at how they’re still able to play something by the end of some gigs, given how they practically down a bottle of cold beer for each song.

Hell, a cold drink. I need to drink something so bad, anything to wash down the salty, acid taste of that person’s blood.

“Yeah, and Geoff knows stuff,” Gerard sighs, and pauses. “Thanks for coming. Again, we’re My Chemical Romance, and... yeah.” He takes a step back, sharing a few looks with the guys before they’re finally walking away, each one starting to gather their things and put it away so they can load the van again. The silence coming from the band quickly gives place to the loud chatter that had been inaudible so far, now almost overwhelming before music starts coming from the speakers again, lower than the band’s was.

Mikey is the first one to have his stuff put away, like always, so he’s soon coming towards me and nodding to the front door whilst tugging on my hand.

Unlike earlier, the couple of guys aren’t smoking by the wall anymore, leaving the street empty as we head to the place where they once were, leaning back against the wall. This time it doesn’t feel so cold nor is it so quiet. I sigh, but the air escapes my throat as if it were spice because no, I couldn’t have been calmer and waited and thought better before attacking the first person I saw.

“So?” Mikey smiles, his shoulder touching mine lightly.

“Fucking awesome!” I grin, looking down just in case. “‘Saw you made sure to do your best this night, you even used the new bass.”

Mikey chuckles, nodding. “Yeah! I hope they ask us to come here more often, now!”

“Yeah, but you guys better not get used to the free drinks!” I roll my eyes, playfully glaring at him. “Hell, how can you guys even play when you’re mad drunk?” Not like it happened today, but witnessing Mikey also having a new bottle by the beginning of each song was also something very damn common sometime ago before I managed to talk him into at least doing it less. Or when I’m not around. Would beer taste better than that person’s blood?

A hum comes from Mikey in response as he shrugs. “No idea. We usually rehearse a lot, though, so... Wait, did I tell you about yesterday’s rehearsal? Like, Ray was sorta high...”

My brain simply stops processing what Mikey is saying at the moment he tilts his head to the side, exposing the pale skin of his neck. Fuck. I was thirsty before, but now I’m dying. As if it weren’t enough, Mikey runs his fingers along the side of it, as if looking for something, then scratches a spot near his hairline. It takes me back to the time Mikey accidentally hurt himself with the kitchen knife and holding myself back from bringing the blade to my lips whilst he took care of the wound in the bathroom was... quite difficult, yet, I don’t regret it in any way. Or maybe I do. Being sure of how good he tastes doesn’t help at all.

My tongue runs between my lips, but doesn’t even wet them or anything, and I’m starting to miss the soft pressure of the skin’s resistance against my fangs...

“(Y/n)?” Mikey raises an eyebrow at me. “You alright?”

“Mikey,” I breathe softly. I gotta hold myself back, right? But I’ve waited for it for so long and just a little bit won’t hurt Mikey... Right?

“Love?” His eyebrows knit together, and as much as I want to say anything, I physically can’t. I shakily wrap my hands around his wrists, trying to calm myself down. Uselessly, of course. I can feel his pulse right beneath my fingers because I simply had to get just the right grip.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, doing my best for my voice not to falter.

When I met Mikey sometime ago, something about him made me want to always be around him even if all he talked about was Gerard getting kicked out of a band or about how he made money bootlegging Disney movies so now he’d buy whatever; half of the time I was only nodding, not even listening properly. After a couple of weeks, he wanted to take me out on a date and as infatuated as I was about the fucking weird kid that Geoff would often talk about, it took him over three attempts of inviting me I couldn’t hold myself back anymore and whenever I think about this, my heart still heaves the same way.

It’s not because I live forever that I will private myself from experiences, from befriending humans, creating bonds or falling in love, but it’s because of them that I will think twice about it. Everything is fine until they find out your heart doesn’t beat anymore and that your source of energy is blood, or when they want this for them, and there are many reasons I don’t want anyone to turn into the same kind of being. You don’t know how they will react to the change—I don’t want the blame for anything. Even with all these decades of experience, here I am.

A sigh escapes my lips as I shift a little on the bed to reach for the bandage on Mikey’s neck, pulling it off a little. Blood doesn’t come out of the wound anymore—which is a relief, even if I’m not hungry now—since it seems to be in the final stages of healing up already and I wish I had the courage of coming up with something like ‘oh, you passed out after a few too many drinks after the concert earlier, I am happy you’re better now, stop telling me this weird vampire story’. Well, the wound will probably still be there when Mikey wakes up given how I stopped drinking as soon as he started going limp in my arms and didn’t start to heal it up properly. Not to mention how my clothes are fucking stained still, but my motivation to even get up from the bed is little to none. I open and close my hands a little just to make sure I still have control over them. It could be a dream, to be honest.

Some of the blood is still between my teeth and in the corners of my mouth, and hell, I wish it wouldn’t taste that good. It was enough to wash down that terrible previous taste and kill the hunger, with the only downside of making me want more, of course. Terribly.

A deep inhale coming from Mikey makes me look at him at the same moment, relieved he is awake, though my heart sinks at the very same moment. He stretches a little only to flinch halfway through it, his breath getting caught in his throat as the shoulder by the side of the bite tenses up until he opens his eyes, observing himself whilst relaxing his shoulder.

“Here.” I take the glasses from the nightstand to hand it to him.

Mikey puts his glasses on and sits up, after a groan of pain due to a careless attempt of getting up while putting his weight right on the injury’s shoulder, so I help him get up, touching him carefully because... fuck, maybe it’s the last time, right?

“God, I feel like I was run over by a truck or something!” Mikey furrows his eyebrows, pinching his nose under his glasses.

“Yeah, sorry about it.” I hand out the can of diet coke from the nightstand with a sigh, and make sure to open it for him.

Mikey hums lightly as he takes the can from my hand, “Oh, no, you...” He trails off and I look up to see he’s observing me. Well, fuck.

“I can explain,” I breathe, and clean my mouth with the back of my hand—I cleaned my mouth earlier, but y’know, just in case because he’s staring a little too much. “I’m—”

“You’re a vampire.” Mikey speaks fast before he takes a sip of the coke and something about how quick and assertive his answer is makes something ache in my chest as I look down. Through time, the moments in which I wish I weren’t a vampire slowly grew rare, to a point I thought they wouldn’t happen again, but here I am, looking down while actually wishing I could disappear, and shrugging.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t...” I swallow, scratching the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean to bite you, I just— I was so hungry, Mikey, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you! I even brought you home— I’m so sorry!”

Mikey’s silence is overpowering, in a way it feels like a weight is set over my chest, slowly crushing my lungs and everything else in there. He cleans his throat as he puts the can down on the nightstand, shifting to get up and... Not to get up. I can’t help but to tense up when feeling Mikey wrap his arms around me, though I’m careful enough for it not to seem like I am pushing him away; I need something from him right now, no matter if it is his presence or his touches.

“It is fine,” Mikey mumbles then breathes a chuckle, a humorless one. “I mean, you took me by surprise and I don’t feel really well right now, but it’s okay.”

“What do you mean?” I scoff. “I literally—”

“No, no, c’mon!” He pulls away and keeps his hands on my shoulders, with a smile lingering on his lips. “You’re always making sure I’m alright and stuff. You take care of me. Like, that time when I was fucking wasted. You took care of me during it and helped me with the hangover, plus when I got sick and you were there. And when you’re jealous,” he chuckles genuinely this time, eyes drifting away as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “I trust you.”

Tears start welling up in my eyes, and fuck. “I love you,” I blurt out almost without thinking.

A grin stretches across Mikey’s face before he is pulling me for a hug again and this time I bury my face in his shoulder, holding him back just as tightly.

“And I love you,” he says in response. “Also, it’s fucking hot that you’re a vampire...”

My cheeks would be burning right now if I had any blood, but I’m still flustered the same, humming as I nuzzle his neck softly. “Good to know,” I mumble and press a kiss to the skin—by the non-hurt side.

“Will your, um, the bite, turn me into a vampire, too?” Mikey pulls away slowly, but lets his hands trail down my arms to hold onto mine.

“Oh, no!” I shake my head. “It’s actually not that easy and—”

“Then turn me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like...” He shrugs. “That’s cool, plus you’d not be so lonely and stuff... I mean, I want to be with you.”

As sweet as it is, my heart heaves a little at the thought because this is not the kind of life that I want Mikey to have. Of course there are advantages of being ‘immortal��, but Mikey isn’t the kind of person that should go through the downsides of it, with all the souls you take and the souls you miss.

“Mikey, that’s...” I run my tongue between my lips, chewing on my bottom lip for a moment. “That’s rushed. Why don’t we sleep on it and all, okay? You should get to know more about how things really work.”

Despite the stubbornness, Mikey does agree.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[A]

Should I condemn another soul to this sort of life in which the only escape will be death? The torture of being stuck with your own mind and all these ghosts for so long? I handle it, standing on thin ice, but I do. Even so, not without decades of self rejection.

A sigh escapes my lips as I look away from the kitchen, where Mikey washes the dishes from dinner, to the pictures hanging along the walls of the living room and the others that sit on the buffet table against the back wall. Mikey has such a wonderful life—amazing family, friends, and a band that’ll only thrive. Will he be able to control himself when hungry after days of not eating and standing in front of hundreds of people? Or will he be able to watch his friends and family grow old without even feeling a single effect of time if it isn’t for the shock of reality you get when you notice that song that you witnessed come out is now called vintage? He is also very close to Gerard, and I’m not sure what Gerard’s mind is about this, so he could freak out and stop talking with Mikey, but it, too, would be bad like watching Gerard be taken by time.

Turning Mikey would be cruel, crude, and I’m not the kind of being to act without thinking since long ago. Even if I love Mikey so fucking much, I’m completely aware of the risks and consequences I’m taking with it—such risks and consequences I wasn’t aware nor ready for when things actually started to meet an end, but I stood there tall and strong. The world has a coldness that certain humans aren’t ready for, the way things just go on after events as if they never happened. It’s not wrong, of course.

“Hey,” Mikey says as he steps closer and wraps an arm around me before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “C’mon, let’s go outside.”

It’s still cold outside, but not as much as it was during that gig night. We sit down on the stairs of the back porch, firstly observing the starred sky in silence even if it’s clear Mikey has something caught in his throat.

“I have decided,” Mikey says quietly, “I want to be turned.”

“No, you don’t.” I lean back on my hands, following along the constellation of Orion with my gaze.

“Yes, I do!”

“Mikey—”

“I thought really well about it!” He clicks his tongue, huffing lightly. “I want to live forever. To be there with you. I don’t care if I need to drink blood or—”

“Drinking blood is far from the worst part.” I sigh, shaking my head. Mikey threatens to say something. “Look, it’s not like you can force me to do it or seek another vampire who will turn you into one without making some sort of pact with you or not killing you, okay? Believe me. I know what I’m saying.” The tears that fill my eyes are hot and stingy, running down my face in thick drops and agonizingly slowly. Knowing that I’ll lose Mikey at some point isn’t as frustrating as knowing that I will never get enough of him as I want to.

Mikey is silent, only breathing shallowly. “Please.”

“I will always be here for you, Mikey.”

“I want to be here for you, as well,” he sounds out of breath, voice tight, like holding back a sob.

“Don’t worry about it.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[B]

The idea of turning Mikey into a vampire completely takes over my mind, slowly eradicating the fear that once surrounded the idea at first according to how I think about how things will be. I won’t be alone the next time I arrive at a new country, under a new identity, and I’ll have someone to hug when I wake up from a nightmare regarding the beginning of the last century. I’ll have someone who will hear all of my old stories without thinking that I’m crazy, and also be part of the new ones. Mikey seems just as excited. Lord, he’s so perfect it hurts.

I smile as I use my hand to support my head up while leaning forward on the table, watching Mikey excitedly talk about the new bass lines he wrote for the band’s next album and— fuck, I could listen to him forever.

“Are you actually listening or just staring at me with lovestruck eyes?” Mikey chuckles as he comes to a pause so he can make some notes in his notebook.

“Shut up!” I roll my eyes, though I do crack a chuckle as well. “What if both?”

“Then what’s the song’s name?” He glances at me.

“Uh...” I furrow my eyebrows. “Cemetery Drive.”

“No!” He rolls his eyes mockingly. “It’s To The End this time!”

“Look, at least I heard part of it! It’s a hard task with such a cutie in front of me.” I wink, making his cheeks turn that lovely shade of light pink whilst his eyes avert away.

Some silence fills the room, but it’s not for long, given Mikey’s unquietness and how he keeps cleaning his throat. “Y’know,” he finally speaks up, “I think I made my decision for real, regarding you know what.”

“Oh?” I immediately adjust myself on the chair. Does he really want to be turned? Damn, but maybe he doesn’t, and it’s okay, it is the best for him.

He reaches for my hand over the table, and gives it a little squeeze. “I love you so fucking much. I want to be with you,” he says softly, playing with my fingers lightly. “I need to be with you. Forever.”

A grin immediately tugs on my lips as the tension wears off and I immediately chuckle, involuntarily, out of happiness. “Thank you, Mikey. I love you. We can live forever.”

“We can live forever,” he repeats with a smile.

______________

tagging list: @lubbockshusband | @trans-ylvania | @newgirlinhell

[caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma]

Caught Recommendations

Author’s Note: I’m trying to keep track of the amazing BTS-themed series and fics that I’m reading on Tumblr, so I decided to create this post with some short reviews (so I can have them all in one place). These writers are amazing and they keep me coming back for more. They are all smutty as hell and full of amazing characters and conflicts.  This is by no means a comprehensive list, and I will be adding them as more catch my eye. Check them out if you get a chance!

Mafia AUs

The Birdcage  & the sequel The Lion’s Den by @untaemedqueen

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mafia AU; Jimin x Reader

What You Need to Know: Jimin-heavy series (and sequel) that dives into Seoul and Busan mafia underground, violence, guns, knives, bombs, pregnancies, and OH so much drama - the writer creates some fascinating characters that we root for and fall in love with over and over again.   

Thou Shall Not Steal by @xherxx

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mafia AU, OT7

What You Need to Know:  The richest mafia lord in the industry throws a huge yet twisted deal before he retires and every gang out there wants to get their hands on his riches. - The drama is real in this one and there is plenty of hot, steamy scenes that will make you tingle. 

Don’t Care If It Hurts by @hollyhomburg

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mafia AU, Jimin x Reader

What You Need to Know: After a rival gang makes an attempt on your life, Your older brother, the infamous leader of Seoul’s largest gang; Kim Namjoon, gets you a guard hybrid; Park Jimin, The reigning champion of Seoul’s underground hybrid fighting ring. - Yeah, this is also a hybrid series, but the mafia background is much more prominent. The OC is also smart as a whip and Namjoon as the angry leader and older brother is something to behold. The other members feature as well skilled companions and are very good at their jobs.

Omertà by @lamourche

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mafia AU, Namjoon x Reader

What You Need to Know: A story about an unlikely mob boss and his mafia princess wife. This is a love story set in a brutal world. - Namjoon and his crew are tight knit and set to take over the mafia underground. In a true Romeo and Juliet twist, you are from an opposing family and are desperate to get away from their oppressive clutches. As an added bonus, you and Namjoon fall in love and build up his empire together. 

Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mafia AU, Jungkook x Reader

What You Need to Know: Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as 'the shadow.' When you become indebted to the worst of the worst - how, exactly can you find a way out? - Jungkook is such a gem in this fic and the action is amped up to 11 throughout the series. 

College/Business AUs

Thesis-It (and the sequel) Prove It by @xherxx

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, College/Career AU, OT7

What You Need to Know:  “When life gives you lemons, make cocktails! It doesn’t solve any problems, but then again neither do lemonades. Besides, it has the word cock in it, just like what the Bangtan boys have on them. So, why don’t you just suit yourself?” - This series was a ROLLERCOASTER of emotion, even when it hurts, you keep going back for more. The sequel takes place AFTER college, but the characters still act like college idiots. LOVE THEM!

Fear & Dumplings by @softyoongiionly

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, College AU, Yoongi x reader

What You Need to Know: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi. - The build up to this relationship is just wonderful and you will be completely enamored by Yoongi in this fic. He’s such a soft precious bean and I want to ruin him. 

The Gentlemen by @honeymoonjin

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Reality Show AU, OT7

What You Need to Know:  Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now! - BEST REALITY SHOW EVER! The characters are vivid and entertaining and the smut scenes are on point. I dare you not to fall in love with every single one of these eligible bachelors. 

Tease by @adonis-koo

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Stripper AU, Jungkook x reader

What You Need to Know:  You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb. - Jungkook starts off arrogant and difficult, but as the relationship progresses, he starts embracing his softness for his new trainee. There is also some hot Big-Little action going on here. 

No Strings by @kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, College AU, Jimin x reader

What You Need to Know:  You voice your concern that you are bad in bed and Jimin offers to test that theory. What ensues is an angsty friends with benefits situation that threatens to tear your friend group apart. You may want to smack Jimin around a bit, but I promise you will not be disappointed in the end. 

The Holi-Date by @kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Career AU, Taehyung x reader

What You Need to Know:  When your ex-boyfriend becomes engaged to his new girlfriend at your annual Holiday party, you admittedly are not in the best place. Which explains why you down six shots of alcohol, enthusiastically drop it low on the dance floor and - oh, yeah - tell everyone you are also dating someone. The only problem? You are obviously not. Good thing your neighbor happens to be cute and in need of a ride to work every morning. - I absolutely LOVE Taehyung in this fic; he’s playful, sweet, passionate, and funny. 

Hybrid AUs

The Mark of Yun-Ki by @ladyartemesia

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Historical Hybrid AU; Yoongi x Reader

What You Need to Know: This story was wonderfully crafted and if a Tiger-hybrid Yoongi full of ferocity and passion and admiration doesn’t do it for you, I don’t know what will. 

Reasons Wretched & Divine by @hollyhomburg

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Hybrid AU; Namjoon x Reader x Jimin x Yoongi

What You Need to Know: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon. - There are definitely some trigger warnings you should read at the top, but the series is full of mental and physical healing that endears the characters to the reader. The other members are also present as side characters and are hella sweet. 

Abundance by @angelicyoongie

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Hybrid AU; OT7

What You Need to Know:  You never expected that you would end up adopting a hybrid, and if someone had told you that you would end up with seven? Well, you would have thought they were crazy. But here you are, with three different packs of hybrids that don’t get along – but all want to stay with you. Yeah, turns out crazy is an understatement. - This is a sweet complicated hybrid situation where three different groups have to find a way to live together. It takes some time, but they all eventual pull together as a family. 

Jackrabbit by @jamaisjoons

Genre: Pure Smut; Hybrid AU; Jungkook x reader

What You Need to Know: On a university-wide Easter egg hunt, Jungkook decides to educate you on just how wrong you are about him. - this one shot will have your thighs rubbing together vigorously wishing that you could get a few minutes alone with this domineering bun (just don’t call him that unless you want to get punished).

Strawberry Cream & BBQ by @thatmultifandomhoe

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut; Hybrid AU; Hoseok x reader

What You Need to Know: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected. - The relationship between Hoseok and the OC is so sweet and the drama that erupts after they get together pulls on the heartstrings. 

Sci-Fi AUs

Void by @btssavedmylifeblr

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Space AU, OT7

What You Need to Know:  You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. - The sexual tension is real, y’all. The OC is sassy and hilarious, the other crew members provide colorful commentary and conflicts that keep the reading salivating for more. 

The Turing Test by @fortunexkookie

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Android AU, Jungkook x reader

What You Need to Know: You are an engineer who created an advanced form of Artificial Intelligence named Jungkook, but with every technological advance, there are always some bugs to work out (and not all of them deal with the creator or the creation). 

Parenting AUs

Gingerbread Man by @btsracket

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Jungkook x Reader

What You Need to Know: Jungkook (a recent widower) is a fantastic baker who owns his own shop. The reader bounces in to place an emergency order and fate takes over from there. Jungkook’s son, Jude, is absolutely adorable and all of the angst and drama derived from moving on from an unexpected spousal death makes for one incredible recipe for success. 

The Stand-In by @yoonia

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Namjoon x Reader

What You Need to Know:  Gaining the courage to leave a loveless marriage was hard enough, but is it really a good idea to run to your best friend for help? And would you refuse him when he offers you another kind of ‘help’? - The themes revolving around infertility and then a sudden pregnancy catapult these characters into a wonderful relationship full of love and possibilities. Plus, Daddy Joon is always a yes on my list. 

Intro: Her by @jamaisjoons

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Namjoon x Reader

What You Need to Know: You enter Namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. - Namjoon is raising his three boys Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook as you enter his life as a marine biologist. The kids are sweet and sassy, Namjoon is a total mess, but a sweetheart. I never wanted to be a mother to children more than these tots, and the bonus would be snuggling into Daddy Joon’s arms. 

Idol AUs

Let Me Hold Them by @jjungkookislife

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; OT7

What You Need to Know: An OT7 series that includes mxm, threesomes, open relationships, polyamory, and angst.  Please read at your own discretion & the warnings on each chapter. - It starts off small, and then it escalates quickly. I promise, you will not be disappointed. Read on!

Slight Changes by @jiminimoon

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Taehyung x reader; Jimin x reader

What You Need to Know: Your relationship with Taehyung takes a nose dive when his infidelity is exposed. Luckily, the other members (especially Jimin) step in to make sure you don’t suffer alone. Prepare for angsty chapters and a lot of soul searching in this fic. 

The Studio Sessions by @getitinbusan

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Yoongi x reader; OT7 x reader

What You Need to Know: It’s Min Yoongi’s birthday and you’re ready to give him whatever he wants. When he makes a sarcastic wish while blowing out the candles he didn’t think you’d take it seriously. But he’s glad you did. When word spreads about these special “Studio Sessions” everyone wants to collaborate. - You start with one and work your way through the rest without blinking an eye. It’s a smutty paradise. 

Love Well Done by @oraclemarie

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Yoongi x reader

What You Need to Know: You are the executive chef of your very own fine dining restaurant. A big company makes you the offer of a lifetime, setting you on a path straight to Min Yoongi-your drunken hook up. - once these two start admitting their love for one another, it ups the drama; people can let jealousy turn them into monsters. 

Soulmate AUs

A Thousand Springs by @whitesparrows97

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, OT7

What You Need to Know: Life is short. Eternity is long. Why you in particular are approached by a super attractive man in a club, you did not understand. You understood even less why he wanted to kill you. Fortunately, seven young, also incredibly handsome men show up to help you with this little problem. Purely by coincidence, of course. Or do you really believe in fate? - This fic is action packed with crazy conflicts, special powers, and spicy smut scenes. 

The Immortals by @bang-tan-bitches

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, OT7

What You Need to Know: Sometimes, you find your destiny. And sometimes, your destiny does whatever it takes to keep you. - There are some amazing things happening in this fic and I just want to crawl onto that giant bed with all of them and their mysterious golden powers.

Fantasy AUs

Blood Moon Rising by @yoonia

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Vampire/Werewolf AU; Jimin x Reader

What You Need to Know: As beings from ancient times, the Vampire Clan has undergone numerous changes to thrive in the Modern Age after surviving the Ancient Blood War. As a part of the traveller family in his clan, Jimin has parted ways from the coven until the day his Lords warned him of the lurking danger from inside the clan. And all so suddenly, he was pulled out of his solitary, only to have given the responsibility he had never wished to have, along with the threats that come as a part of the deal. 

Born as youngest yet having lost so much, you have given your family your loyalty, your protection, and had been given their love and support that had become the only thing that keeps you going. But what happens when the only people you have put your trust in only repay you with betrayal?

This series expands beyond this world and into a whole universe of shifter characters. This storyline also includes characters from her other Shifter Series. The storylines are rich and beautifully crafted, and you will love the way the characters stick together on this magnificent adventure.

Of Fire and Love by @hollyhomburg

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Dragon-Hybrid AU; Yoongi x Reader

What You Need to Know:  When Dragon Yoongi finds baby Jungkook in the wreckage of a house he burned down, he can’t bring himself to kill the child. Months after someone drops off a baby at your door, you start to notice something- or someone, lurking at the edge of the woods. - This fantasy world just keeps growing in each chapter and you also get to enjoy a baby Jungkook and a baby dragon Hobi. Beware of fairy Jimin - they’re a sneaky one. 

Faerie Realm by @ddaengyoonmin

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Fairy Video Game AU; Jungkook x Reader

What You Need to Know: Your mother gifts you a video game set that allows you to fully enter the brand new virtual world of Faerie Realm on the first day of its launch. You lack any of the skills or knowledge of playing video games, but you end up having fun thanks to skilled player you meet named Kookie! You are lucky to have met him, because this deadly game is not what it seems.- Based on Sword Art Online, but I think it’s better. The other members become a part of the group and drama ensues. 

Sweeter than Sweet by @gimmesumsuga

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Vampire AU; Jimin x reader; OT7, eventually

What You Need to Know: You never would have expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you. As handsome and beguiling as he is deadly, you’re enthralled from the very moment you meet. Addicted to his kiss and his bite, Jimin opens up your eyes to a whole new world of love, lust and seduction. - this is a LONG series, but it is TOTALLY WORTH IT. Once you dive into the story, there is no resurfacing until you finish. 

A Court of Curses & A Court of Moonlight by @readyplayerhobi

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff; Vampire/Witch/Werewolf AU; Hoseok x reader; Yoongi x reader

What You Need to Know: (ACOC) For millennia, the vampires and witches have hated one another and war has raged between the two. When tensions flare up once more and spill into neutral land, peace is forced upon the two by the faeries. The price of peace sees the Witch Queen married to the Vampire Prince. One hundred years later, how have things changed? (ACOM)  As Prince Hoseok’s personal attendant, you travel with him on a diplomatic visit to Lunatis, home of the werewolves. There, you meet the enigmatic and intriguing werewolf prince, Min Yoongi, and discover more than you expected as a mere attendant. - this world is so full of magical wonder and I am so invested in seeing how everything comes together. It also makes me soft when I see how loving Prince Hoseok is toward his family. 

Caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma’s MASTERLIST

[rabbitsf00t]

Our Lady of Sorrows

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female OC

Word Count: 9677

Type: One shot (will probably make a part 2 + 3 but this can be read as a standalone fic.)

Rating: r18, contains sexual content. MINORS DNI

Warnings: Alcohol (mild), Cigarettes (mild), Swearing (mild), Female Receiving Oral, Squirting, Unprotected P in V Sex, Piercings, Cockwarming (brief + no character mention) angst if you look really really close, mutual pining, mentions of anxiety (mild), FLUFF SO MUCH FLUFF

Description: Corroded Coffin’s first ever show at the Hideout. Eddie sees the girl he’d crushed on since he was 12 serving at the bar, and fate gives him another chance to make her his.

Author's note: I posted this before. I'm just an idiot who deleted their entire blog accidentally. So this is the first fic I’ve posted in almost 5 years. Like many others, Eddie really inspired us to write again. Hopefully it is good. This fic and the potential part 2 and part 3 I will write will all be able to be read as stand alone. Now, please enjoy! Thank you

Her name was Mary.

He’d known her for quite some time, actually. He just wasn’t sure if she remembered him. Since middle school, Eddie had the biggest crush on her. He knew from the day that he set eyes on her. Her first day, moved from Seattle. She was in the year above him, but Eddie had seen her around school. She was very noticeable, in his opinion. Big round eyes and a small button nose, plush lips. Long thick brown hair with the cute face framing pieces he didn’t know the name of. He’d never gotten close enough to get to know her, but as the years went on he’d picked up things about her. She was super smart so she was a year younger than him even though she was in the class above his. She was born in October. Her favourite colour was green. She likes cats and reading. She was good at volleyball and was pretty athletic. She had a dog named Arthur and a Cat named Merlin. Her Dad was a well known chef and bartender in Indiana, but he didn’t know where her mom was. She didn’t talk about her mom, to anyone. She was short, but never let that stop her do anything. She was determined and headstrong and did everything with intent. Eddie was clearly a bit obsessed. But not in a creepy way.

Unfortunately, by his last year Mary had already graduated. He didn’t know anyone close enough to her to ask if she went to college or not. It got a bit harder to focus in school. Not just because she had left, Eddie’s personal life was a mess. But that was in the past. Eddie had grown a lot since she had left. He’d gotten a bit taller, hair longer. He’d got his braces taken off. He was broader, had a lot more definition even though he was still on the thinner side. Since she’d left, he thought at least he’d got a little more attractive. It’s weird that he used the last time he saw her as a specific point in time, at least in his opinion. He found it so strange that while she was such an important part of his life, to her, Eddie was probably just another student she passed in the halls. Eddie hopes his appearance at least made him stand out a little bit in her eyes. Maybe he was slightly memorable, not that it would matter anyways. It’s not like he’d ever see her again. She probably went to some Ivy League college - if not on an academic scholarship surely a sports one.

At least, that’s what he’d thought until he saw her familiar frame stalking across the floor of The Hideout and disappear behind a door that read “staff only”.

“Dude..?” Gareth said, his hands paused in position as he was doing sounds checks.

“Was that?-“ Jeff continued.

They both turned to Eddie who was hooking up an amp.

“shiT!” They yelled in union as they rushed to his left and right respectively.

Jeff would say later that Eddie looked like he’d seen a ghost. Eddie would keep it to himself but it kinda was. To him, Mary was in the past. He thought he’d never see her again, so in a way she was kind of dead? Maybe not the best word, but was no longer present. He’d spent the last year and a half dealing with that fact.

From Jeff and Gareth’s current view point, Eddie looked white. Almost green, maybe? Like he was gonna vomit but also cry and maybe even explode.

“Fuck, dude- are you ok?” Jeff rubbed Eddie’s back. Gareth had a hold on his shoulder, and could feel Eddie quivering under his palm.

“Do you need some water or something? What happened?” Gareth was looking around for something useful.

Eddie felt his skin go cold but his head felt like it was burning from the inside. He felt cold sweat beads running down his face from his mop of stringy hair. He took a few breaths before blinking.

“Fuck.” He said as he stared into space.

Gareth and Jeff shared a look.

“Look man, we can still back out now-“ Jeff started.

“No way, man. It’s our first show, we can’t fuck up this chance.” Eddie spoke while he shook his head in an effort to clear his racing mind.

“Are you sure, though? Like, you really don’t look good right now man. Like, really.” Gareth squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“This could be our big break guys. I wouldn’t give this up for the world.” Eddie slapped his face a few times before pushing himself up off the floor.

“We fucking got this.”

 “We don’t fucking got this.” Eddie whispered harshly to himself. He admits, he went a bit ham on the promo. He really didn’t think Chrissy Cunningham would bring the entire cheer squad, half the basketball team, and about 20 other people he didn’t know but recognized from school. She beamed up at him and clapped, mouthing, ‘you guys got this!’. Eddie smooshed his face into his hands and rubbed vigorously. Once he composed his face, He gave Chrissy a wink and a smirk, and she blushed a deep red before turning to one of her cheer friends and gushing. Eddie was a flirt, just apparently not when it came to the girl he actually liked. Chrissy was a nice enough girl, but Eddie has his heart set elsewhere. His mind was also elsewhere. They were due to start any minute, and while the prep was done Eddie couldn’t clear his head.

Mary had definitely changed.

She looked older now. Not in a bad way, her key features were still there. She’s just, developed? Blossomed?

Her hair was longer, just above her butt. She’d dyed it blonde in the face framing parts, some sort of highlights as well throughout. Her brown hair was wavy and fluffy and soft-looking. She still had the same big doe eyes, but now they were lined with dark smudged eyeliner in a cat wing kinda way, her lips full and cherry colored. She had a nose piercing now, the gold metal glinting in the spotlights above the bar where she worked. Her hips were wider, fuller, and her tight low cut jeans hugged them perfectly. She wore a black tank top that showed off her cleavage, and Eddie gulped when he realized he could see her pierced nipples straining through the oh so thin fabric of her top.

“Dude fuckin quit drooling you look like a dog-“ Jeff hissed and kicked the back of Eddie’s knee lightly, causing him to falter a bit. “Bro what the fuck-“

“Good evening patrons!” The voice of the bar owner, Mitch, boomed over the sound of feedback from the microphone.

“Quite a crowd out tonight! Hope y’all are having a good time!” There we’re a few cheers from the audience.

“Now as you all may know, I’m a big music fan! And to show that support we get a live band in here as often as we can!” Mitch paused for a moment.

“Tonight we have a local act hailing from Hawkins High, for my metal heads out there, Introducing.” Eddie took a deep shaking breath before licking his lips.

This was it. Their first ever live show, as an official band, an actual gig. Like not a talent show. Eddie looked to his left, Sam with his bass at the ready. He looked to his right, Jeff beaming back at him. He looked behind him briefly to see Gareth spinning his drum stick in his fingers. Eddie turned to the crowd again, eyes searching across the bar until the fell upon the bright eyes of Mary. She smiled softly at him, and did a shy wave. Eddie’s eyes widened, and his brain short-circuited. Does she recognize me?

“CORRODED COFFIN!!!!”

Gareth did the typical drummer 4 count, his drum sticks hitting each other. Sam’s bass intro began, his fingers playing with practiced ease. Eddie came in soon after with the rhythm, and Jeff with a heavy riff before Eddie began to sing.

Eddie let his muscle memory take over as they played through the songs. His voice rung loud and clear, a sort of harshness rasping into the ears of the entranced audience. You’d never be able to tell that moments before the song started, Eddie almost fainted in anxiety. That was the difference between ‘Eddie Munson’ and ‘Eddie Munson: Lead Singer and Rhythm Guitarist of Corroded Coffin’. Eddie let his eyes wander the faces of the audience. His body was alive, writhing with passion and rhythm. Chrissy liked the way his hands wrapped around the neck of his guitar, liked the way his fluffy hair swayed with the movements of his head. She blushed again when he caught her eye, his wolf-like teeth on display in a sort of smirk as he sang. Eddie knew she had a crush on him. But he also knew that he would never truly commit to her. She also had a boyfriend, Jason. Captain of the Basketball team. Eddie never let that stop him. He teased anyways, enjoying the way she would blush and fluster at the slightest advance. Eddie’s voice rung out loud and powerful, ending the second to last song of his set. His mind, hazy from performance intoxication, took charge as he spoke into the mic.

“Hey folks, how’re we feelin’?” He drawled out. The crowd cheered, an incomprehensible mess. Eddie smiled.

“Now, listen. I hate to have to end so quickly, it feels like hardly any time has passed.” A few sad aw’s we’re heard. “We’ve got one more song for you all!” The crowd cheered and hollered again.

“Now this one, is about a girl, I know-“ he chuckled, “A special girl.”

Chrissy felt her cheeks begin to burn as Jessica elbowed her. She couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was about her. Her hopeful eyes beamed up at the glorious figure of Eddie on the stage, his mane of hair like a halo with the lights that shined behind him.

“Thing is- I never got to meet this girl. I know, crazy, right?” There was a slight pause.

“I saw her one day, and from that moment on, I was obsessed with her. She was so unattainably perfect, In every way.” He met eyes with Mary from across the bar, her lips resting in that familiar soft smile.

“She left one day and I kicked myself every time I thought of moments I could’ve-should’ve done something.” He kept her gaze as he smiled knowingly at her. He enjoyed seeing her smile fade into a little ‘o’ of surprise, her doll eyes even larger. He didn’t see Chrissy following his gaze to the bartender, nor did he see her bright eyes turn dull and fill with tears.

“So anyways- here’s our newest song: Our Lady of Sorrows!”

The guttural grinding of Eddie’s guitar sounded for a few beats before Gareth came through with a heavy drum line. Jeff’s guitar screamed to life supported by the deep ladder runs of Sam’s bass. Eddie’s voice started, a low groan in the back of his throat began the sultry tune. He made sure his eyes never left Mary for more than a few seconds, and she returned his gaze. Her eyes were sparkling, twinkling in wonderment. He stalked her every move. Eddie raked his eyes over her form, the curve of her chest, how it raised up and down with her breathing. Her fingers toyed with a gold necklace around her neck, the long crimson nails she adorned most likely clinking against the metal. Eddie watched as one of the other bartenders leaned down to whisper in her ear. His head was behind hers slightly diagonal, he had to lean down significantly. Eddie could see how his lips brushed the lobe of her ear as he spoke, a sly smirk on what he could see if the guys face. Mary broke eye contact with Eddie to turn her mouth towards the guys ear, responding in her sweet voice. Eddie keened out a breathy moan to finish the song, the band muting their instruments at the exact same second. The crowd erupted into cheers, the other band members were grinning, but Eddie watched as Mary and the other bartender disappeared behind the staff only door. Mary shot him a look before the door closed behind her. He felt the deep heat of jealousy burn a pit in his stomach.

Once she disappeared though, he snapped out of it.

Eddie blinked a few times before turning around. The band all shared high-fives and shiny grins. Eddie turned around, scanning the sea of faces cheering at him before he did a theatrical bow. He barely caught Jessica pulling Chrissy towards the exit, but he didn’t put a second thought to it. Removing his guitar strap from his shoulder, He followed suit behind the others as they clambered down the stairs. There were a few groupies waiting, squealing and begging for signatures. Mitch sauntered over, his Viking frame towering over the people bustling around them.

“That was great, boys. Really enjoyed the tunes, y’all definitely have talent. Tell you what-“ his large hand rested on his chin.

“I’ll make a few calls around, I know a few big names in the rock scene. I’ll see if I can get one of them out to see you guys at some point. In the meantime-“ he slapped a hand onto Eddie and Gareth’s backs, them both jolting with the impact.

“How about in the mean time we get you boys in here every week? On tuesdays? Have a think, don’t rush into anything. Take a seat at the bar and have a beverage on me. Really, I mean it guys. Really impressed.” Mitch smiled under his handlebar moustache, eyes crinkled kindly. He gently guided the boys into the direction of the bar.

The group shared excited smiles as they settled into the bar seats. They chattered over each other all at the same time. They shared their own stories about what had happened and cool stuff they did. Eddie barely noticed the staff only door opening and the same familiar figure from earlier slink to where they sat, on the bartender side.

“Hey guys, great show!” A familiar friendly voice sounded. Sing-songie and sweet, Eddie felt his body suddenly drain of warmth, all the heat rushing right to his head.

It felt like time had slowed down as he turned his head towards her. He caught her eyes and he gulped. This was the closest he’d ever gotten to her. He knew she was pretty. But seeing it close up was something else. Small button nose, dusted with freckles. Her mouth was cat like, from the center of her lips the shape was downwards, but with the smile the corners of her mouth turned upwards like a Cheshire cat. Her eyes were crinkled in a smile, and a light blush dusted her soft round cheeks.

Eddie felt a small smile gracing his lips.

“I went to school with you guys, right? I think I remember y’all.” She gestures to the group, her hand stopped in front of Eddie’s.

“I’m Mary, and you’re…. Munson, Right? Eddie Munson?” She grinned cutely. Eddie nodded like an idiot before Jeff elbowed him with a hushed ‘dude-‘.

Eddie shook his head and noticed the hand extended towards him. He looked back at Mary and she tilted her head to the side, an inquisitive look on her face. Fuck. Eddie grabbed her hand softly. He cringed when he felt his clammy palm squish against her soft ones. She was cold against his skin. He shook gently, worried he might hurt her. She was really small up close. Even though Eddie was sitting, she had tiptoed to be able to reach him and still had to look up to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, I-I’m Eddie, Munson, ha-“ his voice cracked slightly, so he coughed to clear it. “I remember you, actually! Um- so, what do you do? I mean- did you do? When you left, um, Hawkins High?” He managed to get out semi-normally.

She was basically like a ray of sun shining at him so brightly. Her pearly white teeth were so cute, kind of like a rabbit. Very endearing.

“Well, I went to Penn Stats!- I do Classics! And worked around at a few bars and stuff- I’m on the mid semester break at the moment. That’s why I’m back, helping my dad out here. You met him, Mitch?” She asked, her hand still gently clasped in Eddie’s hand. He squeezed her small hand gently, before he released his already soft grip. She left her hand on the bar top.

“Y-yeah, he’s um letting us come here every Tuesday to perform! It’s really great, actually, really appreciate-“ Gareth appears right next to Eddie, roughly hitting his side before interrupting.

“So, you seeing anyone?” He asked bluntly. “Dude?” Jeff barked, shoving him lightly and doing a ‘what the hell’ kind of gesture. Mary laughed.

“Well, nice to meet you too. I’m Mary, by the way, and you’re Gareth, right?” Her laughter sounded like a melody, an angel singing praises to god.

“And to answer your question-“ she ran a hand through her hair. “No, I am not.” She caught Eddie’s eye, her mouth twitching into a smirk briefly before turning her eyes back to Gareth. Eddie went red, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“Anyways, what do you boys want to drink? Beer?” She asked as she settled down off her tippy toes, her chest jiggling a bit.

“Yeah, 4 beers is good. Thanks, doll.” Gareth cooed in a flirtatious manner. Eddie’s face twists into a scowl and he shoots Gareth a glare.

“Okey dokey, 4 beers coming right up.” Mary clicks her fingers before she swivels around on the balls of her feet. She bends down at the waist to retrieve the beer bottles from the bar fridge. Eddie’s face grows hotter, eyes nearly bulging at the sight. Gareth elbows him and cocks a brow.

“10 bucks says I can bag her before you can-“ he says before Jeff chimes in.

“Dude, no. You know Eddie’s been crazy about her for, like, ever. Don’t be a dick, dude, come on.” He shoots back.

“Fine, fine. Whatever.” Gareth slumps into the seat next to Eddie. Mary returns with the beers, placing one in front of everyone but Eddie.

“And you, mr. Munson, get a special one.” She smiles sweetly as she places a beer and 2 empty shot glasses. Her free hand grabs a bottle from the hot bar, pouring the spirit into each of the shot glasses.

“To commemorate such a wonderful performance- and hopefully a successful music career!” She says as she grabs one of the shot glasses with her fingers. Eddie picks the other up, his hands shaking slightly. She brings her shot glass to his with a soft clink, taps the bottom of her shot glass onto the bar top, before downing it. Eddie follows suit, gingerly tapping it on the bar top before downing it. The liquid burns his throat and he winces, makes a sour face. He opens his eyes to see Mary taking a swig from his beer bottle, before placing it just barely touching his own lips.

“Chase it, sweetie!” She grins at him. He gently takes it from her grasp and takes a swig. It did help, but Eddie could feel the shot burning in his belly and shooting straight to his head.

“Yo, Mar.” an unfamiliar voice sounded from Mary’s direction. Eddie’s eyes flickered to the tall male bartender from earlier. He takes another swig to stop himself from growling.

“Yeah?” Mary turned her head to him.

“It’s 11, your shift is up. You gonna stay for a drink?” He says, his hand placed on her lower back.

“I might! I’m just catching up with some old friends.” She beamed. Eddie blushed again. Did she really view them as friends? Had she really just recognize them with such ease? It had been a long time, and Eddie was scrambling in his brain to come up with any reason why she might’ve remembered him so easily without ever having met him properly.

“Oh ya, cool. Let me know, like if you need a ride or something. I’m off in 2 hours.” He finished before sending Eddie a pointed look and stalking off.

“Well, I’m off the clock now. Can I join you guys for a drink?” She asks with a coy grin.

“Yeah sure-“ Gareth began before Sam slapped a hand over his mouth and Jeff held up his hand.

“Actually, it’s pretty late and me Gareth and Sam have to head off, right Gareth?” Jeff hinted. Gareth paused before nodding.

“Oh, yeah.” He said pointedly.

“Eddie, you’re free to stay though, right?” Jeff asked Eddie as he glanced between him and Mary pointedly.

“Oh-yeah, um, I’m gonna stay a while.” He nodded. Jeff smiles sweetly at Mary.

“Eddie could use the company! But we’ll be heading off, see you next Tuesday?” Jeff asked. Mary nodded. “Yep! I’m here for a couple of weeks, so I’ll see you guys around! Nice meeting you all, and great show!” She beamed at them. Eddie could basically feel Gareth drooling on his shoulder as the other two dragged him away, waving their goodbyes.

Eddie gulped a bit, but tried to maintain composure.

“Well! Looks like it’s just us, hm?” Mary asked as she skipped around the bar to where Eddie was sitting on the customer side.

“You wanna come with me outside for a bit? You can bring your drink!” She asked, her neck craning to be able to meet his gaze. Eddie took another swig, for confidence.

“Oh-oh yeah! Let’s go.” He slid off the chair and followed the smaller figure towards a the fire exit near the stage.

 The cool night air hit Eddie’s feverish skin, and sent a shiver down his spine. The moon was bright and full, the stars twinkling. The door closed behind him with a clang. Mary took a seat on the top of a run down picnic table.

“Man it was so busy! You really got a crowd, huh?” She commented and clasped her hands together. Eddie nodded with a laugh as he pulled a packet of cigarettes from his denim vest pocket, quickly putting one between his lips before lighting it.

“Yep, we’ve done a few shows at Hawkins high though this was our first ever proper performance. I might’ve gone a bit crazy on the promotion though, I really didn’t expect that many people to be there.”

He needed the smoke for the nerves. He couldn’t help but notice her skin raised in goosebumps. The nicotine went to his head eventually, gentle filling it with every inhale. Eventually his eyes wandered to her breasts, her nipples hard and straining against her tank top.

“Oh! you smoke?” She asked in a surprised tone.

“Y-yup, for a while. Bad habit, I know, but I’m still young..” he finished with a chuckle, inhaling deeply.

“You’d think I would do the same, it kinda comes with the territory in culinary and bars and stuff. Everyone smokes-“ she wrapped her arms around her and shivered.

“Well, except me. I hardly even drink, honestly.” She finishes. Eddie, with nicotine confidence, loosens his stance a bit. He takes another deep inhale before blowing it up towards the moon.

“Really? A bartender who hardly drinks AND doesn’t smoke?” He chuckles. “You’re really a saint, huh, Saint Mary?” He kicks a pebble on the pavement with a wry chuckle.

“Saint Mary, haven’t heard that one before..” she roles her eyes, but giggles immediately after. There was a moment of still silence, the muffled music from the Hideout playing over the soft sounds of the night.

“Would you want to?” Eddie asked, taking another puff and a few steps forward.

“Do what..?” Mary asks, eyes even prettier this close.

“Smoking, would you want to try?” He asked, the smoke pouring from his nose as he spoke.

“Oh! Well, I guess? I just don’t know what to do…” Mary bit her lip in thought.

God. Eddie couldn’t help but stare at the plush fat of her lip pressed between her teeth. “I can teach you…?” He asked. Mary nodded, the kind of adrenaline you get when you do something directly against your parents wishes running through her body. Eddie took another couple of steps forward, cigarette hanging from his lips. He took it into his fingers before he flicked the excess ash onto the ground.

“So what you do, is when you put it in your mouth, you seal your lips over it. You see?” He says as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “Once you get to that part, all you gotta do is suck. Not too hard, just gently. Like this..” he says before he draws the air in through the cigarette.

Mary watches, captivated, as the ash end of the cigarette burned a brighter orange for the duration of the breath.

“And then, like when you take a deep breath, you bring it deep into your chest, and then…” Mary watches as his shoulders tense with the inhale.

She’s glad it’s dark out here, else Eddie would see the hot blush spreading on her face. He was so close, his hand spread on the table next to her thigh. He was basically standing between her legs, though not quite as the seat of the bench stopped him. She looked Eddie in the eyes as he finishing inhaling. “You blow…” he whispers, the pushes the smoke from his lungs.

Mary’s eyes flutter lightly as the gentle smoke brushes against her cold skin. It was so warm, and she felt her breathing pick up slightly. There was tension in the air, anyone could tell. Eddie felt a strange calmness. It felt like something else was driving him, and if he listened really carefully he could probably hear his inner voice screaming and banging on the walls of his brain to be let out. Eddie washed his eyes over her frame, her chest moving with her breathes. He could see her swallow, count the eyelashes on each eye.

“Do you want to try?” He asked softly. Mary nodded softly, her brain too mushy to find the words.

She didn’t ever tell anyone, but she’d always had a small crush on Eddie Munson. She never thought he was a freak. She could see him for what he was, a charismatic, interesting, intelligent young man who was never afraid of being authentic. She was shy, but people tended to flock to her. She didn’t really have any practice of being the first person to introduce herself, as everyone else usually came to her. She would steal looks at him during lunch and assembly’s, before and after school. He’d gotten taller from when she’d last seen him, a little manlier. His shoulders were broader, chest a bit more filled out.

Eddie studied her face as he brought the fingers clutching the cigarette to her slightly parted lips. He watched as her lips sealed over the end, her plush lips kissing onto his fingers oh so softly. Eddie felt his eyes getting lidded, watching as her cheeks hollowed slightly as she sucked.

“That’s it, perfect…” he drawled. “Now try to bring it to your lungs…” he said as he pulled the cigarette away from her lips and to his. She tried, but began coughing slightly. The smoke came out in huffs with each cough. He loved the way her eyes brows creased together.

“I know I know, it’s a bit hard at first but you get used to it.” He flicked the butt away before he brought his hand to her shoulder. He slid the hand towards her back and patted softly. He realised she was freezing, shaking ever so slightly.

“Fuck you’re freezing! Here-“ he began taking his denim jacket off and then his leather one. He wrapped the leather one around her shoulder before he place the denim jacket on the chair of the table. He couldn’t stop the sigh that built in his chest.

“Thank you, it’s so warm…” she snuggled herself deeper into the heated leather, and inhaled the scent discreetly. It smelled musky, but also remnants of cologne. Cigarettes and something else she couldn’t quite put.

“So, you doing anything tonight?” Eddie asks, hoping he sounds cool.

“Oh! Nothing, I was gonna stay for a drink but I’m not so sure about that now…” she pauses before asking, “and you? Are you free after?” Eddie liked the way she worded that.

“Yeah I’m free- did you have something in mind you wanted to do?” He questioned in a playful tone. His Wolf-like grin didn’t quite reach his darkening eyes, which were hazy and hot.

“Maybe we could, hang out? If you want to, of course…” Mary asked. Eddie’s brain short circuited again.

“Oh, yeah, um. I know a place…”

 The drive was quiet, apart from the black sabbath album playing. Eddie saw in the corner of his eye as Mary jammed out, her soft singing flowing into his ears.

“You like this type of stuff?” He wondered out loud.

“Oh yeah! Definitely. My dad’s a big fan- I grew up around this kind of music.” She spoke.

“Damn, if only I’d known in high school! Maybe we could’ve gotten along…” Eddie responded in a playful tone.

“Oh, I definitely noticed your band shirts and stuff. I was just way too shy to come up to you… honestly you were a bit intimidating!” She finished with a giggle.

“Me? Intimidating? To you? I should be saying that you were intimidating, being miss popular from your first day!” He laughed back at her.

“I was like 4’5, how could I be intimidating?” She shot back with a squeal of laughter.

“Well for one-“ Eddie paused as he checked the traffic before turning onto a kind of dirt path leading towards the forest.

“You’re so smart. And funny. And athletic-“ he paused again briefly, the road getting bumpy. “For two- you were the most sought after girl in Hawkins, everyone wanted to be friends with you. And lastly, well-“ Eddie paused to think briefly.

“Well you’re… gorgeous.” He finishes as they drive over a slight hill. Once they began their small descent through the tree path, Mary gasped at the view. The serene lake twinkled as the moonlight caught the small movements of the water. Eddie parked up next to a picnic bench, flicking the car off but leaving the music playing.

“Well, here we are- my secret spot.” He smiles and gets out of the van. He goes to Mary’s door and opens it for her, offering a hand to help her down. She takes it, and as she steps down his other hand cups her waist. He closes the door behind her, and they walk around the van towards the bench. He watched her walking, plush thighs straining against the fabric of her jeans. Her bare chest at this angle made Eddie want to throw his head back in a groan, but he just managed to stop himself before doing so. Once they got to the bench, Mary looked up at him.

“We should swim!” She beamed, and began to take Eddie’s leather jacket off. Eddie gulped.

“Are you sure? I mean it’s cold out and I only have one set of clothes in the van-“ she cut him off. “Oh it’s okay, I won’t be swimming with my clothes on.” She said it so nonchalantly as she began kick her converse off. She took her socks off and placed them into her shoes before picking them up off the ground and placing them next to Eddie’s jacket on the table. She paused to look up at Eddie again. “Well, are you gonna join me?” She giggled and began unbuttoning her jeans.

Eddie scrambled to begin undressing. “Oh- um, yeah yeah of course!” He kicks his dirty white sneakers off along with his socks.

He looks up and is met with a glorious view. Mary had bent over to remove her jeans, the thin fabric of her underwear the only thing covering her. Eddie drooled, watching as her ass jiggled with each movement. Her skin was smooth and soft looking, kind of like a peach. He snapped out of it when she stood up straight again, his hands going for his belt. He removed his pants as, putting them on top of his shoes and then he began to remove his shirt. Mary did the same, and when Eddie looked back at her he choked at the sight. She wore a tiny thin bralette, black and lacy. It was so slightly sheer, the glinting of her pierced buds visible in the low light. She adjusted the straps, eyes cast downwards before she adjusted her underwear on her hips as-well. She was gorgeous, soft and pale in the moonlight. Her thin waist complimented her wide full hips, plush thighs looking pillow-y. She turned around and took off towards the water, giggling before leaping in. Her head disappeared under the water and resurfaced with a delighted scream.

“Holy shit it’s so cold!” She laughed loud again. Eddie smiled then sprinted towards her, copying her movement and leaping in. The icy water engulfed him and he re-emerged with a yell.

“Yup, that’s fuckin cold as shit!” He confirmed. Mary swam up to him until there was barely any space between them. Her hair was slicked back off her face, and Eddie could see all her features clearly. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“You’re really pretty.” He says with no hesitation. Inside his head he was screaming, but on the outside he was calm.

“You… you think so?” Mary tucked her wet hair behind her ear, looking away coyly. Eddie swam a bit closer, their bodies brushing against each other with each wave.

“I’ve thought so for a long time.” Eddie continued, leaning down slightly. Mary looked like a deer in the headlights. Her eyes were wide looking up at him, her lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised. Eddie placed a hand on her hip under the water, and she was soft in his palm.

“I-I…” she stumbled in a soft voice.

“I think you’re really pretty too…” she looked down shyly. Eddie brought his free hand out of the water and cupped her chin in his fingertips. He gently brought her face up to meet his gaze again. He leaned down a bit more, noses almost touching.

“Can I…” he whispered, his eyes dark and lids low. Mary’s eyes trailed down Eddie’s face slowly, lingering on his pillow-y lips for a moment before she nodded softly. They both closed their eyes as Eddie leaned down. Fireworks went off in his brain. Mary’s lips were softer than he ever imagined. She tasted sweet like honey and a bit booze-y from the bourbon shot. For Mary, Eddie tasted warm. Eddie let his hand fall from her face and flow down her side to settle on her hips. Subconsciously he pulled her closer, and her small hands fell onto his chest. He deepened the kiss, lips moving together softly. He rubbed the soft flesh of her hips with his thumbs, and softly licked at her lip with his tongue, asking for more access. Mary smiled against him as she let his tongue in, it was hot and explored her wet mouth with each lick into their kiss. Mary’s cheeks burned feverishly hot, and she felt her skin tingle as Eddie wrapped both of his arms around her back in a warm and tight embrace. She sighed into the kiss as the pace quickened, and she could tell that Eddie was trying to hold back but was desperate. She looped her arms around the back of Eddie’s head, and he swiftly grabbed her thighs with his hands and wrapped her legs around his waist with a jump. Mary broke the kiss and yelped, but Eddie’s lips silenced her as he continued their heated exchange. His hands slid from her thighs to cup and squeeze at her ass, them both moaning into each others mouths. Eddie broke the kiss only to walk them back to the wall of the lake. He sat Mary down on the barrier before slotting himself between her thighs again.

He kissed her sweetly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this…” he whispered against her before he began kissing down her cheek to her jaw, one hand on her thigh while the other brushed her hair off her neck and settled behind her head. He kissed on the pale surface of her exposed neck, sucking and nipping softly. Mary gasped, a sweet sound that spurred Eddie on. He kissed down her neck and throat, sucking marks onto her collarbones. He snaked his hand on her thigh up to cup her breast from underneath as he pressed open mouth kisses onto the soft flesh. Mary moaned again and let her head fall back as Eddie mouthed her nipple through the cloth of her bralette. He could feel the metal of her piercing against his tongue and he groaned at the sensation.

“So fuckin pretty…” he whispered against her skin. His eyebrows were furrowed and his cheeks were flushed, his mouth was swollen and wet. Mary kissed his forehead.

“Let’s take this inside, yeah?” Eddie pressed another kiss to her lips. He pulls himself out of the water and helps Mary up, and he walks behind her with his hands on her waist towards the back of his van. He opens it and hands her a towel, and she dries herself off. She gives the towel back to him and he hands her an old oversized shirt. She takes off her wet bra and underwear and puts the shirt on. It smells like cigarettes and something else, and a hint of whatever detergent Eddie used on it. She climbed into the van, her damp hair wetting the back of her shirt. Eddie grabbed the pair of track pants he always kept in the van and ducked out of Mary’s view to change out of his wet boxers and into the dry track pants. He followed Mary in, leaving the van door open as he crawled up her body. She let her back hit the mattress as Eddie kissed up her chest and neck to her lips. Eddie used his hands to guide her legs open and he slotted himself between them. Mary moaned into his mouth, feeling a foreign heat between her legs growing. Eddie groaned as well, the soft movement of their bodies together giving some sort of relief to his aching member. Eddie begins kissing down her neck again, and sat up between her legs. He moved hands up her body, the shirt lifting as they trailed towards her breast. The shirt settle just below her breasts. Eddie took a moment to take in her form. Her low lidded eyes and open mouth, the dark blush spreading along her cheeks and chest. Her perfect tits lolled apart because of gravity, the outline of them visible through her shirt. He leaned down and cupped one breast in his hand, palming it gently. He used both hands to lift the shirt over them, then went back to massaging softly. He leaned down to kiss and lick at the nipple of her other breast. Mary moaned sweetly, her heart pounding against her ribs. She felt jolts of electricity every time Eddie’s hot tongue would roll over her pierced nipple. Eddie rocked his hips into her crotch as he moved, feeling the heat of her pussy through the damp fabric of his track pants. He took in the sight of her again, bare and exposed under him. Her pussy was cute and small, a tuft of hair on her Pubic area. He spread her legs wider as he dragged his fingertips down from her knee and over her thigh, barely brushing her soaked cunt. She whined softly, hoisting herself up onto her elbows.

“Eddie…” she sighed out.

“Yeah, sweetheart…?” He met her gaze. She looked nervous, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I’ve um… I’ve never done this before…” she looked away. Eddie’s heart swelled.

“That’s okay baby, we can stop-“ he began, making a move to remove himself from her before she interrupted. “No! I don’t want to stop…” she exclaimed before pausing.

“I just, I wanted to ask… if we could go slow?” She explained, and Eddie cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Of course baby, I wouldn’t rush this for anything. I’ve-“ he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “I’ve waited a long time, I’ve wanted to have you like this for a long time. And I’m gonna savor every second. I’m gonna make you feel so good, my pretty girl. I’m gonna take care of you, ok?” He finished. She smiled and nodded happily, before Eddie pressed a kiss on her mouth and trailed down.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby…” he whispered against her skin. She shivered in anticipation. “So fuckin pretty…” he groans as his mouth finally reaches above her dripping wet pussy. He spreads her legs a bit wider before ghosting a breath over her cunt. “Look at you, all wet for me…” he groans as he brings a finger to her slit and runs it through her folds. Mary keens out a moan and let’s her head fall back. Eddie grins and presses a kiss to her clit, her hips jolting up at the contact.

“That’s right baby, let me take care of you, my pretty girl…” he whispered before he lets his tongue lick from her dripping opening to her swollen clit. Mary sighs out, her face relaxed in pleasure. Eddie licks a few more times before letting his tongue settle over her clit. He slowly caresses the bud with his soft tongue, his hands cupping her hips as he licks. He moans into it, the vibrations making Mary shiver. He gradually sped up, loving the soft sounds Mary let slip from her soft mouth. He brought one of his hands to his mouth, wetting his fingers before letting one settle at her entrance. He continued working on her clit as he gently stroked her pussy with his finger. He breached the hole and felt as her pussy sucked his digit in, and he gently pushed it into her. Mary felt her stomach turn as the sensation amplified her sensitivity. She was a gasping mess under Eddie’s hands and mouth. Eddie pumped his finger in and out a few times before curving the digit inside her. He felt her spongey wall and caressed his finger against it. Mary felt an unfamiliar warmth growing in her stomach as she moaned louder, her noises becoming breathier and breathier the more Eddie continued. He took his finger out and spread her slick onto his other finger before gently coaxing them inside her again. Eddie kept a steady pace on her clit, and he could feel her stomach spasming as she got closer and closer to her release. Eddie moaned against her again as he closed his mouth around her and sucked. Mary cried out and tangled her fingers into Eddie’s hair. He pumped his fingers in and out of her as he flicked his tongue over her clit in quick flicking movements.

“Eddie-mm Eddie! I think I’m gonna-“ Mary’s hand tightened on Eddie’s hair and he grabbed her hip tightly as he felt her squeezing his fingers in release. Mary cried out, quivering as her orgasm ripped through her. Eddie stayed latched onto her, keeping pace with his tongue as his fingers fucked in and out of her to ride her through the pleasure. He took his fingers out of her and brought them up to his mouth, Mary watching as he sucked her slick off his fingers and cleaned them off. He shimmied his track pants off his hips to reveal his strained and leaking cock. It was big, rock hard, and so very fat. Mary was worried it wouldn’t fit. Eddie kneeled down to her pussy again and started lapping into her hole, gathering all of her juices into his mouth. Mary sighed out in pleasure and let him go at it. He pulled himself off her and spit the mixture of his saliva and her juices into his palm. Mary blushed as she realized what he had done, and she eyed him as he pumped his dick with their combined slick. He groaned at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut momentarily before he leaned down and pressed hot open mouth kissed to Mary’s mouth. She moaned into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Eddie broke the kiss to press his forehead against hers, their damp hair sticking to their foreheads.

“Look at me, princess.” Eddie whispered and Mary opened her doe eyes, them meeting in a soft loving gaze.

“I’m gonna put it in, ok? And if it hurts we can stop.” He whispers. Mary nods, her eyes not leaving his. Eddie guided his dick to the entrance of her vagina, swiping it along her folds a few times. He felt the dip where her entrance was, hot against his cock. He pushed in lightly, watching Mary’s face intently to make sure she wasn’t in any pain. Mary was gasping softly, eyebrows slightly furrowed but her eyes were bright with lust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. So fucking tight, god…” Eddie groaned as his head breached her.

“How you feeling, is it sore?” He asked gentle.

“Mmm, feels so good.” Mary responded with a sultry moan. Eddie smirked at her, still pushing into her warmth.

“That it, that’s my girl… taking me in so fuckin well…” Eddie was breathy, mouth open and hot as he got halfway in. Mary’s gaze was faltering, her eyes going hazy and unfocused. She squeezed them shut with a sharp gasp when Eddie buried himself inside her entirely. Mary felt the burning stretch around his girth cock, the pain was hot and white, while the pleasure was warm and spread itself across her face and chest. There was silence as Eddie composed himself, his heart feeling like it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

“God you feel so fucking good baby, doing so good for me so fucking good to me-“ he rasped out. Mary smiled wryly, “can I move, baby? Are you ready?” Eddie asks sincerely. “Mm, maybe…” Mary rasped out, eyes still closed tightly. He pressed a kiss to her nose.

“I’ll wait until you’re sure, okay? There’s no rush.” he finishes with a swift kiss to her lips. She opens her eyes, a few tears falling down her cheeks.

“Eddie…” she whispers softly. He presses their foreheads together again, his eyes soft and worried.

“Yeah baby? You want to stop? Are you hurting?” He asks. She shakes her head.

“M okay, I just…” she presses a soft lingering kiss to his lips.

“I never thought this would ever happen…” she breathes out a laugh. “I’ve had a crush on you since the day I saw you and- I’ve been away for so long I thought I’d lost my chance, however small it might’ve been.” She giggles lightly, a few more tears falling from her eyes.

“I never thought you would’ve given me a second glance, but to hear we were both just waiting for a moment to finally be close enough together… it’s kind of comical…” Eddie laughed as well.

“I feel the exact same way. I really never thought you even knew I existed… but here we are.” He finished, a warm silence filling the van. He smiled at her, she smiled at him.

“Here we are.” She responded, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Eddie deepened the kiss, cupping a hand around her cheek. He felt her arms tighten around his neck, her body pressing against his. Eddie felt her clenching around him, hot and wet and so fucking soft. Her legs pulled him closer as they wrapped around his waist. He removed his hand from her cheek and let it fall to her thigh, coaxing it around him. He felt her rolling her hips to him and he took the hint. Slowly, tentatively, he pulled out slightly. He sunk his hips back in slowly, groaning deep in his throat. Mary sighed sweetly and smiled into the kiss. He repeated the movement a few times, slow and steady.

“How does it feel? Are you ok?” He rasps against her lips. She nods softly.

“So good…” she whispers before she kissed him deeply. Eddie groans as he begins picking up the pace. If he was being honest, he’d admit he was worried. She was so tight, so small under him. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt her, even on accident. His worries slowly disappeared with each thrust. He felt her falling apart beneath him, her having to break their kiss to moan and gasp. She buried her face into his neck, and he enjoyed the way her breaths would brush against his skin when she exhaled. His cock filled her pretty pussy up like it was made for it. Mary let her arms fall from his neck and settle above her head. Her eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed as she let breathy moans fall from her lips. Eddie leaned down to suck marks onto her tits, a hand interlocking into her raised hands. Eddie began snapping his hips against her, groaning out low and slow. He sat up and kneeled above her. His hands cupped her waist as he pulled her against his thrusts. He growled as he watched her unravel. Her fat tits bounced with each thrusts, her arms thrown over her eyes to cover them. Her mouth was open, sweet sweet noises falling from her thick lips. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby, fuckin gorgeous…” he grunted out. He felt a familiar heat growing in his stomach as he got closer and closer. He removed a hand from her hip and sucked on his thumb, slicking it up before beginning to rub on her swollen clit.

Mary moaned out nice and loud, “Oh fuck, Eddie- don’t stop, please!” She screamed, panting out desperate breaths.

“You getting close again, princess? You gonna come for me again?” Eddie whispered.

“So good-so close…” she breathed out. Eddie smirked. “That’s my good girl, come for me- my pretty girl..” Eddie pounded in and out of her, wet smacking noises sounded throughout the van. Eddie felt his release coming closer, and he could feel Mary’s walls fluttering around him.

“I’m gonna come, baby!” He yelled out, pumping a few more times before he felt his cock twitching. Eddie leaned down over her and attached their lips in a wet open mouthed kiss. He felt her thighs begin to shake as she moaned into the kiss. He grunted out as he felt his cock shooting his cum deep inside her. He pressed his hips harder and harder into her, his hips bones digging into the fat flesh of her thighs.

“You’re so fucking perfect, feel so fucking good baby, fuck….” Eddie groaned out as he slowed his hips, kissing her cheeks and nose.

“I- so good, Eddie…” she moaned out as she finished. Eddie sighed against her lips, and pressed one final kiss against them. It was slow and languid. Their hands slowly explored each others bodies, interlocking as they finished. Eddie slowly pulled out, Mary wincing as he did.

“Are you ok??” Eddie asked in a worried tone.

“M ok, just a little sore I guess? First time n all..” Mary smiled reassuringly. Eddie pouted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Mary pressed a kiss to his lips. “It’s ok! It’s not so bad. It felt amazing…” she smiled. Eddie’s eyebrows relaxed.

“You’re sure? Positive?” Eddie cupped both her cheeks with his hands and pressed kisses to them.

“Yes, Eddie, I’m ok!” She giggled, the kisses tickling her cheeks.

“If you say so baby, but let me know if it starts getting really bad…” he finished with a sweet peck to her lips. She gave him one in return, their eyes meeting. They smiled softly at each other, just taking in each others faces.

“God… you’re so god damn beautiful.” Eddie sighed out. Mary smiled in response, her eyes almost entirely closed.

“You are also very beautiful.” She responds matter of factly. “Me? Nah, I’m rugged, I look way older than I am, too.” Eddie responded in a playful tone.

“No no no, you are beautiful, Eddie Munson. No debate.” She beamed back at him. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Well, you’re the boss.” He smiled back and kissed her again.

“I will never get tired of that.” He says, kissing her again. Her face frowned slightly.

“Eddie…” She begins. Eddie’s smile fades as well, the warmth swelling in his chest being replaced by anxiety. It came back with a vengeance, his breathing quickening and palms got sweaty immediately.

“I have to go back to Penn State in 2 weeks…” she says sadly. Eddie feels something snap in his chest, he thought it might be his heart. Mary felt a pang in her chest when his puppy dog eyes brimmed with tears.

“That’s ok! We can- we can still be together, right? I only have a month and a bit left before I graduate, we can do long distance ‘til then and-“ Eddie gushes, his big big eyes frantic and searching. Mary let a sad smile grace her lips. “And what happens after?”

Eddie stops, mouth agape. His eyebrows fell as he thought.

“I can- maybe I can move up with you? To Pennsylvania?” He finishes with a desperate look in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I mean, you’ve lived in Hawkins your entire life- and you’d come to Pennsylvania? To be with me?” Mary asked, her expression mirroring his as she spoke.

“I’ve known I loved you since I was a 12 years old- I have you now and I’m- dammit I’m never letting you go again.” Eddie is deadly serious, his eyebrows now furrowed in worry, determination and passion. Mary looks like a deer in the headlights, a soft blush gracing her face.

“You- you’d really wanna come up to Pennsylvania to be with me?” she whispers, blinking slowly. Eddie nods his head furiously in confirmation. He’d never been more sure about anything in his entire life.

“In a heartbeat.” He finishes with a piercing gaze. Mary felt her heart swell.

“I-“ she began. She screwed her eyes shut, crinkling her nose as she thought. She decided that in that moment, she would never let Eddie go either. That it was somehow destiny that had brought her back to him. It had to be.

“I love you.” She spoke as her eyes opened and met with Eddie’s.

There was only a second before Eddie’s lips were crashing on him, all desperation and hunger. She kisses back just as ferociously, their tongues clashing and noses smooshing into cheeks. The desperate noises they made filled the van up as the outlined the shape of each others bodies with their hands, memorizing each other’s every dip and curve. Eddie wrapped Mary’s legs around his bare waist and he felt her already soaking pussy against the underside of his cock that was pressed against it. Eddie grinded against her as they continued to kiss, and he felt her hand travel down his chest to reach his aching cock. She pumped it a few times to spread her slick around him before she positioned it at her entrances. Eddie let himself sink in slowly as they continued to kiss. It was tighter than before, underprepared but so eager it sucked him in deeper and deeper. He grunted and moaned against her lips with no care, bundling her up in his arms as he thrusted into her. Mary keened out and began moaning in a high breathy voice. Eddie was lost in her sea of love, and all he wanted to do was fill her up with his. They grabbed and pawed and caressed each other the entire time, kissing and brushing noses together. Eddie watched her face as she came hard, his name tumbling over and over again from her sweet mouth. He grabbed her cheeks and replaced the words with his tongue, not letting her get a breath in as he rammed wildly into her. She felt her head throb and lungs scream with the lack of oxygen but it heightened her pleasure 10 fold and before she knew it she was creaming all over Eddie’s dick, the liquid coating both of their thighs. Eddie broke his breath-stealing kiss to look down at her body writhing in pleasure as he continued to pound relentlessly into her. He smirked darkly as he looked up at her.

“You don’t know what you do to me, baby…” his eyes rolled back into his skull as he threw his head back, howling in pleasure as he fucked into her and pumped his cum deep inside, pushing it in even further with every stuttering thrusts of his hips. They both rasped in heavy breaths as Eddie pulled his soft dick out of her fucked-out hole. He collapsed next to her before rolling on his back, and he pulled Mary close to his chest. She settled into it like she was meant to be there, instantly melting into the embrace and praying to whatever god created her to make this her afterlife when she died. They breathed each others smell in, and in the haze of sleep overtaking Mary’s body she heard his reply rumble in his chest.

“I love you too.”

[builder051]

I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

Beck, Loser

_________________________

Creedless Assassins (with a touch of Nat on fire).

Ehhhh, trigger warnings--canon typical violence, drug use, alcohol, addiction, mentions of sex, mentions of dangerous behavior, mentions of death (of a villain), mentions of depression (inc. feelings of not worth living anymore--NOT suicidal), mental illness/ED-esque stuff--Basically the usual for both of these 'verses, but maybe amped up a tiny bit.

_____________________

They've been assigned a mission. Again. To stand around the third level of the parking garage, not awkwardly at at all with their full leather battle dress and weapons held at the ready.

Eventually the target would raise the blinds on the window to his office, probably when the shadows of sunlight begin to fall in the other direction over the rest of the cityscape. Sometime around 12:07 pm Eastern Standard.

They're in New York, after all, and she's something of a specialist in watching sunlight fade to moonlight and back again. It's exceptionally glorious to watch while lying on one's back in a sleeping bag, under the distorted stretch of plexiglass that protected her temporary bed from the worst of the elements. The worst of everything. A few pills. The vodka minis from the bottom of her pocket. Nat's past, her training, became more of an insurance policy. She wouldn't get hurt. She didn't last time. And the seduction of observing, absorbing the things that went on, all over the world, overpowered the needs of mere humans. Nat slept with her eyes open, gazing at half-constellations lost mostly to city dust. She slept stock-still, laid out flat, allowing fate and liquor to warm her through the night.

Nat's been home for... at least a day, now. And back to the office. Back from leave, or finished dawdling through her last mission--she's already forgotten.

"Ok." Clint checks the time on the many-handed watch face embedded in his left arm guard. "It's 11:55."

"Mm." Nat hopes her acknowledgement is audible. Sleeping in her own bed, though warmer, is a lot more dull than... camping.

--

The bottle of cheap rosé she had before dinner hadn't agreed with bagel and Velveeta she'd attempted to fry for an evening meal. All that had produced, though, was a lump of greasy, rock-hard bread with molten cheese product dribbling out of the hole in the middle. And the unleashing of the shrill sound of the smoke detector, which was all the way across the apartment, stuck to the ceiling above the half-wall separating living room from the bedroom. Waving a fistfull of junk mail at the thing made it shut up, but then Nat was distracted.

She jammed as much bagle into her mouth as possible, then tried to breathe and hack at the same time as rough edges of bread scraped her upper palate and a string of neon, oversalted, and still boiling non-cheese ran down her throat.

Nat heard the frying pan fall off the stove and the junk mail flop on top of it. She hopes the shopping flyers won't start to sizzle and start an actual flame. Or maybe she doesn't care. Her renters' insurance covers fire, she thinks. She could get a pay out. The smell of old smoke, suspicious ceiling stains... she's lived in worse conditions.

She makes it to the bathroom, but vomits beside the toilet. The whole room is just three feet across and barely longer than it is wide, so it's not an awful miss. Not the kind she feels guilty about; it won't require a lot of cleanup.

Unable to focus on anything but the blisteringly painful predicament in her throat, Nat's hand lands directly in her first deposit of sickness, sending her skidding on her knees and coming down hard on the toilet seat with her chin.

"Fuck." Her uvula is in some kind of limbo imprisonment, unable to force a swallow or retract enough to let the bile- soaked bread escape with the rapidly solidifying Velveeta. The sweet bite of the rosé has migrated upward as well, giving Nat an internal punch in the gut to remind her she is already full of liquid if she needs to wash herself out.

Nat bows her head and folds her arms at the back of her neck, shoulders safely tucking around her ears. Then her slimy fingertips make contact with her skin, and she shudders, then pushes a retch with her abdominal muscles.

It takes fingers at first, then hacking and stretching her neck and lips, but Nat finishes. Yanks the towel off the back of the bathroom door. Cleans her hands. The floor. Then she folds the threadbare terry cloth into quarters and mashes it against her face.

She's red from exertion. Her eyes are puffy. Watering against their will. The last of the wine, far digested by now, adds fogginess to the floatiness that Nat's always pretended was fun, like fairy wings, instead of the mark that she was about to pass out.

It had been fun, like a game, to flutter back to her dormitory and into the nest of her covers, where she could fall back asleep before the nighttime minder would hear a rustle and think about raising a brow.

Now, though, Nat's to-do list pops up behind her eyelids, flashing red in urgency. Set an alarm. Turn on her ringer. Is she safe?

That one's been hard to answer. For a while now. But she has guns and knives and an empty wine bottle and a frying pan down there somewhere, filled, sadly with greasy, defeated-looking newsprint.

--

Last night's wine had soothed Nat into passable sleep. She woke to her alarm, dressed, drove in, and made the breakroom's first pot of morning's coffee. It was meant to be a friendly, 'I'm back,' gesture to Clint, the most vigorous consumer of the breakroom coffee, and therefore, usually the one doing the brewing--not to mention the carafe scrubbing, grounds sweeping, filter finding, and peforming the endless tasks that went along with it.

She stood and waited for him to show up so they could both pour steaming styrofoam cups and clink them together over the manila envelope that held the information for their next assignment.

Nat may have made the coffee, even the one who ceremonially downed a cup, black, no sugar, on a raw, tender stomach, but she was not going to hold the stupid track of formality for long. God, she's been at work for two hours and she wants a hit of heroin and a flop in that one alley behind the mom-and-pop coffee and doughnuts, where the air smells amazing and somehow her other senses eat it up and fill her with unbeguiled happiness...except, of course, for the tiny sliver of brain that remains aware that if she gives into the addiction too often, she will lose her job, her income, her security clearance, her friends... her best friend. And probably her life. Not that she cares so much about that part.

"11:56." Clint reads the time out slowly. He glances to Nat. Where Nat ought to be, that is.

She's four of five yards back, leaning against a pillar, a gun tucked carelessly into the thigh pocket of her leggings. She flips the bronze caps that hold the bite cartridges in her wristbands, open, then closed. Then open...

"Hey!" Clint taps the end of his bow on the concrete floor, where it makes a brief loud note that echoes well beyond its appropriate talking-turn. "Are you paying attention?"

Nat raises her head. Which is aching.

Tylenol? Excedrin? If she can get into medical, maybe... Xanax? Fiorocet? Oxy. Now we're talking. A little vodka and, hm. Nat thinks. What's gentle on the puking system? Protein shake? Vending machine, how convenient. But does she have cash? Who can she hit up who won't be suspicious...? Peter Parker, maybe, if he's around. But asking for a kid's pocket change so she can do drugs...? It's the damn headache, really...

"Yes." Nat rolls her eyes. Which hurts. "But nobody sets alarm clocks for lunch."

Clint, who, in the past few seconds, has taken up his ready position again, scowls back at her. "I thought you liked target practice." There's a tinge of a joke in his words, but Nat's highly done with being buddy-buddy. Her claws and ability to bully and belittle are an inch below the surface, and she doesn't see them getting through the day without raising a little bad blood.

"I always win against you," Nat says plainly. She pats her gun a couple of times. "I don't have to stand there and wind up for ten years, like you do."

"Come on. You only win 'cause I let you." Clin offers what may be a sincere or deeply sarcastic grin.

"Why didn't you just bring a cadet?" Nat shrugs. She does not mean to snort. "If it's all just target practice."

"Above their pay grade," Clint answers simply. "Did you even read the brief?"

"Do you think I'm stupid or something?" She makes enough of a stony glare to cast the question seriously. Like part of an interrogation

Nat had glanced through the papers of the brief as they rode in the nondescript black SUV on the way to their start point. Nat looked at bolded words. Building diagrams. She sped-read diagonally top to bottom, then bottom to top on the adjacent page, collecting maximum information with minimum effort, and trying as hard as possible not to get carsick.

For all intents and purposes, she has read the brief. Nat's method of keeping time, though, is unadulterated by to-the-minute school bus arrivals and ice-cream shops that closed at precisely 5:30. Pointing this out to Clint... would be god's honest truth. It would also make him hate her. Probably miss all his shots. Be downgraded for poor performance. Maybe give Nat the cold shoulder for as long as they lived. She lived. Because he had reasons to carry on.

Clint turns slightly, so he's no longer looking at Nat over his shoulder. He's at a perfect 45 degrees, giving his attention to neither Nat nor the target. Which, in Nat's opinion, is exceptionally ill thought through--Not only are the 12 and 6 open to attack, but so are the 3 and 9. The target is at 1:30, and Nat's at 10:30, which, though her posture and the height of the wall of the parking garage currently form a blockade, gives her the most direct line of fire to the window of the target that, sometime in the next 13-odd minutes, will raise his window blinds and drop dead, never knowing what hit him. It'll be a bullet, though. Nat's fairly certain. But pointing that out to Clint... Well, she'll hold her tongue until he's had his chance to speak.

"I..." Clint sighs. "I think you... sometimes..." He pauses again. "You do some really stupid shit." Clint presses his lips together. "Not to say that, like, anyone else doesn't do...stuff."

Nat straightens up a little so she can see the target's window, still closed up, over Clint's shoulder.

"Hm." She doesn't think Clint sees her looking. She doesn't think Clint is aware of how much of her job she performs on autopilot. "Work's, you know, hard," Nat says. "When you've got...other stuff..."

Nat chooses to let her voice trail off. To leave Clint with the ghost of the threat, the knowledge that she has the ability to say more, to hold it over his head. She'd never do it. Clint knows she won't. But, then again, she does some stupid shit.

"I-- fuck..." Clint lets the end of his bow touch the floor again. He holds the top of it, and a few arrows, tightly between his fists, then lowers his forehead as if in shame.

Nat stays quiet. He's being a sucker, though. He's being wildly unsafe. Clint's putting himself first, putting his reputation first, putting Nat's perception of him first, flashing his honor... and leaving himself completely vulnerable. Both of them. It's he, now who has no interest in the mission.

Nat had meant to get under his skin, but she'd controlled herself. She hadn't unleashed her worst. She didn't mean to destroy him, her buddy, her mission partner.

But it's a catastrophe anyway. Nat fucks things up. She wonders vaguely how many shots of vodka she can take before a nice dose of oxy makes her fall asleep.

"The shadow doesn't cover the other half of the city this time of year until 12:07 or so." It's a declarative statement. She's not telling Clint he's wrong. That his ready position was unjustified. And certainly not that he doesn't know how to tell time.

There's gatorade in the vending machine, too. The big ones. One quart? Hopefully it's restocked. Nat hates the orange flavor. But a hangover buster's a hangover buster, all the same.

"Clint?" Nat taps her wristband against the butt of her gun, which remains in her pocket. The clank is sharp and harsh, and it doesn't produce an echo like Clint's bow against the ground.

"Ah. Yeah..." He shakes his head and blinks a few times.

Nat checks the shadow against the row of skyscrapers set a block in front of the target's window. It's past noon, she gauges. They have 5 minutes, maybe. At least that's how long they have to get back into ready positions.

"Hey! Mind the time!" Nat thinks about adding 'dipshit,' but it would only be a waste of glares and pokes and uncertainty of whether they've made it back to equal ground.

"Ah, kill me for this on," Nat mumbles under her breath. She pulls her gun from the side pocket of her leggins, letting the elastic snap satisfactorily back into shape, nary a wrinkle remaining. Nat glances quickly from the nearest parked car to the entry to the stairwell to the architectural pillars to the handicapped-accessible loading zones to the trash and recycling bins. Then she draws in a breath, gracefully lifts her shoulders, and turns in her heels. She still shoots best from a natural first position. Not forced into impossible turnout, but balanced, steady, and-- she pulls the trigger.

A perfectly round hole, just the size of a #2 pencil, appears in the ceiling above them. Nat had aimed about two feet in front of herself and five or so west of Clint, so neither one of them was actually in danger. The effect, though had them both scrambling.

"What the fuck? Why did you do that?" Clint yells toward Nat, leaping away from a shallow crack forming around the hole. A few bits of rubble, pea gravel, really, fell to the garage floor and scattered.

"Well, I got your attention." Nat squeezes past Clint and leans her elbows on the garage wall, not exactly in a ready stance, but closer and more attentive to the target than Clint, who is still trying to comb dust out of his hair and eyebrows.

"You could have fucking killed us!" Clint yells.

Nat finds his voice quite easy to ignore. The echo makes it like the cry of an animal, or the sound of a foghorn, let off once, then carrying on through the power of physics.

"SHIELD doesn't have a lot of money for damage settlements," Clint says crossly when he finally appears at Nat's side again. "If you make that thing collapse, I'm not gonna cover for you."

"It's not going to collapse." Nat rolls her eyes. "But, hey, look at that tower." She points. "Yes the migraine-inducing one that's made of polarized sunglass lenses."

"Uh..." Clint squints.

"See the cell tower on top of it?"

"Like, over there?" It's close enough. Not worth the time splitting hairs.

"For the love of the fucking birdbrain." Nat shakes her head. "Mr. wristwatch. Mr. timekeeper." Nat pauses, but Clint doesn't answer. "Sundial much?"

"Didn't those die out with the Romans or something?" Clint keeps watching the skyline, though.

"Yeah, along with bows and arrows," Nat replies flatly. "Big HYDRA officials who are also CEOs of obscure companies that manufacture dangerous chemicals with premature human trials? People who work for themselves don't take their lunch hour because the teacher told them to line up."

"Ok." Clint assumes a ready position. Then aims at the window beside the one they're supposed to be targeting. He huffs when Nat uses two fingers to nudge his arrow for a better shot. "What am I missing here?"

Adderall, Nat thinks. Or a 17th cup of coffee.

But the latter has just as much of a chance of becoming a problem instead of a pick-me-up, and Clint could be accused of public exposure, or something else random and outdated, and those are the kind of charges that flashing creds or posing for a selfie don't change a grumpy policeman's mind about the issuing of a ticket. And there's no way Nat would cover for that, either.

She wonders if Clint would cover for her if she pulled out a mini and had herself her own jolt of liquid courage. But Nat's pretty sure the bottle at the bottom of her bag has become a vestibule for used needles. She has no problem re-using a needle, as long as it's hers, only hers, and has only ever been hers. But taking a shot has only one relevant meaning at the moment, and Nat is sure she would not enjoy the introduction of a piece of slim, pointy metal to her gastrointestinal system, no matter how small and easy to swallow.

Sometimes people do stupid things.

Sometimes they do them on purpose.

The three linear points of the recycling bin, the architectural pillar, and the center of the handicapped-accessible loading area, when mapped on a diagonal, created the hypotenuse that perfectly fit the endpoints of the right angle created by the right angled corner consisting of the line stretching from bumper of the last parked car in the row to the top of Clint's head, and the line running from Clint's to the entrance of the stairwell. Each level of the parking garage is arranged in roughly the same way, or the same way in reverse as levels build upon levels. As the area of ceiling where Nat sent her bullet had nothing underneath it (well, except Clint and herself as possible casualties), it would follow that nothing meaningful would be taking up the same space on the level above them. The crosswalk toward the elevator. The mounded rock supporting a "one-way" sign. Another trash can. At worst, one of those corners marked off with diagonal lines where parking isn't allowed, but someone will try squeezing in their smart car...

But that one was worth the risk. And it was the risk, Nat supposes, that made it stupid. She has nothing to say about her geometry. It's been something of a mind-soother lately. Even though it falls away quickly to thoughts about booze. There's a kid that hangs around the office, usually in blue leggings and a letterman jacket, and Nat doesn't have a soft spot for him. Not at all. He is allowed the blue BIC pens and blank computer paper from her cubicle, though. But he may not have cardstock. And under no circumstances may he sit in her ergonomic swivel chair. But, for some reason, there are always folding chairs stacked neatly at the end of the hallway. And Nat's gained a pack of alcohol wipes, low-profile, perfectly sized to nestle beside her stapler, and claiming 99.99% germ-removal efficiency. Without the harsh smell of medical-grade disinfectant.

She hasn't told Clint. No need for more vulnerabilities, more worries, more secret confessions. No need for private codes, silent pleads for help, forgiveness when there's no promise it won't happen again.

Because that's what stupidity is, right? Making poor choices. Nat, putting needles in her arms, and Clint, refusing a medevac because he won't leave her alone in the field for five minutes without his protection, even if it's wild and delirious and completely off target. It's Budapest, it's the Chitauri, it's the time they slept together when neither of them was even drunk. Or high. The hotel room was just fucking cold. And...stupid happened. But Clint's clean, and Nat's barren, so, it's not like actual stupid happened.

"Ok." Nat calculates something like 2 minutes left. "Grown-ups with boring jobs have blinds in their offices," she says quickly, not giving Clint a chance to butt in. "Blinds go down when it's sunny. They go up when it's shady."

She sounds like a self-righteous bitch talking to an idiot, but it's important that this is communicated, even if it's simple. They live on jets and in cubicles and cheap hotels with blackout curtains.

"You can't calculate the target's movements by guessing when he stands up to go to lunch."

Nat hopes there isn't an implication that Clint's original strategy was useless. She likes to be right. She likes to be first. She does not like to see her partner, her friend, drinking the cold dregs of breakroom coffee and leaning against the back bumper of his car, which is idling while the stereo blasts something like Toto's "Africa."

In pure, stupid selfishness, it makes her wild once she gets a chance to hit up. The lame "text me," or hesitant shoulder squeeze Nat offers Clint when he's down, it never seems to solve anything. She doesn't know how to pick him up off the floor and breathe life back into him. Not really. Clint has a wife. He has a family.

And Nat has the liquor store on the corner, the Rite Aid that doesn't ID for smokes or poor man's LSD. The residual silent toe-running from her Bolshoi training from before HYDRA took her away. It still gets her in and out of unlocked rooms with pockets full of loot. The gym. The bathroom. The vending machine. That one may take algebra, though. Nat hasn't brushed up on solving for x.

Xanax. That would be great. She'd split it with Clint, and then maybe the tension would die down enough for them to finish the mission.

"People just eat when they're hungry...?" Clint probably doesn't even realize he's talking. He gives his wristwatch a glance, seeming to startle himself. "It's twelve-oh-fucking-- we probably missed it--what the--"

"Nope, just watch the sundial." Nat assumes her ready position, front knee bent and back knee straight. Elbows locked and forearms barely touching the garage wall. She sets her sight on the center of the window. Clint... she can't spare a breath, even a thought on Clint.

Nat breathes slowly, in, and out. Her body doesn't move. Her ribcage doesn't expand. Even the smallest dancers learned early that their talent meant nothing. Obedience. Perfection. The bodice of the costume may as well be a whale-boned corset. The ballet mistress will shout if the girl in the back row parts her lips, raises her collarbones. Discipline. For... Nat gives it 90 seconds, tops.

"You know what you're doing?" This time, Clint's ready position is true.

"Mm-hm."

"What's the visual confirmation?" Clint's only checking. Not annoying the crap out of her. Probably not on purpose, anyway.

"The color of his tie."

"What's the color?"

"If you don't stop it, we are going to miss the window. Window of time, I mean."

"I don't see anything," Clint protests. "And I don't feel like you're all there, with the shooting the ceiling and everything."

Nat blinks. The only movement she allows herself to make. "Shut up and watch the sun move."

"Can you just, like, confirm--"

Nat angrily spits out her answer, her words delivered at high speed and low volume. "The tie is robin's egg blue, which is his daughter's favorite color, and the color of her backpack, which is hanging in the hallway of the private school, housed in a white marble building five blocks south and four blocks east of here. Her dad is going to die within the next minute, and she will be raised in Thailand, where her mother is from, and HYDRA and chemical company and all that shit will never touch her little life again." Another faint breath. "And people stand up when they raise their blinds, fuck you very much. If you can't figure out the rest, then--"

The number on the clock no longer matters. Nor does the slant of the sunlight, though, if it would pause, visuals would be better, thus improving the success of a shot.

It's Clint that fires first, exhaling sharply and loosing his arrow the moment the target's window shade begins to rise. He's accounting for travel time, drag, the momentum lost in a collision with glass... Perhaps, as a party, they aren't as deficient in mathematics as Nat had originally thought.

Nat holds her position, counting one half-second. Two-half seconds.

Black leather belt, shiny silver buckle, white oxford over beer belly, and just the merest flash of bright pastel blue-- Nat pulls the trigger.

Once. Twice.

Then stops. Listens.

Her instinct is to empty the barrel. Overkill. Just to be sure. But that's a whole different kind of stupid, one she has to control, lest she end up on the wrong side of the system. Out of control. Mixing her alliances. Unable to stop. Committing the kind of stupid acts that create damage far, far beyond her ability to fix. Paying a dealer in the wrong currency. Swapping a piece of clothing tagged with SHIELD's contracted manufacturer's logo.

But today, Nat's able ro reign herself in. Clint usually puts a hand on her shoulder if she's on track to do too much damage. He doesn't offer the contact, though. And Nat's not sure if she'd accept it well.

It's hard to hear anything, what with the cavernous garage behind them and the bustling city out in front, but there had evidently been a smashing of glass and a direct hit to make the kill.

Nat gazes at the remains of the window for a moment, then collects her phone to record the visual evidence of the mission accomplished. The target slumps at his thick waist, torso, head, and arms hanging out the open window, his tie dangling straight down and showing impressive blood spatter.

Clint probably broke the window, at least, if not also scoring some damage to the opponent. Nat had finished him off, as evidenced by the tie and lifeless slump.

"You're actually going to send that?" Clint asks, looking at the snapshot Nat's just taken.

Nat makes a face of disgust. "It's not for my personal photo album." She creates a new message addressed to Fury, and puts Clint's name on the CC line, just for kicks. Then she adds the photo for verification of take-down. The usual 'mission accomplished' verbiage. Then a note about the hole in the concrete of the parking garage. "Misfire," Nat types.

"And I guess I'm not supposed to mention any details?" Clint raises his brow as he reads the text Nat has just copied him on.

"Oh, go to Home Depot and buy a tube of caulk." Nat rolls her eyes. and turns away. "Weekend project, right?"

"What're you going to do this weekend? You know, assuming we don't get a back-to-back." Clint asks, with just enough pointedness to his question to make it...personal. But it's difficult to tell whether he's expecting a joke or a confession for an answer.

Nat shrugs. "Sleep in. Maybe clean my bathroom." There's no reply, so she carries on. "I got one of those, like, motivational water bottles, the ones that have the lines to help you remember to hydrate all day. I don't like tap water, though, so..."

"Our fridge has a filter." It's not an invitation, exactly. Just... words. "And I might buy the kind of glue with the fumes..." They aren't looking at each other, but the flow of the words makes things fit, if not neatly, at least back together. Stupid is as stupid does, mistakes made, rescues attempted, and x most certainly = zero.

No one's better, or faster, or stronger. No one's more vulnerable, or more protective, or better than the other. They move in unison. They cancel each other out. Partners. Buddy-buddy.

Nat might walk around the block tonight collecting trophies and charms, then relaxing and slowly delighting, then riding the fairy wings that always carry her safely to sleep.

Clint will drink coffee. Maybe pop one of the stale squares of Nicorette chewing gum out of the glove box and find an album that reminds him of community college and meeting his wife and not...trauma. He'll ask Laura to join him for intense yet brief shower sex, that will only be a little rushed, due to the need to listen for the baby monitor.

Clint will volunteer for kid duty. He'll watch Laura sleep for a few minutes, then pull out his phone before bedding down himself. 9:30, he'll decide. The kids and the dog and the cereal and the legos will all be running at full force in his world. And people like them, Earth's mightiest heroes, aren't necessarily programmed to run by the hours of the clock. But 9:30 seems reasonable, Clint thinks, for a friendly check-in.

Nat probably won't have set herself an alarm the previous night. Her ringer might not be on, either. But Clint has options. Text. Call. Video Chat.

Maybe he will offer to take her to Home Depot. Not to fix that stupid hole in the ceiling of the parking garage, though.

That's technically the job of City Works, but Clint thinks perhaps Tony Stark would enjoy the opportunity to hover in midair whilst applying nuclear-force caulk in an unfortunately phallic shaped airtight container to a concrete hole roughly the size of one's pinky finger.

No. After examining the hardware on her faucet, Clint will take Nat into town and buy her a water filter attachment. A gag gift, if anything, but he wants her to have one. Clint doubts the project will require glue; socket wrenches are more likely, and maybe a screwdriver, or some washers... But they'll hit up the adhesives aisle and pick something out. Even if it turns out to be extraneous.

Stupid? Who cares. Life goes on anyway.

[carynsilver]

Favorite Fics: Drarry Edition

Like I mentioned last time, reading has been a big comfort to me with all this craziness and sheltering at home, so I want to pay it forward and send love to some of the writers whose work has been brightening my quarantine. Thanks, guys!

For this list, we’re leaving the MCU for a while and heading over to the Wizarding World. I liked Harry Potter when it came out, but I never really read much fanfic until I realized a couple of years ago how much a redeemed Draco fit into the redemption trope that I loved in Harringrove, LoVe, SnowBaz, and other fandoms and ships. Once I started perusing the fics out there, I realized that one of the strengths of this fandom is the length and quality of the stories. I love stories that are a meal, and Drarry provides so many!

As I’ve gotten into the ship (so many years late, lol), these are my top 10 favorites.

dirtynumbangelboy by @magpiefngrl

This is probably the Drarry fic that I most enjoy. I come back to it fairly often when I need just a good read in the HP world. Fake dating is one of my absolute favorite tropes, which made this one an automatic win for me, but it’s written with such heart. I really, really love Draco in this fic. His uni studies and his flat being so different from the diffident image he projects. This is also probably the best Astoria I’ve ever read. Also--Jam Today! Read it now!

Do It All Over Again by DracoWillHearAboutThis

I only discovered this series earlier this year, and I’ve already read it at least three times from beginning to end. It’s a re-telling of the original series starting from Book 1. Draco sends himself a letter from the future basically saying that his dad is wrong, and he needs to give up his pure blood ideals and befriend Harry, then--boom--the Golden Trio’s adventures all happen with Draco in tow (and eventual romance, of course). The plot is fairly similar to the actual series, but I am there for the angst and the character growth. Narcissa kicks ass in this ‘verse, and Draco/Hermionie as besties is a treat! Book 4 and Book 6 are both amazing. And her titles are hilarious. This is the only series on my list that is still a WIP, but there’s plenty to read. Books 1 - 6 are complete, and a new chapter for 7 comes out every two weeks. It’s a safe bet so far, and it’s so good--why wait?

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587

In this fic, Draco takes a job as Potions Professor at Hogwarts after getting divorced under horrible circumstances and renews his acquaintance with Harry, who is the DADA Professor. It’s got a bisexual awakening, and manages to combine friends with benefits with some supreme pining. Like a whole pine forest. Thunderbird587′s Draco POV is so fleshed out, and yet it also lets us see how Harry is pining, even when Draco himself doesn’t. Plus, at over 200K, it is long enough to get lost in for ages, which is perfect right about now. And when you finish the main fic, there are three other ancillary fics, two in Harry’s POV that take place during the main one. The cufflinks one is my favorite, but the writing is so good that I even thoroughly enjoyed the third sub-fic that fleshed out an OC. So, so worth the read--all of it!

The Foundations!verse by Saras_Girl

All of the fics by Saras_Girl are great. You can’t go wrong with any of them. But Reparations, Foundations, and all the little one-shots after are my favorite. It honestly surprised me at first, because alcoholism is a trigger for me, but this fic actually helped me realize that it’s the addiction part, the fall to rock bottom that triggers me. Recovery stories are different. And, I guess, this one is a bit different in that, though it has plenty of characters recovering, Draco himself is actually in a healthy place and facilitating recovery without relapsing. Harry is a Healer in this one, which is not the usual, and I quite enjoy his other relationships in this ‘verse, as well. He, Ron, and Hermione’s friendship is great in this one (their pub nights crack me up), but I also really like Harry’s friends at St. Mungo’s. My second favorite Terry Boot ever, and two awesome OC chicks. And the process of Drarry going from can’t stand each other to in love is slow and prickly and yet really believable. Oh, and Harry and Narcissa’s relationship in this one is just fabulous.

Golden Age by zeitgeistic (faire_weather)

The Hufflepuff in me was bound to fall in love with this fic. I really enjoy Eighth Year fics, especially the ones that embrace inter-house unity (shouldn’t have taken them a war to see the need for that!). This one takes it to a new level when everyone in... I think it was 6th - 8th years were resorted at the welcome feast, and the whole 8th year dynamic is shaken up. Harry, Draco and Neville become Hufflepuffs; Hermione and Pansy become Ravenclaws; Ginny becomes a Slytherin; and somehow Ron and Blaise are the ones who stay in their houses because the hat thinks they are basically the uber Gryffindor and Slytherin. But with the rest of them, we get to see them embrace other facets of their personalities, which is super interesting. And then, after the resorting, we find out that Hufflepuffs have a whole different world going on that basically no one outside their house knows about, and that world is brilliant. Even Hufflepuff food in the Great Hall is different! Everyone would enjoy this story, I think, but if you are a ‘Puff, you really, truly should not miss it. And if you like this one, check out some of zeitgeistic’s other works. Her world building is fabulous.

Life skills outside the curriculum by Endrina

In this fic, Harry gets fed up with the Dursleys before his 11th birthday and runs away before he gets his Hogwarts letter. He ends up on the streets and somehow embraces this kind of instinctual magic that is really fascinating. A few years later, Draco runs away rather than get involved more closely with the Dark Lord, and of course they meet up. This whole fic is super compelling. Harry’s world view and the way people gravitate toward him even without chosen one status. Also, this fic has one of my favorite versions of Remus and Sirius ever. I really wish there was a part two that went in depth on everything that happened after the end of this one, but even on its own it is so worth the read. And everything is wrapped up. I’m just greedy and would’ve loved more. :-)

A Convenient Impracticality by @firethesound

This fic combines friends with benefits and fake dating into a really enjoyable story. Harry is so oblivious, but it all works out in the end. And Draco is a secret mastermind, but in a good way. So is Hermione. Unlike some of the other, angstier stories on my list, this one is so fun, and I love it. And if you like it, check out more of firethesound’s work, as well. It’s worth it!

you’ve got the antidote for me by kandakicksass

And then, back on the angst train, lol. Soulmates, red string of fate, rejected bond = terminal disease. Whew! There’s a lot to unpack in this one, but after I read it, I never forgot it. I read a lot of fic in a lot of fandoms, and I always know a story is going to become a favorite if it stands out so much that I remember it later and think about it. That surely happened here.

(We’ll Call This Fixer-Upper) Home by phdmama

This is one of the first fics I read on my first Drarry binge, and I’ve always remembered it. Just like I love Eighth Year and Hogwarts professor fics, I also love fics where they have really unexpected jobs--pretty much anything other than Aurors. In this one, Harry is an artist/photographer and Draco is an up-and-coming rock star. The music and art, the creativity is important in this fic, but it also really looks at Draco’s recovery after the war in ways I haven’t read since, and I’m also a sucker for our favorite characters actually addressing and recovering from their trauma. 

Boom Clap (The Sound of My Heart) by @femmequixotic and noeon (noe)

This fic takes the Eighth Year trope to the next level. Draco, Harry, Hermione, and some other faves are teaching fellows at Hogwarts. Junior professors, kind of. It read like if the HP crew went to college. And, of course, Draco and Harry fall in love along the way, but not without much angst and obliviousness. I really enjoy the Draco POV in this. His worries and anxieties feel so real for that stage in his life, but amped up because of the past. This was one I read, never forgot, and then had to go back and find so i could read it again.

So, those are my top 10, but there is lots of other good Drarry out there--both from these authors and all the others in the ship and the fandom. Thanks for all the writing you guys do.

Oh, and tagging @virtual-insomnia, but only because she said she might want to make some quarantine fic lists of her own. :-)

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Beliefs

Troy

There were no deities on Nekrotafeyo, and he refuses to believe in spirits.

Ghosts and Gods are disgusting - broken losses that drag their claws through your skin as you desperately try to forgive yourself for failures and regrets, nothing but lies that cripple you with guilt. They are man made, he knows that. I mean, he's been building Gods for most of his adulthood...

The idea of an afterlife or that beings retain their person after death just... it fucks him up desperately. One of Troy's few ways of dealing with the things he has done over the years to placate Tyreen’s hunger is to tell himself that those people were better off dead. He thinks about it often, on nights where he's too sickened with the idea of existing in his own skin to even consider sleeping in it. The dead being dead, and how quickly reaching the end was one of the few reliefs he could offer them.

His mother not really being gone? Watching him now from some paper thin form he can’t see or touch but that whispers disgust at the edge of his consciousness? He can't. He won't even think about it. Catches the question behind his eyes before it creeps to the forefront of his thoughts and shakes it away, drowns it in alcohol or blurs it with lines of snorted powder.

Gods and ghosts are man made. He WON'T allow himself to make a ghost. The people he loves are alive and dead. He'll fight to keep the ones that are with him safe and healthy as long as his heart is still struggling to beat in his warped chest, but the deceased are gone.. They are gone. Don't.. don't dare imply otherwise.

There was no room for superstition growing up, but he does have habits. Little beliefs he's justified to himself by wrapping in logic. Things like how nothing that is broken deserves to be abandoned.

Troy can't just discard things.. it cuts at him somewhere behind his ribs he'd rather not think about. The idea of just destroying an object that worked so hard for you?

That did its job till it couldn't function anymore?

No.

No, that's wrong. You shouldn't do that. It's only right to try and fix it.

Troy, God King of the COV with his infinite cash stocks and unlimited reach, will sit hunched over broken tech that's served him till he's sure it can't be revived. The man will work his skilled fingers to bloody tears before he will give up.

He'll mutter grouchily to friends that they should bring him things. A drawn out huff breathed over a pouted lower lip that -maybe- he could try fixing that cracked amp if Eli dropped it to Sanctum and he had time. That it would be a waste to just lose it..

A snarky sigh and extended open palm as he gestures for JK to hand over their jammed old release buckle, the one that attaches their shoulderguard. Yeah it's a piece of shit, but he can fix it in 5 minutes. Just give it to him and stop being a pain in the ass.

An eye roll and groan at Ven who's boasting about the new special edition e-Dev release he pre-ordered Seifa, a snap about how she doesn't want it and if the other man knew her the way Troy does, he'd know that they should repair the damaged shell of her current one instead. That they should customise it together, how THAT's what she'd like - something that represented both of them and wasn't a pointless waste of funds.

A shrug and sneer as Troy pretends he doesn't see the knowing smirk his Oracle aims in return, even when he feels it crawling over his blushing skin like molasses.

Broken things that have worked so hard... they deserve someone to try and fix them.

Seifa

Fiercely logical and the kind of person to roll her eyes at mentions of bullshit like ghosts, or magic, or the supernatural... except she's found herself now in a slightly confusing situation when it comes to her past beliefs.

Hard to be a stoic disbeliever when your partner in crime can see the future through an ancient civilisation's construct, when one of your most trustworthy pillars of support speaks to the dead and bears crystalline burns across half their body that you swear you see shift sometimes, or where an aching piece of your heart is held by someone you think may actually be a monster. A real one, like the kids used to whisper about on those long nights in the workrooms, the glow of red eyes and glint of golden fangs that you'd catch in the corner of your eye as you'd blink against the pitch darkness when trying to drag your little blanket over your head at night to sleep.

She's started rethinking, even if she would NEVER admit that.

Luck is something else, luck is definitely real and she'll turn up her nose and narrow her eyes at any idiot who thinks they follow its flow. Bullshit.

YOU make your own luck, and if you don't cop that early, you'll get nowhere in life.

She keeps a flattened bullet that embedded itself in a wall inches from her ear on one of her first "bad" deals. Has it worn to a smooth finish from years of running her thumb over it in her pocket when things feel tight, if there's a chance a deal may go south and she'll have another gun aimed at her. Kept her alive since then, she's sure.

Showed it to Ven once and he laughed, curled her fingers around it gently and pressed it into her palm, whispered through a breathy chuckle against her ear to keep it close, that she was right and some objects do play along your future like chimes on the winds of fate, and to keep that between 'em.

Finds she can't go to sleep sometimes without saying goodnight, habit and superstition mixed into an urge that rolls in her stomach till she sates it. Used to laugh it in a wave, all of them, the kids. Good night good night good night, giggling across the bunk beds as the lights flicked out on that floor.

Seifa is alone now in the little cocoon of her bedroom, so finds other ways to do it instead.

Echopings to her dear friends with a "Sleep tight" at 3am, despite them not talking in a week.

"Night night, Troy" to an exhausted God who needed the reminder that someone was thinking about him, smiling tenderly at the flickering light from his e-com and how she always seemed to know when he was struggling.

"Goodnight, Ty" to a thing that hasn't slept in years and hates that she reminded it.

Just little habits, nothing more.

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @makaylaa1113 

if you’d like to be added to my taglist (or taken off for this fic i really dont blame u) pls fill in this form! 

chapter two

[amethystgelfling]

A Gift

[ First, I initially considered scrapping this entirely because I was so ashamed of it. So I settled for choosing and anonymous name and a random email (that may or may not be a throw away)

Second, I hope the university workload lightens up.

Third, consider this a gift to you and anyone else who finds joy in reading it. It’s far from being a masterpiece and it’s obvious I’m not a trained writer. But this is my way of showing gratitude. For your blog, and for helping me find a Dark Crystal server on Discord.

Thank you. ]

[ Below is an attempt at an Imagine/Ficlet ]

Rian, Mira, and Gurjin on a few days off from guard duty. They spend time at the podling bar, and stay for much longer than intended (since those motherfuckers throw the best parties). Afterwards, they stumble to an inn at Stone-in-the-wood and rent a room. As they enter their lodgings for the night, Gurjin gives the signal that it’s safe to stop pretending they’re sober once the door is shut. The trio collapses onto the floor, in a bubbly mood from all the drinks.

     They blabber on about all sorts of topics. With no filter. Rian, bitches about how he doesn’t live up to Ordon’s standards. Mira, starts a conversation where they all bitch about Tolyn, and the other guards with a stick in their ass. Gurjin bitches about third-wheeling with Rian and Mira, getting dragged into their antics, and being the one to make sure they aren’t caught making out. Periodic, slurred outbursts of “I miss my swamp!” leave the other two in fits of laughter.

     The night goes on with them jumping from one subject to another; this includes sexual innuendos, arguing about whose alcohol tolerance is highest, and a brief attempt to grasp the meaning of life. During the conversation, Mira and Rian cling to each other, peppering each other with kisses. Gurjin checks his flask, gives a slurred complaint about how it’s empty, and repeats this process because he forgot the first time.

“The barrel of alcohol sprayed in your mouth wasn’t enough?” Rian teased.

     “Says the one who got in a drinking contest, with a podling,” Gurjin retorted.

     “He challenged ME. And ‘is friends wouldn’t let me back out.”

     “My image of the Captain’s son,” Mira paused, posing as if she’d faint. “Is forever shattered.” She failed to conceal her giggles.

     “Didn’t I see you dancing on a table?” Rian playfully quipped. “While chugging an ale.”

     “Don’t pretend you didn’t join me,” her lips crashed into his.

     Succumbing to alcohol-induced lethargy, the trio drags themselves to bed.

     Dim light filtered through the window’s thin curtains. Nothing in the room escaped its touch. The beds. The small table and chairs in the corner. The colorful woven rug on the wood floors. Even so, it didn’t rouse the gelfling from their slumber. As Gurjin slept, soft snores escaped him. Rian and Mira cuddled next to him. All were snuggled under the covers. Enveloped in each other’s warmth. Creating a rare time of peace. Quiet.

     Rian engaged in a futile battle against the waking world’s pull. Blinking sleep away, he slowly stretched his muscles. He turned to a slumbering Mira. Her blonde locks flowed free from their usual braids; they lustered in the first brother’s radiance. Her skin shimmered as it bathed in the light. His fingers began combing her silken bangs. Absorbing the tranquility of the moment. It was interrupted when his girlfriend suddenly shifted.

     “It’s morning love.”

     Mira felt Rian kiss the freckles on her nose. She groaned with pleasure as he ran his nails along her scalp. Letting out a slow exhale, she opened her eyes to Rian’s tender smile. She cupped his hand in both of hers. Guiding her lips with slow kisses across his forearm.

     She delivered the last kiss on the palm of Rian’s hand. “Satisfied.”

     Rian placed his hand on Mira’s breast. “Not yet,” his smile took on a devilish aura.

    Mira stroked his soft chocolate-brown locks with one hand; his ear with the other. The lover’s gazes locked. “There’s a catch,” she hummed. “Tonight,” she caught Rian off guard, tightly gripping his shirt. Her voice gained a mischevious air. “You give me what I want. As I see fit.” She positioned herself on top of Rian. Her sudden movements jostled Gurjin awake.

     The Drenchen groaned whilst lifting his head to survey the room. “What the-” he rolled onto his right side. His eyes widened at the sight of his friends. Rian was on his back; Mira straddled him. He sighed. “There’s a reason I rented a room with two beds, you know,” the exasperation kicked in once he sat up. “Let me guess, you were about to rip each others clothes-”

     “GURJIN!” Mira reached over in an attempt to cover his mouth. He easily blocked her hand. “We don’t want anyone to-”

     “If you were really going to do THAT, you could’ve asked me to get another one!” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve ‘ad it up to here with you lovebirds and your-”

     Several knocks on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Just ignore it,” Rian whispered. Him and Mira now hid behind the bed. Peeking their heads out like children playing hide and seek.

     Gurjin reluctantly left the warmth of the covers. He grabbed his flask from the nightstand, running his hand through his dreadlocks.

     “It’s empty remember,” Mira said in a softened tone.

     “Unfortunately it is,” Gurjin didn’t bother looking at her.

     He cracked the door open. An older female gelfling stood on the other side. The green of her flowing nightgown matched her eyes; combined with her dark-auburn hair, she appeared as an aging tree.

     “Would you mind keeping it down,” she huffed. “It sounds like noisy childlings in there.”

     Gurjin grinned, “Funny you say that.” He turned his head to Rian and Mira. “I have two childlings with me right now.” He went back to facing the auburn haired woman.

     “Just quiet them down,” she replied. “It’s still too early for- wait.”

     “Hm.”

     “Is that a flask?”

     “What of it?” Gurjin didn’t like where this was going.

     The auburn-haired woman crossed her arms. “I hope you don’t drink while watching your kids.”

     “Actually,” he smirked. “There’s nothing like a drink or two settle 'em down.” He winked. “It works wonders at bedtime.”

     The woman widened her eyes, then appeared to decide the matter wasn’t worth persuing. She turned away from Gurjin and headed to her room.

     “Childlings?” Rian exclaimed as Gurjin shut the door. Mira sat cross-legged on the floor.

     “At least we didn’t run into Tolyn at the bar,” Mira cut in. “Or another castle guard.”

     “We wouldn’t hear the end of it,” Rian concurred. “They’re always so uptight.”

     “Just get a few pints in them,” Gurjin placed his flask on the nightstand. “At least Tolyn wouldn’t be so insufferable.” He flopped onto the bed.

    Mira snorted, “Imagine that.”

     “Yeah,” Rian replied. “Besides,” he stood up and stretched. “I wouldn’t worry about running into the others. They’re not the type for fun.”

     “That reminds me,” Gurjin grabbed a small, brown bag from beside the night stand. “I snuck some these from the castle yesterday.” He opened the bag, so Rian and Mira could see inside. Immediately they beamed. “For later.”

     Mira’s lips formed to a pout.

     “You’re being cruel to us,” Rian amped up the drama in his voice.

     Gurjin smirked. “You’ll live,” he pat their heads like they were childlings. After putting the bag in its orginal place, he lay down with his arms behind his head.

     Rian let out a massive yawn. He took the space at his best friends left side. Mira climbed in the bed from the right side.

     “There’s a another bed. In case you lovebirds forgot.”

     “This is fine,” Rian rested his head on Gurjin’s chest. Mira followed suit.

     “So I’m everyone’s body pillow now?” He exhaled and rolled his eyes. Mira hummed in agreement. Rian gave a thumbs up.

     “You’re so comfortable,” Mira yawned as she spoke.

     “Like a,” Rian stopped for a moment. “A living furnace.”

     “Wonderful,” the Drenchen accepted his fate. “Wait, sit tight you two.” He eased his friends off of him.

     “What was that for-” Mira stopped herself when she saw him return with extra blankets from the second bed. They had been sitting there, neatly folded when the trio first arrived. Taking advantage of the extra warmth, they resumed their positions in the bed.

      “Am I really that warm?”

     Rian and Mira hummed in agreement. Surprisingly, Gurjin didn’t find himself bothered by the weight on his chest. He found it, welcoming. And the warmth inside him grew.

     “Guess I’ve found my true calling in life, eh.” A massive yawn escaped him. “Alright then.” Gurjin wrapped his arms protectively around his friends. “We still have tomorrow off. A little more rest won’t hurt.” The Drenchen’s head hit the pillows, allowing himself to leave the waking world once more.

     Under the soft blankets, Rian and Mira listened to Gurjin’s breathing slow. Heard his snores. Felt his heartbeat. 

     Rian reached over, with the hand not trapped under Gurjin, to stroke Mira’s hair. “Wouldn’t mind if this never ended.” His heart fluttered at her beauty in the morning light. His eyelids grew heavy.

     “Mhm,” Mira took her boyfriend’s free hand in her own. She held it until he succumbed to his exhaustion. And caressed his face while he slept. 

     A sudden tightness encased her chest. She took a deep breath to calm herself. To no avail. Of course, all these feelings chose to come now. Tears fell, soaking the fabric of Gurjin’s shirt. She took Rian’s hand; holding it to her lips; she planted several kisses on it.

     “I…” her soft voice shook. For the tears wouldn’t stop escaping. “I love you both.”

She smiled, through her eyes still watered. “Don’t ever leave, okay.” She wiped her tears once they ceased. Luckily, that little breakdown didn’t wake them.

     Mira exhaled in relief. Closing her eyes to join her friends in the unconscious realm. Not before silently praying. Praying herself, Rian and Gurjin stayed in each others lives. Until their time came.

     To rejoin the Song of Thra.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Something More (Prompt fill)

A reader requested: “we’ve been sleeping together on and off for almost a year and i know it’s angry hate sex but i got you a little gift because it reminded me of you” for Indruck.

Content notes: No actual sex, but references to past sex. Mentions of alcohol, and of the duo using less than ideal coping mechanisms (don’t worry, it all works out.)

This day has been absolute shit.

His lab was a disaster, he’s spilled coffee all over his shirt, and his attempt to talk a professor into a second go at an exam was not successful.

Yep, Duck is having the kind of day when he’s so frustrated he could scream. 

Which is why he’s climbing the stairs to Indrids apartment. 

The two of them met last October at one of Aubrey’s parties. They’d gotten along fine, Indrid even seeming a bit flirty, until the topic of fate and destiny had come up. Duck, four drinks deep, had snorted at the idea, pointed out that fate was just what naive people called luck and chance. Indrid, three drinks in, countered with the idea that fate was far more complicated than people assumed.

The lively debate became an argument, which became sniping at each other as someone drove them home, which turned into a lot “and another thing” on the sidewalk. 

Then it became a lot of grabbing and tugging and kissing, with some swearing thrown in for good measure.

Then it became the cold light of day, in which Indrid insisted Duck kissed him first and Duck growled that Indrid grabbed him before that. This lead to round two on the unmade bed, Indrid leaving the mother of all hickeys on Ducks neck, then Duck leaving as soon as he managed to find his pants. 

Which was how, walking out the door, he learned Indrid lived two floors above him.

It could have ended there, and they both assumed it would. But then Indrid knocked on Ducks door with Duck’s cat, Winnie, in his arms.

“I believe this is yours.”

“Why the fuck are you holdin my cat?”

“She was in my apartment! Might I suggest closing your window in the future so she can’t get out and walk all over my midterm project again?”

He put Winnie down carefully, and she chirped at the taller man before rubbing against his shins.

“Traitor” Duck muttered. She chirped at him and dashed into the house.

“Honestly, you should be careful, so many bad things can happen to cats outside.”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture.”

“I’m merely saying- oh, nevermind. An apology for her ruining my drawing would be nice, but I doubt I’ll get iMmmmphn.”

That argument had ended with Indrid being introduced to the concept of pegging while shoved over Ducks kitchen counter. 

The next had ended with them angrily making out against the washing machine in the basement after Indrid implied Duck had left his clothes in the one working washing machine on purpose (he hadn’t, he’d gotten held up at work).

After that, they stopped pretending there wasn’t something going on between them, even if the something was basically sporadically occurring hate sex. 

Duck hasn’t told their mutual friends about it. On some level, he knows that him seeking Indrid out when he needs to blow off some steam, or Indrid knocking on his door and snarking at him when he’s clearly amped up with nerves, isn’t the greatest call. But hey, it’s been a year and nothing’s gone wrong between them. 

So what if, when Duck thinks about it, he’s been to see Indrid four or five times a week since school started up again?

So what if, when he isn’t growling out curses in Indrids ear, he finds himself saying smooth or silly things that make the other man laugh brightly? So what if that laugh tugs at him like he’s an E-string?

So what if there have been times in the last few months where he hasn’t left as soon as it was over, or where Indrids poking at him has felt more forced than the sweet words that escaped him in the afterglow?

It’s fine.

He raps on the door, calling, “Hey, skinny, you home?”

Indrid doesn’t answer the door, merely calls back, “it’s open!”

Duck steps into the apartment and freezes.

“Jesus, ‘Drid, this looks like it got hit by a tornado.”

Papers, pens, brushes, and paints are strewn every which way, and Indrid is pacing, picking up papers and crumpling them.

“Yes, very observant.” He shoots a glare over his glasses, “what do you want, Duck?”

Duck’s about to make a smart remark as Indrids phone rings. The taller man takes one look at it, hits the mute button, and strides angrily into the kitchen to shove the device into the far back of the cabinet. 

“What’d your phone ever do to you?” Duck teases. 

“It’s not my phone, it’s my parents. They had some truly lovely things to say about my chosen career path, and once again offered to generously return their financial support if I go into a business major.” Indrid rips another drawing, and Duck sees the perfect place to nudge to get them heading towards what they both need.

“Dunno man, maybe you oughta take them up on it. I mean, some of this stuff is wild, looks like  damn crime scene in here with all the red you’re usin and-” His voice dies in his throat when he sees the look on Indrids face. It’s genuine, resigned hurt. As if he knew Duck would say that, but had hoped he wouldn’t.

It was too far. It was too far and he’s hurt him and he didn’t even mean it.

“Indrid, hey, I’m, I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say.”

“Go.” Indrid points at the door, voice icy in a way Ducks never heard. 

Indrid turns his back, walks the few steps to the couch and slumps down on it. If Duck could get his fucking feet to move, he’d do as Indrid asked. But he’s stuck. 

There’s a sniff, then another, and Indrids arm wipes across his face. 

Duck is, in many ways, a marshmallow. He hates seeing the people he cares about unhappy, likes being there when people need a sturdy shoulder to lean on. 

It’s that instinct he blames when he steps toward Indrid rather than away from him, eyes already scanning the ground for a box of tissues.

Indrids head whips around.

“What are you doing?” He’s hurriedly wiping under his glasses, the way someone does when they don’t want anyone to know they’ve been crying.

He doesn’t trust Duck to see him like this. 

The kind, sensible part of Ducks brain, the one that he usually lets run the show, is screaming at him to admit that he’s worried. That he cares. 

The part of his brain that’s terrified of being hurt again, that panics at the thought of letting the odd artist with the pale hair under his skin, demands he say something cruel and end the whole thing. 

Unfortunately, these two parts are so busy fighting with each other that Duck forgets to say anything. His hands are the only useful part of him, reaching into his sweatshirt and pulling out a small pack with two tissues still in it and holding them out to Indrid. 

Indrid takes them, confused. Then he turns to the end table and starts pushing papers aside.

“I um, I have something for you, its silly, but I thought, that is.” He lifts a single piece of white paper, “here.”  He hands it to Duck, then curls up on the couch.

Duck unfolds the paper. 

“2 cups broth, ¾ cup shredded Gruyere, holy shit, is this the recipe for the french onion soup from the grill?”

Indrid nods.

“How did you know to get me this?” 

Indrid sniffs with a little laugh, “Anytime we’re together for more than two minutes after we, you know” he makes a rude gesture with his hands, “you talk about how badly you’re craving that soup. I thought you might like to have the recipe. The chef was happy to share it.”

This time, Duck takes the few steps around the couch and sits down. 

“Thank you.” He says softly. 

“You’re welcome. You can go now.” There’s no bite or ice in the words this time.

“‘Drid, I’m worried about you.”

Indrid looks balefully at him, “Duck, even if you switch to being sweet and concerned, sex is not on the table at all, so if that’s what you’re hanging around for-”

“No! I, just, I ain’t ever seen you like this before.”

Indrids laugh this time is bitter, “because these moments happen when I don’t seek you out for an argument and what comes after.”

Duck literally has no idea what to say, reaches for Indrids foot where it’s tucked up on the cushions, settles it on the ratty fabric instead. 

“Believe it or not, having angry sex with you after picking some silly fight is one of the better coping strategies I’ve hit upon.”

“You started lookin for reasons to pick ‘em too, huh?” Duck says, chagrined. 

“Indeed.”

Duck scoots half an inch closer, “Why’d you get me that recipe?”

“I...I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to see what happened if I tried that instead of my usual approach.”

“You wanted this to be different?”

“I wasn’t sure. I tried a few times to see what would happen.”

Duck is suddenly flooded with memories of the last few months; Indrid stopping him on the stairs to ask if he wanted to get coffee later, the mysterious little box of cat toys that turned up at his door, asking Duck is he was okay more often than usual.

With dread, he pulls out his phone and flips to a recent conversation.

Indrid: What’s that band you like again? The one with the logo that’s some sort of rabbit skeleton? JackelNope? 

Duck:  Why? Feel like givin me shit for my music taste again?

Indrid: NVM

He’d seen the listing for JackelNope’s show later that day, wished he had someone to go with, passed up buying tickets because he was broke. 

“You’re were askin me to the show weren’t you?”

“Yes. I like their music, I looked it up after you mentioned it.”

Duck drops to his knees in front of Indrid, who jolts back.

“‘Drid, I been a grade-A dipshit.” He cups Indrids hands in his own, and the taller man doesn’t pull away. 

“Yes, you have. But it’s not like I’ve been much better.”

“You at least had the sense to admit maybe we could be somethin better than we been. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is fuckin amazin.”

Indrid huffs out a laugh and Duck continues, “But I was dealin with a bunch of shit when me met, and I’m only sorta done dealin with some of it, and it seemed like what we had was workin for us better than anythin I tried had. But that don’t excuse the fact I’ve only show you the shitty parts of me. You don’t deserve that.”

Indrid shrugs, “Maybe I do. Duck, I’ve never had a boyfriend or a fling hang around for more than a few months. Here we are at a year. Maybe that means this is the kind of relationship I’m meant to have. It makes sense, I’m unfocused, I talk too much, I’m a failure-” His voice catches on that last word and then he’s sniffling again. Duck draws one arm around his waist, rubbing his back soothingly, and Indrids head drops onto his shoulder. 

“Bullshit” Duck murmurs, “You’re smart and you make cool shit, you got a real good sense of humor, you got the cutest smile, what’s so funny?”

Indrid is hiccuping laughs between his tears, “I knew you were secretly a sweetheart.”

“Nah, I’m a real, uh rough-tough, uh, ah fuck it.” He brushes hair from Indrids forehead, “Yeah, I’m a big fuckin teddy bear, and if I had a lick of sense I woulda been showin you that. So, uh, what d’you say, slim? Can I give bein sweet to you a go?”

Indrid sits up, looking at him with a shaky smile, “Huh, slim. I rather like that.”

“Thanks, stole it from an old movie.”

“Ooh, classy.” Duck giggles as Indrid continues, “and the answer is yes.”

“Where do you wanna start?”

Indrid leans forward, tilting Ducks chin up and kissing him chastely.

“Thought you said none of that was on the table?” Duck grins.

“Kissing is, if that’s alright with you.”

“Hell yeah it is. Uh,” he traces a finger along Indrids cheek, “can I take off your glasses?”

Indrid slips them off, folding them and placing them carefully on the table. His dark brown eyes look almost deep red in the dim light of the room

Duck’s never seen them unobstructed before.

“Ain’t you just a sight.” He sighs, cupping Indrids face in his hands and kissing him as sweetly as he dares. 

Indrid pulls him up onto the couch and Duck settles on top of him, kissing him languidly and gently, trying to make up for all the times he should have kissed him this way and didn’t.

Eventually Indrids stomach growls comically loud, and they both pull away laughing. 

“You eaten at all today?”

“No, I’ve been too anxious.”

Duck kisses his nose, “C’mon, I got some of those pizza bagels you like at my place. And uh, if you want, uh it’s five dollar movie night at the theater. We could go catch a flick.”

Indrid pulls him into a hug before brushing their noses together with a small, happy sound that Duck intends to draw out of him everyday until the end of time, and whispers, “it’s a date.”

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Doctor Sleep

I’ve been a Stephen King ho my whole life. I first read The Shining when I was in fourth grade, which was likely a parenting fail on my mom’s part but then I got two degrees in English literature and I get paid to write my dumb thoughts about movies on the internet so actually take note parents, that’s what I call a bold Mother of the Year move! My point is - Stephen King stories are in my DNA so I was, as the kids say, hype for this movie. In this long-awaited sequel to The Shining, we catch up with little Danny Torrance (you know of “Redrum” fame, this time played by Ewan McGregor) all grow up, 39 years after his fateful stay at the Overlook hotel. He’s got a pretty good life now - he struggled through alcoholism (thanks, Dad) and got sober, he’s got a job at a hospice helping patients die peacefully with a little help from his special gifts - his Shine. Everything’s going peachy keen until he begins to get psychic communications from a young girl named Abra (a wildly charismatic Kyleigh Curran) who has a Shine of her own. It’s much stronger and more powerful than Danny’s ever was, and it’s caught the attention of some very bad people called the True Knot - and when I say people, I mean child murderers/vampires. Now Danny has to help protect Abra, and that means going back to confront some of his old demons at a very familiar condemned hotel in Colorado.

Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 film version of The Shining is one of the most iconic horror films of all time (in spite of its total disregard for a lot of the most important content and themes of the novel but THAT’S NEITHER HERE NOR THERE), and those are some big shoes to fill. Is there any way Doctor Sleep can possibly live up to all of these sky high expectations? Well...

I loved it. I loved it so much more than I thought. I loved it more than the book, and almost as much as I love the novel of The Shining. Mike Flanagan knows how to make a HELL of a movie y’all. I’m gonna get a little spoilery because this one is a hard one to talk about without discussing its debts to Kubrick’s movie and King’s novels. SPOILER WARNING STARTS HERE SO GET READY.

Some thoughts:

Excellent and very potent first scene - I IMMEDIATELY love Rebecca Ferguson in the role of the True Knot’s leader, Rose the Hat. Wife pointed out that her speaking cadence is reminiscent of Pennywise, and it’s deliciously unnerving.

Director Mike Flanagan had a hell of a tightrope to walk between staying faithful to two vastly different source materials. I frankly love the ways in which he was able to stitch a story that made sense and felt emotionally rich (maybe even richer than the novel version of Doctor Sleep??) by bridging the gaps between Kubrick and King’s visions. Hallorann (Carl Lumbly who I haven’t seen since Alias days, but he was FANTASTIC here) is still present in Danny’s life even though he died in Kubrick’s movie/lived in King’s book. The compromise? He’s basically a Force ghost, an apparition that can communicate with Danny because of his Shine. Oh, so the Overlook blows up in King’s novel but is left standing at the end of Kubrick’s film? Well let’s go visit the moldering old broad and wander her halls, confront some ghosts, THEN blow her up. Every choice Flanagan makes works to create something new, thematically resonant, and transformative in the space in between the stories that came before. I can’t get over how much I enjoyed it. 

I love the visual language of the boxes in Danny’s mind to trap the ghosts of the Overlook. 

One of the things the 1980 film does so well is that iconic and haunting score. Obviously this film takes a lot of the same music cues, but one thing that is added this time is a recurrent heartbeat sound when people are Shining or otherwise reaching out with their minds to find someone or something. For a movie where so many things occur in the mind, this is a visceral connection to the bodies of our characters, bodies which are in real danger. It amps up the tension and dread in a fantastic way. 

Honestly, I know Snakebite Andi (Emily Alyn Lind) is supposed to be a bad guy cause she’s with the True Knot and they’re all kinda sorta vampires or whatever, but if you found out you could make people do whatever you wanted and you used that power to rob pedophiles and scar them for life...yeah, I just don’t really have a problem with that.

Related - Snakebite Andi’s whole style and Rose the Hat’s whole style and their opposing hipster poles of hotness is uh. Really working for me. 

Related related - I would let Rebecca Ferguson shotgun the fuck outta me too. I feel you, Snakebite Andi. If that’s what it takes to become a vampire, I will sign up for that gay ass newsletter.

What a delightful surprise to see Jacob Tremblay, the best working child actor today, in such a small, but significant part! Honestly, I’m a little shocked he took this role, but there are no small parts, just small actors :) And his performance is GUTTING in every way, so I’m glad they got an actor of this caliber for a pretty pivotal scene even if he’s not in the film for very long. 

Speaking of small parts, by the end of the movie, I just felt really bad for the naked bathtub ghost lady from Room 217 (Sallye Hooks). She has to be gross and wet and naked for so long in the movie, just standing kind of hunched over being menacing, and I bet she got so cold even covered in rubber movie makeup stuff. Pour one out for commitment to the craft.

I get the tension of the moment, but I’m not sure that anyone would monologue for this long when digging up a child’s body from an unmarked grave but go off I guess. Just one of those things that works in a novel but feels SUPER weird in a film. 

I love how many actors of color there are in meaty roles. This is color-blind casting at its finest. 

The most unrealistic part of this entire movie about psychics and vampires is Danny driving up the mountain pass to the Overlook at night in the snow in a 1996 Toyota Camry. 

References to The Dark Tower that made half of my Stephen-King-nerd-heart so happy: Jacob Tremblay’s baseball number is 19. The bus line Danny takes north is Tet Transit. The True Knot takes Jacob Tremblay to Lamerk ethanol plant. Hallorann tells Danny “Ka is a wheel” - and boy is it in this movie. 

References to the 1980 The Shining that made the other half of my Stephen-King-nerd-heart so happy: Dr. Dalton’s office is EXACTLY the same as the office Jack Torrance interviews in to get the job as the caretaker of the Overlook. The first time Danny helps a hospice patient pass on, that patient is in Room 217. Abra’s house number is 1980 (year of the film). Numerous shots are exact duplicates, including the sweeping helicopter shot over the lake and the car driving up the mountain - these are literally the same shot used in Kubrick’s film, just swapped day-for-night and with snow falling added. Oh yeah and the ENTIRE FUCKING OVERLOOK is recreated in the most tender, incredible, breathtaking detail. This is fucking movie magic, you guys. It is MAGICAL.

Did I Cry? Oh god yes, much more than anticipated. Danny’s speech at AA once he’s 8 years sober? Sobbing. Each of Danny’s encounters with his hospice patients? Drowning. Jacob Tremblay shrieking in terror and pain? Waterworks. Danny’s final showdown with the Overlook itself and the things that walk within, including one all-too-familiar bartender? Weeping. 

Maybe I just had the right level of expectations for this one, but gosh I was really blown away. If you’re a Stephen King fan - or if you like your dealing with family trauma delivered with a bit of ghost story thrown in, I highly encourage you to check out Doctor Sleep.

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[s3venseasof-bri]

Beware the Storm

Brian May x OC - Part One

Words: 1k

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of assault, thats it I think

There’s nothing stronger than a connection that shouldn’t exist.

The meet cute moment didn’t happen like it was supposed to, like it did countless times, in countless films.

There was no blazing eye contact through a buzzing room, followed by heated cheeks and hesitant approaches.

There was no instant when they felt like they were the only two people in the room, as if the universe stopped, soley for the purpose of giving them more time together.

When two people are meant to be together, fated by the prophets this is what happens.

Two people want to be together, despite it being unconventional in every way possible. Those two people create magic.

It’s after coming off stage when Brian notices her first. She's very pretty, even with the sweat reflecting the harsh stage lights, and the out of place hair. She's clearly been dancing. 

She doesn't draw his eye like she should have. He only sees her because of Freddie.

“Oh Brian, do come over here?” It’s posed as a question.

He approaches his bandmate, the familiar scent of adrenilin wafting off him.

“Do you see her?” Freddie asks. Brian looks to the general direction of the crowd. “The one with the fabulous brown boots.” 

Brian looks at the feet of the crowd until he finds a pair of brown boots which he thought Freddie would consider ‘fabulous’ and looks to see their owner.

She’s laughing at her friend who is dancing without music and seems to be shit-faced beyond repair. 

“What about her?” he answers.

“I will give you five pounds if she and Roger are not all over each other by the end of the night.” Brian rolls his eyes and his friend. “Oh, what? She's exactly his sort.”

He was right. Dark hair and high spirits. 

“Fred, you don't have five pounds to give me. Besides, look at Rog. He's already got his hands on some poor girl.” he gestures to a two blond heads in the corner, one being the familiar dusty colour of their friend.

“Oh stop ruining all the fun, darling. and its only just past 11:30. You should know better than to limit Rog to one a night”

Brian scoffs and leaves Freddie to his thoughts to pack up their gear. Deaky has already started.

“Nice of you to help,” he says when he sees Brian carrying an amp to the open doors of the van.

He starts to apologises when Freddie joins them, talking animatedly about how they sounded that night.

As the night continues and the level of alcohol in his body increases, Brian becomes more invested in Freddies theory that Roger could seduce multiple women in a number of hours. With the blonde from earlier still clinging onto his arm and giggling in his ear, Roger was lapping up the attention his face plastered with a smug expression.

The prospects for the woman that Freddie and Brian were not rooting for were bleak. Of course, they were quite drunk at this point, and therefore were not placing their bets in the right place.

At approximately 12:30 it was decided that something needs to be done.

Brian unsteadily stood, and walked to the bar and his target in a curved line, a reminder of the alcohol in his system.

She was still with her friend, who was no longer in the euphoric state of drunkenness, and had apparently crashed.

“Hi Ladies,” he says and instantly regrets. “I'm Brian.”

She smiles up at him. 

“Hey, you’re the Guitarist, right?” 

“Yeah, did you enjoy the show?”

“Oh, yes it was excellent. We really enjoyed it.” she praises. “I’m Jo, by the way. This is my sister.”

“Pleasure.” He sticks his hand out to the dark haired girl, who shakes it. “Anyway, I came over to tell you that my friend thinks your brown boots are fabulous, but he's too shy to come over.”

Of course, this was a blatant lie. Freddie was quiet, but never shy. His intoxicated brain told him that if she sat on the sofa next to Roger he would notice her.

She looks over to where Brian points and grins.

“I guess i’ll just have to go say hello.”

Proud of his small victory, Brian pulls out the bar stool Jo was sitting on.

Her sister does not look well at 

“Are you okay?” he asks her. “You look a bit green.” 

Immediately after he decides that telling a girl she looked green is not ideal.

She glares up at him, from her hunched posture over the bar. He spun his stool around so his legs are under the table top, and gestures to the bar tender for some water.

“Here.” he places it in from to her and she tentatively takes a few sips.

“Thanks. You haven't roofied me have you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Because that would be shitty of you.” she looks over to her sister, who is now talking to Roger, the blond neglected on the other side of him. 

Brian grinned as Freddie shot him a wink and went back to his conversation with Deaky.

Brian turned to the girl, now realising that she had lost her companion for the night.

“Whats your name? You never said.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you. You might be planing to date rape me.”

Brian frowns.

“I’m not going to assault you, promise. But not knowing someones name isn't much of a protection, you know.”

She laughed. It was light, but Brian somehow felt it in his stomach.

“Elle, is my name,” she smiled at him, and Brian felt that is his heart.

okay so thats the first part. I don't know if this is good or how many I'll write, probably depending on if anyone actually like it, but you never know. hope you enjoyed it, and if you’d like more let me know. xx - K

Edit - so I changed my mind about writing in 2nd person because while its fun to read, for me it’s weird to write. And I wanted to create my own independent sass queen OC, so meet Elle Palmer. and also her sister Jo who is a absolute darling.

[tnffc]

I gasped when I read this one~ "The name of your soulmate appears on your body only after that person falls in love with you."

Yes, that’s a really nice one!

Ok so, I am dead tired now, I wrote this in one go, it’s kinda late and I am not sure it makes entirely sense. But I’m done and here it is:

_________________

When Stiles had hit puberty he had wanted mainly one thing, to find his soulmate.

He couldn’t really tell back then why he felt that strong a need for it - he had thought it might be because his soulmate was close by and he just needed to find them and fall in love and have them fall in love with him as well.

When he met Lydia he was convinced it had to be her.

She was beautiful, he was so smitten and they could banter so great - the few times she decided to let her true intelligence show.

He was sure his name already had to have shown up on her skin, but she never made the slightest of hints it might so he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just crushing but not really in love with her? Maybe his name had shown up but she didn’t like the idea and he’d have to convince her he was worthy? Maybe she didn’t know it was him? No, if his name had been on her skin she’d have been smart enough to find out it was him. He had no doubt.

When he went to the public pool with Scott one summer though he saw Lydia there, in a pretty revealing bikini and no name in sight. This gave him a lot of questions.

~*~

Two years later Scott was bitten by a werewolf in the woods, and a little bit later than that Stiles was confronted with a man, a dangerous, impressive man that gave him the most conflicting feelings.

Peter Hale.

His heart was beating like crazy when Peter was holding his wrist, when his mouth got so close to the hem of his sleeve and the skin underneath it.

Then there was a quick, burning sensation at the small of his back.

It made him snap out of it and pull his arm away.

“I don’t wanna be like you.”

He didn’t, but he wanted…something.

And the man called him out on it but Stiles stayed put.

The pain in his back was gone and with a final “Goodbye Stiles” so was Peter.

Stiles didn’t even find the time our wit to respond anything anymore.

When he comes home and checks on his back in the mirror his organs feel like they were randomly swapped in his body and not liking it at all. His legs actually gave in.

Peter stood there, in a beautiful handwriting, not in any way modest but big and possessively stretching from one side of his lower back to the other.

Great, he would not be able to show anybody ever again his back with this.

Scott would lose his mind if he found out the guy they were trying to get rid of was his soulmate.

His father would not understand either, he’d try not to be an asshole about it, but he wouldn’t understand.

Why though had Peter’s name even shown up? Surely the little they had spoken wasn’t enough for Peter to have fallen for him…Stiles knew he was neither that pretty nor charming.

Maybe this was a mistake? Maybe a curse? Another Peter perhaps?

No, it was this Peter, it hadn’t been coincidence the name had appeared when they had been in the garage together.

The lower back of all places…obviously the hands or face would have been more difficult, but at least smaller…

~*~

From there things escalated.

The climax of the entire disaster was when Stiles was holding a molotov cocktail and threw it at the creature that was Peter - his soulmate - with almost no hesitation.

He was afraid and then relieved when the glass didn’t break, but everything was already set in motion and he might not have lit the fire but he might as well have.

Watching Peter burn again hurt even more than he had feared and the grave reality of all of it started to set in.

When Peter fell, dead, his flesh burned so much he was almost beyond recognizable Stiles felt a part of him die. That part was the naive wish he had had to find his soulmate.

He had been convinced it’d be something to be happy about, something that’d make his life whole again.

In losing that dream he realized what it had represented for him.

Finding his soulmate - so he had thought - would mean overcoming the loss of his mother and to an extent his father. Because while his dad was still alive Stiles had often felt like he had lost him as well. His father was better now, but the first years after Stiles’ mother had died his father had given himself over to work and alcohol.

Stiles desire to find his soulmate had been his desire to find someone who would not leave or reject him.

And Peter actually hadn’t. He had embraced the idea of Stiles belonging to him, his pack…

In the end maybe people weren’t leaving and rejecting him, maybe Stiles himself was responsible for not having anybody who actually loved him. After all, he had basically killed the one person that might have been able to.

So his dream died, and his faith in love with it.

~*~

The decision to get a tattoo had taken a while, mainly because Stiles was not a fan of needles.

But he felt handicapped, always paranoid about somebody seeing the name of his soulmate.

There were other Peters in their lives, but none he was remotely close to, he would have to answer questions and Derek probably knew his uncle’s handwriting and the risk was just heightening his anxiety to a troublesome level.

So there he was lying on the tattooist’s table, using a breathing technique that usually calmed him down.

The buzzing of the needle changed a bit in tone when it dug into his skin and the pain wasn’t great, but it actually wasn’t as bad a feeling as he had worried.

As long as he didn’t have to watch the needle stab him repeatedly he might actually be fine.

In the end he had a huge black wolf covering his lower back, accompanied by a few pine trees.

He had thought about it for quite a while and decided it was fitting. And considering his best friend was a werewolf now, and there started to be a small pack of them he felt it was easily explained why he had chosen the motiv.

No one needed to know it was in memoriam of the former Hale Alpha.

It wasn’t like he could openly bemoan it.

And it also wasn’t like he actually had a right to.

He hadn’t known Peter.

The love Peter had felt for him could only have been superficial at best, delusional at worst.

He wasn’t really mourning for the man Peter Hale, he was mourning for the lost possibilities.

The eyes of the werewolf were white spots in it’s dark face.

He had thought about having them done in red, but that might raise questions again. He had thought about making them blue, for the death he felt guilty for, but that might have raised questions as well. He hadn’t felt like yellow was an option though. So they were ghostly blank specks, letting the wolf look a bit eerie - he actually quite liked it.

“Why do you want to cover it up?” the tattoo artist had asked.

“You don’t like who it is?”

Stiles had taken a deep breath.

“He’s dead.”

“Shit man…how old are you? You can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen…that’s rough.”

He sighed, resigned, trying not to let it get to him.

“Yeah…”

A small consultation had been the discount the guy had given him on the work.

Stiles would probably have turned it down if he hadn’t already felt bad about using their money on getting a tattoo in the first place.

Scott actually thought the tattoo looked cool and decided to get one himself. Turns out you need fire to get a tattoo to stick on werewolf skin.

In that moment Stiles hadn’t been as sad as usually that he didn’t take the bite.

He continued life, continued the social interactions as before - he even still implied now and then Lydia might be his soulmate, though he did tone it down a lot since it was just for show.

She was the only one to realize actually. And he was the first to realize something was strange about her.

They didn’t figure it out before Peter was resurrected though.

~*~

Peter came back and Stiles had difficulties grasping that for a few days.

He was more aware than ever of the letters on his back, hidden underneath the fur of a big, black wolf. But he had no idea what to do about it. He didn’t even know if they still were soulmates. Resurrection wasn’t covered in soul and sex ed classes…

Maybe Peter belonged to somebody else now…

~*~

When Peter first really came face to face with Stiles his tortured wolf was in turmoil and he had difficulties controlling it, especially with the alpha powers amping up it’s strength even more.

The closer he got the more wholesome and familiar Stiles’ scent seemed to be - like a home he had never known he had. Almost like pack and somehow a lot more.

It was when his nose was almost touching Stiles’ skin when holding his arm that let everything click into place.

Stiles was his soulmate.

Peter knew very little about this boy, but he wasn’t a man at the moment, he was little more than a feral wolf with a human suit. And his wolf loved Stiles unconditionally.

He sense the boy was his soulmate and that was all it took.

Which made it so much more painful when it was Stiles who threw the molotov cocktail and doomed his fate.

~*~

He felt more sane now. The powers were gone, the manic need to take revenge. Left was the pain, the healthy need to take revenge and the knowledge he had found his soulmate in a high school student of his god forsaken hometown.

~*~

Stiles had to admit Peter seemed to do a lot better.

He was widely hated or at the very least shunned by most of the pack - Erica and Boyd being the most neutral of the bunch and derek and Stiles being the only two occasionally acting with anything resembling sympathy towards him. And yet Peter did little more than snark unless someone attacked him first.

He was smart and helpful - if he felt like it - he took no shit but made an effort to be considered pack. He actually cooked for them on pack nights - introducing Boyd to the passion of preparing food.

Stiles was torn between getting closer to find out what they could have had and keeping his distance because it might hurt too much.

But it got harder and harder to ignore their connection.

~*~

Peter had accepted Stiles might never love him back.

Over the last two years he had gotten to know the boy - young man by now - and had understood more and more why they were soulmates. But Stiles had to know it, had to have found Peter’s name somewhere on his body by now, because while at first it might just have been his wolf, Peter ow loved Stiles entirely.

How could he not, Stiles was everything Peter admired in others. If it had been up to him he would have worshipped Stiles every day.

But it was okay, he understood. He had done horrible things and it was understandable Stiles would never return his feelings. He just wished Stiles would mention it to him. Yes, humans did not necessarily know when they found their soulmate, but wolves did.

Werewolf soulmates sensed each other.

And by now Stiles definitely knew that. He had read every book in Peter’s personal library, he knew almost as much about supernatural creatures as Peter himself.

~*~

It happened totally unexpected.

Stiles had been over at Peter’s for hours, researching on a new spell he wanted to try.

Peter was working - he had picked up his old job as a consultant on artefacts, their origin and depending on whether or not his client was in the know if it was dangerous or not.

He felt a strange burning sensation on his neck and cursed under his breath while his hand instinctively covered the skin there.

Stiles meanwhile made a choked noise.

Peter turned to him in confusion.

“What’s with you?” he asked, a little sullen while rubbing his neck.

The pain was gone already, probably just a bug that hat stung him.

He very much appreciated the fact his healing worked just fine. To this day he sometimes dreamed of being imprisoned in his own body, drowning in physical and emotional pain.

Instead of answering him Stiles collected his things, stuffed them in his bag and moved to leave Peter’s apartment.

Not sure how to react Peter passed Stiles with supernatural speed and blocked his way, eyes searching for a goddamn reason.

“What is suddenly going on Stiles?”

He saw Stiles’ eye flicker to his neck where he though he had been stung.

“What? What is it? Does it look bad?”

He was more confused than angry still, touching his neck again but not feeling any kind of skin irritation.

Stiles shook his head while Peter tilted his and still stared.

Eventually Stiles rubbed his own neck.

“Just…go take a look in the mirror…I’ll still be here when you come back. Promise.”

Peter moved to look at the mirror in the hallway and could not believe what he saw.

In Stiles’ scribbled handwriting there was a name written on the left side of his neck, just underneath his jawline.

Mieczyslaw.

He stared at it blankly for a while, comprehending what this meant.

“Is your…” he swallowed hard “It this…yours?” his voice almost died on the last word.

Stiles sighed as if he was sorry.

“Yeah…”

But how was that possible?

“Why now?” he managed to say.

Stiles just shrugged.

“It was just a really nice and soft moment, domestic and wholesome…everything I ever hoped for back when…when I felt like I had noone…”

Peter swallowed hard against the tightness of his throat.

“But…my name…why did you never…”

Stiles lowered his gaze.

“I…I didn’t think you could still love me after I- you know…I also wasn’t sure you were still mine to have…”

Peter rubbed his hand over the letters again and smiled weakly.

“We are such idiots…”

Then his eyes changed and something like a want appeared in them, his voice was still hoarse but the melancholic undertone was disappearing.

“Show me yours.”

~*~

Stiles chewed on his lower lip.

“I covered it up…”

Hesitantly he turned around and lifted his shirt to show the tattoo.

“Oh wow…” Peter mused behind him.

“Can I touch it?”

Stiles swallowed.

“Yes.”

He felt Peter’s fingertips follow the form of the wolf and the trees.

“I actually like it” he said, now definitely sounding longing, almost lusting.

“I will wear your name on my neck with pride though. If you want me to that is.”

Stiles turned around at those words and nodded.

“I would love that.”

Peter grinned delighted.

“May I kiss you, Mieczyslaw?”

Stiles snorted.

“Although I am impressed you actually pronounced it right I really hope for your sake that was the last time you called me that.”

Peter smirked and spoke teasingly “you didn’t answer.”

With his cheeks blushing even more Stiles nodded.

“Yes please.”