#but the pieds are content to hide in there for fucking EVER

[ichorousisopod]

gonna try and update this post as I try new things

powders

carrots ✅

gecko poop ✅ (white variety ❌)

gecko food ✅

sample isopod food I was sent ✅

freeze dried chicken ✅

clowns

carrots ✅

sample isopod food I was sent ✅

gecko food (needs further testing but ✅)

freeze dried chicken ✅

pieds

sample isopod food I was sent ❌

carrots (needs patience to see for sure but ❌)

gecko food ❌

freeze dried chicken ❌ (needs patience still)

[chemicallady]

I LOVE YOU TO DEATH BUT IM DROWING

Part 1

Couple: Noah Sebastian x Fem Reader

Content Warning: smutty content; implies sexual situations and strong language. Also, mentions to mental issues (anxiety, primarily).

Summary:  this your first job as merch girl in tour with a band. Its also the first time for you to fall in love so dramatically for someone that is almost a stranger to you. Someone that you really aren't able to get out of your head. What is Noah Sebastian hiding behind his dark eyes? This description is so cringe that I'm embarrassing myself. Its hard to keep up with the tour routine and your feelings at the same time.

A/N: HI HI HI SWEET LEMON PIES! so I beg you to be gentle because 1. this is my first smut ff and I dont know if I got it or not and 2. I'm not a native speaker. I'm trying my best to find my own place amoung the INCREDIBLE writers of this fandom. Of course what I'm describing is all fictional, I (unfortunately) don't know Noah personally , neither the rest of the band and crew. I have a lot of respect for them all and admiration for the work of art they're doing on tour rn. My intentions are far from being offensive towards them, I only want to deliver some good time to Noah's bitchies like me here on tumblr. I really hope I will! My pm are always open for opinions or talking about the band. Have a good one!

Enjoy

One hands slowly caresses every inch of naked skin on your back while the pace of the pounding slow down a bit. Your body is covered in a thin layer of sweat; you're heavily panting, your legs and arms shaked by a slight flicker. There is nothing that can stop your hair from falling on your face, but your vision is still clear enough to get another quick look the mirror on front of you. The sight brings you to repress a moan, biting your lips. Bended on the small table, partially , you look like a desperate mess. The pleasure you're experimenting is unbearable at this point. You could fall any time soon if it wasn't for the man that is taking you from behind. Noah looks merciless in this moment, while he is holding you still with a firm grip. His hips inconter you naked skin in an harmony of slaps, while he is fucking you. And that's the only sensible sound in the room because you have to keep it quiet; the green room is one wall next the small fitting room in which the two of you are hiding.

You don't have much time. Someone eventually will notice that one of the merch girls is not around before the opening of the gates and your colleague can't cover for you forever.

But in this very moment you're unable to think about anything but the gorgeous man that is rearranging your interiors. His eyes look pitch black in the soft light of the dressing room, his whispers and exhalations are low and scratchy.

He's the hottest thing you have ever laid your eyes on and he is only for you now. You're feeling like he is consuming your soul along with your body.

In a crescendo of intensity his hand comes between your legs, rubbing your clit in a hurry, following the movements of his hips.

He is close and so you are. For you its gonna be your second orgasm in less than fifteen minutes and its mental.

You can feel a pool of familiar warm forming inside your belly while your body starts to tense. The ecstatic pleasure of the orgasm starts to run through your veins, your walls are getting tight around his erection. When you come, it is impossible for you to hold back a sob.

For a second, your vision blurs, and your legs are about to give up. With your last strength, you hold yourself up on the table just enough to let only your breast touch the cold surface of the table while the pounding becomes erratic. His body tenses, rocking in you just twice more, and them he releases. The grip on your hips gets loose but still firm enough not to let you go on the floor.

Ironic enough, this is your favourite part; he gives you the time to get yourself together, landing his head between your neck and your shoulder. The scent of his hair is intoxicating, and all you want is being able to turn around and give him a passionate kiss. But you know it won't happen. Not today, at least, because in the moment he is sure you gained enough strength, he pulls out and starts to fix his clothes. You do the same, still in silent. With the side of your eye, you watch me taking off his condom, while he is cleaning himself with a paper tissue. He hands you one for yourself, avoiding to meet your gaze, and them he fixes his jeans.

《 Are you feeling good?》 , he asks with a raspy voice. It seems like the first time you've heard him speaking today. You are able to nod while you're fixing your panties and skirt, but you're not really into small talks.

He nods as well before leaving the room first, after sharing a shy smile that makes you uncomfortable for a second...

《 y/n? y/n??? You have a costumer.》

Steve's voice brings you back to reality. You guys are pulling away all the merch unsold but some people are still leaving the place, so with a smile that is a bit forced, you turn to them, asking which t-shirt they like to see closer and the size.

It happens all the time. You zone out without any intention since Orlando. That tour date was the one who changed everything.

It was an easy job, in the beginning. You simply know a guy that knows another, who knows Steve, the sales manager for Bad Omens, a metalcore band you kinda like since a while now. Easy job, maybe a bit too much frenetic, but nothing unbearable. You can see different cities, gigs and get a decent pay while having some fun, since you're have no responsability except smiling and selling as much as possible.

Noah got you the evening you met him, a couple of days before the first tour date. You were miserable after a long flight to Los Angeles but he had eyes only for you. He was kind and funny, almost goofy in a couple of occasions. All the members of the crew and band gave you a warm welcome, but Noah was the nicest one. The two of you clicked immediately. He has a lot in common with you, not only music and gaming.

He was the first one to make you feel like you have always been in the crew, part of their big family. What was born as a nice friendship evolved quickly into something even closer, and that's the deal, for you. It was too quick. You couldn't help but look for him any minute of your waking time. Before you could even realise it, you were sitting on his lap, starting a kiss. The kiss you started was followed by his hands on your body and then to a lot of pre show sex.

But this blind passion took off everything else. The laughs, the light chatting, the smiles. Your complicity came to an end, and you didn't see that coming. Noah can barely look at you now. He almost stopped talking to you. And this is heartbroken because you believed you were building something. You never hidden how much you like him, it's evident even without saying it out loud. But you've never thought that it could have been a problem.

Noah Sebastian is beautiful and successful, but he is a man made by flesh and bones. He is human. You are not the type that idiolazed famous people. With this mindset you made your move....

.... the move you're now regretting so much.

《 you have done an amazing job tonight, I havent see you keeping a break》 Steve congratulates you when your last client is served. 《 go and get some beer, I can finish with the boxes with Mandy, right?》

Your coworker barely nod, while she is closing one of the boxes. She is the one who covers for you every day, but she's getting bitter because you still have to tell her what exactly she is covering. The truth is that you're a bit ashamed. You feel like you're selling yourself to the devil, but nothing could help. There is no way you will stop having these incounters with Noah. Maybe in this way you have a chance to fix it. Maybe he will tell you one of these days what he is hiding from you.

What he's ashamed of.

Why hes holding up so much.

But it's not today, and you can tell by the look he gives you when you enter the room where the crew is gathering. Matt cheers you with a can of beer, asking about the tonight selling and if you had any problem. Then he invites you to pick up a slice of pizza and relax a bit. The obvious choice for you is sitting next to Folio, so you can listen to his excited chronicle of the show.

Noah is just a couple of seats away from you but it feels like an ocean apart. You don't even bother to look at him.

You know he won't exchange the gaze...

{ part 2 coming soon }

[excalculus]

hey so re that abandonware post and fixing old computers so they don't fucking brick expensive microscopes: have you ever replaced a power supply in a computer tower connected to an olympus confocal microscope? olympus is trying to get us to pay 5-6k for a new computer over a power supply and frankly, i don't want to pay that but we're a bit nervous that olympus might've encrypted the motherboard such that replacing the power supply bricks it.

First off I'm not an expert and am not intending to give instructions or write a tutorial, so anything you do or don't do based on this is up to you. I've also never had this exact scenario so I have no specific advice.

That being said, I haven't heard of Olympus pairing components in their PCs, so if true it's a pretty recent development and some real bullshit. How old is this thing? If it's relatively new my experience is even less relevant since I was mostly wrangling stuff well over 10 years old. Obviously if you try to fix it, fail, and call them back without being able to hide your tracks really well, they'll likely void any kind of warranty or service contract on the PC. But if the alternative is replacing the whole damn thing anyways, well...

From what I know of things like iPhones and game consoles that do have component pairing, trying to swap things only bricks the device in the sense that it won't run with the "illegal" parts. It doesn't cook the board unless there's a separate electrical problem, and swapping the original part back in should restore it to whatever functionality it had before. Assuming you're very sure it's the power supply itself and not something like the connection between that and another component, my guess is that trying to swap in a known working PSU of the exact same model might fail but won't break things worse.

The closest incident I've been involved in was one where one of these microscope computers was dying slowly and horribly, and the rep wanted something like 3k for a fresh install of the software. IT helped clone the entire contents of the hard drive, and we were able to copy that onto a non-dying drive and pop that back into a mostly-new computer. Clearly this might also fail depending on how aggressive they were in locking all the parts together, but if there's no truly custom hardware in the PC and all you need is CellSens or whatever a DIY license transfer may be worth thinking about.

If all else fails, you can always ask your PI to loudly consider a new Leica or something where they can hear.

[jungk0oksthighs]

Pi Gasu | When Two Become One

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, E2L, vampire!jungkook

Word Count - 8k

Jungkook has been keeping you close upon the revelation about the Pi Gasu curse. Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, terminal illness, unintentional violence / injury description, explicit sexual content, painful sex, biting, heavy angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

Being cursed for death doesn’t seem too far afield from what’s written for everybody in this world. People breathe, sleep, eat, breed and eventually they wither and die. Of course there are vices that consume humanity between its beginning and end. Drugs, alcohol, lying, cheating, stealing, fucking everything with a pulse in a three hundred mile radius. And that’s only to name a few.

Death is inevitable for every living, breathing thing. One way or another life ends. No matter how beautifully written the book, or in spite of the end being premature, or even how peaceful the final chapter may be. That’s exactly what it is – a finale. Everything else is irrelevant in that moment. The sins, the celebrations, all the regrets and false promises truly mean nothing when it’s time to close the book.

We’re all born to die.

But to die before you’ve really lived? It’s pitiful. You don’t have a vice, there’s no morally grey area that intrigues you. Well maybe there is one. It’s tall, dark and sinisterly handsome with a knack for taking your breath away whenever it speaks in romance riddles. Whenever it embraces you you’re left wordless, and on the rare occasion it’s lips have moulded against yours it’s enough to consume every fibre of your being.

Unfortunately for you, it’s the same vice you’ve been staying with for almost three weeks now.

The curse of the Pi Gasu has plagued your thoughts ever since Jungkook told you about it. How you and your twin brother Eddie are cursed. How your biological father was a vampire. How Eddie’s terminal illness is nothing more than a transition into immortality. And how his transition will only be completed the moment you die. So it’s all real, the scary monsters and spooky tales. The vampires, werewolves and demons. The witchcraft, the potions and curses. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for you hiding out in Jungkook’s house that’s for damn sure.

Which leaves the question: why are you hiding out in his house?

It was something the monster in question deemed necessary, now that he knows the truth of your linage he wants to protect you from vampires. As Eddie’s transition painfully drags itself to almost completion, your scent has only grown all the more enticing to the undead.

The Pi Gasu curse births a born predator, a powerful vampire, and when the DNA splits itself in the womb the other twin, the human twin, is cursed for a short-lived life plagued with the unwanted art of seduction. Everything about you mesmerises a vampire, securing your death and completing Eddie’s transition into eternal darkness. Restoring the balance in the world, one death for immortal life.

It’s been unbearable for both you and Jungkook to be around each other as your scent flourishes, drowning him, so much so that you’re staying in a small spare bedroom on the highest floor away from his choice of bedroom – the basement.

It's decorated nicely, the bedroom you’re staying in, as is the rest of his home. Plain and simple, added touch of personality. Almost like he saw the room in a catalogue and thought; 'that's what humans live like, I'll copy it.'

You’ve been in the basement many times, hell he’s nearly taken you to heaven and back again within those walls on multiple occasions when you used to fool around together. But it’s out of bounds right now, for no reason other than your safety. You know that he’s insisting you stay here for your own good, to stay alive, because he’s told you that he needs more time. More time to find a cure for the Pi Gasu curse, but so far his efforts have been futile.

Of course there was the spark of hope that perhaps if you turned into a vampire, Eddie would be saved and you could avoid being buried deep in the earth or being scattered in the sky. However, after much researching Jungkook and his for lack of better word friends Taehyung, Seokjin, Jimin and Namjoon all found no evidence to support the theory.

Apparently Jungkook isn’t willing to risk it regardless, he shut you down very quickly when you asked him to turn you. And not just because it’s illegal, but because he doesn’t want that life for you. He’s determined to find another way. And as you’re currently cooped up in his home asking any of the other vampires you know through association to turn you is somewhat impossible.

“Maybe I should just ask him to get this over with and kill me already.” You whisper at your reflection in the mirror, brushing out your wet freshly-showered hair.

That’s the inevitable, right? You’re going to die anyway so what’s the use in prolonging it? Eddie will be saved, Jungkook won’t have to fear that you’ve been found and killed by a vampire every damn day. It’s been a few days since you’ve even seen Jungkook’s face, usually he knocks on the bedroom door to let you know there’s food waiting for you before disappearing into the basement. It must be becoming a chore for him to take care of you like this, as much as it’s becoming a chore for you to stay put and wait for a miracle. You’re bored, broken and ready to face reality.

You were born to die.

Slowly, you push the bedroom door open, contrasting against the quickening of your beating heart. You’ve given him time and he’s found no cure. You’re ready to embrace death if it means your brother can be saved.

Skin still damp from the hot shower you cling onto the small towel that barely covers your modesty, making your way downstairs in his eerily homely home. It’s warm, as it has been throughout your stay here. Usually he would never feel the need to turn on the heating, but with a human under his roof he’s grown considerate of your comfort. Jungkook’s basically doing what he can to keep you alive, all while staying well out of your way and in turn not killing you himself.

Before you even have chance to call out his name in the open living area, he’s resting against the doorway in front of you – like he sensed you coming. Water beads trickle down your exposed skin when you stand completely still, frozen, staring at the vampire who’s hellbent on protecting your soul.

Jungkook swallows, wetting his lips all while his eyes slide over your body and drink in what you’re wearing. Well, what you’re not wearing. Unlike you he’s fully clothed, a shimmering red bomber jacket thrown over a zebra print sheer shirt that hangs just over his black belt. All tied together with ripped black jeans and bare feet. His disregard for colour palettes or themes when it comes to fashion choices never fails to amuse you. No human would ever dress like that.

“Did you need something?” His voice is flat, unreadable, much like the expression blanketing his sharp profile that’s only softened by the wavy locks of raven hair tickling his thick brows, “Are you out of clean clothes?”

“No… I just-, I just wanted to see you I guess.” You sigh absentmindedly, shaking some excess water from your hair, “It’s pretty lonely up there.”

The look on Jungkook’s face is nothing short of pained when his eyes squeeze shut, he looks almost guilty before he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Y/N… I’m sorry. But it’s for your own safety.”

“You’ve never hurt me before.” You mumble, averting his gaze.

And he hasn’t. Initially when you first met Jungkook all those months ago you were terrified of him and the prospect of what he could do to you. He’s strong, a lot stronger than a regular bitten vampire, he’s a Pi Gasu vampire, much like your brother he was born for this life. It’s in his veins and always has been. Even before his twin sister died and secured his place in the immortal world, the monster he became lingered beneath the surface. Waiting. Begging to be freed.

But then you got to know Jungkook on a personal level, and he would do anything to keep you safe. The fact you’re standing in his house proves the fact on some level, despite having no soul, he does care about you. There have been moments together, heated moments, moments that will last an eternity in his mind, where he could’ve succumb to his inner demon and blood lust. But he didn't.

Jungkook’s features soften upon meeting your eyes, his doe-like eyes may be crimson red in colour but they’re swimming with emotion, enough to make you drown in them, “Truthfully I don’t know what’s worse,” He frowns, pierced lips parted, “Staying away from you makes me crave you more, but being near you…”

“Makes you want to kill me.” You clear your throat, somewhat overwhelmed by his presence.

A while ago he’d asked you if you believe in fate, soulmates, convinced that you and he were tied by the beauty of the moon. But as you watch the man in front of you physically struggle to breathe around you, you’re reminded that it’s nothing more than the curse of the Pi Gasu.

The corners of his lips quirk up into a soft smile, “It’s not the curse.” His voice is low, it’s still equal parts infuriating and endearing that he can read your thoughts and you’ll never get used to it. “You’re… It’s…. It’s more than that. If I were only interested in you because of the curse you would’ve been dead a long time ago. The curse complicates things, but, well…”

“Maybe it’d be better for everyone if I just died already and got this over with.” You chuckle, while you’re trying to ease the budding tension with a joke at your own expense it’s obvious Jungkook doesn’t see the funny side. His frown deepens, a small hum escaping him.

“Is that how you really feel?”

“I’m just saying…” You sigh, squeezing the towel wrapping your body a little tighter, “Eddie will transition into a vampire, he won’t be in pain anymore… And you won’t have to waste time searching for a miracle. You can go back to your normal life before we met—”

“My time will never be wasted when spent on you.” He takes a step forward, surprising you, his jaw clenched so tight you wonder if vampire bones are capable of shattering, “If it takes me forever to find a cure then so be it, I’m not prepared to let you die.”

You try to reason with him, shuffling a cautious step in his direction, “I don’t want my brother to be in pain anymore, if dying is the only way—”

“I’m not going to let that happen!” The projection of his voice startles you, but not as much as the loud bang followed by bricks crumbling around his feet after he punches the door frame does. You stare at him wide-eyed and frightened, unable to peer away from the way his chest heaves up and down with each angry breath. “I need more time… I’ll find a way.”

At this you lose it, laughing humourlessly before you match his volume and rage, “There isn’t another way Jungkook! You’ve tried!” You rush over to him, until you’re in arms-length distance and being mindful not to step in the aftermath of his temper, “I can’t live like this anymore, knowing that it’s hurting my brother… I just-, I want this to be over with. I’m ready.” You sigh, eyes fluttering shut. It’s such a relief to say that out loud.

Jungkook swallows, dark eyes zoned in on your face, “Well I’m not ready to lose you Y/N.”

“It has to be this way, to save my brother.”

“I'm not letting you go, not yet. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you,” He begins, trembling tattooed hands gently finding purchase on your bare shoulders, “You’re the poem the universe wrote only for me.”

A tiny gasp betrays you when his inked fingers find your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. It’s indescribable how beautiful the man is standing before you, even in his human life he must’ve been the most handsome person around. His eyes are dark in colour, framed by even darker delicate lashes. The pits of your stomach ignite with desire, along with an uncontrollable need to be closer to him. A pull so inhumane and sewn deep into your soul that you struggle to compare it to anything you’ve ever experienced. It's Jungkook’s breath warm against your lips that breaks you from the trance, gazing up at him with big eyes.

“I know you feel this too… This comfort, this desire…” He whispers, until his lips are a hair away from yours, his own eyes sliding shut, “The ache in your heart, is my promise to you that this is more than the curse. You belong with me.”

“Then change me.” You plead quietly, cupping his angled jaw with your hands, “There’s no way to beat the curse, if it’s death that completes his transition… Technically I’ll be dead. Change me.”

“There’s no guarantee it’ll save you brother, there’s no guarantee you’ll even survive it… There’s no evidence of a Pi Gasu twin being turned. It’s too risky. Your life isn’t something I’m willing to take chances on.”

You sigh again, pressing your forehead to his, “Please, Jungkook.”

“You may have nothing to lose, but if we do this I’ll lose everything.” His whisper comes with his arms snaking round your back, pressing your body to his own. “If you die—”

“We don’t know that I won’t survive it,” You hold his face tighter, silently begging him to grant this wish for you, “I can’t tolerate the thought of my life causing my brother pain anymore. Please, for me, please. It will work—”

“Do you realise what you’re asking of me?” He bites, and for a split second you swear you see his chin quiver. “I could never forgive myself if it didn’t work, if you died before I had the chance to really be with you.”

His admission sends a rush of guilt over you, you are asking a lot of him but there is no other way. He’s searched, his friends have searched, and no cure has been found. If you’re going to die regardless, at least it won’t be in vain.

“Then be with me.” You whisper, “Take me, however you want me, have me.” You kiss his cheek, not missing the way his hold of you grows stronger.

“It’s too dangerous.” His face his scrunched tightly, as though he’s having a difficult time being so close to you. Where his skin is usually ice cold his cheeks feel flushes beneath your palms, “If I lose control, even for a second…”

“You won’t.” You hush his concerns, thumbs tracing back and forth on his skin in an attempt to comfort him, “And if you do… You could change me. This will work, I promise.”

"What if it doesn't?" He whispers back.

"But what if it does?"

Large palms make their way up your back until they find purchase in your damp hair, and at that exact moment nothing else in the world matters. It’s both a blessing and a curse to feel for each other so deeply, so unwaveringly, that when his lips find yours you simultaneously feel broken and complete all at once. When he kisses you you’re left breathless, haphazardly grabbing at his body to get impossibly closer to him, something he reciprocates wordlessly.

Jungkook’s hands are all over your frame, his lips crushing yours hard enough to bruise, with such urgency it makes your head spin. It doesn’t take you long to slide his jacket from his broad shoulders, messily clawing down his back when his tongue elegantly glides into your mouth and dances with your own. You stand there for some time, embracing each other, kissing as though it’s the last time, choking on the thick sea of words neither of you are too brave to speak.

It's then that you’re being whisked downstairs faster than you can humanly process. Your back hits the mattress on the large bed centred in the basement, Jungkook’s body atop of your own and strong arms caging you in. His lips never leaving yours, kissing you with so much yearning and lust that it’s enough to make you feel as though you’re the only two people in the world. When your arms reach out to his shirt buttons the towel you’re wearing falls open, revealing your entirely naked body underneath him.

The scent of your exposed flesh must’ve been like heat from a foreign country smacking Jungkook straight in the face when stepping off a plane. He pulls back ever so slightly, calming himself, steadying his breathing while burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“I want you to know…” He exhales, voice thickened by bloodlust and greed, “That whatever happens, if this doesn’t work… In my own way, in my own morbid, sinister and selfish way. Not once in my centuries of existing have I ever felt this way about anyone.”

“Jungkook…” You whimper beneath him, ridding him of his thin shirt. You'd almost forgotten about the countless tattoos decorating his physique. The dark sleeves, the intricate artwork littering his entire body. The muscles on his body. He really is breath taking.

“To know you is to love you Y/N.”

Wet kisses smother your neck, filled with emotion and truths untold that have you sighing in bliss. He’s omnipresent, you can feel him in every inch of your body, his voice haunting your thoughts and his touch burning your flesh. His tongue glides over a sensitive spot on your neck and that’s when you feel his fangs, sharp and threatening, scratching the spot through the kisses. Jungkook’s movements grow more frantic, his mouth lapping up your taste before he hisses against you, shaking his head of the intrusive thoughts.

“It’s okay…” You whisper, “It’s okay… You won’t hurt me, I trust you.”

You feel his small smile against you, “A foolish mistake on your part.”

With your earlobe pinched between his teeth he rests his weight on one arm, snaking the other down to cup your breast. When his thumb grazes your nipple you both groan, overwhelmed by lust. Every nerve in your body is aflame, singing a song written for only Jungkook to hear. When his hand travels further down your bare body, until his fingers toy with your folds you lose all sense of who you are.

“Please,” You beg shamelessly, “Please touch me.”

“Once I start I won’t be able to stop Y/N,” Where his whispered warning should bring you to your senses, it does nothing save for fuel the burning desire in your body, “Being… Intimate with a vampire, it’s-, it’s not going to be like it is in the movies. It’s rough, it’s painful and it will hurt. Are you sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” You nod along a little too eagerly, ready to be thrown into the volcano. “Come here…” You gently grip his head and tug his neck to your lips, peppering the clammy skin with lewd kisses, “Can I-, um…”

For the first time in a while you hear him chuckle, his white smile so boyish and bright you almost miss the threat of his predatory fangs completely, “You can. Don’t hold back, get a good amount of blood in case this ends badly. Bite me like your life depends on it.”

Because it does.

With a lot of effort your teeth sink into his flesh and the familiar taste of iron coats your tongue. It’s not pleasurable, not for a human, to taste blood. But the moment is intimate, like you’re tasting the forbidden fruit you’ve been told to avoid your whole life. You’ve tasted his blood before when you fooled around, mostly because he didn’t want to hurt you and knew a drop of his blood would help repair any injuries sustained. But this time it's different, this really may be your last night with him if things turn sour.

Soon your biting turns to kisses and Jungkook lowers his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice raspy yet serious, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.” You murmur against his skin, jaw falling slack with a gasp upon the sensation of his nimble fingers drawing firm circles over your sensitive area.

It’s euphoric, the feeling of coming undone beneath a monster you’ve lusted for since the moment you met him. Your body caged under his, his muscles sheltering you from the outside world. Like a rose guarded by it’s thorns, two halves a whole, neither one existing without the other. And as his ministrations grow more deliberate, dipping into where you crave him most, the rose begins to shed it’s petals. Layers of doubt, fear, uncertainty, falling onto the bedsheets with your discarded towel. Walls crumbling, only leaving the part of your soul that yearns for more. Your body language is something he is fluent in, understanding completely what you want and how to give it to you.

As you watch him slither down the sheets, until his face is buried into the plump flesh of your thigh, you feel like you’re falling. But he doesn’t let you touch the ground, catching you, he takes a deep breath through flared nostrils to steady himself before heavy eyes flicker to your face. Perhaps the most sinful feature of human nature is to give what we most wish to receive, and in this moment the only thing clouding the limited space between your bodies is the mutual need for intimacy.

To be loved.

Jungkook’s losing his mind, every ounce of self-restraint slowly dissipating into the carnal desire to claim you. To make you his in every sense of the word, until your minds, bodies and souls are eternally intertwined. His bare chest rises and falls in rhythm with your pounding heart, the scent of you flooding every sense he possess. Subconsciously his jaw tightens upon seeing your wet pussy shimmer in the dim lighting of the basement. The monster inside him has never been so painfully close to the surface in your presence, it’s a battle he knows he’ll ultimately lose and the neediness smothering your pretty features is far from helping the situation.

Open-mouthed kisses guide him to your swollen clit, where he takes it between his lips and begins to lap it up with a flattened tongue, sucking and licking until you’re writhing on the bed in equal parts shock and desperation.

“Fuck… Jung-, hnnng.” You moan breathlessly, feeling akin to being on cloud fucking nine, body tingling in every way imaginable. His licking grows heavier, more determined and erratic, barely giving you time to even out your unsteady breaths, “Shit, Jungkook.” You mewl, pushing your hips up to meet his greedy mouth.

His muscular arms sling themselves under your thighs, a bruising grip on your hips when he drags you closer to his face, the bend of his nose now flat against your core. You're no match for the shapes he's creating with his tongue. you don't stand a change against the harsh sucks and groans he's delivering. It’s as if he’s enjoying this equally as much as you, thick brows pinched in concentration while the hold he has on your bones turns painful. Hearing you cry out from the combination of pain and pleasure only spurs him on more, smothering himself between your legs where he eats you out so ravenously your legs twitch and tremble either side of his face.

“Jungk-, ohhh…��� Your eyes glide back into your skull, hands roughly and quickly finding their way into the depths of his raven hair. With urgency you push his bangs away from his face to get a better view of the unholy display unfolding before your very eyes.

The dark veins framing his hooded gaze should deter you, turn you off, make you scream for an entirely different reason. But they don’t. In spite the noticeable bruising around his eye sockets, drawing attention to the beast inside him, you’ve never wanted him more.

It’s when he looks up at you that you realise exactly what he was referring to earlier. Despite having consumed his blood the strength he’s grabbing your body with hurts. You’re frowning, lips ajar to allow your shallow breaths and quiet whimpers escape freely. The pain is soon forgotten about when Jungkook hisses against you, sucking in a sharp breath before diving right back in, visibly losing control.

We don’t fall in love with the pure intentions in people, we fall in love with the darkness we recognise in others. From the moment your eyes met his, you knew there was something inside his demonic stare that felt like home. It’s all overwhelming, contradicting, confusing, but boy is it addicting.

It’s a stab to the heart and being brought back to life in the same moment, knowing it hurts but unable to pinpoint where. Just knowing you want more of it, until you’re gasping for air and drowning in the sea of possibilities. Further proving that if it doesn’t hurt, ache and bleed, it’s not love; and the way he holds your body strong enough to break it has you finally making sense of the term ‘to love someone to death’.

“Jungkook… I’m-,” You pant, tugging and pulling his hair, “I’m close. Please…” Your body shakes and jolts with ecstasy, the fire in your stomach never burning hotter. The pornographic sounds of him savouring every drop of arousal you’re giving him floods your ears, fogs your mind and throws you head first over the edge.

“Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming! Don’t stop!”” You gasp, back arching from the sheets, hands flying to your scalp to helplessly tug your hair.

Your frame is punched with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, pulsating with pleasure that comes in white-hot waves. Had Jungkook been human the way you’re pressing your thighs together from the overstimulation would have his eyes pop out his skull. Instead his face stays there, stare hungrily dragging itself up and down the spans of your sweaty body. His movements slow into an eventual nothing, aiding you ride out your high, until he’s suddenly above you, crashing his face to yours in a bloodthirsty kiss.

“Take more,” He orders, craning his neck to give you easier access to where you bit him previously, “I’m-, have more. Please. I’m not gonna be able to hold back much longer, I don’t want to hurt you.” The genuine pain weaved into his words sparks a panic inside you, this is him holding back? You think about how tightly he held you, how your bones almost crumbled beneath his fingertips. So you do as he says, biting him again until a soft moan emits from his pierced lips and catches you off guard.

“If this is too much for you…” You say quietly, guilt eroding your insides, “We don’t-, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me. If you’re not having a good time—”

You’re cut short by the sound of Jungkook’s breathy laughter, sounding disbelieved. He meets your eye contact with a smirk, still panting for air, “How can I put this to you?” He’s laughing, wetting his lips between smiles, “To call what we’ve just done ‘a good time’ is a fucking insult. I’ve never felt seduction like this, I want to have you, to take you, to consume you in every way imaginable until you’re mine.” There’s a possessiveness to his tone, one what reignites the fire of passion.

“I’m already yours.” You whisper, in what feels like a very profound moment where time itself comes to a halt.

Jungkook stills, swallowing the needy noises that threaten to betray him when you start kissing his neck again, softly, featherlight, showing him no fear or hesitation. You want this, just as much as he does, “Everything I am, everything I have to give, is yours Y/N.”

And just like that he’s kissing you again, feverishly, hopelessly, like a love sick fool glutton for punishment.

The tension picks up quickly, atmosphere shifting into something more sinister as Jungkook begins to lose his resolve. His body is tense, jaw tight, eyes slid shut and white teeth bared in a threatening snarl against your cheek. A hand reaches out to the wooden bedframe to steady himself, but instead it crumbles between his fingertips and he has no choice but to keep himself still to stay calm.

“Are you okay?” You peer up at him, expression innocent yet screaming concern.

Jungkook growls, he knew this moment would happen sooner or later but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the specifics. When his eyes lock with yours they’re deep red, rich, oozing lust, a born predator stalking his prey.

“You’re mine.”

A moment later he’s shed of any clothing, hovering above you, chest heaving up and down while panting for air. Your scent is everywhere, it’s enough to make his eyes roll back into his skull when he bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The tattoos, the muscles, the bumps and bends of his body have you silently pleading for him to take you, it’s the last thing Jungkook sees in your eyes before the monster inside finally takes over.

The lust that overcomes a vampire when aroused is like nothing any human would understand. The need, the urgency, the craving that weighs down their limbs and clouds their judgement. Any rational thinking dissolves quickly and the frenzy kicks in strong. With flared nostrils and unsteady deep breaths he lines his cock up to your entrance, hands trembling with anticipation and greed.

“Take me Jungkook,” Your voice is like that of an angel’s when it lands on his ears, quiet and calm, “I’m yours.”

With that statement your walls struggle to accommodate the size of his length as he pushes into you, the two of you groaning and gasping at the new mind-blowing sensation. Your hands are pinned above your head, held in place by the bone crushing grip Jungkook has on them with one hand, the other pawing at your left breast while his tongue finds your other nipple, swirling against it hungrily.

“Fuck!” You cry, never feeling so full in your life, “Jungkook… Oh my-, oh-, nnngh.” You whine pathetically between tiny breaths. You were warned that being intimate with a vampire was no easy feat, you knew it would hurt, and yet you’re still surprised at just how much it hurts.

“Who do you belong to?” Jungkook growls against your skin, pulling back his hips until he’s almost fully out of you before slamming himself back inside. Your organs already feel bruised, bones aching, head spinning. Yet there’s something tremendously addicting and pleasurable behind the pain.

“Y-you.” You hiss.

The roll of his hips is already overbearing, physically and emotionally pushing you to your limits. With each feral thrust you feel weaker, legs shaking in time with your pants for air. You’ve never given much thought to why mating with a vampire is illegal, Jungkook had explained to you that it’s extremely dangerous and the repercussions of these actions. Yet to experience it first hand is another thing entirely. The stretch is almost too much to handle, so much so that you shriek when you’re equally blessed and cursed by a particularly harsh thrust.

“Aaah!” Your eyes squeeze shut, mirroring the way your walls tighten around the girth currently stuffing you senseless.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” You barely register the words lost to the sound of his moans and groans against your flesh, too caught up in your own self-awareness and thoughts. This is really happening, you’re fucking Jungkook. And Jungkook is annihilating you.

Once you’re adjusted to the brutal pace he’s set, plunging in and out of you, the pleasure slowly creeps up on you like a stalker in the night. It’s there, you can sense it, you know it’s coming and you cling onto the feeling of growing arousal inside you as a way to deal with the aches and pains spreading your frame. Focussing on how good this feels, you manage to find a sense of bliss.

As though he read your mind, Jungkook snakes a hand down your body to your clit, rubbing the area firmly to amplify the pleasure you’re feeling. The movements of his hand match the snaps of his hips. Hard, deep, inhumane, but it’s enough to regain some strength in your limbs and reignite the fire of passion in the depths of your abdomen.

“Shhh, shit-“ You choke out, completely enamoured by the sensation, “Keep going. Just like that.”

"I knew you'd be able to take me," He gasps when you clench around him again, "Fuck... Mmmph."

"Please, don't stop..." You whimper, your second high fast approaching thanks to his huge cock effortlessly brushing past your most sensitive spot with each roll of his hips, "Please."

"I could fuck you for eternity." He spits, lips tucked between his teeth while trying to remain calm, tightening the grip of your bound hands with his own, "I'm going to fuck you for eternity baby. Every night, mmmph, forever."

"Forever." Your voice is barely audible over Jungkook's loud moans every time he fucks into you, the sound alone sparking a whole new wave of need inside you.

“You’re mine,” He reiterates between ragged breaths, “All fucking mine.”

“All yours.” You sigh, growing hotter and sweatier all while being drilled into the mattress beneath you, “I’m all yours, and you’re mine.”

And that he is. He’s spent the last eight centuries guarding his heart, guarding it so viciously that others questioned if he even had one. It may not beat, it may not pump blood through his body, it may not work at all. But even then, in its broken, shabby, moth-eaten and frozen state. It belongs to you. Each part of his being, both man and beast, is undeniably, unfathomably, and uncontrollably yours.

He can’t blame the curse for his feelings, the fact alone that you make him capable of feeling anything is all the proof he needs that you’re his mate. His true mate. Just because you’re a Pi Gasu, a blood singer, doesn’t mean the emotions surging his core aren’t real. He’s fucking you hard enough to break you, to kill you, if it were nothing more than the curse drawing him to you he would’ve bitten and drained you by now, he's being intimate with you because he wants to.

Therein lies the biggest mistake Jungkook could’ve ever made. With your naked, exposed, vulnerable body quivering beneath him – he thinks about your blood. The romantic taste it leaves on his tongue, the thick scent of it flooding this entire room, his nostrils, how your arousal makes it sweeter…

“Jungkook, oh my—” You whine, muffling your shy moans behind your teeth that are sunken into your lips.

Without warning the grip he has of your hands tightens again, and your eyes fly open in a panic when you hear, when you feel the bones in your fingers snap. You stare at Jungkook, dumbfounded, in a state of shock. But he’s too zoned in on your neck to notice your features, he hasn’t registered what’s just happened despite the fact your fingers are like putty in his hands. His grip tightens once more, this time your wrist shatters like the bedframe did earlier, and you can’t help but scream.

"Ahh!"

“Shit shit shit, fuck!” Jungkook snaps out of his daze, face full of horror upon seeing what he’s done, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” In a frenzy of contradicting emotion he takes his hand away from your wrist, grabbing your hip to still your bodies – except the pressure from his vice-like hold is strong enough to crush your bones.

“Ahh—!” You’re coughing, spluttering, crying when it feels as though your hipbone has been ground down to dust and popped out of socket, paralysed with pain.  “Jungkoo-, plea-, stop.” You choke, and the red tinge to his eyes quickly fades into chocolate brown. He raises his shaky hands to prove to you he’s not going to touch you, withdrawing himself from your body entirely.

“I-, Y/N… I’m sorry. I-, I lost it… Fuck, I’m s—”

“It hurts-, it-, it hurts.” You sob, physically incapable of moving your broken body on the bed, “Please… M-make it stop!” You’re roaring inconsolably, which tugs on the vampire’s heart strings a lot harsher than he’d prepared for. Nothing could’ve prepared him for seeing you in this much agony, nothing could’ve prepared you for feeling this much agony.

“I'll make it stop,” He nods once, twice, three times to syke himself up, “This is going to hurt, but it’ll take away the pain soon I promise.” With your eyes squeezed shut you manage to nod at him, giving him the only confirmation he needed to lower his lips to your jugular.

It’s a bittersweet moment for him, finally having the consent to bite you. But at what cost? He hurt you, something he’d promised himself he��d never do. And biting you now, after you’ve consumed his blood is going to change the course of your life forever. That’s if it even works… It should’ve prevented your bones from breaking, but it didn’t. Shaking the intrusive thoughts from his mind he kisses your neck tenderly, fluttering his eyes shut as mutual greed and despair takes over his immortal being.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, before plunging his sharp fangs into the supple skin of your neck as easy as a blade through soft butter.

The second your blood stains his tongue, it’s over. Not just for your mortality, your soul, but for Jungkook too. It was one thing to drink your blood from the donation vials you’d gifted him previously, but to feast on you in such an intimate way in such a sacred moment is unbearable. He grips your body tightly, shattering a few of your ribs in the process to tug you even closer, all while his eyes roll into the back of his skull. You taste like every sonnet ever written, like every genuine smile you’ve ever gifted him, he’s never tasted such romance that it’s impossible for him to stop.

“Jungkook…” You’re growing weaker by the moment, the agony broken bones forgotten about, replaced by a searing hot pain on your neck that makes you want to shriek and sob. Except you’re too frail to move, to complain, instead having to take the hurt for what it is and pray that it’s over soon.

“Jung-,” You’re lightheaded, rapidly emptying of blood as your eyelids grow heavy. It’s a selfless thought, your final one, prompting the corners of your lips to curl into a smile. At least your brother will be okay. “-Kook… I-,” Your breaths slow, as does your heart, but you’ll be damned if you die without speaking your truth, “-love you.”

Your heartfelt confession forces him back to reality, he gulps, somehow finding the inner strength to stop and let go of your body. With a heaving chest and aching heart he retracts his fangs, replacing them with a soft kiss to the wound he’s created. A kiss so heartfelt that Shakespeare himself would have difficulty describing it. It takes him a selfish moment to steady himself, to fully shake the demon within to the back of his thoughts and appreciate your words and their magnitude. His forehead rests against your cheek, his hair damp and wayward, sticking to his skin as he smiles.

“To say I love you too would be an understatement,” He exhales, withdrawing from your face when you don’t react, “Y/N?”

Death is so beautiful. To have certainty, no yesterday and no tomorrow, no misery or doubt, just eternal peace. Envy brews inside Jungkook at the prospect of those capable of dying, to be the first to say goodbye, to lay forever in the soil and be a part of something more. The circle of life, the balance and harmony of the universe. At least that’s how he viewed death until he saw the light fade away from your eyes.

“Y/N?!”

He sits back on his knees, panicking, only now registering just how much damage he’s caused. Your body is warped, a mangled version of the epitome of beauty it was before. Not once has Jungkook ever felt remorse for his killings, it’s not in his nature. But the sight before him has him feeling sick to his stomach. He did this.

“Y/N?! No, no no no no…” Frantically shaking his head in denial his hands find the towel, covering your intimate areas with it to spare you some dignity, “Come on… Come on… The venom should be working, stay with me baby, stay with me!”

Love never dies a natural death. It withers away from the wrongdoings of the person we trusted most. The deceit, the pain and betrayals. It dies because of us, the consequences of our own actions. In it’s final hours love hurts so much that we feel numb to the pain, and even though we know the inevitable is coming, the execution destroys us.

And Jungkook loved you so much that it killed you.

“Please, you can’t leave me! You-, we were meant to be forever.. Please, come on come on come on...”

For the first time in his immortal existence Jungkook is scared. You should’ve turned by now, you should be like him. He’s turned many before, all of which showed signs of life after death within seconds of dying. It was a risky move to make, turning you when knowing of your lineage and the Pi Gasu curse, but even he must admit deep down he thought this would work. The silence in the basement is deafening, not even a trace of you beating heart remains.

"I've searched for so long to find you, please," He's desperate, leaning down to bite the other side of your neck. Your wrist, your arms, his fangs even make their way down to your thighs to bite you there too. The venom should be working. Why isn't it fucking working?!

It's then that he maps out a plan, one that will end his anguish if you really are dead. He’s to report your death to the council, they would never let him live knowing that he mated with you, never mind the fact he murdered you. The council consists of the world’s oldest, strongest vampires that implore the laws and see out punishments for ones broken. He’ll be executed. He knows first hand that he will suffer, it will be torture, the same pain he inflicted on others when he was a part of the council before he fled. Even then, nothing could ever hurt him more than living, if that’s what he is, knowing what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry,” His quivering lips part, allowing sobs to escape freely.

Even in death you take his breath away.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook you’re screaming for him not to worry, soul banging against the flesh of your body as the venom of his bites spreads your veins. It’s indescribable, agonising and paralysing. Internally you have the energy to run a thousand miles, the room smells different, there are dust particles falling in front of your eyes that you so desperately want to catch between your fingertips that feel restored to their usual structure. Yet you can't bring your body to move a single muscle.

You’re pleading, begging for him to stop crying and see that it worked. It worked. Eddie's transition will be complete just as you finish your own. You’re right here with Jungkook, where you’ll always be.

Forever.

“I should’ve never put you at risk like this… I-, I should’ve shown more restraint. I should’ve never let this happen.” He continues, sparks igniting your skin when his cool fingers trace your profile before he shuts your eyelids for you.

“I spent centuries searching for you, longing for your touch… Only for my touch to be the weapon that kills you. I would’ve given you the world and yet I’m the one to take it from you. The irony of loving someone so much it kills you is wasted on me, I feel nothing short of heartbroken.”

Please, please don’t cry, you think, please.

The world’s greatest love stories are defined by tragedy, and there is nothing more tragic than finally embracing your adoration and love for someone when it’s too late. How selfish of you both, to only truly appreciate the other and the comfort they brought you once it faded into darkness. It takes every ounce of strength, every shred of adrenaline in your body to flutter your eyes back open. And when you do, you're greeted with the sight of Jungkook sobbing into his hands.

Your voice is hoarse, throat burning, as though you've just died and come back to life, but when it registers in your mates brain his gaze snaps to yours instantly, and he grins.

"I-I'm thirsty."

x

[thearvariblues]

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

*

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

*

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. “Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

*

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

*

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

*

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

*

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

*

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

*

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

[karlnapity]

(tws: manipulation, emotional abuse, panic attacks, agoraphobia)

Even after this long, there are still people Eret needs to reconcile with, and people they likely won’t ever, and they’ve made peace with that.

Tommy is one of those people.

It’s not that they don’t want to. It’s been a combination of things, from continuous wars, to exiles, to Tommy’s complete and utter stubbornness, to a hell of a lot of avoidance.

So they’re a bit taken aback when Puffy suggests it, but she seems set on the idea.

“I think he’s probably the one whose experiences are most similar to yours,” she says, in that therapy voice she uses when she’s trying really hard to convince you of something.

They almost want to laugh at that. Tommy’s been through hell, more than they can even imagine, and it’s laughable to think their experiences are at all on the same level.

But, all the same, it’s an excuse to try again to amend their wrongs, and they’ve been trying to get better at confronting their issues.

So, they shoot him a whisper, and wait in the throne room with anxiety they haven’t felt since the prison gained a guest.

It’s hard to break free of habits they gained. It’s hard for them to relax, even when they’re on their own, because who knows if they really are. Who knows if they’re being watched, who knows if this is just a test.

They shake their head, let themselves relax a bit into the throne, let their robes crinkle around them.

And that’s when Tommy enters. They quickly reassemble themselves, garner their royal expression, make themselves look as dignified as possible because that’s what he demands.

They’ve got to stop doing that, but it’s so much easier to fall into old habits.

“So?” Tommy asks, as demanding as always, and Eret holds back a chuckle.

“Here, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” they say, and sweep off the throne, lead him down a few hallways to the garden. There are a few benches, and they occupy one, Tommy taking the other.

This was the closest thing they had to the outside for months, and they say as much, try to get Tommy comfortable. He makes a sound.

“What do you mean?”

They sigh. “Puffy wanted us to talk. She thinks our experiences with him are similar.”

It’s not like they need to say his name. They’re not sure they can.

“Ok? And?” Tommy asks, huffing, but they don’t miss the way he tenses, just a bit, the same way they do when they’re trying to hide anxiety.

“He stopped me from leaving the castle for months. Told me I could only go out when he said I could. This was the closest thing I had.”

Tommy’s staring at them. They can tell he’s trying to find the safest thing to say, that he’s trying to decide whether to share anything of his own.

“Oh,” he settles on. “I get that.”

They nod, and sigh. “I don’t think my experiences compare to yours. You had it a lot worse. But I wanted to have a chance to explain everything.

I know you don’t forgive me. I don’t blame you, believe me. But trust me: you know what he’s like. He had me from the beginning. And it’s still hard not to let myself be influenced by him. So I thought… if we could commiserate, or something. That it might help.”

They don’t look at him, but he lets out a sigh of his own.

“Ok, then.” And he huffs a laugh. “Then stop talking to me like a king, alright?”

Their head snaps up, and Tommy is smiling, a rueful little thing that forces a small smile onto their own face.

“Ok.”

He grows a bit more serious. “Then why did you betray us?”

They shrug. “I guess, in the beginning, I did want more power. I thought being king might help us become more powerful. I should’ve known he wouldn’t have let that happen, but… I was hopeful.”

They clear their throat. “I was manipulated.”

It’s still hard to say, they still feel like it’s dramatic, but Puffy’s been encouraging them to tell the truth. Tommy nods.

“We both were.” He looks like he wants to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “When I was in exile, he told me I was the only person he could trust. All that fucking shit.”

Guilt floods them, heavy and painful. They push through it. “I should’ve done something. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a face. “Then I shoulda done something! Back when it was fucking Manberg, or whatever.”

They sigh, shake their head. “It’s not the same… but thank you.”

He shrugs. He stands, looks around the garden. Eret can tell he’s just trying to keep moving.

“He just… he just fucking convinces you you can’t rely on anyone else. That he’s the only one who can help you, or hurt you, or anything. That no one else cares. Did that happen to you?”

They think of nights where he’d pull off their crown gently, where he’d treat them like a person and give them gifts and nice food, and even nights where he’d let them roam outside the castle alongside him, where he’d lay new, soft robes on their shoulders, where he’d hand them speeches he’d prepared so they didn’t have to stress, where he’d tell them they looked like a king, where he’d say he made the right choice in choosing them.

“It did,” they say, quietly.

“That’s what makes it so fucking hard!” Tommy exclaims, throws his hands up in the air. He looks like he wants to punch something.

“It makes it so hard for it just to be hatred,” they say, nodding. “When you’re wearing his clothes and living in a place he helped build, and when you’re eating the food he provided.”

He throws himself down on the bench next to them, looks them in the eye with a sad grin. “I’m so glad you get it.”

And then he pulls a face, waves his hands. “Not like that! I’m just… it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t gone through it.”

They let out a rich laugh, something that’s so rare these days. He told them it was undignified for a king, but they push down the shame that bubbles in their stomach. “I get it, I get it.”

“I’m glad too.”

>

Gardening’s been a strangely soothing activity. It keeps their hands busy, keeps their mind off things they don’t want to ignore, keeps them feeling accomplished. Sometimes, on the good, good days, they can even plant outside the castle, on the sprawling lawn, but it’s rare.

Today it’s just the garden within the castle. Their hands are coated as they kneel in the dirt, fancier robes exchanged for more casual clothes, almost humming to themselves in contentment, when they hear the voice behind them.

“King Eret?” The voice is quiet but unmistakable. They jump, turn around. They stand, brushing their hands of dirt, and offer a small curtsy, skirt blowing a bit in the wind.

“George,” they welcome. They’re not close with the ex-king, though there’s less bad blood than might be expected.

They have more in common than first assumed.

George looks out of his element, standing awkwardly in the archway. They wave him to the benches.

“What brings you here?” They ask, settling their skirt around them. Royal etiquette dies hard, and they suppose even after all this time the poise hasn’t leaked out of them.

“I wanted to talk,” he says. He fidgets with his goggles. “And I wanted to apologize.”

They tilt their head, expression pinching. “For what?”

“For…” He gestures around, vaguely. “All of this. Kingship shouldn’t have been pushed on you. I shouldn’t have tried to usurp it. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve stopped him-”

Eret can recognize mounting anxiety, from experience as much as anything. They lean forward, lay a hand on his knee. “It’s ok, take a breath.”

He reigns in his breathing after a moment, lays hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

They sigh, smile gently. “Don’t worry about it. I think… we probably share experiences, after all. I don’t blame you at all.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap. His hands twist. “Do you think he ever intended to actually make me king?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer, but there’s no point hiding the truth.

“I didn’t think so.” There’s a deep sigh. “I just feel like… I should have realized, earlier.”

They lean back, peer at the clear sky above them. The sun feels soft on their skin. “When he was around, controlling me… I knew he was horrible. I knew he was the source of my problems, my fear, everyone else’s pain, everything. But all the same… I wanted to follow him. It wasn’t just out of fear of what he’d do to me, or anyone else. It was easier. It was easier to do what he wanted, because then I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to be scared.”

They look to George, who’s nodding.

“I guess it’s sorta like that. It was just easier to follow orders, I suppose.” He purses his lips. “All the same, though, I���m sorry.”

As much as they want to rebuke his apology, insist it really isn’t his fault, they don’t. They’ve learned that sometimes it’s easier to apologize, even if the other person doesn’t need it.

“I forgive you.”

>

On very, very hard days, it’s hard to leave their room.

He wouldn’t let them leave it first thing without first checking them over, making sure they were presentable, making sure everything was in order. And, even now, it’s hard to leave without that first assurance.

They still feel like he’s going to pop out of the shadows, like he’s going to yell at them for getting breakfast without his go-ahead first, like he’s still there critiquing his every move.

In a way, it was assuring. It was simple, having everything decided for them. They were like a doll, positioned every way he wanted them to be. They needed to think over everything and nothing.

On the worst days, they felt inhuman. Their mind went on autopilot, doing everything he requested without even thinking, simply moving through the course of the day without even processing.

He especially approved of them, those days, always saying how he appreciated it when they didn’t speak, didn’t make noise, just stood and acted and followed him around exactly how he wanted them to.

The gaps in their memory disturb them, but all the same some part of them misses it, wants to avoid having to think about it all.

They really are a coward.

They curl deeper in their blankets. Today is one of those days where they don’t move from sun-up to sundown, just wallow in the memories and the self-pity. It feels pathetic, but all the same they can’t bring themselves to move.

There’s a knock on their door. Their entire being screams to stand, to pull on robes as quickly as they can, to make themselves presentable before he sees them, before he yells at them, but they still can’t even roll over to face the door.

“Eret?” It’s Puffy. They want to tell her to come in, or to go away, they’re not sure, but their tongue feels like lead.

The door creaks open, and she comes in.

“Having a rough time?” she asks. There’s a dip in the mattress where she sits beside them.

Puffy is perhaps the only person they can entirely relax around, and even then sometimes it’s a struggle.

She doesn’t judge them. She tells them their feelings are justified, helps them figure out everything. They’re not sure what they did to deserve someone like her.

She rests a hand on their shoulder. “If you want to talk, let me know. If not, I can stay here.”

They put a hand over hers. Stay.

They’re not sure how long they sit like that, but eventually they’re able to pull themselves together enough to eat breakfast she brought. She makes easy conversation even as they can’t, and they rest their head gently on their shoulder as she talks.

At the end of the day, they’re able to say one thing.

“Thank you.”

>

Leaving the castle is a constant struggle, one that most days they can’t bear. Most people have learned, at this point, to come to them if they want to talk.

Somehow, Niki seems to have forgotten, they think as they stare at the letter.

It tells them to meet her at her base, that she wants to spend time with them but can’t miss a day of work.

She’s been working hard, lately, to rebuild, to rediscover her life much the same as they have.

Their hands tremble. Her base is close to the furthest they’ve ventured, and even then that was on one of their best days, and even then they had a panic attack on the way there.

They could just miss it. They could just pretend they didn’t get the letter. They could just pretend they were busy.

No. They want to see her, desperately.

They crinkle the paper in their hands as they start to pace. They already feel the mounting panic at even the thought of venturing that far.

They’d need someone to go with them. They’d need someone to watch them, make sure they didn’t just have a meltdown, but Puffy’s busy and they don’t want to bother anyone else, and they’re likely too embarrassed to ask anyways.

No, they’ve got to do this. Puffy told them to push themselves. This counts, right?

They dress in some of their nicest robes. If they’re going to have a panic attack, they’re at least going to look good doing it, and there’s some comfort in looking as kingly and dignified as possible, even at this juncture.

And they make it to the gates before their confidence starts to waver.

It’s not uncommon for them to stand here, to people watch, but they barely make it past the door most of the time.

Ghostbur passes by within the ten minutes they’re standing there. He catches their eye, and he waves ecstatically before heading to stand next to them.

“Hello, Eret!” he exclaims.

It’s still odd to hear Wilbur’s voice, so similar and yet so different. Eret’s not sure they talked to him again before November sixteenth, and even then he only ever commanded them as a group.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” they return with a smile. “Where are you off to?”

“I wanted to see Niki,” he says, and Eret feels like they could collapse with relief.

“What a coincidence. I do too,” they say, and before their anxiety can get the better of them, they continue. “What do you say we head there together?”

Ghostbur nods happily, extending a hand, and Eret takes it.

They get about ten feet from the door before the anxiety kicks in.

They feel a bit bad for Ghostbur, considering how sweaty their palms are already getting. Their heartbeat’s loud in their ears.

It’s as frustrating as it is terrifying. He’s in prison. He’s not here, and there’s no way he could be here. Sapnap and George stopped reporting to him months ago, and the both of them apologized directly, so there’s no way they’d tell him even if they saw them.

So why are they so fucking scared?

“Are you ok, Eret?” He asks as they walk. They wave him off, but breath is already coming hard for them.

They can remember the first time he caught them. It’d been months into their sentence, as it were, in the castle, and they’d snuck away in the dead of night to see Fundy.

He caught them only a few feet from the door, but he’d been furious. It had taken hours of him teasing, threatening to hurt Fundy, hours of them begging on their knees for him not to do anything, and in the end they’ve never been sure whether he did. They can’t bring themselves to ask.

He’d hardly ever threatened them. If he wanted to hurt them, he did. He always threatened to hurt their friends.

And it was so much worse. What would he do if he caught them now?

They can’t breathe. They let go of Ghostbur’s hand, crumble to their knees. They knew this would happen. They shouldn't have even tried.

Ghostbur’s calling their name, they’re pretty sure, but it’s too much, because if he calls their name too much he might hear where they went, he might be able to find them, and he can’t find them because what is he going to do to their friends, they were trying to find Niki so what would he do to her if he found out, he might hurt her, they were an idiot for even trying to leave and they should have just stayed where it was safe for everyone-

And they’re being hauled to their feet, someone is leading them somewhere. They don't fight back, because it's probably him, and if they fight back it'll only make it so much worse for everyone. They just let themselves be led.

It always takes them a long time to come back from a panic attack. The first thing they become aware of is someone humming, The second is how bright it is. No matter how much they seem to add to their castle, it’s always dim no matter what.

They open their eyes. They’re sitting on a bed, Ghostbur to their right. And Niki’s bustling around on the other end of the room, back turned.

They whisper her name, and she whips around, face softening before she pulls them into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and they hold onto her, tightly. “I’m ok.”

They ask everyone to say that they're ok, after they panic. It was embarrassing, initially, but it really, really helps.

She pulls back a bit, and they grip her arms. She brushes hair out of their eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eret, I should have known not to ask that of you, I wasn’t thinking.”

They shake their head. “No, I wanted to. It’s- I wanted to challenge myself.”

She nods. “I’m glad you got Ghostbur to come with, so he could let me know and I could come get you. I support you pushing yourself, but be careful, ok?”

They smile, nod, and push themselves off the bed. They’re still a bit shaky on their feet, but they look around all the same. “This is gorgeous, Niki.”

As she and Ghostbur show them around her new base, the anxiety doesn’t fade. It might not ever, when they’re outside, and it might not ever even if they follow the rules.

They can’t undo what Dream has done to them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do the best they can to work past it. They have people, friends who are willing to work with them, and people who care, and even when they’re in their castle it seems so much brighter than before.

And when Niki drops them back off, they don’t worry whether she’ll be ok. They know they both will.

[admiringlove]

IX: aparecium; an incantation to always remember.

— you finally read all the other pages of his diary.

+pairing: miya atsumu x reader.

+genre: crossover(hq x hp); fluff; angst; frenemies to lovers.

+word count: 2.9k.

+warnings: FLUFF!! pls, if i don’t put fluff, some of my moots would cry(*cough* ray).

+usual customers(taglist): @babyworld @renee1414 @anotherhydrangea @seita @tobiosnoelle @weebslxt @tsukkiwaifu16 @loveusandoor @kozumebri @sarawrz @crackheadsara @kyuudere @cultsax @supernovaa-a @akaashikeijisan @b3llo-there @sugasloverr @kagebunshiin @tetsurolls @velvetfireworks @kritiiiii @1wai@seijohlogy​ @sweetrosemilktea @bellesowl @ems1des​ @akaashi-todorki @sakuric​ @irishhbamb​ @sweetsamus​ @cherriechurros @mxshimoo @bluebirdandcomrades @zukuroo @denki-core @sarahvvictoria​ @littlevoxine

+author’s notes: this is the last chapter(im def not sad) BUT i will be writing bonus parts!!

+navigation: previous, masterlist,.

You stand in front of your apartment, sighing as you close your eyes, making your way inside your bedroom and begin to pick up the cardboard boxes with the help of your wand, moving them outside into the living room for someone(who is quite late, yet again) to take to your new home.

You tie your hair up, fixing your overcoat a little as you sigh, making your way to the smallest box, placed in the corner of the room. Just by looking at the stamp on top of it, you smile. 

The memories of your time at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

You carefully sit on your knees, your plaid skirt riding up just a smidge, as you open the carton in front of you. 

To say that it was filled up completely was an understatement because right now, a few books and photographs fell out onto your lap, making you chuckle. You picked up the photographs, settling with your back against the wall and your legs stretching out, as you looked through them one by one. 

The first one—one of your graduation ceremony, standing next to Shimizu Kiyoko(the current owner of the most popular Quidditch shop in London) who was beaming vividly at the camera with you, holding up your wands as a gesture that you had finally done it. Something that seemed almost insurmountable when you first started school, and now? You all were content, happy with your lives. 

The second photograph was one from the third year, your first time in Hogsmeade. You were in The Three Broomsticks, and a mustache of the froth from the butterbeer had formed atop your lips. Behind you, a certain fox pointed and laughed his guts out. 

The next picture was from the Shrieking Shack—where all of your friends had ditched the second last day of school and spent the whole day drinking and reminiscing the past seven years of nostalgic happiness. A boy held your hand with the fondest look in his carob orbs, and you returned it. 

You gingerly took the three photos, storing them in the photo album that had also fallen out of the box in the process of you opening it. Smiling, you took out some more mementos. 

Your broomstick, the Nimbus 2001, sat at the bottom, but you excitedly removed it and placed it on the ground, saying, "Up!"

It almost made it to your hand but fell down upon grazing your fingertips. You pouted, blaming the number of years it had passed since you had played Quidditch. Peering into the box as you placed the broomstick aside, you found something even funnier. 

Cheap, piss colored hair-dye that was almost ten-years-old. 

You chuckled, looking at it playfully as you opened the top of the bottle. The disgusting odor that came from it made you grunt as you immediately placed the cap back on top, never desiring to touch that thing ever again. And once more, you placed the item in your hand to the side, looking into the box to find more things that reminded you of your happiest years. 

You couldn't believe your eyes at what sat at the bottom of the carton. 

An empty notebook with a soft leather cover, with a grey quill by its side, sitting there and ridiculing you. 

You blinked twice, making sure what you were seeing was real. Hell, you even rubbed your eyes until you could see mindless patterns in the dark. You opened your eyes, the patterns making themselves sort of visible in plain sight, disappearing after a few milliseconds when you grabbed the brown book in front of you and whispered with your wand in hand, "Aparecium."

September 2, 20**.

I don’t know what I’m doing at this point. It’s been 3 years since I started loving her.  When I saw her walk into the train today, umm, yesterday cause it’s past 2 AM now… I felt so happy?? I mean, I know I tease her and all, she’s quite amazing. She’s got the brains for it all and insults me back even when I say something stupid.  I really dunno. 3 years and I’ve made 0 progress. I seriously need to re-think my decision about my love for this girl 'cause 'Samu says there’s no chance she loves me back. Dunno if I’ll be able to stop my feelings, though. I’ve liked her since my second year. Damn me, for being such a lovesick puppy.  And to think I colored my hair for her too. [Y/N] called it piss-colored. Out of all things, why the fuck would ya compare somebody’s hair to piss? That’s utterly disgusting. I wonder where [L/N] gets these dumb ideas. Damn her, that slug. Anyways, I have class in a couple hours. G'night. 

'Tsumu. 

You immediately let out a hearty laugh, flipping to the next page when you remembered a certain encounter with the boy who wrote the diary. The day he told you he loved you, by the infamous Black Lake, he spoke of this particular page. He said that he addressed the nightly trips around Hogwarts, about how much he longs to be yours, about his happiness when he sees you, and your snarky comments that are just as, if not more, witty than his. 

September 4, 20**

Today was the third day of school. Also my first trip around Hogwarts with [Y/N] under my invisibility cloak. We snuck into the kitchens and got ourselves steak pies and treacle tarts, and then went to the Astronomy Tower where we ate them while laughing about nothing in particular. I love these little trips. They make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Dunno how to put it into words, but I really like spending time with her alone. It makes me really really really happy. I wish that someday, maybe when I'm all grown up and play for a known Quidditch Team and she's a DADA professor, we are still like this. Going around to aimless places, eating food, and laughing about the old times(or anything really, I just want to be with her even when I'm older). And just like always, she doesn't fail to throw dumb comebacks at me. I can't help but chuckle at them, because sometimes they really are offensive. Well, looks like it's time to hit the hay now, so g'night. 

'Tsumu.

You gasp as the page comes to an end, a hand on your mouth. He wasn't wrong when he said he wrote about you. You smile as a tear runs down your cheek as you flip to a random page this time, and you realize that it's written in his sixth year of Hogwarts. 

December 23, 20**

I stayed back for Christmas break this year and my dorm is all empty. So is hers, because she says she didn't want to go back home at all until the summer. I feel bad for her gran, that woman must feel lonely. 

You giggled at the line, grinning because you remember your grandma sending you a Howler, which yelled at you in the empty dorm-room for not coming home for the holidays. She said she missed you, and that your grandfather's health was deteriorating. She had also said that she knew why you didn't come back, and that it was okay, because she understood that you couldn't see another loved one go. The Howler ended on a sorrowful note, but everything eased back into its place because you remember the writer of the diary in your hands being there to comfort you when a dreaded letter came in after the holidays. You continued reading where you left off, wiping away the new wave of tears that had emerged from the memories.

Yesterday, me and [Y/N] went around the castle under the invisibility cloak I gave her. It was fun because I always get to see this little smile on her face that only shows up during these trips. We also went to the forbidden section of the library just because we wanted to look at a few spells that are probably illegal. I did accidentally kill a rat practicing the second unforgivable curse, and [Y/N] helped me hide all the evidence by feeding the dead rat to the Hippogriff she had found in the Forbidden Forest. I swear, if someone saw the way I did the spell and couldn't stop until [Y/N] threw Expelliarmus at me, they would throw me in the deepest pin in Azkaban and I'd probably never be able to see [Y/N] again. Anyway, I have to go back out for dinner now. G'night.

'Tsumu.

You, again, laughed at the man's childishness. You recollect distinctly how scared he was, that he had almost pissed his pants in the Courtyard that night. You had assured him that nothing would go wrong and that your lips were completely sealed, because he was your friend of course, so you had quickly formulated a plan to help him. And yet again, you flip to a new page, one from the fifth year this time. 

July 15, 20**

 I hate this part every year. Ever since my third year, it sickens me to come back home for summer. I can't see her because she lives in Lambeth while I'm in Westminster with my posh family. It makes me a little angry sometimes that my family is well-known in the wizarding world because this means my summers are filled with whatever my parents want me to do. The train ride back home was definitely not quiet. It was so chaotic(mostly because of the constant bickering between me and [Y/N]) and Kita-san yelled at us at the end. That was the first time I've ever seen him get angry, so he was either really fed up or we were being too dumb. Anyway, I'm gonna miss Hogwarts a lot for the next month or so, because after that I get to see her again. Honestly? Can't wait for the sixth year. I hope she grows taller, because right now, she's quite the midget. I'll write her a letter or two, but I probably won't send all of them. G'night for now. 

'Tsumu.

You continue reading it all. Page by page, parchment by parchment, word by word, letter by letter until you finally get to the last page. The one he wrote on the graduation day, where he says that he wants to marry you someday. But you don't get to read it just yet, because he walks into the room with his booming voice and boyish grin.

"[Y/N]! Sorry I'm late, sweetheart! I apparated back home as fast as I could 'cause Coach saw me slack off a lil-"

"So ya actually read it all, huh?" he smirks, walking up to you and crouching down next to you, "Ah, the last page, have ya read it yet?"

"Not the last one," you smile, "—if only I'd read these sooner, we wouldn't have gone through all that mindless drama in seventh year, right?"

"Eh, 'twas kinda worth it in the end," he shrugs, sitting down next to you and placing his thumb on your chin, "Love, you've been crying?"

You shook your head lightly, letting out a small chuckle which to him sounded like the sweetest melody on the face on the planet, "Tears of joy, 'Tsumu. You were a cute teenager in love."

He smiles with his teeth on display, his fading blonde hair falling on his face with perfection as he whispers, "Only for you, darling."

"I'm glad," you mutter, closing in and placing a ghost of a kiss on his lips when you realize, "Wait, shit! We have to take all of this to the House! I'm supposed to leave for Hogwarts tonight!"

"Kiss me first, then we'll talk."

"'Tsumu, you really didn't have to come all the way to Hogwarts to drop me off," you giggle, as the yellow-haired man intertwines his fingers with yours quietly, giggling along with you as he says, "Hey, now yer students get to see yer hot boyfriend that you've been with for the past eight years."

"My stupid boyfriend that did a lot of illegal things in school. You're not exactly a good influence, you know," you mumble, earning a little offended open-mouth Atsumu walking alongside you to your quarters. He continues faking the vexed expression, a hand on his heart as he says, "How could ya wound me like this, baby?" 

"I love you though, so it's justified," you say, opening the door and placing your trunk by the bed. He closes the door, leaning on it with his arms crossed over his chest as you set up your things in the room. When you turned around, you saw Atsumu looking at you with the most enamored look in his clove-infused eyes. You sighed, your shoulders immediately relaxing when your orbs land on him by the door. You step towards him, your beige trench coat trailing behind as you wrap your arms around his very muscular figure(now that he's a part of Nottingham Jackals as a Beater). 

"You're going to leave, aren't you?" you mumble against his chest softly, as he chuckles out, "Yer lucky ya get to stay in Hogwarts when I'm gone. Everything's gonna remind ya of me."

Before you open your mouth to retort, your boyfriend says, "Don't worry, slug. I'll send ya letters everyday. And I'll come to meet ya twice a month. Maybe you can even let me meet yer students."

"'Tsumu, no-"

"Imagine! Children and teenagers, all of 'em love me to death. They'll love yer class, even more, when you make me meet 'em!" he exclaims, his eyes filled with curiosity, "Also, also! What about the third years? I wanna be there when the boggart lesson goes on-"

"'Tsumu, no. The school won't allow it. Although, my students do come and ask about you a lot because they like your Quidditch playing skills. They're not idiots like me, they won't fall in love with your stupid personality," you chuckle, pulling away from the hug, but still holding his arms with yours. He pouts, pulling you into a soft kiss, but immediately pulling away and winking at you, "I'm gonna see ya in a few weeks. Maybe I'll take ya on a date to Hogsmeade again, we can sneak into the Shrieking Shack again under that invisibility cloak."

"'Tsumu, I'm a teacher, not a student!" you laugh, but he simply says, "If anything, that gives us an excuse!"

Miya Atsumu never expected you to be agitatedly running around in your green-room, trying to find things for your hair and make-up. He chuckles lightly because all the other people in the room can do is shake their heads and sigh at your frantic state. Your maid-of-honor, Kiyoko, tried to calm you down about half an hour ago, but it was to no avail. 

Atsumu sent Kiyoko a knowing glance, to which she and all the other bridesmaids stepped outside for just a minute. 

"[Y/N]," he says, his voice low but still soothing. You stop in your tracks, turning around and gasping as you looked at him—clad in sweatpants and a white shirt—and widened your eyes. 

"Dummy, you aren't supposed to see me just yet! Go away and wait at the altar!" you yell, walking over to him and attempting to shove him outside the room. 

Emphasis on the word, 'attempting'. 

"You look exactly like what you are right now, a slug. So listen to me, love. I need to give ya something before you start stressin' out all over again," Atsumu murmurs, placing his hands on your shoulders tenderly as he pulls out a book with a leather cover and hands it to you. 

You sigh, picking it up as you sit down by the vanity. Atsumu looms behind you, crouching down to whisper next to your ears, "Love, open the last page, will ya?"

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, turning your head to look at him with exasperation. He places a peck to your cheek, humming indulgently as an indicator for you to continue as he instructed. You sigh again, shoulders drooping low as you turn over the book and open it, and muttering, "Aparecium."

July 2, 20**.

I want to marry [L/N] [Y/N] someday. 

Miya Atsumu. 

From the last day of the seventh year, and Atsumu continues to explain to you that during the train ride back home when all of you were sleeping, was when he wrote the last entry of his diary, and never opened it again. Because he knew, that he meant every word scribbled on every page. 

You sat there, listening to the man with the messy faded blonde hair, losing yourself in his perfect brown eyes all over again. You felt as if you were diving deep into an ocean of pure chocolate, the sweetness and the slight bitterness getting the best of you as you drown—but voluntarily, because drowning was your intention. 

"I love you, Atsumu," you say out of nowhere, cutting him off. He stops abruptly, his eyes growing wide and his mouth forming into a pout. His lips form into the brightest smile ever, as if the rays of a thousand suns meeting at one point. His boyish grin melts your heart, as he presses his lips to your forehead and says, "I love you more, darling. Now, take a breather, will ya?"

"Oh, and before I go. Don't disappoint me today, slug. I've been waiting to do this for the past eleven years."

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

i’m not crying. yes. 

[imhereformr]

Hi! :) Could you please do prompt 11 for Rivusa? 💜💜 I wish you a wonderful day!

11: Secret Relationship

Rival gang AU /// Content warning: mildly smutty

The abandoned car factory wasn’t the most romantic place. It was certainly not where Musa had ever expected to be having rendez-vous’ with her lover. The place, even though it’d been deserted for close to twenty years now, smelled like a strange mixture of leather, chemicals and dust. Occasionally, the ghost smell of burning metal would tickle her nose, but those were rare. Besides, she spent most of her time coiled into Riven’s side, enveloped by the fresh, woodsy scent of his aftershave or the sweetness of his sweat.

She walked through the building to the backroom where they spent most of what little, precious time they had together. Always Monday nights, sometimes Wednesdays if they were lucky. She hated sneaking around, but it was necessary. If her father, the president of Magix’s Fallen Angels, found out his daughter was fucking – and in love with – the VP of their rival gang, The Dragon Riders, a war would break out between the two that would likely leave more dead bodies than she wanted to be responsible for.

No matter how hard she tried to keep quiet, her footsteps seemed to echo through the building. Every time they met up, she became paranoid. Musa was careful – more careful than she’d ever been about anything. She made sure to leave in the middle of the night once her father was asleep; made sure to always park her car a block away instead of in front of their house so that if he woke up he wouldn’t see her leave; made sure that no one was watching her as she got in her car; made sure that no cars followed her when she got off the ramp that led to the near-deserted stretch of road where the factory was; and made sure to park her car inside the old employee indoor garage who’s door that Riven had managed to fix so they could open and close it. All that effort – so much more effort than she ever thought she’d put into seeing a guy – just for a few hours by his side. And it was, in her opinion, more than worth it.

The door to the office where they spent their time was already open when she got there. Unlike the rest of the factory that was littered with trash, dirt and discarded production equipment, this office was in decent shape. It helped that Riven had taken the time to clean it when he had come across the area. There was a desk that faced towards the right wall, a torn black leather office chair, shelving and filing cabinets; all from the factory days, and all in surprisingly good condition. Riven had bought a loveseat for the corner of the office for them to cuddle up on a while back – that was the sole addition to the room. She would have preferred a bed so they could lie down, but there just wasn’t enough space.

Musa paused by the office door. Riven, leaning against the front of the desk with his phone in hand, still hadn’t noticed her arrival – she must not have been as loud as she thought – so she took a moment to drink him in. He was tall – significantly taller than her – with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He always looked the same: dark wash jeans, a plain t-shirt and his leather jacket, the very one that told her she shouldn’t be near him. His maroon hair was slicked back – partially by stylistic choice, but also because he had a habit of running his hand through his hair whenever he was thinking about something or uncomfortable – and he still had a scar along his cheekbone from a fight he’d been in two weeks earlier. She knew that under his clothes, adorning a body worthy of a god, were more scars and bruises from that fight and others past, and two gunshot wounds: one in his right shoulder and one just above his left hip bone.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked when she realised she’d been staring at him far longer than was normal. Riven’s hand instinctively reached for the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans but stopped when he registered her voice. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled brightly. His smile sent a bolt of lightning through Musa, awakening something deep in her. She returned his smile as she approached him, pulling off her own leather jacket. He mirrored her movements, tossing his jacket onto the desk where it landed on top of hers.

His lips were on hers within seconds, hungry and desperate. His hands wasted no time in making their way to her hips and pulling her as close to him as physically possible. Her own hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly with every moan that escaped her lips. Riven backed her up against the wall, pressing himself into her. “You’re late” he whispered, removing his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck.

“Sorry” she managed between gentle moans and pleased sighs. “Dad went to bed a bit later than usual.”

“Doesn’t matter. You're here.” His lips returned to hers, drowning her in desire. One of his hands wandered down from her shoulders to her chest, where his thumb brushed over her nipple lightly, sending a shiver through her, and down to the hem of her shirt. There was no pretense of modesty, no playfulness in the way Riven pulled the shirt off her. He knew what he wanted, and she was more than happy to give it to him. She hadn’t bothered to put a bra on in her rush to get out of the house, and Riven smirked when he noticed. He ducked down to suck at her nipple, and Musa arched her back to make it easier for him.

Her hands ran along his back, digging into him with her nails, until they found the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. Her eyes drifted down to his perfectly sculpted abs as she ran her hand across them, feeling every groove and bump. She let her hands slide lower, giddiness and anticipation building with every second, until one was cupping and teasing his bulge and the other was fiddling with his pant button.

Musa could feel his eyes on her, and when she lifted her own to meet them, she found him watching her with a softness that made her feel like goo. “What?” she laughed, her voice coming out much breathier than she’d expected. Riven shook his head, pulling his eyes away from hers and whispering an almost inaudible nothing. When they’d first started doing this – whatever this was – Musa would get upset when he would do that. She thought he was hiding something from her. It had been two years since then, and she knew better now. Nothing didn’t mean nothing; it meant I’m happy or you’re perfect or, her favourite, I love you.

***

Riven pulled her onto the loveseat beside him and draped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall in time with his chest and heavy breaths. Her finger trailed along his sweat-slicked chest, drawing figure eights. A smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were still glazed over from his orgasm. He was beautiful.

“I’ve been looking at Melody” he told her after a few minutes. She could feel his fingers ghosting over the angel wings tattooed on her back. He traced the wings every time they were together, and every time she wished they weren’t there. Those wings represented a stupid, made up barrier keeping her from him, and she’d grown to despise them.

“Oh?” Musa raised her eyebrow as she tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were focused on the dark office, but looked faraway from where they were. She loved his eyes. They were a deep shade of violet that swirled and danced every emotion he felt. He was her ticket into his soul and, now that she could figure them out, she never had to wonder if he truly loved her again. Until the day when those eyes wouldn’t look at her like she was the sun, she knew he was hers just as much, if not more, than she was his.

“You told me you’ve always wanted to see the realm your mom was from. And I looked into it, there is no Dragon charter out there. You’ll have to confirm about the Angels, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Musa sat upright, resting her palm flat against his chest. She searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty or humour, but found none. “Really?” They’d talked about leaving Magix – getting away from the gang life and starting over somewhere – more times than she could count. Everywhere had been an idea: Solaria, Eraklyon, Andros, Melody, Zenith, Dalona, Oppositus. That’s all they’d ever been, though, ideas.

“Yeah. I don’t know what my future holds, but if it doesn’t include you – all of you, not just secret meetings in the middle of the night in some shitty abandoned factory – I don’t want it.” Riven dropped his head onto the back of the couch and let it flop sideways to look at her. His hand caressed her cheek with a tenderness that she knew he reserved for her. Her hand lowered from his chest to trace the dragon’s tail that coiled up his right leg, ending in a majestic magenta, blue and black dragon on his back. “I like Melody.”

“Good” he smiled. “I’ve looked at real estate and I have enough money saved up that we can get a nice place of our own. We couldn’t get anything big enough for a family in the city, but the suburbs are still really affordable.”

“The suburbs? Are we the suburban type?” she laughed. “I mean, I’ll have to learn to bake pies. And what the fuck does a PTA do?”

“Do you think we’ll have to get a minivan?” he added, laughing at the snort that escaped her lips.

“Of course. How else are we gonna get the kids to soccer practice?”

“Fine, but I refuse to wear beige or polos. And I still want at least one bike.”

“And I won’t wear dresses or curl my hair. Plus I demand that you keep at least one jacket. You look too hot in leather to give it up entirely.” Musa eyed the leather jackets crumpled on top of the desk. “Preferably one without a dragon on it.”

“We’re gonna scandalise the neighbours with our tattoos, leather jackets and motorcycles.”

“That’s fine. We’ll probably be the coolest parents in the neighbourhood.”

They fantasized about their life after escaping until Musa’s alarm went off at 4:15, breaking them out of the dream bubble they created and forcing them to return to their real lives. They got dressed as slowly as possible, dragging out the time until they’d have to be apart again. Then, the lovers walked hand in hand through the factory to the garage.

When they reached their vehicles, Riven pulled her into a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, reciprocating the tightness of his around her waist. After pulling away before the kiss became too heavy, Riven laid his forehead against hers. “One month” he whispered. She looked up at him through the messy fringe on her forehead. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was drawn tight. “That’s the goal. We leave in one month.”

“Wait, really?” Musa pulled her head away from his as she batted her eyelashes in confusion. She never thought he’d actually want to leave Magix. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, are you not?” Riven furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. She could feel his fists clenching on her back, and the doubt and hurt that sparked in his breathtaking eyes tore Musa to shreds, made her feel like she’d just stabbed the man she loved. “I’m in. I just never thought you would actually want to. I mean, the Dragons are your family.”

“And the Angels are yours, but we can make our own family. One free of drugs and turf wars.”

“Just pies, minivans and nosy, scandalised neighbours. Sounds perfect.”

“Anywhere that you are is perfect” he whispered, pulling her back in and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other's scent and memorising every feature so they wouldn’t forget them in the week until they could see each other again. Riven’s alarm went off, alerting them that it was 4:45 and they had to leave now. He pulled her into one last kissed, far sweeter than any they’d shared in their two years together. It was full of promise and hope, something they’d never had before.

“I love you Musa.” It was so rare to hear him say the words I love you that Musa cherished every single one. In their two years, he’d said it exactly twelve times. The first was a year ago when it had slipped out after they’d had sex. Not exactly romantic, but still very cute. “I love you too Riven.”

They shared one more quick peck before Musa watched him take a seat on his bike and ride away. She got in her car and let out an elated sigh and took off, already counting down the days. All she had to do now was sit tight and not let anything slip. It couldn’t be that hard; she’d already kept this secret for twenty-seven months. What was one more? She just had to make it through this one month without her excitement bubbling over and he would be all hers.

[kumkaniudaku]

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+. 

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"  

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."  

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?" 

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

[rvspberry]

Cat boy Steve trying to cook/ BAKE??? something as a Christmas surprise???

(THIS WAS AN AMAZING ASK!!! And it ended up becoming a modern Catboy AU. And ended up longer than I expected. Anon, I hope you enjoy.)

Steve’s never baked cookies before. He’s never baked *anything* before, to be honest, and he’s never really thought about trying his hand at doing things in the kitchen until now. Billy cooks for them, mostly because Steve can burn water because he gets so easily distracted, ears twitching at every little noise and tail flicking with each new interest that catches his attention.

But the thing is… the thing is, Steve turns on the Hallmark channel the second week of December and watches romcom after romcom with people baking cakes and pies and whole Christmas dinners to show their love. Steve could maybe try cookies. They seem easy enough.

And, like, it sounds cool. Making cookies for Billy. Showing his love through something homemade. Like, he works part-time at Family Video, and he already bought Billy something small, something he could afford. But giving Billy something he put his heart into? Something made with love and care? Something he made with his own two hands?

The way the movies make it out, that’s the best thing he could ever offer to Billy, cookies worth their weight in gold.

It can’t be that hard, right?

So Steve turns to his first source of knowledge anytime he needs to find out how to do something new.

YouTube.

He’s a visual learner, okay? He likes being able to see the steps laid out in real time.

His attention span shoots for the sixty-second video where they do a run-through of the steps to making the perfect chocolate chip cookies. It’s long enough to hold his attention, short enough to keep him focused, and he feels so confident watching it that he goes out and buys all the ingredients he needs. He’s whistling to himself through the grocery store, smiles at the cashier, and when he gets home, he still feels utterly confident.

Until the batter comes out a lot more liquid than solid. The chocolate chips fall off the spoon before he can even scoop them up. Steve winces, but he followed the directions. Even if the directions didn’t have anything like measurements. He kind of eyeballs each ingredient. Two sticks of butter, two eggs, a cup each of flour and sugar, a hefty scoop of baking powder - and then the chocolate chips. But…

It looks weird.

It’s not right.

Steve dips his pinky into the batter and tastes it. It’s bitter, and not sweet enough. He still goes through with it, spooning the liquidy mixture onto the cookie sheet and popping it into the oven.

The oven is a whole other experience entirely, because Steve doesn’t know what the numbers really mean. He pushes a few until the numbers read 2-0-0. That seems like a long time, right? Or is it temperature? Whatever. It works.

...Except the video says to leave the cookies in the oven for 10-15 minutes, and when he pulls them out, they’re still raw. So he pops them back in for 20 minutes. 30 minutes. An hour passes, and they seem to grow more disgusting with every minute that passes.

When he finally pulls them out, somehow raw on top and burnt on the bottom and sides, Steve tosses the whole thing - cookies, tray, and all.

Billy comes home later and crinkles his nose. “Did you burn something, babe?”

“No!” Steve is quick to reply, eyes wide when he looks up at Billy from his spot on the couch where he’d been laying in the sun earlier. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay…” Billy drawls, his eyes gazing over at Steve with confusion until he spots something and smiles. Strutting over to Steve, Billy reaches out and rubs his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “You got some flour on you.”

Steve lets out a yelp and flies to the bathroom to wash up properly, Billy snickering behind him.

~

Steve tries again the next week, the week before Christmas. Surely he can master it if he tries to follow a longer video, right? Something with measurements. Something that’s foolproof. And when the batter is finished, with Steve’s focus narrowing enough for him to measure every little ingredient out, it looks just like the video. He pulls it up on his phone, ears twitching as he listens intently.

He follows every step to the T, to the dotted ‘i.’ The sets the “bake” thing to 3-7-5 and puts the sheet inside to begin with. Even waits as the numbers turn from 1-0-0 to 1-2-0, thinking that he must wait 120 minutes for the oven to hear up. He groans when the 1-0-0 turns to 1-2-0… Really? That long? That’s how long it takes to heat the oven?

By the time the oven beeps and the numbers read ‘3-7-5,’ Steve has gotten distracted licking his paws and visibly startles into action.

He places the tray into the oven and even turns on the timer somehow for ten minutes.

But then Steve goes to the living room and lays down on the couch in the sun and starts cleaning his tail, licking the backs of his hands to clean his ears. He doesn’t want Billy to know he’s made cookies until he steps into the kitchen and sees the beautiful pile of them on a plate on the counter. Wouldn’t that be something?

So, ten minutes turn into twenty, and the smell of smoke tinges the air.

Steve crinkles his nose at the scent, his senses more sensitive than a human’s, and then his eyes widen comically in fear.

“No, no, no! Not my cookies!!”

Steve rushes to the kitchen to drag the cookies out of the oven with a mitted-hand and lays them on the stove. Confusion tinges his expression - it curls at the edges of his mouth, curls his eyebrows up, makes him completely disinterested and distrustful of the process. These were going to be fool-proof. Steve-proof.

And he messed it up again.

He scrapes the burnt cookies off the tray into the trash can and soaks the tray in the sink as best as he can, given how tiny it is.

Steve’s tail twitches. How did he screw this batch so badly? How did he not hear the timer?

He realizes that only one person can really help him right now, and resolves to call Joyce Byers.

~

Steve is still smarting from his last attempt, so it takes him another few days to get around to calling her. By the time he does, it’s Christmas Eve.

But Joyce seems happy to help, one catperson to another, and offers up the recipe for her homemade snickerdoodles.

“Could you- could you tell me how to make them? All the ones I’ve tried end up terrible,” he says, wincing at the admission.

“Of course, Steve. Just stay on the phone with me. Put me on speaker so you can use both of your hands. And don’t hesitate to ask me any questions, okay?”

“Okay…”

So, Joyce talks him through properly measuring the ingredients, leveling them off with a knife.

She describes adding the sugar and butter together and calls it “creaming” which makes him fight back a snicker.

He adds the eggs carefully, once at a time, fishing out tiny pieces of eggshell to make sure no one gets that unpleasant surprise. He adds the vanilla, the dry ingredients, rolls them into little balls in a mix of cinnamon sugar, and places them carefully on a baking sheet.

Steve thinks to ask her about the oven numbers and feels like an idiot when she tells him it’s not the time left for preheating but the temperature climbing up to 350’.

Joyce even keeps him on the phone while the cookies bake, both of them sharing information about the latest campaigns of the party. Steve doesn’t have the attention to stay interested in a campaign for as long as they take to trudge through, everyone rolling, everyone making a decision, the boys fighting about what is and isn’t allowed… It’s a lot, and he feels a little better when Joyce agrees with him, both of them dissolving into laughter.

His tail flicks back and forth, casual and easy and contented, and when the timer goes off in the background, Steve actually hears it and Joyce reminds him to take the cookies out to let them cool.

When Billy gets home that night, Steve can’t help the smug smile on his face.

“Damn, I think the neighbor was baking cookies or something, it smells so good in the hallway!” Billy says, toeing off his boots. He stops in the doorway and sniffs the air curiously. His blue eyes turn on Steve, who can’t even pretend to be innocent as his ears are flicked ahead, alert, and his tail whips back and forth with anticipation. “Baby… did *you* bake cookies today?”

The slow smile that steals across Steve’s lips is no less smug, and his tail flicks excitedly. He perks up, licking his lips.

“Do you want to try one?” Steve asks, affecting a shy look right up until Billy nods. Then, Steve stands quickly, shoots his hand out to curl around Billy’s wrist and drags him into the kitchen.

There, on a simple paper plate, are the snickerdoodles Joyce helped him make. Completely harmless, and yet they hold a weight to them that Steve cannot describe.

Steve’s eyes are wide as he watches Billy pick one up, can practically feed his pupils dilating as Billy raises the cookie to his mouth and he takes a bite.

Billy tuns to face him suddenly and Steve’s ears flatten in preparation to be told that they’re terrible. For Billy to spit them out, or- or whatever. To do something that shows that Steve’s efforts were all for naught.

“Steve, these are *delicious*!” Billy exclaims, then shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

“Really?” Steve asks. He looks at Billy through his lashes with his biggest, roundest eyes, a little pout on his lips.

“Baby, yes. Yes, they’re so fucking good,” Billy mumbles through a mouthful of cookie, chewing and swallowing what he had in his mouth. He pulls Steve into his arms and gives him a sweet kiss, the buttery-sugar-and-cinnamon flavor clinging to Billy’s lips. “Did you make these for me…?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, the weight on his shoulders lifting immediately. He ducks his head, trying to hide his grin.

Billy crowds him back against the counter, a hand on either side of Steve caging him in. Steve picks his chin up to lock eyes with Billy, who smiles warmly at him.

“Thank you,” Billy murmurs and turns his head to lean in and press their lips together. “They’re amazing. *You’re* amazing.”

Steve laughs softly and kisses Billy back, his hands moving up to slide into Billy’s hair. “You’re amazing, too. That’s why I made them for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Billy whispers, and kisses Steve again.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Detours on the Road so Far - Ch 1

Detours on the Road so Far

- Or - 

Why Sam and Dean Need Actual Adult Supervision

Summary: Shenanigans. Lots of them. Crack. Probably some pie. (SERIES SUMMARY)

Warning: Shenanigans. Unintentional drug use. Crackfic. 

Rating: Let’s call this one at least Teen, if not Mature. See Warning above.

Word Count: 1700-ish

Author’s Note: THIS IS CRACK: unapologetically, unequivocally, utterly crack. Some of it makes little sense. Some of it makes fun of our favorite characters. I love these guys; this is just for fun. The stories are not in any particular order. Time frames will be referenced at the beginning of each chapter. Also, I was having some formatting issues, so if this ends up looking really wonky, please let me know, and I’ll do what I can.

This story is dedicated to a wonderful friend who let me behind the scenes into their writing process and watch the development of a wonderful story, a friend who fiercely has their folks’ backs and is the first on the scene if support and flails are needed. To a writer who can write action, romance, intrigue, and brothers being brothers. @stunudo​ , I am so glad I met you, and even gladder you didn’t absolutely fire me for all the awful puns.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1: Everything is Awesome (set sometime in season 8...ish)

Sam yawns as he shuffles down the hall, scratching the back of his head and grinning to himself. It still amazes him, even after the months they’ve been here, to have an actual home and comfortable bed to come back to after their days and weeks on the road. Even the hours crammed in the car with his brother and his painfully slow evolution of music is more bearable, knowing there are clean sheets, peace (relative peace, anyway) and quiet, and their very own refrigerator waiting for them at the other end.

He pauses as a new sound drifts towards him from the kitchen, and he frowns. It’s not a bad sound, exactly; he knows exactly what it is. But Dean doesn’t tend to sing this early in the morning, and not ever in the kitchen. It’s not the most wrong thing Sam has ever heard, but it’s strange enough for him to take notice.

Well, he can’t be possessed, so...hex bag, maybe? Their last case in Colorado didn’t involve witches, but there was always the chance they’d run across one without realizing and pissed him or her off somehow.

Dammit.

 He cautiously enters the kitchen, hoping that he’s just assuming worst case scenario. He is greeted by the sight of Dean seated at the table, staring intently at a large, clear glass coffee mug as he adds creamer to the steaming brew. 

“Morning,” Sam says, stretching. Dean waves distractedly, his concentration focused entirely on his coffee. At least that part is normal. He doesn’t usually add creamer, but it’s not unheard of, so Sam simply shrugs as he turns to the fridge. 

At least the singing stopped, or (better yet) maybe he just imagined it in the first place. Maybe he just hadn’t been fully awake yet. Sam opens the refrigerator, his eyes already moving over the contents to find something for breakfast that won’t add to Dean’s cholesterol issues his older brother tacitly refuses to acknowledge.

Except there aren’t any contents to peruse. The entire refrigerator is completely empty. Not even a wrapper.

 He turns back to Dean, the questions dying on his tongue as he watches his brother continue to add creamer to his coffee, dark brown and beige swirling in the clear mug. Dean finally sets the creamer down, watching the coffee cup as if he’s been interrogating it and it’s finally about to break.

 “Sammy,” he says, his eyes glued to the mug, “we are never using anything but clear coffee cups again. This shit is magic.”

 What?

“Seriously, Sam,” he continues, his eyes lit with pure, childlike innocence and curiosity. “It just...it mixes itself. Food doesn’t do things to itself, Sam. I mean, yeah, Jell-O moves by itself, but no other food does that. But Jell-O is evil, anyway, so yeah. Wait, except for Jell-O shots. Jell-O shots are awesome. But otherwise, Jell-O is a slime creature sent by Eve to torment small children into thinking they’re getting a real dessert when it’s really just ectoplasm’s third cousin. Twice removed.”

 And then Dean giggles.

 Sam stares at his brother, his jaw hanging down, absolutely clueless as to how to proceed. First, Dean has never said that many words together in his entire life. Second, what the fuck? Third, what. The. Ever. Living. Fuck.

 Dean adds more creamer.

 “I think...I think that’s enough, Dean. You’re going to spill your coffee.”

 Horror washes over Dean’s face, and he slams the creamer container on the table, dropping down to eye his coffee along the top edge. “Sacrilege! I wouldn’t do that, Sam, you know I’d never waste coffee like that!”

 Sam knows he needs to close his mouth at some point, but it’s just too damned early to go with the flow on this shit.

 “Dean, are you feeling okay? I know we got back pretty late last night, but you’re acting a little off.” But his brother isn’t acting tired, not exactly. Sam realizes that his brother is also still wearing yesterday’s traveling clothes.

 “Dean, did you sleep in your clothes?”

 Dean reaches out a finger and slowly pokes his coffee mug. The cream swirls lightly through the dark liquid, further mixing the two, and Dean...giggles.

 Again.

 “It’s kinda sad when they finally get all mixed together,” he says, frowning a little. Then his face brightens as he grabs the mug. “But now I can drink it, so that's less sad, right? I mean, you can’t really be sad drinking coffee, Sam. You should drink more coffee; you’ll be less sad all the time.”

 Sam’s jaw clenches involuntarily as he watches Dean alternate between sips and sloshing the cup around to watch the contents. His brother is obviously not in any distress, but spells have started out like this before, seemingly harmless and then, before you know it, hearts are exploding or organs disintegrate or something else equally nasty.

 “I can hear the colors, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, tapping the mug gently. “I think...what, would you say? Beige? Ecru? Does it sound like ecru to you?”

 Sam was unaware Dean even knew those colors existed, much less how to pronounce them. Luckily, since Dean is wearing yesterday’s clothes, it makes looking for the hex bag easier. After two unsuccessful attempts to get Dean to go through his own pockets (“But the coffee isn’t in my pockets, Sam, it’s in my hands. Why the hell would I put down the coffee to look through my pockets?”) Sam gives up with a sigh that holds the burdens of the world in it and searches his brother’s clothes himself.

 “Knock if off! That tickles; you’re gonna make me spill the coffee!”

 For fuck’s sake.

 His search proves frustratingly fruitless. But if the hex bag isn’t on Dean, then what? A spell? A curse? What the hell is going on?

 Sam’s stomach growls, adding another question to the long list. Where the hell is all the food? Well, that, at least, he can ask Dean and maybe get a straight answer.

 “Dean, do you know why the fridge is empty? It was pretty stocked when we left. Where’d all the food go?”

 Dean grins and points down at the stomach of his shirt, which is a bit rounder than normal. “In mah belleh.”

 When Sam’s face finally emerges from his palms, he finds Dean staring at him with alarming concern.

 “Are you hungry, Sam? We can go to town and get breakfast! That would be awesome, breakfast is awesome! Do you want pancakes or waffles? Nevermind, you’re huge, you should eat both. You need to eat more, Sam, you’re too skinny.”

 “Seriously, dude, are you feeling okay? You’re acting...weird.”

 “You know what’s weird, Sammy? I ate two pies, a block of cheese, and all those protein bar things you hide in the back of the pantry. And by the way, you don’t need to hide those things from me anymore, they are absolutely vile. But then I had those bags of chips, and...what else. Oh, yeah, there was some bologna, I think, and I ate the bacon, and whatever was in the vegetable drawer, which actually ended up not being horrible. But I’m still kinda hungry.”

 Sam is speechless. It doesn’t happen often, but apparently it can still happen, even after all these decades of living with his brother. He just can’t wrap his head around-

 Wait, what pie?

 “Dean, we didn’t have any pie before we left, and we didn’t stop on the way home yesterday. What pie did you eat?”

 “Sarah gave me two pies as a thank you. It would have been rude not to eat them. I had a piece last night after you crashed, and it was -awesome- so I had another piece, and then I had to try the other pie, and it was friggin delicious, and then I looked up and some asshole had eaten the rest of both the pies.” He eyes Sam suspiciously for a minute, clutching his coffee mug a little closer to himself.

 “And then I got hungry, so I had a snack.”

 “What was in the pies, Dean?”

 “Dunno,” he says, slurping coffee obnoxiously loudly. “Deliciousness. Sarah didn't say what kind they were, just said they were her way of saying thanks for getting rid of the ghost. Called it her ‘University of Colorado Specials’ or something like that. But those pies were made of magic, Sam, delicious, delicious magic.”

“What else did Sarah say, Dean?”

The elder Winchester thinks long and hard for a moment, frowning. “She didn’t. She winked a lot, though. Do you think she had something stuck in her eye?”

 Sam leans on his hands to keep from using them on his brother. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again.

 “Can you tell me anything else about the pies, Dean? Anything at all?”

 He thinks for a long moment, then his face melts into a dreamy expression Sam is pretty sure he’s never seen on his brother’s face before. “One of ‘em was this lemon thing that was like a citrus tree starred in a porn. The flavor just explodes in your mouth like-”

 “I don’t need to know!”

 But Dean is still going.

 “A firecracker, Sam, a Roman Candle of delicious. And the other was this...chocolatey, coffee, creamy thing. Coffee, Sam! Coffee and chocolate in a pie! They can do that now! What’ll these crazy college kids think of next?”

 He grins at Sam, taking another long slurp of coffee. Sam bites his lip, considering Dean for a long silent moment. He’s pretty sure now that Dean will be just fine and more than likely back to normal by the end of the day...maybe.

 “I’m gonna go check in with Sarah. Just make sure she hasn’t...erm...seen anything else weird.”

 “But, Sam, we ghosted that ghost!” Dean stops, thinks about what he just said, and giggles.

 Again.

 “I just want to see...how much...we ghosted that ghost. And maybe get the recipes for those pies. I’m sure everything’s fine. You know me, I just like to be sure.”

 “That’s awesome, Sam, you’re so awesome! We could make the pies together! And you could even eat some! You still need to eat more. Can we go get breakfast now?”

 Sigh.

 “Yeah, Dean. We’ll go get breakfast. I’ll call Sarah on the way.”

 Dean grins, his whole face lighting up, and Sam allows himself to see at least a little humor in the situation.

 And then Dean starts singing that song from the damned Lego movie, and Sam. 

Just. 

Can’t.

[infinitevariety]

May Your Days Be Merry

Having never been able to celebrate previously, Aziraphale and Crowley decide to embrace the festive season and make the most of their first December together since the world didn’t end.

Chapter Sixteen: Twinkling (AO3)

Crowley sees lights flashing in the bookshop, and it’s not the Christmas tree...

The light catches Crowley’s eye from down the street. Flashing on and off in an irregular rhythm, he can see it’s coming from the bookshop windows. He groans, assuming it to be the lights on the Christmas tree and knowing that it’ll be driving Aziraphale potty.

As soon as he reaches the bookshop, Crowley shoves open the door and dives inside. He heads straight for the Christmas tree, but before he’s taken two steps he can see the lights are turned on and not flashing at all. He pulls off his sunglasses. There is still a flickering of light in his peripheral vision, and he turns towards it.

And there is it. The source of the erratically blinking light.

Standing next to his desk, Aziraphale has half a mince pie in one hand and his personal cassette tape player in the other. He is swaying, with a slight twist at this hips, from one foot to the other as he occasionally wiggles his shoulders. He has his eyes closed and a smile on his face. Aziraphale is possibly the most content Crowley has seen him in… ever, actually.

But there is one thing that, quite literally, outshines all of that: Aziraphale is twinkling.

Crowley has seen Aziraphale light up on a few occasions over the millennia. A warm glow at a job well done, back in the early days. A couple of times Crowley has scandalised him enough to cause his halo to slip. And one memorable time he lit up with a pure white incandescent rage at someone foolish enough to attempt stealing one of his books.

This, though, is something new.

The light glows from Aziraphale’s every pore at a slowly pulsing, sporadic rate. It seems to start in the middle of his chest and emanate outwards to his limbs, but at an unpredictable speed and varying pattern. It is actually quite beautiful. Crowley pauses for a moment, hesitant to disturb Aziraphale’s calm.

When Crowley spots two figures out on the street pause and attempt to look in through one of the windows, the spell is broken. He steps forward and reaches out a hand to Aziraphale. His fingers graze gently over a forearm and Aziraphale opens his eyes to smile at Crowley. The light show increases slightly in speed.

“You’re twinkling.”

Aziraphale presses a button on his cassette tape player and pulls the buds from his ears.

“Crowley!” he says, with another pulse of light. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re twinkling, angel.” Crowley’s voice is laced with affection which he doesn’t even want to hide.

“Oh?” Aziraphale looks down at himself, at the soft light swirling under his skin. “Oh.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colour slightly, and the light there turns a pale pink. Crowley can’t tear his eyes away from it.

“It’s beautiful,” Crowley tells him, honestly.

The pale pink light darkens to a soft red, and Crowley can’t stop the hand that reaches for it. He glides a thumb over the warmth of Aziraphale’s cheek. The light pulses stronger and Crowley blinks, pulling his hand away.

“But there are—” Crowley gestures towards the window, where the two figures have moved on. “—were people looking in. I could see your light from down the road. You might need to, you know, turn it off. Or at least down?”

“I don’t remember turning it on.”

Aziraphale turns away and puts his cassette player down on his desk. The half a mince pie in his other hand disappears into his mouth.

“Have you ever—” Crowley waves his hands about, encompassing Aziraphale’s general form. “—twinkled before?”

“Not that I recall. I glow, now and then. And there’s been the odd halo peek-a-boo.” Aziraphale looks pointedly at Crowley, then back down at his body. “But it’s always been one, consistent light emanation. This is… something else.”

The light show has slowed down significantly, but shows no sign of stopping.

“What have you been doing today?” asks Crowley.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Nothing special. Pottering about, listening to music. I baked some mince pies earlier this afternoon. I put in a rather large splash of that nice brandy you’re fond of. And then I had to try them, of course, so there were only a few left, but I didn’t think you’d mind. I got to thinking about how lovely it’s been seeing you every day, and spending time with you doing things for the holidays. Or sometimes doing nothing at all, but doing it together. And then I couldn’t stop smiling, so I put my personal cassette tape player on and had a grand time listening to some sentimental songs and letting my body move while I ate a few more mince pies. I’m going to have to bake some more, I’m afraid. And then you were here and…”

Trailing off, Aziraphale finishes his little speech with a content sigh. Crowley smiles so much his face aches.

“You’re twinkling wildly again.”

“Oh bother,” says Aziraphale as he looks down at his arms.

“You’re happy,” Crowley tells him.

“Of course I’m happy, my dear, why wouldn’t I be?”

Crowley shakes his head. “I mean you’re truly, unabashedly, completely full of pure and absolute joy. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I—” Crowley cuts himself off and just grins at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s light picks up its pace even further as the glow from his cheeks become a deep red.

“You’re not helping,” says Aziraphale.

“Oh, I’m not trying to help any more. I want you to twinkle like this all the time.”

“But what about people looking in? You said—”

“All. The. Time,” Crowley interrupts him. “Throw open the windows, let everyone see. In pubic, even, let’s go to the bakery right now. You could cook Esme’s croissants with the glow of your face alone.”

“You’re making fun of me, now.” Aziraphale’s light dims a little.

“Okay, the oven cheeks thing was a bit much, but I stand by the rest. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I love seeing you happy. So, knowing you’re twinkling because you’re so full of unrestrained joy… it’s instantly the most beautiful you’ve ever been. I love it. I—” Crowley refuses to stop himself this time. “I love you.”

Aziraphale’s light abruptly turns off.

“Fuck,” blurts Crowley. “I’m sorry. Let me—”

Suddenly the bookshop is filled with light. It is soft and warm and gentle against Crowley’s skin. He lifts a hand instinctively to his face, but the light isn’t harsh enough to hurt his eyes.

“Aziraphale?” asks Crowley gently, into the heart of the light.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t seem to be able to turn this off, either.”

Crowley moves to stand in front of Aziraphale. He can just make out his face amongst the light, and reaches out to hold it with both hands. He draws even closer, touching their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Crowley. “I shouldn’t have said it. It’s too fast—”

“No,” interrupts Aziraphale, “it’s not. It’s perfect. And I— I—” As Aziraphale struggles with his words, his light begins to dim and recede.

“It’s okay, angel. You don’t have to say it.”

“But I feel it.”

Crowley nods, forehead still held against Aziraphale’s.

“I know.”

Standing quietly in the middle of the bookshop, arms around each other, Aziraphale’s light gradually fades. They don’t move for a long time.

[havenoffandoms]

Sweeter Than You (Eskel/Lambert, Modern AU)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating."

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Content Warning: Modern AU (lawyer Lambert, baker Eskel), implied sexual content at the end of the chapter (nothing graphic)

Read on AO3.

Lambert has had the shittiest day at work. 

First, he got stuck in downtown Novigrad traffic even though his traffic app told him that the roads were all clear, which in turn made him late for his 9am meeting. Real professional, great first impression. His client was understanding about the situation, but Lambert hates being late, especially when he’s trying to score new clients for his firm. The meeting went well despite his tardiness, and Lambert is convinced he’ll get the case settled in no time, but his day just kept getting shittier and shittier. He ended up spilling hot coffee on his brand new suit and the only spare he kept at the office was slightly too snug when he put it on. Great, he apparently put on weight, too. That has to be Eskel’s fault, what with all the treats he bakes for Lambert at the weekend. 

If the day wasn’t bad enough, Lambert’s car broke down on his way to lunch with an important client. It took the tow-truck a whole hour to get to him, which meant that Lambert had to cancel on his client and lose out on a potential settlement agreement. To add insult to injury, the sandwich Lambert ended up buying from a nearby bakery tasted of ass. Though admittedly Lambert’s taste buds have considerably developed since he started dating Eskel, because the man is a literal genius in the kitchen. Lambert can’t eat generic sandwiches anymore without comparing them to Eskel’s creations. 

When the tow-truck finally showed up, Lambert decided to call time of death on this generally miserable day. He called his secretary and told her to clear his diary for the day, which he knew that Essi would pull off. She’s hands down the best secretary in the whole of Novigrad, in Lambert’s eyes anyway, and well worth the considerable salary he pays her each month. After calling Essi, Lambert hailed down a taxi only to find that he left his wallet in his car, which was now being towed away to the nearest garage. Great. Just fantastic. 

Fuck this shit, fuck his car, fuck his job, and fuck the entire universe. 

Lambert just starts walking without a clear destination in mind. His suit is too tight and uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to care as he tries to work off the anxious energy bubbling in his chest. He wants to scream, or punch something, whatever yields the most satisfaction. Why is the world against him today? What did he do to deserve this? Lambert considers dialling Eskel, but he knows that his boyfriend won’t be able to hear the phone if he’s at work.

Oh, wait a second. 

Lambert looks around for the first time since storming off and he quickly realises that he’s not actually too far away from Eskel’s shop. The thought brightens his mood a little - if Lambert’s not able to go home and hide away from the world, at least he can spend the afternoon helping his boyfriend out in the bakery. Or just wait until Eskel has a minute to spare so Lambert can hug out all his frustrations in the backroom… or do other things in Eskel’s office. With a renewed spring in his step, Lambert makes haste towards Eskel’s shop. 

It doesn't take long for him to reach Lil Titbits, a quaint-looking shop just off the main street of Novigrad's business centre. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but Lambert knows just how hard Eskel worked to make the inside of his shop as inviting and cosy as humanly possible. As soon as Lambert steps inside the bakery, the heavenly smell of warm baked bread and freshly made coffee invades his nostrils. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend like he’s stepping inside his and Eskel’s home rather than his boyfriend’s shop. 

The little bell above the door chimes loudly, announcing his presence. Lambert instantly notices that the place is quiet - which is not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon, when most of Eskel’s customers are still either at work or at school. Lambert notices an elderly couple sitting in the booth by the window, enjoying a generous slice of lemon-meringue pie - oh fuck, Lambert loves Eskel’s lemon-meringue pies - between themselves. Lambert can’t fathom why anyone would share a slice of pie that good, especially since Eskel’s creations are by far the best fucking thing Lambert’s ever tasted. People are weird. 

Apart from those two customers, the place is empty. It doesn’t take long for Eskel to appear behind the counter, wearing his favourite apron, the one that reads “They Call Me Darth Baker” written in a white font on the black fabric. Geralt, Eskel’s brother, bought him that apron for Christmas, but Lambert never thought Eskel would actually wear it at work, for every customer to see, but that’s Eskel for you. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about what people think of him. Lambert has always admired that about him. 

“Hey babe,” Eskel greets him, his smile bright enough to rival the moon, stars, and the fucking sun.  The deep baritone of his boyfriend’s voice washes over Lambert in calming waves. “Bit early for you to be here. Everything alright?” 

Lambert’s legs move of their own volition, and before he knows it, he’s behind the counter burying himself in the warmth and safety of Eskel’s arms. “I am now,” he breathes, his tone just on that side of pouty, before rubbing his cheek against Eskel’s nerdy apron. He doesn’t give a shit if the customers at the back of the shop see them, nor does he care if he ends up with flour in his beard. He needs this, needs to feel Eskel close, because today’s been a shitty day and the only person who can make it better is his boyfriend. 

“Oh sweetheart, what’s up?” Eskel asks, his voice soft and reassuring like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Lambert only tightens his hold around Eskel, not ready to break the sweetness of the moment by reminiscing about his not-so-good-very-bad day. “Wanna move through to the kitchen?” 

That, in fact, sounds like a great fucking idea. Lambert almost whines when Eskel pulls away from him, but the urge quickly fades when Eskel laces their fingers together and drags Lambert through the back by the hand. Once they have regained a semblance of privacy, Lambert lets Eskel pull him into another soul-crushing hug. 

“I hate everything. And everyone. Well no, not everyone. I don’t hate you.”

“Mmh, good to know,” Eskel rumbles, sounding amused, “what happened, puppy?”

Lambert buries deeper in Eskel’s embrace as he replies, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of Eskel’s apron. 

“Got stuck in traffic this morning, then was late for my meeting, spilt coffee on my suit, my car broke down, I missed lunch with a potential client who’s worth a buttload of money, and I’m getting fat,” Lambert ends, his tone decidedly whiny when he’s reminded of just how snug his emergency suit feels. Damn Eskel and his ridiculously good treats. 

“Naw, hell Lamb,” Eskel shifts and grabs something resting on the working surface behind him. When Lambert looks up, he sees Eskel holding what looks to be a lemon and white chocolate muffin inches away from Lambert’s face. “Open up! My baking always cheers you up.” 

“Your baking is the reason why I’m getting fat!” Lambert grouses half-heartedly, his tongue poking out from between his lips to lick at the buttercream frosting covering the top of the muffin. “Mmmh, white chocolate! I knew it.” 

“Was gonna save it for you to celebrate your new client. Guess it can also be used as a consolatory muffin,” Eskel brings the treat closer to Lambert’s lips and offers a small, encouraging smile, “c’mon, take a bite. I promise you’ll feel better.” 

Lambert can’t resist Eskel’s pretty eyes anyway, so he happily lets his boyfriend feed him the muffin. Lambert takes a huge chunk out, the white chocolate and lemon flavours exploding on his tongue pulling an appreciative moan. Lambert’s eyes flutter shut as he savours his morsel, and when he opens them again, he sees Eskel’s smile has widened into a pleased grin. 

“Good?” he asks, like there’s any fucking doubt about how good his muffin tastes. 

“As always,” Lambert whispers in response, snatching the muffin out of Eskel’s hand and stuffing what’s left of it in his mouth. Eskel levels him with an unimpressed look, clicking his tongue in disapproval at his boyfriend’s actions. 

“You’re gonna choke one of these days,” Eskel tells him, trying not to laugh as Lambert tries to chew around the massive bite in his mouth, “look at your lil hamster cheeks. Adorable.” 

Lambert glares - the full effect of his scowl is probably lost on Eskel, though, with how Lambert is still struggling to swallow his treat - but the intention is there. Eskel shakes his head fondly before leaning in and catching Lambert’s lips in a chaste kiss which probably tastes sweet and lemony, but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind the taste of his dessert on Lambert’s lips. It takes Lambert a little while to swallow the food in his mouth, but when he does, he puckers his lips in a silent request for more of Eskel’s sweet kisses. 

“Yes?” Eskel teases, raising one eyebrow, “can I help you?” 

Lambert’s lower lip juts out into a sad pout at those words, an action that pulls a warm chuckle from deep within Eskel’s chest. He takes pity on Lambert and pulls him impossibly closer to his firm body, rubbing his nose against Lambert’s in a tender gesture. Lambert’s hands come to rest on Eskel’s hips, where he squeezes the soft flesh of his boyfriend’s puppy fat. Gods, but he loves absolutely everything about Eskel. 

“Can you close the shop early today and take me home?” Lambert asks, voice barely above a whisper, as he stretches up to capture Eskel’s mouth in a demanding kiss that leaves very little as to which kind of activity Lambert has in mind for their evening together. His hand squeezes Eskel’s hip more firmly, pulling a needy whine from his boyfriend in response.

“Minx,” Eskel growls under his breath, punctuating his statement with a final kiss, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Eskel walks away, Lambert doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend has to readjust his pants which are now tenting at the front. Lambert leans back against the worktop of Eskel’s baking table, and first undoes the buttons of his suit jacket, then the top three buttons of his shirt. He, unlike Eskel, isn’t trying to hide the visible bulge forming in his far too tight pants, dammit. 

“You do what you have to do, sweetheart,” Lambert speaks in a sultry tone, the irritation brought on by a rather shitty start to the day long forgotten when he meets Eskel’s lust-blown eyes, “I’ll be right here, looking like a goddamn snack for you the whole time.” 

Eskel curses under his breath, pointedly looking away from Lambert. 

“Bastard. You just wait until we get home,” Eskel threatens half-heartedly before leaving the kitchen to empty the showcases and store the pastries in the refrigerators on the main shop floor. Lambert feels positively giddy with anticipation at the thought of how him and Eskel will spend the rest of the evening. 

Lambert’s day, in spite of everything, doesn’t seem so shitty in the end, not when he’s got Eskel to come home to. 

[zukofenty]

day 25: mona lisa

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara make a pact to (fake) rush Asian Greek life because they were giving out free tacos.

“Whoever becomes an official sorority sister or frat brother wins!”

“Can the prize be health insurance?” Zuko doesn’t have the energy to muster his patented glare.

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, FratBrother!Zuko, SororityGirl!Katara, scamming, dildo stealing 

➜ Words: 6.6k

➜ Warnings: they stay in an airbnb instead of a hotel bc who has the schmoney for a hotel room😩

AO3, @zutaramonth hi!!!

Zuko’s grabbing at Katara’s arm while she’s carefully sipping water (only water, she swears) out of a red solo cup. She’s in her “whore fit” (her words) with larger than life fake eyelashes that could propel her into the sky a la Icarus if she blinked a little too quickly. She was in the middle of readjusting her crop top for the umpteenth time that night, because of course she forgets her strapless bra chicken cutlet contraption at home, so of course she does the most reasonable thing and takes a regular bra and just tucks the straps in. Because as much as she is a proponent of #freethenipple, her nipples could probably slice open a radiator with how fucking cold Ba Sing Se was. 

 “Please take this shot for me,” Zuko reasons with her, trying to make it seem as though he was handing off a shot to a clueless lightweight sorority rushee he was hoping to nail later in the night. For reputation’s sake, Zuko could not afford to fuck up tonight. He was in too deep. “Please, my Pepsin hasn’t kicked in yet. Asian glow is not the look we’re going for tonight.”

 “I hate you.” Katara munches on her (free) taco, and effortlessly throws back the shot: no chase. Zuko looks back and sees active members of Pi Alpha Psi giving him a thumbs up, hooting, hollering, being dumb. One salaciously thrusts his hips to the beat of “Big Bank,” pathetically hoping he could emulate YG in support of Zuko supposedly getting some Deltas pussy. 

 Asian Greek life was fucking stupid. 

 Tonight was the night of the Deltas Sorority and Pi Alpha Psi Fraternity rush party, the most important party so far during rush week. Because Greek life was entirely stupid , of course they had to hold the fucking party on a Tuesday night, when Zuko had an econ pratice set to get done by midnight, and Katara needed to get to Ochem at 8am the next morning. It was their fault, really. A punishment from God herself (Rihanna) for trying to scam the Greek system. 

 It all started because Zuko and Katara had no fucking friends. 

 Besides each other, but that was also up for debate most days. Especially the days when Zuko would remind Katara whenever her foundation didn’t blend down her neck. He always thought he was being helpful. Katara’s long given up the urge to slit his throat. 

 After high school, when you still believed you were going to do something with your life and be important and make a difference and didn’t know about income tax, they had kept the dream of Ba Sing Se University alive while they attended community college. Uncle Iroh and Hakoda weren’t exactly rolling in tuition money, and financial aid was a stingy bitch. While Zuko had considered reaching out to his estranged father, the owner of a multi billion dollar pyramid scheme, he suddenly remembers the time his dad tried to burn his face off after a particularly heated episode of Maury , and then books another therapy appointment. 

 It was the top university in the nation, promising a gateway to accounting jobs and selling your soul to work for immoral tech companies to pay off your student loans in a timely manner. They had prayed for the day they could call the school home. The day they could leave their small town and finally make it in life. Katara and Zuko were inseparable growing up, even if at the surface they bumped heads. They were at each other’s throats whenever the going got tough, slinging petty insults at each other. 

 “I told you this was a bad idea. They don’t have fucking non-dairy options. Wait until my anus starts beatboxing in the bathroom in 20 minutes. Then you will see,” Zuko grumbled. Katara was always doing this, dragging their group of friends to “fun” places whenever Yelp sends her a notification a new restaurant opened up in their shithole of a town. It’s always some boba shop that was secretly a front for a Scientology cult’s money laundering scheme. 

 But Katara’s the only one who is able to scare Zuko (dairy induced) shitless. She’s always able to send him a glare that screams don’t you dare fuck with me, I know you masturbate to Hatsune Miku moan compilations. And he instantly starts sweating .

 At the same time, she was the only one to truly get him. Even if their friends were perfectly content to stay in their town, doing the same things, being the same people, Katara and Zuko always knew there was so much more out there. So much more to the world than what they had grown up in. So they kept the dream alive. Even if their friends had rightfully doubted them. No one made it out of their town. You find a partner from the same people you grew up with, have kids you grow to hate, hide your husband’s infidelity, and either choose from two options. Grow old with him and resent him and then have a kid to try to save the marriage. Or, go Gone Girl on his ass. 

 “Women really need to go back to poisoning their men. Like the good old days,” Katara’s eyes were narrowed into slits as she focused on taking clandestine photos of Mrs. Kim’s cheating, rat-faced husband. For a few months, she was under the tutelage of the town’s private investigator, June. It paid well, and she felt she was contributing to the feminist movement at the same time. 

 “Uh-huh, right,” Zuko eyed her warily. Dubbed lovingly “Katara’s Uber Driver,” he also got paid by June to drive the Nyla Mobile around during their late night ops. 

 He couldn’t wait to leave this shit fuck of a town. 

 While their friends and family were tearfully embracing them on their final days at home, a patented group hug forced upon them, they shared a secret smile. Their dream was coming true. They were going to a school in the city with minimized debt. Plus, though neither of them would ever admit it, they also had each other to rely on.

 //

 “What the fuck do you need? I swear to Rihanna, you only text me when I’m trying to masturbate. Please, make other friends,” Katara nearly screams into the phone. Her roommate, Suki, groans at the volume coming from Katara’s side of the room, but doesn’t get up. Her stomach is still sensitive from the Blue Razz Four Loko she downed at some frat house Katara had to drag her back from. 

 Zuko had the decency to sound sheepish. “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

 “I hope you understand, I am too tense right now to pretend I like you. Go. Make. Friends.” 

 Because Zuko is a fucking child , he starts groaning and Katara could hear him petulantly slamming his Amazon memory foam mattress with his fist. He’ll get angry that the mattress is preventing any real satisfaction from hitting it, and then hit it a few (approximately 3) more times. She hears the pounds, and smirks. She doesn’t know whether or not to feel disturbed that she knows him so well. 

 “I miss you,” he whines.  

 “I don’t.” 

 Zuko gasps dramatically. “How could you say that? Sandbox love never dies!” He wants to yell into the darkness of his room when she hangs up on him. It was valid, of course. But that doesn’t mean his feelings can’t hurt. He’s always sensitive during the Mercury Retrograde. 

 Being a transfer student is hard, as much as he hates to admit it. There’s only two years to pad your resume and make lifelong friends and learn how much cocaine is too much cocaine for your body. College was hard. While Katara’s roommate was able to introduce her to people and Katara made a group of friends almost instantly, Zuko wasn’t nearly as pleasant to be around. It wasn’t his fault he was nervous . When he’s nervous he looks more mean than usual, and his roommate, Jet, was wary around him since the day he moved in. He couldn’t even be mad when he spotted Jet hiding his box cutter’s accessibility. 

 “Katara!” Zuko rolls his eyes at her lack of response. “Katara!” He repeats. “I know you’re just listening to “Like a G6” on a 10 hour loop. Don’t pretend to look so concentrated.” 

 She glares at him. “Let me have this one thing to myself.” She still begrudgingly takes out her airpods.

 “No.” 

 Katara wants to throttle his long ass neck. “Zuko, be honest with me.” 

 “Ok, yes! When you put your hair in a ponytail you look like a cage free egg.” Zuko stares at her in confusion when she starts playing with her hair. “What are you doing?” 

 “I’m trying to hand over my wig. You fucking scalped me, and I had nothing to say back. Just take it. You deserve it.” He smacks her hands from messing with her hair. Other patrons in the cafe near campus glanced over in amusement, as Katara pokes him in the neck and he yelps. 

 While he rubs at his neck to lessen the sting from Katara’s acrylics, she worries at her lip. “Be honest. Do you think Suki hates me?” 

 “Yes.” 

 Katara slams a hand on the table, causing his croissant to quake in fear. “You’re supposed to be comforting and trying to console me! Do it over, say no.” 

 “No.” 

 “Zuko, do you know how close I am to biting your nipple right off?” 

 He rolls his eyes. Katara specialized in empty threats (most of the time). “Don’t get mad at me just because Suki refuses to talk to you.” He relishes in her frustration. “Again, whose fault is it that Suki has to go to court for reckless driving?”

 “She was the one at the wheel!” Katara throws her hands to the air, before petulantly slapping them into her thighs, for emphasis of her point.

 Zuko pinches his nose bridge. “Well, you were the one who convinced her that she shit herself!” 

 Katara takes a neat, clean sip from her iced coffee before calmly responding. “She was the one doing 88 in a 65 trying to get to the bathroom. How was I supposed to know she did anal the day before and it was just cum!” 

 Zuko smacks his forehead in frustration after seeing identical blushes on the sea of patrons, now very much intune with the turn of the conversation. “You really don’t know how to act in public, do you? Like you think all the shit coming out of your mouth is important enough for it to just be said. You couldn’t have let that be a passing thought? Or learn how to fucking whisper?” 

 Katara sighs, closing her eyes and folding her hands over each other, because she’s dramatic. “All I had today for lunch was lip gloss. Let me be.” 

 “Again, if you, I don’t know, learned how to apologize to someone and admit you’re wrong then maybe Suki wouldn’t have hidden all your stress snacks. And, I don’t know. Maybe if you knew how to say ‘sorry’ she wouldn’t hate your fucking guts.” Katara simply turns her head into the air at Zuko’s words, refusing to acknowledge them. He’s itching to take a hit of his Phix with how on edge he was, and then remembers Katara had sold it on the school Facebook sell and exchange page as revenge. Apparently, Katara snaps if you send her one too many Tom Holland and Nicki Minaj fanfiction stories. Not that he’s speaking from personal experience. “You know what, you’re almost as stubborn as Wendy Williams when she refuses to pronounce Dua Lipa’s name correctly.” 

 She petulantly swivels her gaze to Zuko, nose still pointed to the sky. “Dula Peep is iconic for that reason.” She breathes out, letting her body go lax. “Please, shut the fuck up. I’m sad. Why would she leave me alone in the middle of the Mercury Retrograde like this? I didn’t think she hated me that much.” She drops her defensive stance, and rolls her shoulders, eyes focused only on the table. “I thought, what we had. It was real friendship you know? I made a joint for her using the orientation leader recruitment flyers because we were out of rolling papers. That’s true love. That’s sisterhood.” 

 //

 “Please, I can’t poop right now! I can’t poop when I’m scared. I’m poop shy!” 

 Zuko audibly groaned. “Then why the fuck would you take a shit at my apartment? Yours is literally a 4 minute walk away, according to motherfucking Google Maps. 5 minutes if you use Apple Maps.” 

 “I don’t know, ok! I saw the baby wipes and I just kinda went with the flow, sue me!” Damnit, she knew she tasted real milk in her strawberry banana smoothie. God, the price of being ethnic in this dairy filled world. 

 “I called you over here to explain the plan! So I don’t bother you mid masturbation! And you just had to take a dump, didn’t you? On the plan, and my fucking toilet, too!” 

 She was weary after her back to back classes from 9-5 when Zuko excitedly called her up to come to his place. As much of a bitch baby Zuko could be, Katara tries to visit his place as much as she can. His apartment was just upgraded, meaning he had a state of the art microwave. One that doesn’t third degree burn her ham and cheese Hot Pockets, but rather cooks them perfectly to the tune of the package instructions, and makes them all fluffy and culinary excellence. Plus, he lives further from the heroin infested park she lived right next to, meaning his building smelt like a Clinique cosmetics counter (or: old lady) rather than pure urine like hers. And he didn’t have to run home in fear of being chased. 

 Besides, he’s all she’s got right now. He explained his plan as the roof of her mouth is assaulted by the gooey cheese of the Hot Pocket. Zuko eagerly handed over the flyers that were shoved into his hands as he was walking to campus. 

 “Do you see the funds these bitches got? We have to go! We need to become part of Asian Greek life!” 

 Although Katara did enjoy seeing the copious amount of free food potential, she was skeptical. “This is all free?” 

 “Yes, oh my god! Read the damn flyer! They’re living it up while we try to fit spinach in our budget to buy White Claw. Free alc, and free tacos! C’mon, we don’t even have to get into the sorority or frat. Just go through the rush process, and try to get as much free food as possible.” Zuko sits on his bed beside her, and even shakes her by the shoulders for emphasis. She swats his hands away while he chuckles.

 Katara side eyes him. “Aren’t you already behind on your lectures? I don’t know, do we really want to waste time doing this?”

 Zuko sends her a sheepish smile, but grabs her hand. For reassurance purposes, of course. “It’s just one week. Let’s just let loose. Maybe we could walk away from this with a few friends. So I don’t bother you mid beating your meat.” Katara can’t help but laugh. 

 On the first night, she was nervous. Zuko was clearly his indifferent self, but deep down she knew he was scared, too. Katara and Zuko weren’t exactly Greek life material . 

 “They thought you were hot, that’s why they flyered you!” Katara yelps while digging through his closet. Zuko ignores the blush growing on his face. “Let’s find a fit that emphasizes that bad boy aesthetic.” 

Katara never did anything half assed. That’s why if they were going to play hot, ignorant Asian Greek lifers, they were going to be the goddamn best. Academy Award nominated and then played by Scarlett Johansson in a biopic type of acting. 

 “What’s wrong with what I usually wear? Is the leather jacket not, quote unquote, bad boy enough?” Zuko runs his hands through his shaggy hair, which Katara had encouraged him to not style. She’d never admit it, but maybe her sexual awakening coincided with Zuko growing his hair out. Maybe. 

 “Yeah, yeah. Maybe to Tumblr , but not for fuckboys.” She groans because of course Zuko has good fashion taste. Maybe him being hot helps with how clothes looked, but they all screamed fashion and not basic fuckboy . Which was the vibe of the night. “God, do you have the entire Forever 21 Black t shirt aisle in here?” 

 Before he could retort, Zuko’s interrupted by Jet coming into their room to grab his dumb Hydroflask. It’s dumb because it’s so goddamn big, for no good reason. 

 “Hey, Katara,” Jet is smirking. Ew . 

 Zuko feels jealousy, the type that makes your body grow all hot and makes you want to punch a mattress and Jet’s pleasantly symmetrical face. God, why is he so fucking pretty? He reminds himself that Katara was entirely off limits , and schools his face. He gets these types of pangs of envy once in a while, usually during the Mercury Retrograde. Ever since they were kids, he knew Katara was going to be in his life forever. He wasn’t about to fuck that up. Not with emotions or anything. 

 “Hey, Jet!” Katara chirps. She couldn’t help it, her pussy is weak for pretty men. She knew that look on his face. The eyes that roamed her body clad in the tight top and jeans that made sure her ass looked like she paid for it. Thank you, Fashionnova. 

 He gives her a hot guy half hug, and she’s melting. Calm down, girl Katara warns her pussy. “See you around. Zuko, I’m going to Target, do you need anything?”

 Zuko frowns at the sight of a fangirling Katara. “Nope.” Jet nods, and even offers up a smile. He hates that he smiles back. 

 Katara swoons. She flops on Zuko’s bed, eyes all dreamy and starry. “That’s the vibe you need to give off!” 

 “What, that I have HPV?” 

 “Exactly! See, that’s the type of fuckboy you need to be. You can have the same pussy clenching effect with the right, basic clothes. You’re hot, and you have a badass scar. You just need a striped Guess shirt and white Nike Air Force 1s to complete the getup.” 

 So, Zuko digs through his closet from his hypebeast phase to find a pair of white sneakers (“Reeboks aren’t basic enough!” Katara protests) and borrows the Guess shirt from Katara, and they were ready to scam.

 Fuck. The damn tacos. And then it was all you can eat Korean food. Then it was free avant garde ice cream at that one place that cost you an ovary to even sample the vanilla bean flavor. 

 The first night of rushing, all you can eat Korean food, and they were already putting on the pounds. 

 “ Holy fucking cheese dick! I think I gained the weight of a Kardashian ass filler in just today alone! I can’t breathe. Zuko, hold up.” She puts her hand out, halting their walk back to her place. “I need to unbutton my pants.” She had one too many plates of kimchi spam fried rice.

 Zuko burps graciously. Goddamn kimbap. He swallowed that shit whole, choking a few times throughout the night. “Me fucking too! Oh my god, I can’t breathe.” 

 “In through your nose. Out with your dairy shits.” 

 As soon as they got back to her apartment, they immediately reached for Lactaid, and then went over the events of the night. 

 “What do you think of Ty Lee? All the guys were drooling over her,” Zuko asks. Katara ditched her elaborate makeup, scrubbing her face clean and was in one of Zuko’s t shirts he’s long given up trying to get back from her. She’s twirling an expensive mechanical pencil between her fingers, the kind that has super precise lead and matches her pencil case and laptop. For the aesthetic. 

 “She’s the type of bitch to eat salt and vinegar chips at 9 in the morning.” 

 “What’s the difference between girls who eat salt and vinegar chips in the morning, and girls who eat Hot Cheetos in the morning?” Zuko’s scratching at his head, brain still foggy from all the Doritos he’s practically inhaled. He’s topless, and has one of the many sweats he leaves behind at Katara’s because their sleepovers were some of his favorite memories growing up. Even if they have to squeeze Zuko’s six foot tall ass in twin beds now. 

 “One has class. The other needs therapy.” 

 He squints from his spot at her desk, typing interrupted to push up his round glasses. “I see.” 

 “I saw you really hit it off with Mai,” Katara made sure to keep her voice even. “She was really into you.” 

 Zuko whips his head around to her. “Really?” He yelps. “Stay out of my business!” Katara throws her hands up in mock surrender. “...Did she say anything about me?” 

 “She said she was so tired of medium ugly frat brothers and that you showing up sent her cooch into anaphylactic shock,” Katara deadpans.

 “Really!” Zuko’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

 “No, she just said you were handsome. And then I told her ‘don't call him handsome unless he's about to hand some money over,’ and then she laughed and then thirst followed you on Instagram.” 

 Zuko scrambles to check his phone. “Oh my god, she’s so cute,” he whispers, eyes enraptured by her Instagram feed. Katara rolls her eyes when he jumps into her bed, knocking her work aside to shove his greasy iPhone 6s in her face. 

 Katara slaps it right out of his hand. “Ugh, not the 6s.” 

 Zuko practically melts. “You said she thinks I’m hot, right?” Katara pokes at a man tit before curling up at his side. 

 “You’re annoying.” 

 Zuko grabs Katara's hand, playing with the tiny fingers. “I’m adorable.” 

 She snorts. “You know, we should make a pact. If we’re getting this invested into the whole process. Whoever becomes an official sorority sister or frat brother wins!”  

 “Can the prize be health insurance?” Zuko doesn’t have the energy to muster his patented glare with Katara cozied up next to him. 

 //

 The second night, ice cream night, and Katara was slipping. 

 “What do you usually look for in a guy?” 

 “I usually just look away,” Katara admits, shrugging. She doesn’t forget to plaster a well practiced, non threatening smile on her face. 

 “Preferred places for guys to cum?” Another sorority girl asks. Other rushees are nodding enthusiastically, carefully preparing their answers. 

 “To his senses,” Katara huffs. 

 “I usually like a backshot!” Ty Lee says enthusiastically, despite the other sisters eyeing Katara warily. Ty Lee insisted that Katara would be a good fit for the sorority. She looked like the only one on her side.

 While the girls were excitedly dancing along to the music playing in the shop, Katara’s eye twitches. It was the feminist in her. “If you still like Chris Brown, you’re ugly,” Katara is adamant, not relenting despite the incredulous, wide eye stares from the gaggle of sorority girls. 

 “Well, I guess I’m ugly then!” Mai yelps, hands crossed over her chest defiantly. 

 Katara smiles carefully. “You sure are, bitch!” 

 Fuck Katara was messing this up. She needed to make sure that they were convinced Katara was sorority girl material to move onto the next level of the secret invite only event. Fuck, fuck, fuck . 

 She wasn’t about to let Zuko win at anything!

 Mai squints at her. “Are you a clit being handled by a frat brother? Because you’re really rubbing me the wrong way.”

 Ty Lee gasps. “Please excuse her, Indica makes her grumpy.” 

 Katara glares. “None taken.” 

 She likes Ty Lee, that much she’s gathered. And, it seems as though Ty Lee had grown to like her back, making sure Katara gets enough ice cream throughout the night, even turning her head when Katara pulls out a Tupperware from her backpack to bring back the dessert to her apartment. 

 That was until Ty Lee remembered she had a flask hidden up her skirt, a necessity post fuckboy cheats on you .  “I-I just called to say I don’t miss you! And that your dick smells like a stapler that has been microwaved for 25 seconds. Like, you can block me all you want. But you can’t uneat this ass. Sorry, I don’t make the rules!” Katara does damage control, and dutifully snatches the phone from her hands.

 Crossing her arms like a mother disciplining her child, she levels Ty Lee with a concerned look. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

 Ty Lee gets up and stumbles on her way to hug Katara. “I can’t leave him! I love him so, so much. He’s my fucking ride or die, the Quavo to my Saweetie! The pitchy singing to my Selena Gomez! The Marlene to my Rosa! The badly glued fake eyelashes to my Asian sorority girl,” Ty Lee is crying and loud and her anime like tits are bouncing with every sob that comes. 

 Katara takes the flask of peach vodka from her trembling hands, and shakes the girl. “Look, bitch. You’re better than this.” 

 “No, I’m really not!” 

 Katara pokes the girl in the forehead. “Yes, bitch you definitely are. You’re a bad bitch that got adicktated. But that’s ok.” She tilts the red faced girl’s head back, making sure the cup of water goes down her throat. “So what if you fell in love a little? You’re in your bag bitch, you don’t need provolone smelling dick to dicktate your life!” 

 She rubs at her snot filled nose, and then wipes her fist on her mini skirt. “You really think so?” 

 “Bitch, I know so . Go be a slut, forget about Chan’s ass flake. Now hand over your phone. Drunk yelling over the phone is not the move for the night.” The other active Deltas sisters were running back from a group bathroom visit, after realizing it was Ty Lee’s bad decisions o’ clock . They came back to see the chastised girl determindly eating Ube flavored ice cream, without a phone to do dumb shit in her hands. Mai can’t help but start liking Katara. 

 //

 The third night, and it’s the Deltas Sorority and Pi Alpha Psi Fraternity rush party, the most important party so far during rush week. IT was a slam fucking dunk. They had gotten catering from everybody’s favorite taco place at the Pi Alpha Psi frat house. And a fucking DIY boba bar. A boba bar! A goddamn boba bar. Katara had a ziplock baggie filled with the tapioca pearls in her left jean pocket. 

 All Deltas rushees were meant to be socializing with Pi Alpha Psi brothers. The active sisters were trying to see who were the classy whores in the group. They didn’t want admitted whores, just subtle ones. After fending off another medium ugly brother from trying to stare at her tits, Katara corners Zuko, who hands her another shot to take for him. “Why was that guy dressed like an uninvolved father?” 

 “What’s that supposed to look like?” 

 “Sweaty, and smells vaguely of disappointment.” 

 Zuko coughs. “I’m sad that hit way too close to home.” 

 Katara looks devastated for a split second, until Zuko starts laughing at his own joke. Then, she smacks him upside the head. “You know, you should be thankful for me. I got you looking exactly like a Pi Alpha Psi brother. Even down to the shoes.” Katara glares ahead. “God, I hate that we have to wear shoes on in this house. I hate looking at Haru’s Black Air Force 1s. Anything but those. Anything but those .” 

//

 The fourth night and they had successfully scammed the Greek system. 

 “Zuko!” Katara screams, bursting through his door without preamble. “Look what Ty Lee sent—wait a minute. What the fuck are you doing?” She pauses in shoving the phone in his face to see him face down in his calculus textbook. 

 “I’m trying to find a natural way to stay focused.” 

 Katara crosses her arms. “Have you considered adderall?” 

 Zuko snorts, clearly annoyed. “That’s literally prescription meth.” 

 “And what about it?” She slams her body, face first into his bed. “‘ Hey get ready tomorrow because we have an exclusive, invite only clubbing invite and the girls and I really really want you to come! ’” Katara reads the Instagram message verbatim from her phone, her chest swelling with unbridled pride. “I deserve an Academy Award.” 

 Zuko plops his body right on top of hers, relishing in how she groans under his added weight. “Run me my Golden Globe because according to Chan, my ‘ass better be ready to get nasty at Club Nyla .’” 

 “Shut the booger sugar up!” 

 So (on a Thursday night ) Katara and Zuko crowd in the party bus the generous Asian Greek system had funded in the name of “cultural bonding.” She can barely breathe, tits pushed in the most fuckable way possible, and she feels her face heating from the shots forced down her throat because her (potential) sisters had insisted on heavily pregaming. 

 While the frat brothers were perfectly content to sitting and not making any sort of movement whatsoever in the name of looking cool , the girls on the other hand were having the time of their lives. 

 “Oh my fucking god, for the last time Ty Lee, I cannot join the grind train, I do not have mental stability to keep my balance and shake my ass at the same time,” Katara lightly chastises, shoving the drunk girl gently off of her. Ty Lee simply shrugs, and then continues to gyrate on the gaggle of girls. The music was pounding, everyone was sweating from the amount of unrestrained dancing happening, and Katara’s pretty sure some girl just bruised her pussy after accidentally smacking it (hard) on the bus’s stripper poles. Disco lights bathe the entirety of the vehicle, enveloped in the screams and squeals of Asian girls trying to twerk and scream along to lyrics at the same time. 

 It was pure fucking chaos. But so goddamn fun . The girls kept constantly grabbing her hips in an attempt to yike on her helpless ass, which Katara abruptly stopped by flicking off their hands. All to the tune of “The Box” by Roddy Rich. 

 “Let me hear everyone loud and clear! ‘Fuck 12!’” Katara screams to a crowd of bewildered frat brothers. 

 “Katara, no,” Zuko’s laughing too hard, the alcohol making him feel lightheaded. Heavy rap music permeated the walls of the bus, and he feels a headache building. But he feels a little better seeing Katara having fun, nearly choking to death after taking a hit from some brother’s joint. 

 “Don’t laugh, I don’t smoke that often!” She insists. 

 Zuko throws his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to him. “If you die, at least it was in a party bus while Travis Scott was playing.” 

 “I’d rather die in an Acura!” Katara yelps, getting up in mock frustration. While Zuko is simply losing his mind at her attitude, she accidentally stumbles as the bus comes to an abrupt stop, and lands in Zuko’s lap. 

 She’s chortling, moving about to get up. Zuko tries his hardest not to let his heart pound impossibly loud. 

 After IDs were checked, and a Drake song was forcibly requested by the obnoxious group of frat brothers, the clubbing event was in full swing. Yet, it paled in comparison to the fun and chaotic energy of the party bus. Frat brothers were attempting to dance, Asian girls were trying their hardest to twerk. 

 Katara is doing her duty as the most sober one out of the bunch and pushes random guys away before they could grab at her sisters’ hips. “You know, God gives flat asses to his strongest soldiers,” she mumbles, lips dangerously close to his ear. They were sitting down in the private seating area near the dance floor, exhausted beyond belief and watching the sorority girls’ attempts at clapping what little cheeks they did have. 

 Ty Lee clumsily grabs at Katara, screaming about having to piss and call her ex. Her cue to save the day. She gives Zuko an apologetic look, and whispers “I’m gonna win” before grabbing Ty Lee’s hand. 

 While he’s checking on his Neko Atsume cats, Chan’s Pepto Bismal smelling self is sidling up to his side. “Bro, you should fuck her. She’s got amazing tits.” 

 Zuko smirks, before schooling his features. That was already an observation he made when he was 16. Nice try, fuckboy. Chan continues, not caring if Zuko responds to him. “Pound that pussy like rent is due tomorrow! You have to get at that big, fat, moose sized pussy at the Airbnb we’re headed to after this.”

  Ty Lee is blubbering, snot running freely down her face as though she was a 5 year old at Chuck E. Cheese realizing they didn’t have enough tickets to afford a beaded necklace. “Every time he goes down on me, it feels like my pussy’s getting colonized. Is that what love is supposed to feel like.” 

 Katara paused in rubbing her back. “Oh my god.” 

 Ty Lee grabs at Katara’s shoulders, toilet and unsteady stomach forgotten. “Please, for the sake of the female population. Fuck Zuko. We need to know if he’s packing that schmeat.”

 Katara gasps. “No fucking way, we’re just friends!” 

 The inebriated girl clutches Katara’s face in between her sweaty palms, lowering her voice in a volume she thinks counted as a whisper. It was more of a scream than anything else. “We always try to get the hottest rushees to fuck each other at the Airbnb. Then, you’ll definitely make it into Deltas. Because if anyone deserves to throw that neck back on Zuko, it’s you.” 

 “Well gee, thanks. I’m touched.” 

 //

 “Moan harder! Don’t sound like I’m forcing you to fuck me! This isn’t no 90 Day Fiance shit! I thought you were an actor. Where is the commitment to the craft? You sound like you’re a dying tractor. Do better!” Katara continues jumping on the bed, trying to emulate a good old fucking. Zuko breathes in, before an unrestrained groan comes from his lips. Katara’s cooch instantly quakes.

 Their shoes were off, at her insistence, sheets already strewn about to make it believable. She could hear the snickering behind the door she’s triple checked to make sure it was locked and unable to be seen through the keyhole, her thong shoved in front of it to ensure their privacy.  

 “Zuko, Zuko, Zuko!” she pants, makine her voice sound as fucked out as possible. “I can’t!” 

 He continues smacking his arm, trying his best to replicate the sound of cheeks being clapped. “Baby, yes you can. You’re taking me like a fucking champ.” 

 Katara almost couldn’t hold back her giggle. This was all so fucking ridiculous. Taken straight out of a Larry smut scene. But they had a job to finish, a lifestyle they needed to live out, a pact to win. She whines, he lets out a moan. They bite their fist before they lost their minds and ruined the scam. She could imagine the title to their terrible porn video: college girl takes BEC (big emo cock). 

 “So, so good!” Katara made sure to make her voice sound as strained as possible, jumping even harder on the mattress. Zuko is ashamed to say his dick twitched in his pants the slightest. “So goddamn big. I feel so full!” 

 “Thanks for thinking I have a big dick,” he mutters, before letting out another wanton cry. 

 “Please be quiet!” Her little faux whimpers are simply killing Zuko, a blush creeping on his neck. He may or may not be jerking off to a sound now burned in his memory. 

 “Ready for the grand finale?” Zuko’s bewildered, pausing in his erratic jumping on the mattress. Katara jumps as hard as she can three times, before landing a punch square into Zuko’s stomach. It’s unexpected, and he doubles over, wheezing and pathetically gasping for air. 

 “Baby, cum in me!” Katara mewls, a devious smile on her face. 

 Zuko frowns, rubbing at his sore stomach. “Really? You’re that invested in this role? You would hurt your bestest friend in this world?” 

 “Shut up! Let me bully you.”

 They leave the room, ensuring their hair looked as disheveled as possible, clothes put on backwards, and Katara’s lip gloss smeared across his face. It tasted like Starbursts and scams. 

 The pair were suddenly enveloped in violent cheers. Muscled frat brothers were taking their beefy arms and slapping Zuko’s chest in celebration. Zuko could see Katara blushing, acting bashful and even tucking a strand of hair behind her ear for emphasis. He rolls his eyes, and deftly decided his heart was indeed forever stolen by the bat shit crazy bitch. 

 “My man!” Chan howls, grabbing Zuko in a signature bro hug. “Any other Deltas you want to raw dog tonight?” 

 Zuko’s gaze was focused on Katara’s smiling face. “This dick belongs to one woman.” 

 //

 They sorority and fraternity wearily climbed back into the party bus in the wee hours of the morning, needing to make the trek back in time for classes. Everyone was to stop by the Psi Alpha Psi house to collect their stuff, and then make their way home. 

 Zuko’s nodding off, too tired to continue breathing when Katara pokes him expertly in the arm. “What?” 

 “We’re going to steal the house trophy when we get back.” 

 He gasps. “Not Beatrice.” 

 “Yes, Beatrice!” 

 “Why do you want a $9 dildo from Amazon anyways?” 

 Katara sighs. “I overheard them this morning. The Deltas and Psi Alpha Psi. They were running through photos of girls and guys that rushed that didn’t make it through the process. And they were so fucking mean , Zuko. Like I almost cried, and they didn’t even roast my ass. Like Co-Star level bullying. They don’t deserve Beatrice. We do.” 

 “So, bet’s off?” He cracks his knuckles in anticipation. She simply nods. 

 //

 “You bitch. You didn’t have to slam me so fucking hard!” Katara reprimands. Zuko silences her with a passionate kiss that has every emotion she could possibly feel tingling throughout her whole body. She’s pushed up against the fireplace, clutching the wall behind her as though finding something to grind her against Zuko’s fiery passion. They were simply mimicking the rest of the group coming back, girls pressed against the frat brothers, trying to make the most of their remaining high instead of heading to class. 

 They pause to take a breath of air, (they could hear Mai mock gagging in the back) before sending each other a secret nod. 

 “You feel that pucker in your asshole? You know shit’s about to get real,” Katara says in a low voice. 

 Zuko’s slamming her against the fireplace once more, this time Katara’s hand now finding contact with Beatrice herself. In a flash she’s shoving the phallic toy in her jacket, sprinting for the door. 

 Chan, eagle eyed as ever, and experienced in the art of recognizing dildo thievery, instantly shoves Ty Lee off his lap. “Don’t you dare take the fucking house trophy, bitch!” He barely finishes his sentence, before he’s shoved to the ground by an enthusiastic Zuko, who grabs Katara’s hand and breaks into a run. 

 They run, run, run until they reach Zuko’s apartment, collapsing on the patch of fake grass at the front of the building. He still has his hand intertwined with hers, her other hand having a vice like grip on the sex toy. 

 “You know what, I don’t care about making other friends. You’re all I need.” 

 “I know.” Katara can’t stop the smile from growing on her face. 

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

keep your eyes on the prize

For @newsies-secret-santa this year, my giftee was @i-got-personality! I decided to write a fluffy (hopefully humorous) little scene involving Crutchie, Jack, and a squashed pie. Hope you like it!

---

Stealing the pie is easy. All Crutchie has to do is wait until the baker who runs the shop near the lodging house sets a stack of the freshly-made deserts on the same display table as always, near the front door of the building. It’s actually getting the pie out of the building that’s the difficult part.

Mr. Munson doesn’t leave the main room of the bakery very often (probably because every time he does, one of his desserts goes missing, but that’s neither here nor there, Crutchie thinks), except for the few minutes in the mornings when he’s still going back and forth after opening the shop, moving freshly-made pastries and pies and such from the oven to the shelves. Crutchie knows he’s going to have to be quick. He’s never stolen a pie from Mr. Munson himself, but Jack has, more times than any of the other newsies can count, and Crutchie wants to surprise him this year.

Crutchie has his eye on a pie that is sitting right near the front door of the bakery; he thinks it might be big enough for everyone in the lodging house to have a slice on Christmas Day.

The bakery has just opened for the day, and people are already bustling in and out, picking out desserts for their families and parties and whatever else. Crutchie waits until there’s a sizable crowd in the shop before sneaking in behind a nicely-dressed couple who immediately coo at each other about “how cute” the shop is and “look at all these quaint little pastries!” Crutchie rolls his eyes and sidles up to the pie table. The one he wants is sitting in the center of the table as the focus of the display; it’ll be tricky, but Crutchie thinks he can grab it without anyone being the wiser. The crowd in the bakery is still pretty large, and the fancy couple is now launching questions at the baker about things like “sugar content” and if a single basket of muffins will “feed a party of seventeen.” With that distraction working to his advantage, Crutchie reaches quickly for the pie, holding it carefully under one arm. He waits for another customer--a short man with a bow-tie and thick glasses--to come through the door, and slides out behind him. But he doesn’t get far before there’s a shout.

“Hey!” Mister Munson is running for the front door, Crutchie sees when he glances back. “Get back here! That’s my best pie!”

“Shit!” Crutchie moves as fast as he can with the pie under one arm and his crutch under the other. If he can make it a few blocks away to the alley behind the lodging house, he’ll be safe. He just has to make it there first.

It’s a shame that one of the cobblestones on the street is sticking up just a little too much, or Crutchie knows he’d be home-free. His crutch flies one way, the pie flies another, and Crutchie hits the ground on his hands and knees.

“I got you now!” Mister Munson yells in the distance, but Crutchie knows he can’t let that happen. He scrambles for his crutch, sparing a sad glance toward the ruined pie as he does, and hauls himself to his feet. The lodging house is still a block away, but Crutchie slips around a corner and hides behind a stack of discarded crates. By some miracle, Mister Munson runs right by, and Crutchie takes a few moments to catch his breath before finally heading back to newsie square, keeping a wary eye out for Mister Munson and kicking himself for losing the pie. He doesn’t have a reason to go back to the lodging house anymore, and he still has time to catch Wiesel and buy a batch of the morning’s papers. Too bad the pies are too expensive for him to buy, anyway, at least not this soon before Christmas.

“Fuck,” Crutchie mutters. He grabs a stack of papers and heads out. “Almost had it.”

“Almost had what?” Jack’s voice startles Crutchie so much he nearly drops the papers when he turns around. Jack’s nose and cheeks are red from the cold, but he’s smiling, and his bag is nearly empty already. His smile drops a little when he sees Crutchie’s face. “What’s wrong, Crutch?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna tell ya,” Crutchie says, stuffing his papers into his own bag. “It’s embarrassin’.”

“Yeah? I’ve done lots of embarrassin’ stuff,” Jack says. He hands out a paper and takes a coin. “Try and beat my stupidity, won’t’cha?” He grins again, and this time Crutchie does, too. He can’t help it; he’s always found Jack’s smiles infectious.

“I tried to steal a pie from Munson’s Bakery,” Crutchie admits. “Well, I did steal a pie. But then… I tripped and dropped it.”

Jack bursts into laughter. “Crutchie! That’s hilarious! I mean- it’s awful, but it’s- so funny.”

Crutchie rolls his eyes. “Why is it so funny? I wanted to do somethin’ nice for the other newsies, ya know? You always manage to steal one, so I figured I could do it, too.” He smirks, just for a moment. “And again, I did actually steal it. Just didn’t make it back to the lodgin’ house with it.”

“I’m proud of ya, Crutch,” Jack says. “I really am. I think you’re the only one besides me who’s ever actually been able to get out of the door with one of those pies. Munson’s usually really, uh, protective of those things.”

“Yeah, he was a little distracted,” Crutchie says. “Some couple who cared way too much about what was in the pastries.”

“Tell ya what,” Jack says, slinging an arm around Crutchie’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna give you my hat--it’ll practically make you look like a different person--and we’re gonna get that pie.”

Crutchie smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

[deansawthetvglow]

Idk if you want a prompt or our own little thing so I’ll just do both: First Christmas alone with each other. — Headcanon; This is post-finale and Dean finally gets to fix cars and Cas wanna learn too and it’s a cute thing with them working on old vintage cars together. Not every day, but some.

Neither of these were supposed to happen, but I’m glad they did. 

Thank you for the ask! Mainly I wanted your headcanons but like….wow both?…so cute… 

Cars

I love thinking about Dean teaching Cas how to fix cars, and Cas lets him, even though he knows exactly how cars function. He’s seen millions of them made right before his eyes, watched as horse-drawn carriages were phased out, witnessed Ford’s assembly line, even sat in on the battle between Ferrari and Lamborghini. He lets Dean teach him anyways because Castiel has always been missing a component of piecing together a car; the love. And so when Dean puts his hands under the hood of a car and smiles at whatever shiny mechanisms stand out there, Cas smiles, simply because Dean is. 

All I Want For Christmas….

Dean and Cas go out on a hunt one winter. There’s a rumored yeti-like creature stomping around a ski-area and snatching people on the tree runs, shrouded from sound with snow. 

They arrive at the mountain, their chests heaving with the sudden rise in elevation, and decide to get drinks at the bar to chat with the locals. They hear all sorts of stories, ones of shadows lurking beyond the bounds, of creatures, tall and white, slinking softly, their sound absorbed by the snow. Dean tries to act skeptical, but the locals insist, there’s definitely something out there. Dean grins at Castiel and the angel frowns. 

“You know what this means, right, Cas?” 

“No, Dean… What?” 

With a clap on his hand on Castiel’s trenchcoat “We’re going skiing, buddy,” he smiles and downs the rest of his beer. 

Once they’ve bought their lift tickets and they’ve finally rented their equipment,  the rental techs looking oddly at Castiel, wondering how one human could be so oblivious to skiing, they trudge awkwardly out to the main chairlift. 

Castiel can’t understand why people would participate in an activity with such uncomfortable footwear, and Dean can’t help but silently agree. They clip their skis on and slide into the lift line. Castiel nearly falls immediately so Dean holds him close to his side, using the newness of the skis as an excuse.

The lifties notice the struggling pair and slow the lift for them, directing them to the yellow line and instructing them to look over their shoulders to wait as the chair approaches. 

Finally, chair hitting the backs of their knees, they slump down, pulling the safety bar down, and sighing in relief. 

Castiel’s glum look quickly changes as they rise into the air, further above the rocky run below. Castiel grins over at Dean but he just clenches the safety bar, pretending they aren’t flying, pretending they aren’t in nothing but a fucking chair swinging precariously 100 feet above the ground. 

Finally, they reach the end of the lift, sliding out from the chair, bar lifted and skis parallel under them. 

They only make it a little way down the mountain before Cas, arms out like wings at his side, flies past Dean like a god damn expert. He zigzags into the trees and Dean follows, skiing in an embarrassing ‘pizza’ wedge, knees trembling and hips in pain from the awkward position. When he finally reaches the trees, he sees no sign of Castiel, hears nothing but the uncomfortable silence of a forest hibernating under the wiles of winter. 

He tries to call out, “Cas!” but his voice stops dead in its tracks. He slowly slides on, letting the trees guide his turns. Suddenly, like a dream, a cabin appears before him. It’s not depicted on his map of the ski-area so he decides to stop and click off his skis, he’ll be more mobile that way. He sticks his skis in the snow, his poles in an ‘X’ above them to warn others from running into them. He struggles with walking, the exaggerated heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe of his ski boots uncomfortable in the powder. 

He pulls off his glove and puts his hand on his gun, holstered on the layer under his snow pants, as he knocks on the cabin door. 

An old man, with a beard and bright smile, answers.

Behind him, Dean sees Cas snuggled by a crackling fire, a mug in his hands and a content smile on his face. 

The old man gestures for Dean to enter, and he does so with great trepidation. 

“Cas?” 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas grins sleepily up at him. 

The old man closes the door softly behind him and looks at them fondly, “I’ll leave you two be, then.” 

Suddenly, he’s gone, nothing but the sounds of wood-burning and Castiel sipping on tea filling the cabin. 

“What’s going on? We have to get out of here, Cas!” 

“Dean,” wide, shining eyes look over to him, more content than he’s ever seen, “It’s Christmas, we’re holding down Saint Nicholas’ vacation hide-away, and all I want is you.” 

Dean looks wildly at Cas over the confession and the turn of events, but eventually, the smell of Christmas pies and magic fill his nostrils and he lets himself be pulled into the illusion, if only for a moment.