#i was at work when the trailer dropped it took all of my willpower to not lose my mind LMAOO

[dumblucksers]

WE ARE SO BACK

[jo-harrington]

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 2)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 8.4k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, Babysitter Steve, No Upside Down means slightly still King Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, no smut in Part 2 either but the next chapter does get steamy.

Note: Ok big shout out to @ghost-proofbaby for her Steve lessons and just generally being a Steve soundboard. I'm not a Steve girl yet but...idk. And then also to @trashmouth-richie for being so supportive and listening as I ramble on about plot things. I admire you both as writers and love you guys as friends; thank you for your support.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“No, no, no,” Steve whined as he approached the mirror, squishing his face and pinching at his cheeks. “This is a dream. I’m still asleep. Or I’m dead.”

He cleared his throat a few times, slapped it, pinched his Adam's apple. He used every bit of willpower in him to stop the voice that was coming out of his mouth from being Eddie’s voice. It didn't stop that everything else was Eddie's though.

Eddie’s hair. His face. His body.

Steve was in his house—trailer, Steve recalled. It was a trailer. He was wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.

Steve vaguely recalled the thing he thought last night when Eddie left Family Video.

A curse.

Eddie had put a curse on Steve. Steve had made Eddie pay non-member prices for his stupid video rental and Eddie put a fucking curse on him?!

There was a knock at the door and Steve jumped.

"Everything alright in there Ed?" a hoarse, muffled voice asked.

"Uhhh," Steve tried to come up with some kind of response, but suddenly all of the excuses he could ever come up with eluded him. Every scrap of knowledge he had ever reluctantly learned about Eddie Munson—thwip—gone.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to focus, get in the moment, clear his head. If this was a basketball game or a swim meet, he would never let himself get this worked up.

"I'm fine," he started and then paused.

Eddie's parents weren't around anymore, who did he live with? The kids had mentioned it once or twice, said the guy was nice, a little rough around the edges. Said he let Eddie do whatever he wanted for the most part. His uncle...

"I'm fine Uncle W-wayne," Steve answered.

"Late for school," Wayne sighed. "You skipping again?"

"I--"

Steve didn't know what kind of excuse to come up with. What kind of excuses did Eddie give his uncle? His attendance was abysmal, Steve knew, and on the days he was in class, his attention was barely there. Always scribbling and doodling and cracking jokes when he was called on to answer.

He should have just dropped out the first time he failed, a fact that Steve had mocked him for repeatedly, let alone this second time.

Fuck, but if Steve was stuck in Eddie's body, he couldn't not go to school. He had enough trouble with his high school diploma, let alone without one. Maybe...maybe he could ask Dustin to help with his—

Dustin.

That little brat would be at school. Of course. He and others...they were a part of this little cult...maybe they knew what Eddie did to him? Or they could help him at the very least figure out how to reverse this curse.

"Listen son," Wayne continued. "I know it's hard to do this all over again; I told you that you didn't—"

"No, it's ok," Steve quickly cut him off. "I just slept in...accidentally. I'll go. I'm late but I'll go."

"Alright, whatever you say. I got a fresh pot going for you but I'm gonna get cleaned up and hit the hay alright?"

"Sounds good," Steve replied absentmindedly, staring around the room trying to figure out what, in all of the piles of clothing and junk, he could wear.

"Steve Harrington."

Eddie rummaged through the products in the medicine cabinet. Shampoos and after shaves and hair gels and mousses. Way more interesting and expensive sounding than the bottom shelf stuff he got at Melvald's.

He had to be honest, some of it didn't smell great and he didn't see the appeal. Oh well.

"The name's Harrington, Steve Harrington."

He shuffled through the clothes in the closet and the dressed. A lot of trendy, Sears catalog-looking stuff. Polos and windbreakers and jeans in various shades of blue. All neatly hung and folded, nothing out of place, even the underwear drawer was pristine. Nothing black or ripped or...god forbid a band tee or something like that.

Eddie was gonna have to change that...eventually.

"Hey, uh, have we met before? I'm Steve, Steve Harrington."

After the initial shock of finding that he was, indeed, in Steve's body, a sort-of calmness washed over Eddie. The panic subsided pretty quickly, to be honest; he might have been full of electric, frantic energy that dared to be contained, but he was also very good at improvising and devising a plan thanks to years of DnD.

But what was the plan when you found yourself in someone else's body? There wasn't really a handbook for that but like any good player...he would just have to play the part until the answers were revealed to him. And that meant he would have to become Steve Harrington--know Steve Harrington--in a way that he would have loathed if he wasn't in this situation specifically.

The first step had been checking out what Steve was packing.

Eddie peeled away the tight purple briefs and stared at his dick.

"Alright Harrington, alright," Eddie bobbed his head from side to side in contemplation and then grinned ferally. "Mine's bigger." And with that he adjusted himself back in the underwear and continued on his exploration.

Clothes, shoes, books—or more accurately the lack thereof.

Jesus, how have I failed twice and he graduated?

He dug through drawers, found the stash of dirty magazines under the bed, and then scanned over the calendar neatly pinned above the desk with shifts at Family Video clearly penciled-in in a handwriting that looked way too nice to be Steve's.

Steve would be expected to open the store this morning and Eddie grimaced. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his day, but he had a part to play.

He grabbed the little green and orange vest hanging off the back of the desk chair and threw it on over the trendy striped polo that made him itch—did Steve have some kind of allergy or something? God, his chest and arms were just itchy, and it was driving Eddie nuts.

He headed downstairs, through the immaculate house that he vaguely knew the layout of having dealt at a party Steve held last year, to the kitchen to rummage for some kind of breakfast.

He had already checked upstairs and now again as he walked through; the house was empty. Steve's parents gone for the day.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge and found, among the very neat and plentiful groceries, a brown paper lunch bag with the name "Stevie" written on it with a little heart.

"Great," Eddie scoffed bitterly, the first really sour thought he’d had all morning. "His mommy still makes his lunches."

Eddie thought about the handwriting on the calendar upstairs; it was the same as the lunch bag. Thought about the neatly folded clothes, about the extremely tidy rooms. He knew Steve's mom didn't work; she didn't do much of anything except parade around town flaunting her perfect life.

And she was a real bitch.

She was on the Hawkins Town Council and the PTA. She was the first person to call Hellfire Club a cult when they had originally petitioned for some money from the PTA for shirts a few years back. She had called Eddie a menace too many times to count, periodically to his face if he parked a little too close to the front to her liking at Bradley's.

"And she makes her precious baby boy Stevie tuna salad sandwiches and ants on a log like he's 6," Eddie grumbled as he peeked inside the bag. He couldn't remember the last time someone made his lunch for him.

Well he could...in those early days with Wayne. They were both trying to navigate the new living arrangement after his mom had passed. He wasn't that great at peanut butter and jelly or carrot sticks...but he did teach Eddie that you could put potato chips inside of your sandwich though. Taught him how to make the best of a situation, to take care of himself.

So that's what he was going to do. He was gonna make the best out of this situation and play the part and get through the day. Because things were always good—life was always good—if you were Steve Harrington. And he was Steve Harrington now.

"And Steve Harrington," Eddie pushed past the bitterness and found a little spark of goodness. "Drives a BMW."

"Watch where you're going freak!" Someone grunted at Steve as they rammed their shoulder into his as they passed.

"When did everyone get so damn rude?" Steve grumbled to himself. It was the fifth person who had done that today. Hawkins High really had gone to the pits in the past few months since he graduated.

To be fair, everything had really sucked for him so far that day. He thought, Hawkins High was his stomping ground. Just put on the Harrington charm—despite the rough exterior—and everything would work out.

He was so wrong.

First he had gotten detention for being late to class, apparently for the third day that week—

God, Munson needed to get his act together; no wonder he hadn't graduated yet.

—then when he had tried to schmooze Mrs. Worth, the school secretary, into giving him Dustin's schedule, she laughed. And when he asked if he could have a copy of his own schedule, Eddie's schedule, she had just rolled her eyes and said,

"Trying every trick in the book to get out of classes, Edward. I can't help you unless you help yourself."

"How can I help myself if I don't have a schedule Jeanine?" he snarked, figuring Eddie's own signature shitty attitude would get him somewhere instead.

It only added an extra 15 minutes onto his detention.

Great.

Finally he managed to find the crumbled scrap of a class schedule in Eddie's locker—the only locker without a lock on it although he doubted anyone would want to steal from this absolute cesspit—amongst the piles of incomplete homework and garbage and overdue library books. It took everything in Steve not to rip it to pieces when he saw archaic symbols drawn all over it, no doubt another curse Eddie was waiting to enact on someone.

Steve just went through the motions and still got picked on and berated by every teacher and most of the students. Of course, Eddie fucking deserved everything he got. He was a lazy student and a menace, always causing some kind of trouble. But it made Steve especially grumbly that he would now have to deal with the fallout of Eddie's shit. Despite trying to adapt his own good behavior.

"Just gotta find Henderson and this will all have been some silly dream," Steve muttered to himself all day. And thankfully he had survived until lunch and immediately spotted Dustin and Mike as they sat down at the freaks' usual lunch table.

God he needed to get those kids away from Munson and his cult. Especially now that he knew what they could do.

He quickly crossed the busy cafeteria, uncaring of anyone he bumped into or the sharp words they spat at him.

"Henderson, we need to have a little chat," Steve announced as he reached the table. One of the older kids at the table—Steve tried to recall his name: Gary, Garth, Garrett—perked up at the sight of "Eddie" though and started chatting excitedly.

"Hey we were just talking about Hellfire tonight. I know you won't tell us anything but do we ne—”

"Hellfire's canceled," Steve dismissed coldly.

"What?!" They all started talking over one another.

"You never cancel Hellfire."

"Are you sick?"

"Guys he's dying. Or he's lost his mind."

Steve felt the annoyance bubble up inside of him and he raised his voice.

"It's canceled!" He leveled all of them with a scathing look. "I've got detention. Alright?"

"You always have detention," Mike spoke up, then cowered slightly as Steve glared at him. "Y-you've never canceled before..."

"Tough shit. Maybe next week." Steve turned his attention back to Dustin. "Let's go."

He grabbed Dustin by the arm, hauled him out of his seat, and pulled him out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the heavy double doors clicked shut behind them, Steve fell back against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Shit! Eddie!" Dustin's demeanor immediately went from fear to concern. "What's going on?"

"'m not Eddie," Steve groaned.

"What?"

"I'm not Eddie!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands out as if it would reveal who he actually was. "It's Steve, I'm Steve."

"O-ok?"

"I'm Steve and I woke up in Eddie's body and I don't know what's happening and I'm..." He started breathing heavily. "I'm so fucking pissed off and I'm so fucking scared."

"Hey listen man, I know," Dustin began hesitantly. "I know you keep telling us that the weed is not for freshman but if this is supposed to scare me—"

"This isn't to scare you," Steve grumbled, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders so he could pull him closer. "I'm not high. And I'm not Eddie. I'm Steve Harrington."

Dustin blinked at him.

"Ok..." he nodded slowly. "You're Steve Harrington? Tell me something only Steve and I would know."

Steve wracked his brain; there were a lot of things that he and Dustin shared, he was closer to Dustin than all of the other kids. But now, so was Eddie...so what was something that Eddie wouldn't know?

"Last year...last December..."

"Yeah?"

"The Snow Ball?"

"Ok?"

"I helped you with your hair...I told you my secret."

"Which was?"

Steve and Dustin stared each other down for a moment before Steve caved.

"Thefarrahfawcettspray," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"The Farrah Fawcett Spray, alright? I swore you to secrecy, I wouldn't tell anyone else, let alone Eddie Munson." He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch!" Dustin hissed. "It really is you."

"I told you so, you little punk."

"What did...I mean..." Dustin clutched the bill of his cap with both hands and exhaled. "How?"

"I was hoping you could help me figure that out," Steve sighed. "And how to undo it."

"I think this is a little beyond my academic ability Steve."

"No, not just because you're smart. Because you hang around Munson. He's the one who did this to me."

"Wh-what?" Steve started talking a mile a minute and Dustin stopped him. "Ok, slow down. I'm gonna need you to start over. If you want me to help you, I need to know everything."

Steve spent the rest of lunch explaining everything to Dustin, from the interaction with Eddie at Family Video to feeling off last night during dinner and then waking up in Eddie's body this morning.

Dustin asked, what seemed to be, random questions. Like if he had remembered brushing his teeth the night before, if he’d had any indigestion, or if there were any scars that he had as Steve that might have appeared on "Eddie's" body instead.

"I wasn't exactly eager to check Eddie's body out," Steve scrunched his nose in dismissal.

"You didn't even take a shower or anything?" Dustin asked.

"I mean, no," Steve shrugged. "But now that I think of it...how am I gonna even be able to take a shower. Ugh, I don't want to touch Eddie's junk."

"Your junk," Dustin reminded him.

"Eddie's body," Steve insisted.

"And you're Eddie for the foreseeable future," Dustin shrugged. The bell signaling the end of the period rang and Dustin sighed. "Listen, I'm gonna skip next period and see if the school library has anything useful. But I'm not hopeful."

"Hey, you shouldn't skip class!" Steve argued.

"It's just Latin."

"Which you're failing."

"Skipping one class while you've literally had your mind transplanted into another body over night seems like the correct choice. I'll see you later." Dustin disappeared amongst the throngs of students and Steve sighed, resigned to go through the motions for the rest of the day.

It was a lot more of the same shit he'd gone through in the morning: getting body checked in the hall, having his books slapped out of his hand, teachers purposefully calling on him thinking he wasn't paying attention—even though he was, thank you very much. Although...considering that Eddie's notebooks were filled with doodles and poetry and shit...it wasn't a far stretch to believe that no, Eddie didn't actually pay any attention in class.

Steve actually had never had any classes with Eddie except for PE, really. And the fact that Eddie got into constant arguments with Coach should have been enough of an indicator of his poor academic performance as it was. But he’d based all of his assumptions on other factors. They hadn’t really interacted short of seeing him roaming the halls, the many few times Steve and his friends had mocked the Hellfire kids, even the one or two times Steve had gone up to Eddie himself to coerce him into dealing at a party.

He had always thought of Eddie as a thorn in everyone's side...but now being Eddie...

The bell rang signaling the end of the day and although Steve knew he had to get to the cafeteria for detention, he still went to find Dustin and see if he had any answers.

It wasn't a long search, Dustin was waiting by Eddie's locker looking...incredibly nervous.

"Anything?" Steve asked.

"The school library isn't well-stocked with occult books," Dustin sighed. "Best I could find was this, Mysteries of the Unknown, which I'm gonna read, I just don't think it's gonna help us out very much."

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands.

This was just great.

“Listen, I’m gonna level with you this is…kind of outside of my expertise here Steve,” Dustin said hesitantly.

“But what about the cult stuff,” Steve asked, throwing his hands out. “You spend every Friday with Hellfire Club.”

“Playing a board game,” Dustin defended. “One that you could have learned by now if you just—”

“You’re telling me there aren’t any spells or...or something that could do this in your little game?"

"It's Dungeons and Dragons. Not Jumanji."

"...does that game maybe have a spell that—"

"No!"

"Well what about all of this shit Eddie has drawn in his notebooks, huh?" Steve fumbled to flip to one of the pages that had little symbols drawn in the corner. "What is this?"

"Probably something for a campaign. Maybe you should ask Eddie?" Steve froze and Dustin frowned. "You...have talked to Eddie about this right? You didn't just...come to school...without talking to Eddie, did you?"

Steve felt like an idiot. Of course Eddie would be in his body if he was in Eddie's. Eddie didn't just...banish Steve...he put a curse on both of them.

"Dustin Henderson, you are a genius." Steve pressed a kiss to Dustin's head, turned on his heel, and ran towards the door. Detention be damned.

"I'm not a genius, you're just an idiot!"

For all of the fears Eddie had about growing up—finally graduating, deciding if he should take some classes at the community college like the guidance counselor suggested ages ago, having to get a job or really throwing everything he had into making Corroded Coffin successful—he was honestly having a good time working at Family Video.

Steve always seemed a little bored and grumpy every time Eddie had stopped in. But it wasn't that bad if Eddie was being honest.

He'd been a little frantic at first, trying to figure out which key unlocked the door, and how to turn on the computer and open the cash register—thankfully there were little handwritten instructions taped under the keyboard—but once everything was up and running, it was a good time. He got to put a movie on—Star Wars, duh—easily chatted with some of the apparent-regulars who came by to make returns, even processed shipments of some new releases. It was a blast.

Eddie vaguely wondered, whenever he found himself back in his own body, if he should apply for a job here.

The bell above the door rang and Eddie turned, expecting to greet customers, only to be met with a fuming Robin Buckley.

Eddie didn’t know Robin very well, but what he did know he respected, if not outright liked. During his first senior year, she and a group of band nerds had gone up against Corroded Coffin in the last round of the Hawkins High Battle of the Bands. Now, he knew that the whole competition was rigged—Corroded Coffin had gotten second place despite being the best metal band in town—but she was pretty cool to shake their hands after the event was over. Tell them how good they were.

Of course, her band did a cover of "We Will Rock You" and "We are the Champions." Kind of cheating if you'd asked Eddie...but they did a pretty good job of it. He couldn't fault the student body for choosing that over the alleged Devil Worship music.

However, gone was the bashful Robin in his memory, and instead there she stood seemingly gearing up for a fight, with her sleeves rolled up and teeth gnashing together as she sneered.

"Forget something today dingus?" Robin asked "Steve" through clenched teeth.

"Uhhh," Eddie fumbled. "I don't kn—"

"Me! You forgot to pick me up for school," Robin exclaimed, hands thrown up in the air in exasperation. "You didn't even call? What gives?"

"I, uh," Eddie wracks his brain for an excuse. Because he didn't know he needed to? Because he wasn't actually Steve? "I accidentally overslept."

"And then I was worried about you," Robin rambled, running a hand through her bangs as she went on. "You could have...crashed into a pole, or...or...had a stroke and drove into a ditch."

"I'm sorry," Eddie offered with a half-smile.

"You better be! And your alarm better be set on Monday; I am not walking to school again," Robin grumbled as she headed to the back room to clock in. Eddie sighed in relief as the door shut behind her.

He really did feel bad about not picking her up for school. His friends were used to him skipping or just...sleeping late. If he wasn't at their houses to pick them up by a certain time, they knew they'd have to find another ride. Or just walk.

Gareth's mom was usually nice enough to give them rides on the days when Eddie didn't show.

But Robin...well, shit, Eddie knew Steve and Robin worked together...not only here but at Scoops Ahoy before this but damn, he didn't know Harrington was driving her to school. He must have been really good about picking her up every day if she was mad and worried.

"—and the thing is that I worried all day for nothing." Robin continued as she walked back onto the shop floor. "What if he's dead? What if his parents don't know? I think I failed my algebra test because of you so...just call next time ok?" She stared at him expectantly.

"Ok, I will," Eddie nodded. But Robin just narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms across her chest. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" she asked. "What are you still standing there for? It's almost 4."

"Oh!" Eddie checked his watch. "Is it? I guess...my shift is over right?"

She stared at him with a dumbfounded expression and then slammed her hands on the counter, making him jump.

"This is why you're single, this is why you can't find a girlfriend," she whined. "I don't even feel bad for you anymore. Not when you're screwing it up every step of the way. I really thought you were gonna get it right this time."

What was she talking about?

"How could you forget!?"

And in spectacular timing that Eddie could only have expected in a movie, the clock struck 4, the bell rang as the door opened, and you walked in for your date with Steve.

You were nervous.

Of course you were nervous, this was your third date with Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington. You sort of still didn't believe that he had asked you out.

You didn’t believe you were still going out with him.

It was just a random night that you'd run into Family Video to grab a movie before they closed. How easily he bantered with you, how he made you laugh, how he suggested Sixteen Candles of all movies for your study night with the girls from your classes at the Tri-County Community College.

He had made a joke when he looked up your mom’s membership…if the number on file was up-to-date so he could inform you of new releases…or just to ask you out.

You had giggled so stupidly after you left. He had called that night.

You'd always been sort of afraid of him during school. He was cute, sure, charming when he wanted to be...but he was popular and a jock and kind of a douche. You’d seen him pick on countless nerds.

He was King Steve, The "Hair" Harrington, whose dad owned the car dealership and had even run for Mayor once and was expected to run again. And you...you didn't have confidence issues really, but there wasn't anything really special about you either. You'd always held out hope that your silly high school crush would ask you out, so you never accepted any of the offers you had from any other boys.

But he never ended up asking you out, no matter how many signals you gave him, how much time you spent with him. How you wore the cutest outfits if you knew you’d partner with him in class.

And shy of some random drunken makeouts and one unfortunate hookup at some stupid party to get your first time “out of the way” (according to Julie Williams)…you stayed single.

Now you were out of the dregs of the high school hierarchy, sure, but you never expected Steve to ask you out. You weren't popular by any means...

But neither was Nancy Wheeler before Steve dated her.

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn't get the name out of your head. Or more accurately, you couldn't get Steve saying her name out of your head. You hadn't even heard of her until they had started dating in your junior year; she was a year younger than you and Steve. Sweet, a little timid maybe. You thought they were cute together, always kind of near each other. Holding hands or kissing or laughing.

Nancy stood in the spotlight with Steve, and they spent enough time for him to become nicer and for her to become more confident. Confident enough to dump him about halfway through your senior year.

Rumors were afloat about King Steve losing his crown. That the new kid Billy Hargrove had taken it when the king was down on his luck. But Billy was an even bigger douchebag and you'd thought...well, Steve was the big man on campus, he would bounce back right? Surely once you graduated at least? He’d find his footing and move on?

And you thought he had. He’d stayed in town, gotten a job, went about his life like it was normal. Still drove around and charmed the town, asking girls out and whatnot. Asking you out.

Imagine your surprise when he mentioned Nancy on your first date. Coffee at that little bakery in the town square; he had ordered for you before you got there and you asked if it was his favorite or something.

"Well Nance always liked it so I figured you might."

And then again at the movies, he'd ordered you a cherry coke and Mike and Ikes. No popcorn.

"Nancy always complained about the kernels getting stuck in her teeth."

You were patient and you tried to be nice. But it created this constant, subconscious comparison to her that hit you every time you saw her around town. And she was always around.

And Steve…tried, he made sure the dates were nice, he called on the phone, asked you about your day, told you about his. You just knew you couldn’t…allow yourself to feel less than, even if Steve didn’t realize he was doing it to you.

So you decided you were gonna end things.

You'd gone to Family Video to tell him as much, to have a nice discussion, before heading to your shift at Benny's. But he was very sweet, unexpectedly so. Promised your third date would be something special. You'd both dress up. He'd take you out to dinner somewhere nice.

"You're gonna love this place," Steve had said, taking your hand in his. "Nance thought it was great when I took her there too."

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

And at that moment you decided to just pull your hand away and tell him "I'm sorry Steve" and "you can’t keep bringing her up, it’s over."

Until you caught sight of Eddie Munson at the corner of your eye.

Your high school crush.

Who was funny and clever and silly and handsome and more. Who was everything you could kind of ever dream of. Who you got into a fight with your best friend over because she thought she had dibs since her brother was his friend. Whose name you scribbled in your notebook and almost died the one time he flipped through to copy your notes.

Who never saw you as more than a classmate.

And you decided...even if you were tired of playing second fiddle to Nancy…you had spent enough time waiting to be noticed by Eddie. All of high school and, you were ashamed to say it, even now after the fact.

You couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pass upon another boy who actually noticed you just to keep waiting on Eddie.

So you told Steve that his idea was great and you went on your merry way.

You had convinced yourself that it could work out, that you could be Steve’s girlfriend if he asked, if he kissed you at the end of the night. You'd dressed up to go to class today, knowing that you wouldn't have time to change for the date after. Your friends had teased you about your date, about the fluffy tafetta dress you'd chosen, giggled along with you and inflated your confidence.

It was still a little bit of a shock when you walked into Family Video promptly at 4 only to find Robin standing in front of the counter with the most pitying, sympathetic look in her eyes. And Steve still behind it, looking like a deer in the headlights, still dressed in his casual work clothes, hair slightly disheveled.

Not prepared for your date at all.

Did he forget?

You shouldn’t have felt bad, really. You were meeting him after his shift. You knew that you didn’t always look or feel great after work. You should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Or did he change his mind?

Because he talked the talk yesterday and you fell for it. You let your pride get the better of you and you should have just followed your instinct to end things.

That insidious voice in the back of your mind though…

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

…told you that he realized you weren’t good enough.

"H-hey," you greeted sheepishly. Your throat got tight

“Say hi dumbass,” Robin muttered over her shoulder. “Steve was just telling me how excited he was for your date!”

“Really?”

And then…it felt like Steve was suddenly seeing you for the first time. Because Steve Harrington just had a way about him, right?. That cool, casual exterior. That easiness.

Looking at him now…his eyes were wider and brighter, his smile bigger, eager. It was a version of him that you hadn’t experienced.

Was this maybe what Nancy Wheeler saw when she looked at him…looking at her?

And now he was looking at you this way.

"I...I'm not late am I? Or too early maybe?" you asked, suddenly bashful under his gaze.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

“Gross,” Robin gagged. “Ok get out of here before I vomit.”

Steve practically vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the back for a moment, then situated himself at your side upon his return.

“You ready to go?” He asked eagerly. You raised your eyebrows in question and glanced down at his outfit, still dressed the same, still wearing his Family Video vest even.

“Oh you…” you started and then stopped when his smile got even brighter. “Yeah let’s go.”

You were barely out the door when a familiar van skidded into the parking lot and came to a halt in the spot next to your car. Eddie jumped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door, before pointing at Steve with a manic look in his eyes.

“You!” Eddie shouted. “What did you do? How did you do this!?”

You immediately turned to Steve, whose eyes went wide for a moment before he smiled lazily, almost condescendingly.

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” Steve announced, holding his hands up innocently.

“I know you’re in there Eddie, you son of a bitch,” Eddie grumbled and practically lunged at Steve. Steve jumped a few steps back and you got between the two of them, hoping your presence would put Eddie at ease.

Wait…

Did he call Steve…Eddie? Did he call Steve by…his own name?

Was he high or something? You tried to rationalize it: The anger, the manic look in his eyes, the way his shoulders shook as he breathed heavily. It only made sense.

“Hey look at me,” you said gently. “It’s gonna be ok, you need to take a deep breath and calm down. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Stay out of this honey,” Eddie said through clenched teeth. “This is between me and him.”

“Steve, what’s going on?” You glance back at him for an answer.

“Nothi—” Steve began but Eddie quickly spoke over him.

“He put a curse on me, he put a curse on us,” Eddie heaved.

A curse?

“M-maybe you need a doctor or something,” you tried. “You aren’t making any sense.”

”He doesn’t need a doctor,” Steve called from behind you. “He’s a freak, a criminal. He needs to be locked up.”

Eddie froze and looked between you and Steve, fear suddenly in his eyes.

“Steve are you crazy?!” You turned and hissed at him, but by the time you turned back to Eddie, he was backing away and retreating into the van.

“This isn’t over,” he threatened, pointing at Steve through the window. “You’re gonna fix this.”

“Eddie wait!” The van backed out of its spot and sped back out of the parking lot. You sighed with worry. “Eddie.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve casually put a hand on your shoulder “Don’t worry about him.”

You turned on your heel and slapped his hand off you.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Eddie played the part perfectly...

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

...or so he thought.

While he would never call anyone else a freak, standing and staring at his own face--despite the realization that Steve was in there--it was almost cathartic to yell those things at himself. To get a feel of what everyone else felt when they yelled those things at him. To not be on the receiving end of it for once.

Except you didn't seem to see it that way.

While Eddie had felt like he had hit the jackpot all day, being in Steve's body, he knew that he really came out ahead when you showed up for your date with him. The thought briefly crossed his mind...if he broke your heart as Steve...it might be a better chance for him to ask you out and for you to say yes.

But considering that he might possibly spend the rest of his life as Steve Harrington...having you was too good of a chance to pass up.

He would rather have you as Steve, knowing you would never care for him as Eddie, than lose you altogether.

Except that might be exactly what he had done as you stood there glaring at him.

"W-what?" He asked nervously.

"Are you kidding me right now?" you exclaimed. "He...there was clearly something wrong with him. How could you say those things? How could you call him those names? And then he...he left...what if he gets hurt?"

"What do you care about Eddie Munson?" he scoffed.

"He's my friend!"

Fuck.

Hearing that made his heart ache in his chest. He was a friend. Yeah. Just a friend. Which is why...if he wanted to salvage this, he would have to think quickly.

"I just...you're right," he explained, holding his hands out defensively. "He looked like...there was something wrong. And you were so quick to jump in the way...what if he hurt you?"

"He wouldn't!"

"I was worried."

"He wouldn't have hurt me."

"Listen to me," he soothed and approached you carefully in case you lashed out again. "I...I care about you, honey. I don't want to see you hurt. And Eddie...definitely looked like he was ready to hurt someone. I needed to get him away from you."

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a moment, pulling at your fingers nervously as you contemplated his excuse.

"Alright," you finally nodded. "I understand."

"You do?" he asked.

"Yeah," you sighed. "But please...please don't do that again. Don't call Eddie a freak. He's my friend and he deserves better than that."

Eddie's throat got tight, wanting to scream--

It's me. I'm Eddie. I'm in here.

--instead he took a few steps closer and folded you into a hug. You shook for a second, and god damn did he feel like he was on the verge of shaking too.

He needed a distraction.

"So...how about that date huh?" He questioned after a few moments of savoring the feel of you in his arms. "You ready to go."

"Sure," you pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Where are we going?"

Eddie, of course, had no idea where Steve had planned to take you. His mommy didn't mark dates in his calendar like she did his work schedule. So he simply decided to make something up on the spot. One of his favorite places.

He simply told you it was a surprise and led you to Steve's BMW, opening the door for you like a gentleman should, before he got you both on the way.

His fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel as he drove. He debated asking you questions, but decided against it on the off chance that they were things Steve had already on your first two dates. And the music that Steve had in the car was abysmal and wouldn't do anything to calm Eddie's nerves.

You seemed content to stare out the window as he drove though, still fidgeting with your fingers as the drab scenery passed by once he got onto old highway 77.

A few miles past Starcourt sat "Stoney Creek Adventure Center," boasting a halfway decent arcade and two miniature golf courses. With all of the new amusements in and around Hawkins, it wasn't as busy as it was the few times his mom and Rick had taken him when he was a kid. But it was still pretty lively on a Friday night: some families with younger kids, a couple of teens who snuck into the windmill to get high and make out.

Eddie escorted you out of the car and watched as you stared at the half-faded turf and oversized obstacles.

"So?" he asked, hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

Your hesitation to answer made his throat tight again.

What if this wasn't a Steve Harrington-calibur date?

"Uh..." you paused and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "This is the place you took Nancy Wheeler? You said...you were taking me someplace she really liked."

Alright, time to make it or break it.

"I just thought you might like something different," he shrugged. "I thought...I've been bringing up Nancy a little too much. I want to enjoy new things. With you."

The way your gaze softened and you smiled at him...yeah, he was really fixing all of Harrington's fuck-ups. Give you everything you deserved.

"Oh, that's...yeah, that's really sweet," you giggled. "I...I didn't want to say anything...I know she was important to you. But I was actually starting to feel like--"

"Hey, listen," he interrupted you, knowing what you were going to say next...feeling a little smug that he was right. "The past is the past. I'm sorry I made you feel like you were playing second fiddle to Nancy."

"You really did," you confirmed.

"But I really like you," Eddie admitted, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as the words escaped him. Even though the voice he said them with was not his own. "I want you to feel important too. Ok?"

"Ok," you agreed, lips pursed and nose scrunched as you obviously fought a smile.

"Alright then, let's get to putting," he clapped his hands together and started walking towards the arcade to pay for your rounds of golf.

He stopped, however, as you grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't you think I'm a little overdressed?" you asked bashfully, gesturing down at yourself. "You told me we were going someplace nice."

He placed a hand over his heart and acted wounded.

"You're saying mini golf isn't nice?" he whimpered.

"No, it's perfect, I just..." you shrugged. "I don't know, I think...I don't even have a jacket or anything."

"Well tell you what," he said and peeled his Family Video vest from his shoulders. "As long as you don't tell Keith that I made you a temporary employee for the night--that's what this means you know, so don't take it lightly--you can wear my vest."

You didn't fight the smile this time, it beamed brightly in the golden afternoon light. You put the vest on and did a little turn, modeling it for him, looking slightly ridiculous with your fancy dress and the stupid green and orange vest.

What Eddie wouldn't have done right then to have his battle vest instead right then. To make you look like you were his girl and not Steve's.

"Beautiful," he told you truthfully. "Now you ready to lose? I happen to be a mini golf champion."

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

No...not in his dreams anymore...

At the end of the night, well past it getting dark, Steve drove you back to the strip mall parking lot for you to get your car and head home. But it felt no less romantic than it would have been if he was actually dropping you off at home and you were chatting on your porch before you went inside.

“I really did have a great time tonight,” you told him honestly. It felt like a cliché, like something from a tv show. But...despite the rocky start, you did have a great time and it was absolutely nothing you expected from Steve of all people, especially not after those first two dates. After all of the things you had doubted.

You had played both of the miniature golf courses, sat at the little picnic benches and shared a basket of half-soggy fries with ice cream cones--yours strawberry, his a chocolate-vanilla swirl--and chatted about your classes, and then ended the night beating the high score on Space Invaders.

Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe you were right to give him this last chance.

“It was kind of perfect," you continued. "Thank you.”

“Well, what can I say?” Steve beamed. “I’m full of good ideas, when I’m inspired to have them.”

“And I, um, inspired you?” You asked hesitantly.

“You have no idea,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t even believe what was going on in here even if I told you.” He tapped his forehead a few times.

You reached up and rapped your knuckles on the side of his head the way you would a watermelon to see if it was ripe.

“I dunno, sounds kind of hollow to me—Steve!!” He grabbed you around the middle and started tickling you. You yelped and giggled as his fingers relentlessly tapped and pinched at your sides. “Stop it.”

“Sorry, honey, I told you I was full of ideas,” he pouted playfully but didn’t let up. “You just looked awful ticklish; it inspired me.”

“I can’t,” you laughed. “I can’t breathe.”

“I guess I can stop,” Steve sighed, the tickling letting up for a moment. His hands stilled on your waist as you caught your breath and he inched closer. “I think I’m inspired by something else now, to be completely honest with you.”

And then he did a thing--something he had been doing all night--he was looking at you like he couldn’t really believe you were there with him. His eyes were sparkling and happy. His smile wasn’t the…signature smooth Harrington smile that you’d grown accustomed to the last few dates. It was wider, easier.

“Y-yeah?” You whispered. “What’s that?”

He leaned in closer, rubbed his nose against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and you exhaled softly.

"C-can I," he whispered, soft enough that you could barely hear him. "Can I kiss you, honey?"

"Y-yeah," you agreed just as softly. He hummed but didn't make another move, choosing to continue giving you such soft attention. It made your heart melt.

"You sure?"

"Please," you keened.

He let out a soft chuckle and pressed his lips to yours and you sighed.

If was all of the tender softness you deserved, but never knew in the fast, hormone-and-alcohol driven kisses you had experienced in high school. However few. You were simply surrounded by him.

His touch--his soft lips molding to yours, pressing, and his hands on your waist, pulling--constant and pleading for more but never pushing. His scent that invaded your senses--sharp and citrusy and fresh, like a summer's day. His sounds, that simple...constant little hum as the seconds ticked by.

He was everywhere and everything.

But...

You thought about Eddie earlier that day, the striking, wild look in his eye. So different from the Eddie you were used to, the Eddie you cared about, the Eddie your heart beat for over the past 5 years. You were worried about him, yes, but one thought occupied your mind.

How would Eddie have kissed you?

Your heart stung when Steve pulled away and you blinked back the burning in the back of your eyes.

You couldn't entertain those thoughts, not when Steve was standing right in front of you, after he had just kissed you so perfectly, and looked at you as if you were the only thing that could ever make him happy.

“G’night honey,” he murmured.

“Goodnight,” you whispered guiltily. "Goodnight Steve."

Eddie made it back to the Harrington's house with a big smile on his face.

He could do this forever if he had to.

Live in Steve's body, go to work at Steve's job, drive Steve's car, kiss Steve's girlfriend.

He'd been partially wondering on his drive back to the house--

Between the long, sweet moments of recalling your kiss.

--if this was, perhaps, some kind of karmic reward for all of the shit life had handed to him. A terrible father, a dead mother, a short attention span, and the entire town voicing their opinion that he was some dirty, rotten, trailer park freak. And then on the contrary, Steve--who had been given everything he never asked for and was an ungrateful shit--could have some karma as well.

As he made it up the stairs--the stairs, Eddie still couldn't believe it--to his new bedroom, Eddie thought about Wayne and did feel a little guilt. He definitely suffered just as Eddie did, maybe more so, simply for the fact that he had to put up with Eddie for 10 years and now would have to put up with Steve too. Eddie's stomach turned when he thought of all the things he did just to take something off Wayne's plate. Repairs around the trailer, grocery shopping and "making dinner" (which was usually code for some kind of takeout when he was too lazy to pop some frozen pizza in the oven). Not to mention the extra cash he made dealing...would Steve do those things now that they were stuck like this?

Where was Wayne's karmic reward?

There were so many things Wayne sacrificed for Eddie. And Eddie knew and did everything he could to give back to his uncle, as much as his uncle would let him. Now with this situation with Steve, he had to do a little more to lift what would end up being an additional weight off of his uncle's shoulders.

Maybe...

Maybe "Steve" could convince Mr. Harrington to offer Wayne some better, cushier job at the car dealership? So he wouldn't have to suffer as much as he did at the plant. He definitely deserved more, but this was the first thing Eddie could think of off the top of his head. After a few months it might be a new car, or some...help with a down payment on an actual house...or at the very least, a larger trailer so that he could have his own bedroom instead of that fold-out bed.

Yeah, that was it. He would think about how he would bring it up next time he saw good ol' Pa Harrington...but since the house was still empty almost 14 hours after Steve's parents apparently left for work that morning, it might not be any time soon...

Eddie opened the door to the bedroom--momentarily dismissing his thoughts of Wayne to consider if he should get some posters to cover the pretentious plaid-papered walls--only to find the light on and his own face staring back at him, scowling, as Steve sat propped against the headboard of the bed.

Eddie hesitated in the doorway, stunned.

“I told you this wasn't over, Freak."

Fuck.

Tag List: @luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8

[littlemissaddict]

Christmas Decorations - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Decorating the tree with Eddie doesn’t end as planned.

Word Count: 748

Moving into a new place at Christmas time was probably not their best idea as along with having to move in their own furniture and possessions, they were expected to also decorate for Christmas. Even though they’d only moved into a trailer a few doors down from Wayne and it wasn’t a big space, it took time trying to organise all their things and settle down into their new(er) surroundings.

She was in the small living room attempting to wrestle with the tree her parents had dropped off as a housewarming present along with some of the older decorations they no longer used. “Woah where did all this come from” Eddie’s voice comes from behind her and she turns to find him standing at the end of the hall coming from the bedroom, he’s changed into sweats and a ratty Iron Maiden t-shirt that is now more holes than material. She notes that his hair is still damp and shakes her head at him, no matter how many times she’d told him when he’d complained that that was why his hair was frizzy and pretty much uncontrollable, he never did dry it properly after a shower.

“Housewarming gift” she answers, eyes widening as she feels the tree slipping from her grasp until suddenly it stops. Looking up she finds Eddie, he’d moved towards her the moment he saw the tree slipping and his quick thinking made sure she was hurt.

Once he gets the tree stable on the base, they begin rooting through the boxes of decorations, beginning with the lights which required a bit of untangling so only after that and a lot of curses from Eddie do they finally go on the tree. “You know I thought this was going to be a lot easier” he mumbles as they lay the final wrap of wired lights around the tree,

“So how do you wanna do this?” he asks, eyeing the open boxes around them before he turns back to her.

“Well one of us could pass them out while the other puts them on the tree or we just grab them and put them on together that might be quicker” she suggests, shrugging as she perches on the arm of the couch, looking down to where Eddie has situated himself on the floor, already picking through the boxes.

“Sounds good, I’ll pass you them because you’ve got a better eye for this than me” he laughs, pulling out a shiny red bauble and handing it to her before he jumps up unexpectedly, startling her. “Music” he simply says, rushing off to grab his stereo and a couple of cassette tapes.Coming back into the room, he lists off the music options before finally setting it up and they get back to work.

There's a couple of times where she turns expecting him to be ready with the next ornament but instead his hand has stopped midway to the box and his gaze has been transfixed on her. It takes her a while to realise just exactly what it is he’s staring at but then looking down at what she’s wearing definitely gives him away. She’s in one of Eddie’s Dio shirts, a pair of shorts and a pair of fluffy socks on her feet. Unbeknownst to her everytime she has reached up to place a decoration on the tree, the shirt and her shorts have been riding up, giving him a nice view of her ass and she’s ready to call him out on it.

“Are you going to keep staring at my ass or are you going to hand me the next ornament?” she smirks, eyebrows raised in amusement as Eddie stares back at her with wide eyes looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights. “You’re ridiculous” she laughs as a red flush creeps up his neck but it’s not long before he’s laughing with her.

“It’s not my fault you’re practically rubbing it in my face,” he defends, knowing that she knows that he’ll use any excuse to stare at her body. “Just be thankful I have enough willpower to keep my hands off of you until we’re done” he practically growls, reaching over to grab a quick feel of her ass making her squeal in surprise.

“What if I don’t want you to wait” she giggles, watching him process her words before she’s off running to the bedroom and she hears his own footsteps following her through the trailer.

[daffietjuh]

Well, @alexmanesairstream asked, and I delivered, or at least, I hope so. She said: Damn. I love Alex Manes the way he is but can yall imagine if he got a tattoo - like a matching one with his squad- while he was away and Michael's reaction to seeing it for the first time oof.

So, I said I’d die, and then she asked me to write it. I am weak, so even though I’m supposed to be focussing on the SS and the Advent, I did. 

Michael hadn’t exactly been expecting this. Not after their (as usual) terrible attempt at communication. He hadn’t expected Alex to show up, especially not in his civilian clothes, especially not with declarations like he had. “Every time you look at me, it’s like I’m seventeen again”, Michael had wanted to make it clear that nothing changed, but when Alex didn’t respond, seemed confused and stunned and had started to move away, Michael had thought that it was just going to be another instance of Alex being overwhelmed and leaving. He needed time to process, generally. This wasn’t one of those times, or maybe it was, but he’d chosen the easier way out.

The physical stuff. The physical stuff had always been easy for them. At times, Michael found sex with Alex easier than breathing. It was sure as hell easier than talking. So he followed Alex into the airstream, helpless to resist. He didn’t have a lot of willpower when it came to Alex, especially not when the opportunity to kiss him and touch him and hold him was on the table.

So he spun Alex around in the limited space of his trailer and kissed him. Alex had always kissed him like he was trying to drown himself in Michael, like he wanted to burn the feeling of him into his soul, like he was trying to make sure he’d never, ever forget. Alex had the unique ability to turn Michael into a desperate mess with a simple swipe of his tongue, fingers clenching in his shirt and a hand digging into his curls. Hell, he could turn Michael’s world upside down with a single look.

So he kissed him, and he kissed him and he kissed him until all he could think about was Alex, all he could see was Alex all he could smell and feel and hear was Alex. His whole world, the whole universe, shrunk down to this little trailer and the man in his arms. When Alex bit his lip and pulled on his hair just right, Michael came to the conclusion he would die if he didn’t get Alex naked within the next five minutes. So he manoeuvred them away from the counter he’d been pressing Alex into and over to his bunk. He pushed Alex backwards, momentarily forgetting about Alex’s leg, he stumbled and landed on Michael’s bed with a small bounce.

The look Alex threw at him was one of mild annoyance mixed with surprise and a heavy dose of lust. Michael pulled off his own shirt in a slightly calculated move. Distraction. It worked because Alex’s eyes darted down and trailed over his torso. He didn’t give him much time to look though, because Alex on his bunk wasn’t something his body seemed to be willing to resist. He moved back towards Alex, his legs were already open and waiting for him and it send a shiver up his spine. Michael dove back in to kiss him again, and Alex’s hands trailed over his chest, down towards his belt.

Alex fumbled with the buckle as they refused to break their kiss. After a few seconds, Alex made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and Michael couldn’t help but let the quick laugh bubbling up escape. Alex pushed him back with a firm hand.

‘Off.’ He commanded. Michael tugged at the collar of Alex’s shirt under his hoodie in retaliation.

‘Off.’ He parroted. Alex rolled his eyes but started to shrug off the vest with sharp, hurried movements. Michael looked down so that he wouldn’t actually have trouble with his own belt. He’d never voluntarily admit to it, but his hands were shaking a little. Adrenaline, he told himself, that was why his hands were shaking.

He managed to get his belt off with minimum delay, he was going to throw Alex a smug look, that would spur him on and get him to do that thing where he’d pull at Michael’s hair just the way he liked it and-

Oh.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his hand out to the side a little, ready to drop the belt, mouth half open, lip curling up on its way to a smirk.

‘What?’ Alex asked, defensive.

Michael tried to swallow, but his throat felt really tight and really dry and he didn’t seem to be able to do anything about either of those things.

Alex had a fucking tattoo.

On his left side, over his ribs. Curling around his side was what looked like some sort of animal, a mythical kind of bird, it seemed. Cursive letters meandered underneath the creature, spelling something Michael’s brain couldn’t make out right now. It was clearly well done, professional, there was shading and the lines were sharp and stark against Alex’s skin. It almost looked like the bird could take off at any second, like it would lift off Alex’s skin and fly away. Its head was raised towards the sky, like it was begging to be taken away, to be released. It was beautiful.

The belt dropping to the floor startled him. Alex had pushed himself up onto his elbows, the tensing of his abs made the creature look like it was moving along Alex’s ribs and Michael couldn’t look away.

Before he could even think about it he dropped to his knees in front of Alex. The sharp intake of breath was clearly audible in the otherwise silent airstream. Michael reached out and traced his hand along the letters, Alex’s skin reacted to his touch, his muscles twitching.

‘Guerin, what the f-‘

‘You have a tattoo?’ Michael interrupted, unable to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth. He traced along the wings of the creature (phoenix, his mind supplied), and Alex pushed himself up further so that he was now properly sitting up. Michael managed to drag his eyes away from the black and tan magnificent creature and look up at Alex.

He was looking down at him like, well, like he wasn’t sure what to think. He was doing that thing where he was trying to hide his emotions and so all Michael could read on his face was “please don’t look at me like that”.

‘Yeah.’ His answer was a little choked and it betrayed the nerves under his attempt at a stoic exterior.

‘When did you get it?’ Michael asked. Alex’s sigh was frustrated as he brought forward one hand to rest it on Michael’s shoulder.

‘Is this really important right now?’

‘Yes.’ Michael insisted. ‘I need to know when you went from the hottest guy on the planet, to the hottest guy on the planet.’ There was an alien joke in there somewhere, but he was too distracted to think it through. His eyes were drawn to the way the bird danced over Alex’s ribs again as he took a deep breath.

‘Don’t be dramatic.’ Alex said firmly. ‘I got it along with all the other members of my last unit. We were on leave and we went to Amsterdam and got these done. We may have been a little high, but at least we had the presence of mind to go to a proper tattoo parlour.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ Michael managed and he looked up at Alex. Something in his face stuttered and after a beat, his stoic façade melted into a smile. ‘It’s a phoenix, right?’ Alex nodded silently, this throat working as he swallowed.

‘Rising from the ashes.’

‘The ashes of what?’ Michael asked. Alex looked down at the tattoo.

‘Our faith in humanity, the US government, the war we were fighting. It was about getting up again, no matter how many times you get knocked down. Rising above the image people have of you, above the judgements, above the nay-sayers and the pessimists. Giving yourself a second chance, allowing yourself to grow, to be better, to be reborn.’ Alex said with a wry smile. ‘We were feeling very philosophical, clearly.’

‘So it was a reminder, and kind of a protection?’

‘It was supposed to be.’ Alex said, clenching his jaw like he was trying to fight his emotions. ‘A fat lot of good it did us.’ Michael wanted to ask, but he was also afraid of the answer. The tattoo hadn’t been there the last time Michael had been with Alex, that meant he’d gotten it somewhere during his last deployment, the deployment that ended with Alex losing his leg.

So instead of asking, Michael leaned forward on his knees and pressed his lips against the tattoo. Alex’s breath stuttered and his hand on Michael’s shoulder tightened. He brought his hand up to rest over Alex’s breastbone and pushed him backwards softly. Alex let himself be moved backward, leaning to rest on his elbows again. Michael pushed himself forward to keep his mouth on the warm skin stretched over Alex’s ribs. From the tattoo, he slowly made his way up Alex’s chest, kissing and scraping his teeth over skin and Alex’s hands clenched on his shoulder and in his hair.

Alex’s breathing became more irregular as Michael got closer to his neck. When Michael pressed teasing kisses against the cut of his jaw, Alex seemed to lose what was left of his patience. He dragged Michael’s mouth back to his and kissed him with renewed fervour.

They fell into each other as easily as they always did, and if Michael’s hands (and mouth) kept drifting back to the bird soaring along Alex’s ribcage, well, that was only natural. How was he supposed to resist?

[heechulhamster]

Flawed Humans - Kim Jongin (Kai)

KIM JONGIN x Reader

Angst, Husband!Jongin AU. 4162 words.

Warnings: Mentions of sex and infidelity, and lots of angst. (I hate the fact that I can only write angst, it seems like I don’t have any sweet bones for a fluff) 

   You two are just humans, flawed and imperfect. Humans that were susceptible to mistakes and to break promises. He was fragile and you’re unforgiving. Jongin was too malleable and you were too stubborn.

(Inspired by the song  Humans by The Human League. One of my favorite 80s songs :)

+++

A glimmering color of gold, that was supposed to be the symbol of the love that never fades. The shape of a circle that emphasizes the infinite amount of time you were to spend with each other. And both of your initials symbolizing that it was something you own, whether that ownership be regarding the mere exorbitant jewelry lying in front of you, or the person whose other initial engraved upon it belongs to.

You stare at the wedding band you absentmindedly placed over the glass table, keenly examining all its features. And it was when you wonder, how a miniscule object can hold a boundless amount of sentiment attached and ordained by its owner. To others, it’s just an expensive metal forged into a piece of jewelry - a symbol of luxurious commitment. But to you, it is a metal that gave your life further meaning. It felt as if an extension of your existence, a portal from your ring finger to another person’s life - to his life. Well, it was.

You removed the ring for a reason.

There was always a restless feeling whenever the ring didn’t made contact on your finger. And you’ll typically be in a rush in search for the connection once more. But now, the skin that touched the jewelry itched, stinged, burned. Like a sore reminder of a relationship that turned sour, a promise that was broken, and a heart that was ruined - that he ruined.

So now you sit in isolation on the long dining table, your back facing the entrance that he could emerge from an any time now. All of your luggages are now packed and sealed in your room, ready to be picked up once the conversation you were dreading to engage in is over.

Then you hear the opening and shutting of the door. Your mere knowledge of his presence made your stomach turn a random degree, in pain, in disgust, in sadness. Your senses told you that he was approaching your place, and you breathed deeply. This is it.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him as his large hands started to envelop your torso from the back of your dining chair. His smell still that familiar musk that you love - yes, present tense, despite all the torment it stirs in your bones. You feel his lips on your cheek as his embrace around you tightens.

“What are you doing here all alone? I hope you weren’t waiting for me.” Jongin said with a chuckle before he lets you go and makes his way around the table to grab a cold drink from the refrigerator.

You swear you practiced the parting speech you were supposed to give. A rough explanation on why you’ll leave, a summary of his infidelity and how he broke you - and how much you’re unable to heal afterwards. But now like a dagger in your throat, your words were stuck and left silence on the thin air that enveloped the both of you.

“Work was a chaos today, Sehun kept on messing his lines up and we did a ton shit of retakes. Ah, the pain of the ass that boy is.” He started rambling regarding his job, his dream, his passion. The profession where you met him.

Jongin was just a simple production assistant when you met him, and you were just starting your way up an endless ladder of show business and landed a small role as a friend of the sister of the lead character. It was far off from your dream of formally acting and starring on the big screen but it was a start. You met him on set, the charismatic and promising crew member that was on one of his stepping stones to become an actual director.

You found yourself during the breaks in between takes with him hanging out in the back of a trailer truck. Sipping the much needed coffee for the shoot that transpired the whole night till the sun rises again. Chatting over the parts of your lives that you still didn’t know each other, seemingly catching up to the times that was before him and his life before he met you - as if the information would be useful as you’ll be spending the future together.

Maybe it wasn’t wishful thinking, as he asked you out after the production - not wanting to end your connection the same time the reel of the film ended. And two years after that, you gave your vows in front of your family and gave the promise of being together as long as your breaths are in the same rhythm as the other. And stand together as long as your heart beats the sound of his name and his bled yours in capital letters.The very same vow that he broke.

You decided to give up your futile dream of being a movie star not long after. Realizing that you just weren’t suited for the job, as the glitz and the glamour didn’t fit you nor satisfy you. You realized that the entertainment business was less of the art, and more of the business. An industry built on the capitalization of glamorous people to market them as what the society wants to be like. You deemed that as preposterous, you saw acting as a form of expression and art - and it just wasn’t it. So you shifted to the officework that most would say was legions of degrees more boring and black and white that the industry you used to be in. But you actually found happiness in the isolation and quietness of it.

However, Jongin is persevered to reach his lifelong dream of making art and imaginary universes on screen. To breathe conceptual characters unto life, making the ideas of writers translate onto screen and the audience. Which he actually reached, and became the wick of the time bomb that was your marriage.

It was inevitable for Jongin to meet a handful of astonishing, tempting, and young women who were eager to seduce him in their way up the industry ladder. You knew the hustle, it was dirty play but it’s how it works. Two years into your seemingly perfect and happy marriage, a promising young actress wannabe seduces your husband, the dashing director, her way into the lead role.

You weren’t supposed to find out. You sometimes wonder if you didn’t drop by on the set on unholy hours of the night. You drove 4 hours into the remote location they needed for the beach setting of the movie. Jongin has been gone for the better parts of the week, and besides for the natural longing for your husband, you wondered if he was resting enough to at least be at a functioning state or overworking yet again like the workaholic that he is. If you were to be honest, a peculiar intuition also fueled you to go there. A noticeable influx of texts from an unlabelled workmate flooded his phone during the few times that he was beside you when his new project started. He would usually be enthusiastic to tell each and every detail of an undergoing production but those past few days marked a decline in the information he gave. As if he was trying to hide something from you.

The hunches that you felt almost screamed at your face when a few of his crew looked as if all blood left their body when you appeared on the set. You just knew something was happening, but you were too afraid to conclude. It would be instinctive of you to crash on his trailer and catch him on the act, red handed. But what would that benefit you? An image to fill your nightmares with? A photographic memory of your husband, the love of your life, your Jongin, fucking a younger, sexier, and prettier starlet with the wide hips and small frame you could only be in memory. You’re sure you wouldn’t be able to bear with that memory, that image, ingrained in your mind for eternity so you faked a smile to his production assistant.

“On a break?” You tried to fake innocence, the image of a wife that was only here to see his husband - not catch him cheating.

Donghyuck, his young and loyal assistant was only able to nod. You see his tent illuminated from the inside, so you gestured that you’ll be on your way there. He opened his mouth, as if to warn you or hold you back from the nightmare that you’re imagining. It was rather a confirmation that your thoughts were real and God knows what’s happening inside that tent.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait for him outside.” And you smiled with a paint of reassurance for the young man. A face with the underlying image of pain, and a pair of eyes that was only a blink away from shedding tears.

And there you stood outside the tent, and it took all your willpower to not go inside and pull the homewrecker by her hair. Or kick Jongin by his dick that was probably engaged in a heated activity inside another woman. The sounds gave off what exactly has happening inside, it was the shattering of a vow, the destruction of your heart, and the invalidation of the future you planned for the both of you.

All for what? A steaming sex inside a collapsible tent with a woman with the body proportions of a goddess, the lips of a devious seductress, and the eyes of a feline.

Yes, that was all it took for him to ruin everything.

Maybe her image spoke of the way you did look like when you first met? Young and fresh and new, maybe that was he was looking for. Maybe Jongin was tired of the same old you that didn’t see proper taking care of the past few months because she was too busy for her office work.

After what seemingly took forever of you waiting outside the dreaded tent, two figures emerged from the flaps of the exit. One of a breathtaking homewrecker, and that of a cheater of a husband.  Both sweaty from what just took place, and Jongin was still buttoning his shirt when his eyes caught yours. His face turned from lust to an insurmountable amount of shock.

That was the last thread that was holding the floodgates from your eyes.

The first tear shed as you caught the other pair of eyes. You weren’t sure if she was just shocked, but she surely wasn’t apologetic. Damn, you couldn’t even pin a name on the slut that destroyed your marriage. A lame excuse of an artist who was willing to ruin a marriage in exchange of fame, or maybe she really lusted after your husband - the one labelled as the hottest director in the industry as to date. One who looked like he belonged more in front of the cameras rather than giving instructions behind it. You wouldn’t be able to blame her then, who could help themselves from wanting a taste of Kim Jongin?

But that Kim Jongin was yours, that taste was only yours for the taking.

Your eyes wandered back to Jongin when he spoke of your name. A bitter taste flooded your mouth in the thought that he still had the audacity to call you after what had transpired moments ago. You tried to win the situation and keep your calm, be the classy and mannered wife in front of the other woman and your cheating husband. With a small smile forming on your lips, your eyes wandered on his left hand. And there you saw the familiar shimmer of gold, a band of metal that’s full of promises and a future that can now be considered tarnished or obsolete.

“You didn’t even bother removing your ring, I see. That excited?” You said sarcastically.

“It’s not-” Jongin started as he took steps to you. To which you cackled a small amount of laugh at, he wasn’t actually trying to lie out of this wasn’t he?

“We both know what this is, Jongin.” You turned your head back to her. “I don’t usually have a knack for sharing, but it looks like I didn’t have control over the situation. It’s not my choice that my husband wanted to be shared.”

Jongin’s warm hands held your elbows, a usual gesture that you should be used to but now disgusted at. His warm brown eyes pleading for you to listen, or maybe for forgiveness as he accepted his defeat that he cannot be acquitted of the situation. So you just let your guard down and your tears fall, maybe it would break him to see you in pain if his love and care for you still existed in the deepest chambers of his heart.

“I hope it was all worth it, Jongin.” With that, you struggled out of his grasps and back into your car. It was blurry how you managed to get home with all the noise that occupied your mind - but you managed to go home safe, and it was needless to say that Jongin came barging in a few hours after begging for your forgiveness.

He promised a lot of things, that he would change for the better, that he would try and make things right, that he’ll never look the other way again, and that he would make it up to you. But were those band-aid solutions enough to mend the ruins that was left of your heart? You agreed to try again, still too stubborn and dumbly inlove with Jongin to let him go. You don’t know if you could start your life from scratch so you agreed to stay and maybe rebuild the things he broke.

And he indeed changed, he would always come home no matter how late the production ends and no matter how far away the locations were set. He always updated you on everything, as if he could lessen or eradicate the doubts that were bound to fill your mind when he was away. Jongin always let you meet the new actors he was working with and always introduced you as his loving wife, the love of his life, his everything. And maybe you would believe that he really viewed you that way. That if he labelled himself as taken and committed to a wife that waits for him at home, you’d be assured that he’s sticking to your vows that it was just you and him for better or for worse.

But for you, it was never the same. It’s unfair, for sure. But then again, he was the one who ruined the trust you built for him. Every flower he sends, you think that maybe he’s covering up for another mistake. That every call you get late at night was a facade he uses to hide his wrongdoings. And everytime he touches you, when his lips touch yours, you can’t help but remember that you’re not the sole body he made contact with even if you were already bound and tied by marriage. He tried his best but you were to ruined to take notice, too much of a mess to even build yourself back. You can’t even fix yourself at this point, what more your marriage?

And there was his damn ring that was a splitting image of yours, only a few sizes larger. You’ll never forget that he was able to cheat, to touch another, to break you, wearing the ring you put on him on your wedding day along with all your promises and dreams. It was a sore, painful, insult that the ring that meant so much to you wasn’t able to remind Jongin of the promises he said in front of your family and friend, the promises he made for you. That it will always and only be you.

And that’s why your own ring sat on the table and not in the middle of your fingers.

Jongin saw the blank stare of your eyes, either wanting to tell so much that it wouldn’t come out or just a space of nothingness. So you proceeded to talk,

“I’m leaving.” Was all you muttered to say of all the pieces of speech you prepared the past few days.

“Where are you going? We could take a vacation right after this production we’re only two weeks away from finishing-” You cut him off. There was a rushed sense in the way he spoke so you knew that he was aware of what you were actually pertaining to.

“I’m leaving for good, Jongin.” Your eyes met his warm gaze, his face painted of confusion and pain. ��My bags are packed upstairs, I just wanted to tell you formally so I waited for you.” You tried to smile as if it would lighted the burden of the situation.

“Why?” Was all he muttered to say, a contrast of the man he is with his way with words. All he was able to matter was a three letter word that he already knew an answer to.

“You know why, Jongin.” It was already a good four months after that night but you came to a resolution that everything was never going to be the same for the both of you so you came to this conclusion.

“I thought we were doing great, I thought we were being fine? I told you I’ll make it up.” He was a mess in front of you, the way his fingers rattled as he took the seat opposite yours and clasped your hands on the table. The way his words were a rattle rather than a concrete sentence. You couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him, to hate him, you still loved him so much. And the sight before you still brought a pang to your heart despite everything that happened.

“Was it not enough? I swear I’ll spend more time with you. After this- after this, I won’t take in projects to spend more time with you. Just don’t leave, don’t leave please. Let me fix this. Let me fix us.” Jongin put your hands on his cheeks and pressed lousy kisses on it as small drops of tears escaped his face which led to your own falling too.

“I’m sorry but I just can’t look at you the same way as before. I don’t know how to meet your eyes without breaking my heart. How to trust you when you’re away. How to accept your touches without ever thinking about how you touched her. It’s just not the same.” You explained. His hands still clasping yours as he sobbed on them.

His eyes trailed to the gold band on top of the table, one hand letting go of yours as he picked up the ring. “Why would you take it off? We’re still married, please put it back. Please, Y/N..”

A sudden surge of displeasure flooded your palate. “How could you be the one to remind me that we’re still married? I know, Jongin. I know very well. Weren’t you the one who purposefully forget that even if you still wore a fucking ring?” You stood up in disbelief.

“It was a mistake! It was a mistake that I fucking regret everyday. Are you just going to hold it against me forever? I’m trying to fix this -” His hands waved all over the place as he tried to make a point. “I’m trying to fix us! But you’re unfair and you’re not giving me a chance!”

“I’m unfair? I’m the one who’s unfair, Jongin? It’s not my fault I can’t trust you anymore. How can I? How can I trust you when you were the very person I dedicated my life to but disregarded that by fucking some starlet for her big boobs and tiny waist?” You were never fond of profanities but there was no other way for expressing the pent up anger and pain in your heart.

“And mistake? It was never just as simple as that, Jongin. It was a group of decisions you’ve made, choices you’ve taken even if you knew how much it would break me, how much it would destroy me, how much it would break us. And the fact that you still went for it like an excited teenage boy just destroys every piece inside me that makes me want to make amends with you. Because how could I live with the knowledge that you chose to ruin our marriage over something as shallow as sex?”

All he was able to do was stare at the floor, on nothingness.

“You know what? That’s the most optimistic point of view I had in the situation. At least you were still thinking of me. But sometimes I think maybe I was completely absent from your mind, that you don’t think of me anymore that’s why it was so easy for you.” The last strands of your strength just crashed. After all these time, this marked the first time you opened up about what he did. Because there was a silent agreement between you two that if you didn’t talk about it, it would feel as if it never happened. That his infidelity never existed. That she was just a speckle of imagination and the two of you were still the perfect couple you once were. But tonight, the front is dropped and the truth is told. That neither of you have healed from the trauma, that he’s still guilty and he’ll always be, and you’re still hurt and you don’t know if it will change.

“I love you, I love you so much, Y/N. I was wrong. I was so wrong, and I know that nothing I say would make it alright, that I couldn’t change what I’ve done. But believe me that I’m still mad at myself for hurting you, for ruining us. I’d do everything, fuck, anything to keep you here. Please.” Jongin is now kneeling in front of you as he clasped your knees, begging you to stay as he sobbed greater than you’ve ever seen him cry before.

“I can’t stay. I love you but I can’t stay. I’d only be fooling the both of us if I stay.” You also kneeled and put your hands on the either sides of his face as you asked his eyes to look back at yours. His handsome, ethereal face already scrunched up from all the crying and screaming. It broke you to see him like this.

You want to forgive him, to forget everything and start anew. But you just couldn’t do it, not right now, not this way when everything just brought you back to the pain.

“Just come back, please. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I don’t want to live my life without you in it. I don’t want it. Please come back, please.” He was a mess. Jongin is just an apologetic mess in front of you.

“I just need to leave to fix myself. And when I come back, then we’ll fix us. I just can’t be here and hope to fix our marriage when I’m a ruin inside. We should take the time off, reevaluate, maybe miss each other so when we see each other again we’re excited. Damn, I love you too much, Jongin. I don’t want to be away, but we need this.” Your foreheads now rested against each other. It was a blind promise, you don’t know how long healing would take you. But you knew you wanted to come back.

He let you go, physically that is. Jongin even helped you stack your luggages on the back of your car. But he didn’t let you go away without planting a kiss on every visible nook of your face, and without you promising that you’d come back.

Most people would consider you stupid for still wanting to come back, but back when you said in front of all the important people in your life that you were to love Jongin all your life no matter what - you meant it a little bit too much. And he already regretted the poor choices he made, you already saw how broken he could be if he loses you in his life. You’re just two shattered pieces that want to fit together again, but you know that won’t happen if the shattered pieces of your own beings aren’t even fixed.

You two are just humans, flawed and imperfect. Humans that were susceptible to mistakes and to break promises. He was fragile and you’re unforgiving. Jongin was too malleable and you were too stubborn. Two imperfect humans that felt whole when they are together.

So maybe when the downfall subsided, when the shrapnels start to fall back into its rightful places, and the heart he so rightfully owned started beating the right rhythm again - you’ll find your way back to him.

[starlightshowtimeproductions]

Eyes Locked, Hands Locked | Sooyun | Trial 2 | Re: Eiji, Clyde, Oiwa, Akira | ATTN: Everyone

Perhaps there were some things Sooyun expected from some of the others -- Eiji proving himself and displaying his scars wasn't one of them. She doesn't flinch, but will definitely remember that. Eiji earns a bit of respect.

Sooyun tilts her head at Clyde's refusal to show his shoulders, still smiling.

"Hm... nope! And since you're refusing, that's immediately more sus so take that as you will."

She couldn't help but giggle at Oiwa's response to -- oh my god -- shoulders. It took all her strength to not keep giggling when she offers the idea of voting incorrectly on purpose. Terrible, a fucking terrible idea expected from someone who'd been cancelled in Sooyun's eyes. Unfortunately, her willpower couldn't hold her back from sniping down Oiwa with words -- her tone seething with sarcasm

"Voting, on purpose? Is that your big idea now? Right, because Oiwa's ideas are sooooo great. They worked out really well last time, right? Remember?"

And then, her smile drops.

The look of impeccable disappointment plasters on her face. It lasts for a while, maybe a bit too long. Her eyes don't sparkle or gleam with joy now; they are hard and focused. There has to be some hard evidence, enough to stop everyone from voting for themselves and start voting for the true killer. Everyone's accounts of the night flash through her head in the meantime.

But she does nod when Akira speaks, wholeheartedly agreeing with them on the matter. Her expression softens when their voice drops, just a bit. She has something to say now, but lets them finish first.

"While we're talking about Clyde Raveron..."

Her smile doesn't come back. It's still the same ironhard expression.

"He said he went back to his Trailer at 10 PM because he "didn't want to get involved with the creepy eye monster". Which is kinda funny, considering no one else described it before he did. It's also funny that Shu-hua said she was in the Graveyard at 10 PM and saw the monster. Clyde said he avoided the monster, but how was he able to describe it? I didn't even realize that until it was pointed out... Okay the thing is: Clyde definitely saw the monster, and he couldn't have seen it unless he was either at the crime scene or somewhere else entirely."

[softjeon]

Love Bite | Pt. 2

• Pairing: Vampire!Namjoon x Jimin • Genre: Angst / Smut | Vampire!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 7,5k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue | AO3 • Disclaimer: blood, abuse, (sexual) violence, mindcontrol, mentioning of death

↳   “You’re right. I was lying. I didn’t want to scare you. But I guess there’s not much to do now, right? I’ll tell you the truth,” Namjoon spoke softly, the grip around Jimin’s wrists loosened a little but not enough to free himself, “…because you deserve it, because I pull you into a lot of shit right now just by being here. I am a vampire, Jimin.”

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“He did what?” Taehyung asked loudly, causing a few heads in the office to snap around at the both of them. Jimin shushed him immediately, looking at his co-workers apologetically, before he pulled Taehyung in a little closer. “He escorted me home,” He repeated quietly, “In his car. Alone. Just the two of us.” Taehyung raised his eyebrows, a shocked expression on his face, “You know that sounds awfully like one of those cliché romantic movies? Where the boss…”

“…falls in love with his employee, I know and no!” Jimin said determinately. “This won’t happen! I am just a bit…,” He lowered his voice, “Sex deprived…He was just nice to me and wanted me to come home safely.”

“But he never did that before!”

“And never did it again, so what’s the deal?” Jimin shrugged his shoulders, “It was a one-time thing!” Jimin smiled at Tae and then quickly ushered him to work before the other could think of more ways to make this even harder for him. He didn’t even want to dare to think about what he had done the next day. In the shower. Deeply caught up in his thoughts about his Boss. 

Namjoon.

Jimin groaned desperately, before he shook his head and tried to focus back on the document in front of him. “Work, Jimin, you need to get this work done,” He repeated the words to himself like a mantra. Being completely lost in his work, Jimin startled when a quiet ‘bing’ sound informed him about Namjoon’s appointment and he quickly gathered all the files that his boss needed neatly.

He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders and only then Jimin stepped into Namjoon’s office with a cheerful ‘Good Morning’.

“Good Morning.” Namjoon looked up only briefly, treating Jimin as if nothing had happened at all. “Are those the files for the upcoming meeting?” He asked before taking them from Jimin and putting them aside. “I’ll look them over and as long as you don’t hear from me again you can consider them perfect.” He grazed Jimin with a quick smile before asking, “Is there anything else you need?”

Jimin quickly shook his head. Nonetheless, he stood there frozen for a second, watching Namjoon as he put the files aside. He noticed immediately that one wasn’t in the right order. Biting his lip, Jimin groaned inwardly (cursing himself and his need for accuracy) and took a step closer, leaning over Namjoon’s desk a little to sort the files a new. As soon as Jimin stepped forward Namjoon leaned back. Outwards his face was the epitome of someone who was busy but relaxed - inwards he was flailing. He was goddamn hungry! Despite him having eaten just this morning. But something must have been wrong with the blood or maybe he needed to up his intake a little because Jimin just smelled delicious. Mouth-watering delicious. And it didn’t help that he looked so soft and pliant and would probably even bare his neck if he kissed him right there at the juncture of his neck where…

“Now it’s perfect,” Jimin said with a blinding smile and turned around again. Namjoon tried to steady his breath but luckily Jimin seemed oblivious anyway. He was out the door before Namjoon could even say thank you. 

Thank god!

The door wasn’t even closed behind him for longer than one second, when Taehyung jumped out from the side, making Jimin startle a little. “What is it now, Taehyungie?” He rolled his eyes, though he wasn’t really annoyed. He had learned to love Taehyung dearly over the past few weeks and it almost was like he knew the other for an eternity already. “It’s not about Mr. Kim this time, but look-,” Taehyung said and shoved the newspaper into Jimin’s hands, making him gasp from the headlines of the daily magazine.

“Another attack? That’s…that’s only a few streets away,” Jimin whispered only for Taehyung to hear, who eagerly nodded his head. “I told you, it’s like this thing is moving,” He said and Jimin remembered when they both had watched some movies at his apartment and how they had talked about the recent attacks. Taehyung was right. Whatever it was that was attacking people was coming closer. Jimin gulped against the lump in his throat.

Namjoon froze when he heard Taehyung’s fearful whisper. There it was. He knew it! Those vampires where just loving the attention. They must know that there was a company that was owned by vampires close to their hunting grounds. They had the whole city but decided to mess around here. So they were either utterly stupid - or just begging for trouble. And considering how efficient they shredded their victims, leaving nothing but horrible messes behind Namjoon was afraid it was the latter.

“You should really stop doing over-hours,” Taehyung said as they both walked back to Jimin’s desk. “Yeah, maybe,” Jimin began, “But I also need to finish this presentation. You know it’s important and I can’t disappoint Mr. Kim. I can get myself a taxi, right?”

Taehyung had only nodded at that, leaving Jimin to his work. The younger had tried to do as much as he could today and even hoped that he would get done early, so that he wouldn’t have to stay late one more night – but of course, fate wasn’t on his side once again.

“Stupid, fucking, thing!” Jimin cursed and slapped the copying machine later that day, “Just give me my stupid papers, please.” He was whining by now. Everyone else had left already, while Jimin was still trying to figure out why there was no paper coming out. He had promised Taehyung to go home as early as he could and before the sun would be down, but now it didn’t seem like he would. “Why!” Jimin whined once more, before he bend over the machine, hiding his face and hitting his head on the plastic shell of the copying machine.

Namjoon was rounding the corner when he stopped short in his tracks, blinking like an owl. Right in front of him there was an impressively noticeable piece of ass. 

Jimin’s ass. 

Presented to him as if he wasn’t already having trouble to get the other’s tasty smell out of his head. He coughed awkwardly and Jimin snapped up like a jack knife, face red and cheeks flushed. Great, more blood in the humans face. Just what he needed while it was getting darker and his inner vampire was starting to wake. If he kept on running into Jimin which resulted in him having to feed himself with blood bags like that he would have to get back to Hoseok tomorrow. Slightly annoyed he looked at Jimin, furrowing his brows, “May I help you with something?”

Namjoon caught him at his absolute worst moment and Jimin felt weirdly exposed. With pursed lips and his cheeks blushed he looked at his boss with big, wide eyes. “Yeah, I can’t…get my papers out. It won’t copy,” Jimin said, sounding as defeated as he felt, “I just need this and then I can head home. I know I am already staying over the time, but…the copying machine and…I am sorry, Mr. Kim.”

He sighed, a faint smile on his lips, “I try better tomorrow.” Facing the machine again, Jimin opened the lid and took out the notes that he had tried to copy all along and arranged them anew.

Namjoon tapped the machine, trying not to stare at Jimin who looked way too good while being flustered. “You know I always find it hard to copy when this thing is in scanner mode. But I’m sure your computer will appreciate the many scans you probably sent to it every time you pressed start.” Amused he watched as Jimin’s cheeks grew even darker and then this guy had the audacity to actually groan, deep and low and desperate in a way that went right to Namjoon’s gut. To his horror he could feel the telltale itch in his upper jaw right before his fangs would start to grow.

“Damn it,” Jimin cursed silently at his own stupidity. He could feel how close Namjoon was, feeling the warmth coming from his tall and lean body and he had to fight the urge to lean back a little and close his eyes. “Concentrate!” Jimin thought to himself, before he kneeled down, getting the papers one by one.

Looking up at Namjoon in his kneeling position, he smiled brightly, “It worked! Thank you so much, Sir….Mr. K…Namjo-, I mean…Mr. Kim.” The heat flushed back in his cheeks and Jimin bit his lip, his eyes flickering back and forth between Namjoon and the papers nervously.

Namjoon gaped right down at Jimin when the younger sank down on his knees fluidly. His fangs started growing, the tips gently poking into his bottom lip. Shit. But how on earth was he supposed to keep it in his pants when Jimin acted as if he was sin personified, dropping down like this as if he was just naturally submissive. It took all his willpower to not just grab Jimin by his neck to pull him up and push him against the wall to the left to sink his fangs into his warm neck and have his sweet, hot blood gushing into his mouth. His words sounded a little slurred in his attempt to keep his mouth as closed as possible to not show his teeth as he hurriedly answered, “It’s fine, don’t mention it.” Then he turned and rushed back to his office. He needed to calm down. NOW. Because there was no way he would let Jimin go out alone looking as delicious as this, practically begging to be bitten.

Jimin’s eyes followed Namjoon’s backside, fixated on the other’s broad shoulders for a second before he shook himself out of his stupor. He quickly got his papers and hurried back to his desk. No more daydreams about his boss. At least that’s what he had told himself.

Just like Namjoon had said there were tons of scans from the notes on his computer now and the younger started clicking onto the little ‘x’ in the corner. One by one. Then he turned to look out of the window once, deeming it still bright enough outside to open a new document. He would only need to scribble down a few things and then Jimin could figure out the rest for the presentation tomorrow.

Being so focused on his work, moving quick from papers, to files and back to his document, Jimin didn’t notice when Namjoon had settled onto the chair right in front of his desk. How could he, when the vampire was moving inhumanly quiet. Pursing his lips into a pout, Jimin tipped his finger at his lips, mumbling quietly to himself, when a sudden slurping sound made him startle – again.

“Mr. Kim!” Jimin yelped, a little too loud, “You really need to stop sneaking up on me. I thought you said, I needed to take care of myself, well…I might die from a heart attack if you keep doing this.” The younger chuckled cutely, noticing the weird tetra pack that Namjoon was drinking slowly.

“Well as far as I remember I also told you to stop working too late.” Namjoon pointedly looked out the window where the sun was just a barely there, reddish shimmer over the rooftops. “And as you seem so eager to ignore my suggestions I guess there’s no other way for me to remind you of this than to repeat my offer to drive you home. And when I say ‘offer’ I mean ‘friendly suggestion where no isn’t an option’,” He put his tetra pack aside, got out of his chair and gave the human a stern look. “Will you come with me right now or do I need to persuade you further?”

Jimin blinked a few times, the rough voice of Namjoon sending a shiver down his spine, settling low. Wait…did that just turn him on? Not wanting to linger on that thought any longer, and not wanting for Namjoon to go out of his way - again, Jimin hastily cleaned his desk and put the files away. “I’ll be finished in a second, Mr. Kim,” He said and to his luck, Namjoon turned to his office – probably to get his own stuff. Jimin took the time to push the button on his computer to shut it down as well, before he stuffed the things he needed into his bag quickly. He almost ran to the elevators, not wanting to Namjoon to follow. He would be going home alone tonight. He didn’t need an escort or another drive home. Jimin had enough daydreams about his boss already. He really didn’t need more to feed his desperation, or his guilt for making his boss do this. Jimin really couldn’t let this happen again, so if Namjoon saw that his desk was all tidied up and Jimin was on his way home then he would just let it go - hopefully. He just needed to be fast enough…

Namjoon was almost amused about Jimin’s attempt to run off without him. Of course the younger had no chance because it only took him a second to catch up. He waited before the elevator came and Jimin relaxed deeming himself alone and ready to go on his own, before Namjoon coughed slightly. The elevator doors opened, revealing the mirrors inside and showing Jimin what his situation actually looked like; with the younger a few steps ahead and Namjoon right behind him, sporting an amused smirk and a dangerous glint in his eyes that said ‘if you want to trick me you have to try a lot harder my dear’.

Jimin yelped when he saw Namjoon in the mirror of the elevator, before a deep sigh followed. Turning around, he showed off an innocent smile, “Well, it was worth a try, right?”

Pliantly Jimin followed his boss once more into the elevator and down his car, where he sat down on the passenger seat. It was only the second time, Namjoon brought him home but it already felt quite familiar. Singing quietly to the music that was playing in the radio, Jimin didn’t even mind it as much as he thought he would. It was actually…nice.

Namjoon was surprised that Jimin felt comfortable enough around him to hum and sing a little but he didn’t mind in the slightest. The human had the voice of an angel and he wondered why on earth Jimin was working an office job instead of singing on a stage. Although a part of him was grateful that he did, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to listen to his singing right now - and selfishly he felt to urge to keep Jimin and everything he entailed all to himself.

“Thank you for driving me home, again,” Jimin spoke up, when they turned into the street where his apartment was. Before he got out though, he searched for his wallet, getting out a few bills to give to Namjoon. “Gas money,” Jimin explained quickly with a smile when the other just looked at him confused.

The vampire shook his head, firmly placing the money back into Jimin’s hands and keeping the younger’s palms in between his for a while so that Jimin couldn’t pull them back or try to give him the money again. “There is no way I’m going to let you pay me. We both know who is higher in the food chain here which means a different paycheck for the same hours of work. If you really want to do me a favor then stop ignoring my warning and staying in the office past sunset. If this is some strange way to get my attention you can just say so.” His tone of voice together with the playful smile gave away that he was definitely joking about that last sentence, making the younger one blush and stumble out of the car only seconds later. 

His apartment was dark as he entered and Jimin threw the key onto the kitchen table, before he shuffled right into his bedroom. Letting himself fall onto the soft cushion of his bed, he sighed deeply, wondering about Namjoon again. 

Everyday the other seemed more of a mystery to him. And somehow Jimin was starting to like him. Groaning low, Jimin threw his arms over his face and whined. He was just desperate and alone – that’s all, and that was what he kept telling himself. Namjoon was just a nice boss. Someone who took care of his employees and Jimin was nothing special. But why was Namjoon so caring towards him especially? Yes, maybe Jimin was the only one that stayed so long after work and with the attacks happening, he really should be more careful. But why did he care? He could replace Jimin so easily, right? Turning around, Jimin hit his head into the cushion repeatedly, groaning in frustration.

...

“So, you’re telling me that he brought you home ...again?” Taehyung whispered, while Jimin uncomfortably poked around in his salad. “Can we stop talking about work, please? We have lunch, let’s just enjoy our salads,” Jimin mumbled, stuffing his face with food so he wouldn’t need to talk more but of course Tae wasn’t finished.

“Be careful, okay?” He said and Jimin perked his head up. “It’s unusual that he is so nice to you. I don’t trust it,” Tae said, taking a sip from his coffee, “He’s quite aggressive after all. Anger issues aren’t something you want to deal with.” Jimin rolled his eyes at that, “But you said it yourself that he’d never been angry towards another person, just furniture. I think he’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yes,” Jimin nodded firmly, “I do. And that’s it. Just that. My boss is cute and there’s no problem with thinking that.” Taehyung had raised an eyebrow at that but let Jimin have his point of view.

Walking back towards their desk, Taehyung was talking all about the photography project he was doing for his second major, when all out of a sudden a horrible crashing sound came from Namjoon’s office and kept everyone frozen in their place. But it wasn’t even seconds after it happened, when everyone focused back on their work. Jimin furrowed his brows at the odd behavior. “What…what was that?” He asked, and Taehyung shrugged his shoulders as an answer. “I told you he has anger issues.”

...

“Godfuckingdammnit!” Namjoon cursed under his breath, trying to keep from throwing something in frustration. He just couldn't get those attacks out of his head and he was losing sleep over getting a certain employee home and then worrying about him in general because he was getting too close to him and also because he smelled so nice and he was hungry, so very hungry all the time and now, right when everyone else was there in the office, back from their lunch breaks and ready to continue work, right then did he have to stumble over a cable, entangle himself in the loop it made on the floor and knock the whole thing over. Right onto the floor. Where it just shattered. With an annoyingly loud bang and about a million little pieces to pick up. God how he hated this! Why couldn't he just ignore the aesthetics and get an interior made of concrete and rubber?

Meanwhile Jimin’s stare was fixated on Namjoon’s door, as he bit his lip in thought. “I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s not a good idea,” Taehyung said, trying to push Jimin towards his desk, “It happens, we all pretend like it didn’t and move on.”

Seeing the files on his desk, Jimin grabbed them quickly and turned towards Tae with a faint smile. Namjoon needed them anyways, so taking a quick look to see if the other was okay wouldn’t hurt right? He could always say he was just doing his job. "I will just bring him these and make sure he’s fine,” Jimin nodded determinedly and walked along, only to stop right in front of Namjoon’s door. His heart beating fast. He was nervous.

He knocked twice and then Jimin opened the door slowly to let himself in, not even waiting for Namjoon to say something. Closing the door right behind him, the younger’s gaze fell onto the shards, then onto his boss. “Are you okay, Mr. Kim?” He asked cautiously, but as soon as Jimin saw that Namjoon hadn’t hurt himself (at least there was no blood), he let out relieved breath. 

There had been a knock on the door and before Namjoon could say anything it opened hesitantly. It was Jimin. Of course it was Jimin, the human was wherever he went, in his office, in his car, in his dreams. There was nowhere he could hide from him and his damned delicious smell.

“You should be more careful,” Jimin chuckled to lighten the mood a little, while Namjoon was just staring at him. Without saying anything further, Jimin kneeled down, carefully starting to pick up the shards that were lying around.

“Jimin, what are you...” 

Normally no one else dared to enter when he broke something. Of course Namjoon had heard that they falsely thought of his clumsiness as aggressive acts but honestly, he didn’t mind. That way they didn’t wonder how on earth he had managed to break a whole table in half by simply falling onto it, they just fabricated their rumors about how he must have thrown the heavy paper weight onto it while throwing a tantrum. And it also made them keep their distance which came in handy with all the secrets he had to hide. Jimin however seemed determined to completely go over those social rules and be his angelic self, apparently looking out for his boss despite him being said to be dangerous.

Jimin was carefully placing shard by shard into his hand and then threw some into the bin, before he repeated his work. Maybe he could have gotten a broom or something familiar, but he actually didn’t know where he should have looked for one, so this seemed the perfect solution.

All while Namjoon just stared at Jimin in confusion as the younger started picking up the shards. Why on earth was he acting so nice towards him? Was this Jimin’s way of paying him back for driving him home because he hadn’t accepted the money or...

A whiff of blood met his senses and he hastily gripped the backrest of his seat tightly, knuckles turning white as he desperately tried to look absolutely unfazed by this.

“You can go and get yourself a coffee or some water, Mr. Kim. I can take care of this and then…” A sudden pain in his finger, made Jimin flinch and suck in a sharp breath. “Did... did you cut yourself?” Namjoon was excessively proud of himself when his voice barely wavered. He rounded the table, ignoring his own inner voice who told him to stay the hell away from Jimin and kneeled down besides the other. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jimin. You didn’t have to clean up my mess.” His eyes fixated on Jimin's hand that the younger kept hidden while pressing it down onto his thigh. “Show me.”

Jimin hesitated at first but it hurt too much to not let Namjoon help him. Maybe the other had a first aid kit in his office with some plaster, so they could fix it up really quick. “It hurts,” He whined quietly and let go off his hand. The blood dribbled down, when Jimin held it up and watched as a small stream of blood trailed down onto the floor. Namjoon was so close right now that the other could smell his cologne and for a second Jimin forgot about the fact that his blood was dripping down right now.

The vampires head got dizzy from his want and he felt like a fledgling again, unable to control his appetite, with no sense of self preservation or self control present. Still he had added a few hundred years of practice and self-improvement, so when he took Jimin’s hand in his his grip was gentle and his eyes were entirely human when he spoke. “I’m gonna still the bleeding now before I patch you up. You’re lucky the splitter didn’t get stuck.” Then, without another warning he put Jimin’s finger into his mouth.

It was heaven. Pure, unadulterated, heavenly bliss to taste the warm, fresh, unadulterated blood on his tongue. He could barely hold himself together to not moan low at the taste. Jimin’s scent was nothing compared to what his blood was like in his mouth, just like a scentless chamomile, a wallflower really - and Namjoon was sure he would never be able to forgot the feeling of this first lick, the first hint of Jimin’s essence on the tip of his tongue before it hit him what a delicacy he really had in front of him.

Jimin’s breathing was steady. He blinked his eyes a few times, his mouth opened to say something, but he couldn’t utter a word. His heart beating slow and then fast as he felt the blood rushing through his veins out of a sudden. He felt Namjoon’s lips, warm and gentle on his skin and he felt hot and cold at the same time. Closing his eyes involuntarily, Jimin leaned his head back, baring his neck a little when a quiet moan spilled from his lips. The pain long gone, and his nerves calmed instantly, replaced by a mild euphoria that put him at ease.

The soft sound went straight to Namjoon’s head and he instantly pulled back. Jimin had his eyes closed, his neck involuntarily bared and Namjoon was shaking with the effort it took him to not lean in and lick along the column of his throat. His teeth were showing and all he wanted to do was break the soft skin on Jimin's neck and just indulge himself in the delicacy that was his blood, feast on the sweet crimson that lingered underneath his skin, just waiting to be fully appreciated. His mouth watered and he could feel a hungry growl start to built up in his chest so he quickly got up, swallowed it down, turning around to crouch behind his desk, rummaging in the drawer, pretending to look for band aids or something while in reality he leaned his head against the wood, trying to will his hunger away, make the fangs disappear, telling himself to, “Calm down, calm down, Namjoon, calm the fuck down or else you’re gonna ruin everything!"

“I..I don’t have any band aids here, let me get them from the other room. I’ll be back in a second, just don’t touch anything please.” His voice was low and gravelly as if he was recovering from a cold - although what he was trying to ‘recover’ from was way more dangerous. A part of him whispered that he shouldn’t try to fight it, that drinking from Jimin was what he really needed and that he would deal with the consequences after, maybe hypnotizing him, maybe drinking him empty and hiding his body, who would have to know, he just smelled so nice and tasted so heavenly he just had to have a proper taste of him… but Namjoon angrily pushed that voice inside of him down. He hadn’t need to deal with his dark side for a long time and knowing that just a few drops of Jimin’s blood brought his deepest urges back to surface scared him properly. But he was way stronger than that, had been for a long time now and so he leaned onto the sink in the bathroom next door, staring at his own pale face in the mirror while letting the cold water run over his wrists and arms until he could watch his fangs disappear and his breathing go back to normal.

Jimin on the other hand, had let himself fall onto his bottom, sitting there with confusion written all over his face and shards all around him. The bleeding had stopped, but the cut was still there. The pain slowly coming back. What had just happened? Jimin looked at the door, then back to the shards and the blood that had been dripping onto the floor, coloring a few spots red. He gulped heavily, when he thought about how Namjoon had hold his wrist, sucking on his finger so deliciously that it...apparently had turned him on. Instead of pulling his finger away, it had sent a shiver down his spine, making him feel euphoric and way too hot. Jimin groaned desperately, not really sure why he had reacted the way he did. Or why Namjoon even did such a thing? When the other finally came back, Jimin looked up at him with big eyes, still holding his finger patiently. 

“You...you licked me,” Jimin said, his eyes following every movement of Namjoon until he was kneeling in front of him again.

Namjoon made sure to keep his expression as neutral as possible as he answered, “Yes, saliva has antiseptic properties. I didn‘t want you to get an infection and didn‘t have any antiseptics here. I‘m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.“ He prepared one of the band aids and wiped the last remnants of blood from Jimin‘s finger so that he could apply it. As soon as he was finished he got up, putting some distance in between Jimin and himself. “If you want to you can take the rest of the day off.” He wasn’t suggesting that because if the cut, it was just a little nick but because he was hoping that he might get his obsession for Jimin’s taste out of his mind if the other wasn’t so close all the time. Maybe he should ask him if he had plans to go away on holiday?

“Oh, okay,” Jimin nodded at Namjoon’s suggestion to take the day off and slowly got up. He didn’t turn around, yet as he was still busy looking at his boss for a moment too long. “Th-thank you,” Jimin stuttered quietly, “And…I’m sorry I made more of a mess.” Only then the younger one turned around with his head low and his injured finger tightly held against his chest. He didn’t answer any of Taehyung’s question and told him he would call him later, before Jimin got his bag and simply made his way out. He needed some fresh air and a clear mind. 

He still felt a little bit in a daze.

Namjoon was glad that Jimin had taken his advice and it actually was a little easier with Jimin not being around him. But nonetheless he was still pretty far from getting the younger out of his head. If this would continue like this then he would soon get pretty desperate. Maybe he should give in to Hoseok’s suggestions in some way and ask him if he knew any non-hypnotized humans that were around the mansion that wouldn’t mind being bitten by him. Normally the ones that stayed out if their own free will had one specific vampire who was allowed to fed from them but asking couldn’t hurt maybe there was someone around who liked being bitten in general. He really needed to get himself a real, warm meal if he wanted to put up with his little blood crush on Jimin.

Another nice side effect of Jimin already being home was that he could work in his office instead of having to take him home. Strangely enough his concentration wasn’t the best so instead of working late night how he had planned he decided to take a walk. Nothing compared to walking through the streets alone at night under the light of a pale moon while breathing in the crisp night air that tasted like secrets and hidden promises.

In all of Namjoon’s years of living as a vampire, he’d never shown such a lack of self-control or intense reaction to anyone. Especially now that he had tasted him. Why was Jimin’s heartbeat so clear and enthralling each time he was close? He heard heartbeats of humans all day and had grown so accustomed that over the years it had become white nose. But not Jimin’s. And now that he had gotten a taste of his blood it had only gotten worse. He tasted even better than he smelled. Namjoon groaned and in the swell of lust and a moment of weakness his fangs emerged and the vampire had to be fast getting out from the main streets where he could bump into people any time and into the shadows of some dark alley. He stood in the dark and touched his lips as they curved into a smile. Namjoon could still taste him on his tongue and the lingering effect of his blood echoed through his body. It had only been a few drops.  But Jimin’s blood had awoken the dark side in him, but there was more to it. Licking his lips, Namjoon kept walking, being deeply immersed in his thoughts. He craved more than flesh and blood. He craved him. More than he cared to admit.

...

The woman was drunk, her hair had loosened wildly around her shoulders. He had been waiting all night for this opportunity, so when she left the bar he followed her. Usually the women were more careful at night, especially with the rumors of the attacks around and mostly took a cab right away but this one didn’t give a damn. The man growled low and the woman turned to face him. Sensing danger, she began to run from him, but she was unsteady from the alcohol in her system and fell before she could even reach the main street. He was on her in a moment.

He pinned her down with his strong arms as she stared up at him in fear. The mask was keeping most of his face hidden, only his eyes – blood red – were staring right back at her. She screamed, when he tore it away and the needle sharp canine teeth sunk into her skin. The man became more excited, biting the woman repeatedly, not even caring about being careful, before her eyes went blank and her trembling body stopped moving. He leaped up from the woman, his muscular body driven by adrenaline. He could her faint noises. Someone was close. “Fuck,” The vampire hissed, driven on by the familiar high he always had following a kill, he jumped up a few fences and climbed up a roof quickly.

At first Namjoon had thought that the whiff of blood was a memory of Jimin’s taste, some kind of coping mechanism of his body to deal with the sensory overload but then it became stronger. Way stronger. As if someone had spilled it. His breath stuttered when he realized what it could mean and as soon as he rounded the corner his intuition was confirmed. There was a body of a young female splayed out on the pavement, her clothes shredded, just as much as her flesh. The blood had painted the cloth, her skin, the ground beneath her and Namjoon got dizzy from the overwhelming sight. So much blood! It got him sick how his body still reacted to it with hunger, which meant that the body must be still warm and as he knelt down he could feel that he was right.

Licking his lips slowly, the vampire strode across the roof and glanced at the alley six floors below as a grin cracked his face. His misfortune had turned into luck. The vampire knew the man, whose face turned paler than it already was, when he saw the dead woman. They had observed him for quite some time and knew this was vampire territory. One that they wanted to claim. And this particular vampire was high at rank. They knew how close he was to the vampire leader. He growled low and quiet, watching the other vampire kneel down and reach out for the lifeless woman. Only then he dropped soundlessly to the dark alley below and landed on his feet as sure as an alley cat. 

“Hello, Kim Namjoon,” The rogue vampire hissed, his voice sounding even lower through the mask, his gaze piercing through Namjoon.

Namjoon had been so concentrated on what was in front of him that he flinched hard at the sudden appearance. Fear ran through his veins at how easily the vampire had approach him without Namjoon noticing and he hastily scanned the scene, trying to decipher if there were others around and hiding as well. What was also unsettling was that this guy knew his name - while Namjoon had absolutely no idea who he was. But now he had a chance to change that. He stayed where he was, trying to see through whatever game the other was playing and pretended to be absolutely fine although his body was as tense as a bowstring and he had to suppress the warning growl in his chest. He had no idea what the other was capable of so he better talked first and fought later.

The rogue vampire was fast, driven by the fresh blood in his system that made him feel invincible. In a second, he was right in front of Namjoon’s face, cocking his head to the side. He eyed him dangerously. Leaning in the rogue vampire sniffed the other and chuckled low. This would be easy, he thought to himself. Though every vampire had their own, individual scent - Namjoon’s was quite unique. His hand soared up and wrapped around the vampire’s neck, as the rogue one growled low, “You’d make a great present for the king…if only you’d be a little more dead.” Pressing down onto Namjoon’s throat, the rouge vampire laughed, “But I can change that.”

So much for talking first... Namjoon held onto the others arm with both hands and kicked him right into his solar plexus with as much force as he could muster. The second it took for the other to catch his breath he tried to push him down, turn his arm onto his back and held him there but he had absolutely no chance. The other was crazy, not only crazily strong because of his meal but also crazy in the way he acted. He completely ignored the pain in his shoulder and whipped around, snapping at Namjoon like a rabid dog. And the worst was that Namjoon felt like the other would get the upper hand if he didn’t manage to turn the table right now. No matter how much older he was in the end a sated vampire would always win over a hungry one and right now they were exactly that. The second Namjoon decided that instead of trying to catch the rogue to bring him into questioning for Hoseok he should just try to get out of this with as little damage as possible the other vigorously bit into Namjoon’s shoulder, piercing the flesh easily. The victorious howl he made was inhuman and Namjoon felt a fresh wave of fear hit him. This was starting to get tricky.

It took all of Namjoon’s strength to take a leap at the vampire, hitting the other right onto his jaw and making him stumble back a few steps. It was the moment Namjoon needed to get a few inches between them, before the rogue vampire was on his feet again and behind him. Only this time, Namjoon turned around, running inhumanly fast to try and get away from the other. It would be no use fighting him and he still had seen enough to get at least some information to Hoseok – but for that he needed to stay alive. The rogue vampire let out an animalistic growl, as he ran right behind Namjoon with ease. Even if the other would hide from him, he could still track his smell.  

His head was buzzing with thoughts, he needed a plan to escape and he needed it now because every second he was still out in the open the other was getting closer to him. He needed a distraction, a place where no one but him could reach. Running somewhere with lots of people wasn’t an option in the middle of the night because the only place like this that was near was a night club and no one would take notice of him there, the loud music and flickering lights would only be the perfect hunting ground for the other. He couldn’t outrun him, he couldn’t protect himself with the presence of other people, the only thing that was left was trying to hide but the other would just follow his smell unless he drank from someone (which happened to change your own unique smell for a while if you drank enough) which wasn’t an option, both morally and time wise - or he could try to mask his scent with a human one through hiding really close to someone. But he couldn’t just break into someone’s home and he neither had the time nor talent to hypnotize them in a hurry which meant they would scream and then the rogue one would him him nonetheless and...

Namjoon started to panic. Then it dawned on him. He had one chance. One single, tiny little chance. Jimin. If he managed to hide at Jimin’s home he might trick the other into losing his trace.

The rogue was right on Namjoon’s feet, as they were climbing up some walls, running over rooftops, chasing each other. “Just stop fighting, Namjoon!” The other yelled, “It won’t hurt, I promise.” The vampire laughed, and his speed didn’t even falter one second, instead he only got faster. He was panting though and when he reached for Namjoon’s jacket, the older vampire slipped out of it easily, making the rogue one tear it apart in anger.

The little stunt with his jacket made him stumble, just once, but it slowed him down enough for the other to catch up. Namjoon didn’t have any time left to decide if he could risk pulling Jimin into this. It was now or never. Trying to escape and risking Jimin or dying at the hand of that rogue. He didn’t think twice. One didn’t manage to live hundreds of years if you didn’t have a strong will to live. He turned around at the edge of the roof, looking at the rogue again to try and get another chance at maybe seeing something that could help him find out who they were - then he let himself fall.

Each and every vampire had their own special ability. They mostly reflected a part of your character or a talent that you were really good at, little things that you had been good at during your human life and that you now were amazing in your vampire life. The older you were the better those abilities could be developed and the crazier they expressed themselves. Namjoon had the ability to change forms. Not that many forms, only one, actually. A bat. Like a very small, very cliche version of vampiric shapeshifting. So the moment he fell of that roof his body changed and what finally fell down onto the ground wasn’t his body, but simply his clothes.

The rogue vampire let out another loud growl when he saw that Namjoon had slipped right through his fingers. He hadn’t seen the small bat, but could still smell Namjoon’s scent. So he closed his eyes, trying to focus on it. Only moments later, he snapped his eyes open again, a wicked smile graced his lips.

On the other side of town, Jimin was yawning while he was waiting patiently for the water to boil. He leaned against the kitchen counter, raking through his hair tiredly. The incident with Namjoon had been on his mind all day and he had wondered about him once more. But in the end Jimin had only settled on thinking that Namjoon was just a little weird - but still cute. The call with Taehyung hadn’t been more helpful to sort his thoughts out, because he had only warned him about Namjoon once more. Sighing deeply, Jimin turned and poured the hot water into his tea cup. He brought it to his night table, before he shuffled over to his wardrobe to get out some pajamas.

Jimin had really thought that moving back here would turn out a little easier. All he had wanted was a little bit of peace and quiet. Maybe a flirt or two and not thinking about his own boss in the shower. Twice. Pulling his pajama pants on, Jimin sat onto the soft cushion that was his bed and reached out for the book he was reading. Just as he read the first few sentences a sudden cold wind howled through his apartment, followed by a weird noise that sounded awfully like a bird that had gotten lost - did he forgot to close the window again? Jimin shivered from the sudden cold. Very slowly he got up and peeked into his living room. What he saw made his words stuck in his throat. This couldn’t be. There was Namjoon standing right in the middle of the room, staring right back at him - naked.

A/N: Tadah! Now we know why he was naked ;) Leave us a comment on how you liked this chapter! Your lovely messages and encouraging comments always make our day and keep us motivated! Thank you, really! ❤❤❤

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[gelenka-daria]

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod could you the bad pick up lines for Melkor and Manwe for the 3 paragraphs challenge?

“You know what we need? One of those ridiculous coffee house AUs. I’d die for one where Manwë works at a Café and Melkor’s absolutely smitten.”

i mushed these prompts together if that’s alright cus holy shit i have so many more to go through, anyway, it’s a little rushed but i hope you like it!

“Is your mother a beaver? ‘Cus damn!”

Everybody on their table, except for him, groans. “Next,” Námo demands impatiently, rubbing his temples. This had been going on far longer than it should.

Tulkas cackles around a mouthful of cake on the other side. “I thought you were good at this, what with you always having someone hanging off your arm.”

Melkor glares daggers his way. The spiteful brute. He can’t protest, though, because it’s true, this was his lane, he’d never had trouble getting whoever he’d wanted, but nothing he’s come up with so far was good enough to make Manwë drop everything and drop on his lap. He’s off his grid. He must be having a bad day. The worst.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Nessa asks, patting her boyfriend’s back as he chokes on said cake.

Melkor scowls at her. “I can’t just ask him out, I need to get his attention first, woo him, make a monumental first impression.”

“And you’re planning on doing that using some of the worst pick up lines to ever exist?” Vairë asks blandly, stare just as flat.

“Fine,” he huffs and leans back in his chair, spreading his hands open to his companions on the table of the café just a block from their campus. “Since I can’t apparently function today, why don’t you offer your own input? I don’t think any of you can come up with a single better line.” He narrowed his eyes, daring each and every one of them.

Nessa coughed, eyes not meeting his. “Sure. ‘I think that you’re hands are heavy? Would you like me to hold it for you?’” She says, voice just a bit above a whisper.

An awkward silence follows.

“Okay, geniuses, why don’t you guys suggest a better one then?” She snarls, her face chilly-pepper red.

Vairë seems to be thinking hard. “'Are you a wifi-hotspot? Because I can feel a connection.’" 

Námo gives his girlfriend pained smile.

All eyes migrate towards Tulkas, who immediately turns red under their collective gaze. “You know I’m not good with all this sappy shit! Don’t drag me into it.”

“That’s not true!” Nessa protests. “You’re exceptionally charming, love.”

Vairë raises a brow at this. “Really? Tulkas?”

“Really? Námo?” Nessa quips flatly.

“Fair point.” Vairë responds after a short silence.

“It can’t be worse than anything we’ve heard so far.” Námo says with some annoyance.

Tulkas sighs, exasperated. “Fine, let me think first.” He purses his lips together. “'Are you a mixing bowl? Because I would like…to…put..my eggs…on you—no, wait.”

“Gods have mercy,” Ulmo whispers from his seat, squeezing at the bridge of his nose, making some noise at last.

Melkor points in each of their directions. “I just want you all to know, you’re useless.” He deadpans, and refrains, with quite some willpower, from sighing wistfully and turning his attention to the source of his turmoil. He has his long, pearly hair in a ponytail today, Melkor notes, blowing flyaway strands from his eyes with a huff every now and then. Melkor wants to hold him, consume him whole.

He isn’t supposed to be having this issue, anyway. His pride has taken a hit, It’s not his fault his mind can’t form proper words, he’s never been into anyone this much in his life to begin with and he’s not sure what to do with this new found revelation.

It frustrates him to no end, because he had been fine.

Until one rainy late afternoon, when he decided to take shelter in a café - this café - for the first time to wait the rain out since he didn’t bring an umbrella with him. That had been it, when he’d first seen him, in the form of flashes in the corners of Melkor’s eyes while he watched the rain through a misty glass door, beams of light so frequent he couldn’t just ignore. And lo and behold, when he turned his head to inspect the white ghost, it had been Manwë - at the time referred to as the angel in the BlueBird café - flowing between tables, taking orders, stealing hearts, or Melkor’s, at least.

It was later that he’d find out that he and Manwë were in the same university, knew some of the same people, even took a class together. How - and he couldn’t stress this enough, how - had Melkor not noticed him before? It boggles him to this day.

Needless to say, Melkor fell hard. Hard enough to ask all these hopeless idiots surrounding him for help. They knew Manwë, far longer than he’s existed for Melkor, were his friends before Melkor had the displeasure of being acquainted with any of them.

He feels someone elbow his arm, and looks up in time to see Námo’s eyes dart left, then back to him. 

“Hey, look who it is!” Tulkas exclaims to the approaching, smiling vision-in-white-apron. “Looking good there, man, what you been up to?”

“Not much, same old” Manwë says, and gods, he has the voice of angel, too. Melkor almost purrs. “You guys need anything?”

“No, we’re good,” Nessa tells him, “it’s busy around here, no point in keeping you.”

“Our friend Melkor here might.” Ulmo declares all of the sudden, and the table grows tense. Melkor stares at the man opposite him, who’s a complete waste of time and space, if you ask him, with how many times he’d informed Melkor that he isn’t really Manwë’s type. Melkor didn’t even ask, thank you very much. But there’s quiet challenge in Ulmo’s seaweed eyes, the one thing Melkor doesn’t back out on.

He stands from his seat and cradles Manwë’s free hand in both of his, marveling over soft skin, turning golden eyes on celestial blue, looking at him, drinking him in, not from a discreet table in the corner, nor through a window with his face pressed against stained glass, a chorus of noticemenoticemenoticeme accompanying the drum of his heart, but a proper beholding. Manwë goes a little rigid at the abrupt contact, but otherwise doesn’t recoil, regarding Melkor through delicate lashes with a bit of wide eyed confusion that Melkor can’t fault him for.

Their companions hold their breaths.

Melkor slaps on his winning smile. “Are you a house? Because I would like to come inside of you.”

Now, see, this isn’t what came to him, because what he’s looking for is the apposite of a restraining order, but there’s no taking it back now.

Nessa chokes on air, Námo and Vairë look like they’d rather be anywhere but here, Tulkas’ trying his best - and failing - at not laughing, reddening throughout, and Ulmo, well, if it were up to him, Melkor would be six feet under.

Manwë blinks once, then twice. “I see.” He says after a long moment, the faintest pink tainting his cheeks, which Melkor’s all too thrilled to see. He thinks he can feel the pulse in Manwë’s wrist quickening under his fingers. Manwë clears his throat gently. “I reckon you would want to take me out on a few dates before any… of that happens.”

Melkor swallows. “Yes, of course.”

“You might need my number, too.”

Melkor might just die. “Naturally.”

“Could you…?” Manwë trailers off, and there's a bit of tugging, and he realizes Manwë’s trying to pull his hand from Melkor’s suddenly turned iron grip. He releases him, albeit reluctantly, as Manwë would require it to quickly scribble down his number on a little notepad before fleeing back to work.

“What?” Nessa says, breaking the bewildered silence, gaze flitting between him and Manwë, who’s already on the other side of the café. “That actually worked?”

Melkor lifts his eyes off the precious paper, held dearly to his chest, meeting Ulmo’s miffed stare, shit-eating grin splattered across his face, triumph gleaming in his eyes. “Not his type, my ass.”

[bourbonboredom]

Stargazin’ Part II

They say to write what you know, so here’s a quick fic with some astronomy and romance. Brought to you by the girl who had her first kiss at Space Camp.

Now with a requested second part! Less star stuff but more smut, so it evens out I guess???

Part I

Word Count: 2,297

A/N: Fluff & Smut (NSFW)

The trailer door burst open with a bang. Clyde and his girlfriend came stumbling through the threshold, barely able to separate enough to keep from banging against the wooden frame. They had rushed home after their starlit encounter, and may or may not have broken a few speed limits on the way. Not that it mattered too much because Boone County was pretty dead at 2 in the morning, no one was gonna notice his car speeding down the back roads.

Clyde managed to get the door shut before she locked her lips to his, holding his face as she stood on her toes. He stooped down so she had a little more balance as he wrapped his arms around her waist. It wasn’t often that they came at each other with this kind of passion. Sure, they loved one another and had a hard time keeping their hands to themselves, but this was different. This was raw, uncensored passion.

Clyde was careful with his girl. He was aware of how much bigger he was and how easily he could hurt her. On the rare occasion his guard did come down and he treated her a little rougher in bed, she would say how much she loved it. That she adored the bruises on her thighs and the hickeys decorating her neck. It embarrassed him though, he’d spend the night apologizing to her, kissing over the purpling skin, with her reassuring him it was more-than-okay.

He could feel that his rougher side was going to be released tonight. He was going to give her exactly what she’d been asking him for. After burying his face in her cunt under the stars earlier that night, and having her hand run up his thigh so that she was just inches away from his cock on the ride back home, he was ready to burst. It had taken him all his willpower to not pull off to the side of the road and take her right there. He kissed her hungrily, backing her to the door and holding her there with his body.

He was growing painfully hard in his jeans. He felt how the fabric was restraining him, keeping an unfair barrier between him and his girl. He pressed his bulge to her hip so she could feel how desperate she made him. She pushed back with her hips, grinding in to him. He broke the kiss between them, groaning when she caught his lower lip between her teeth.

“Babygirl,” he growled, his flesh fingers digging into her waist, “Didn’t I just have you screamin’ my name in the middle of a field? Wasn’t that enough?”

“I think I could go a little longer,” she purred as he kissed down her neck.

“You’re eager tonight, I don’t think I tired you out one bit,” his hand left her waist to unhook her jeans. He pushed them down one-handed until they were around her thighs, panties following soon after.

He stared down at her face as he worked his large fingers between her folds, watching how she squirmed for him. He loved the way her breath hitched, how her eyelids became hooded and her mouth slightly parted as she panted for him. He caught her clit as he drew his fingers back to his mouth, making her hips buck toward him.

“You taste so sweet,” he rasped, slowly licking his fingers clean before pinning her to the door with his weight.

Clyde���s head bent to her neck, where he began planting hard kisses as his fingers snaked back to her core. He slipped one in to her tight heat, nipping at the skin by her ear as she clenched around him. Her arms flew to his biceps, gripping him as she felt her legs begin to give out.

“Clyde,” she mewled.

“Yeah darlin’? Y’better be quiet, don’t want the neighbors hearin’,” he slipped another finger inside her, scissoring them to stretch her walls.

All she could do was whimper in response as she clung to him. His prosthetic hand held her waist as he stroked over her g-spot. Over the years he had learned every sensitive spot on her body, but his favorite to toy with was that little spot inside her that made her cunt clench around him. Her moans were getting louder as he stroked her walls and rubbed his thumb across her clit. She was losing any semblance on control she thought she had.

“Please, I want you inside me,”

“I already am babygirl, you want more?”

“Clyde, please. You know what I mean,”

“Tell me what y’need sweetheart,” he coaxed, grinding harder on her clit.

“Fuck! I want your cock, please! I want you to fuck me, please just fuck me I need you!” she babbled, frustrated by her boyfriend’s teasing.

“Y’know, you got a mouth on you—” Clyde withdrew his hand to unbuckle his belt. His cock was prominent against the denim, desperate to be buried inside her cunt. “— who d’ve thought such a pretty girl could say somethin’ so dirty?”

He stripped off his shirt and unceremoniously kicked his pants and boxers off to the side. She wiggled the rest of the way out of her own jeans, and was about to take off her sweatshirt when she was by her thighs. She instinctually wrapped her legs around his waist, arms drawing around his neck for support. He rested her back against the door, teasing her slit with the head of his cock.

“I’m gonna make you see stars right here, don’t even need to be outdoors,” he said lowly, teasing her clit.

“Clyde, that’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever—” she cut herself off with a loud moan as he thrust in to her with one snap of his hips. He relished the feeling of her cunt squeezing him as he bottomed out, groaning into the soft skin of her neck.

“What was that darlin’?” he smiled to himself as her head tipped back to meet the door with a small thud. She could only moan in response.

“Just fuck me,” she gritted out, lifting her hips in an attempt to get him to move.

He positioned himself so that just the tip was still in her, fucking into her again with full force. He watched as her pussy swallowed him up. He kept his pace, switching his view between where they met and her face.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasped out.

She unhooked one arm from his neck to tangle in his hair. She tugged his head towards her so she could kiss him. Their teeth clacked together, making them laugh before trying again. Their kisses became messy and passionate, an attempt to down out any moans as he pounded in to her. Muffled praises escaped her lips between kisses.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she moaned, “You’re cock is so fuckin’ perfect. You’re so fuckin’ perfect,”

He felt the knot in his stomach begin to tighten at her words. Knowing he could make her pretty little mouth spout such filth had him swelling with pride. He noticed she was lifting her hips against his thrusts, trying to create friction for her clit. Their hands were otherwise occupied in holding her steady against the door, neglecting her bundle of nerves.

“Bed. Now.” he gritted out.

Clyde lifted her from the door and carried her across the trailer to the bedroom. He unsheathed himself from inside her, causing her to whine at the sudden emptiness. He gently sat her on the bed as he stood over her.

“I want you ridin’ me. Take that sweatshirt off so I can watch you bounce on my cock,” he tugged at the bottom of the sweatshirt, guiding her as she took it off.

He lied down on their bed, letting her straddle him. She guided his cock to her core and slowly lowered her body, letting him fill her again. She bit her lip as he became fully seated inside her. Her hands grazed his thighs as she began to ride him, making sure to put on a show.

Her back arched, putting her breasts on full display as she rode him. Clyde let her take charge for a while, enjoying how she was giving her all to please him. She brought one hand to her clit, rubbing it in tiny circles as the other came to her nipple. She mewled as she pinched it, making eye contact with the man under her.

“You want that to be me babygirl?” he asked, hand stroking her side.

She nodded, the only response she could muster. She dropped her hands to her thighs as his rose to take their place. His flesh hand began pressing tight circles to her clit as his prosthetic hand pinched her nipple. Initially, he didn’t have much control over his prosthetic. He could barely even hold a glass without it slipping from his grasp, so he’d been afraid to use it on her. But after a few months of physical therapy and using it for his everyday life, he became aware enough of the pressure to be sure he wasn’t going to hurt her. He rolled her clit between his thumb and finger, making her putty in his hands.

“You like when I’m a little rough with you?” he murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“I love it,” she whispered back, eyes clouded over with lust.

That was all it took for Clyde to lose control. His hands gripped her hips as he pounded into her with all his strength. She yelped and fell forward, losing her balance. He hands found purchase at his chest, causing her breasts to bounce in his face. His mouth watered, tilting up so he could capture one in his mouth. He sucked at the underside of her breast, leaving a bruise in his wake. He continued to nip at whatever part of her skin his mouth could reach. Her skin started to purple, something to remind her of who made her feel this good. One hand left her hip to continue playing with her sensitive nub, causing her to drag her fingernails down his arms.

“Fuck, baby I’m so close,” she whined, barely able to hold herself together.

“Me too,” he breathed, feeling his grip tighten on her hips.

“I want you to come in me,” she moaned, tangling her hand in his hair, “Come inside me Clyde, please,”

“Fuck babygirl, I’m gonna come inside this perfect lil’ pussy. Y’feel so damn good, squeezin’ me like that,” he stuttered out absolute filth as his thrusts became shallower and quicker. He rubbed her clit fast and hard, coaxing her to climax with him. He felt her cunt start to tense around him. “Thats it sweetheart, come around my cock, lemme feel you,”

She came with a cry, throwing her head back. Her whole body tensed up as she choked out his name, muttering it like a prayer. Her walls fluttered around him, milking him closer and closer to his own release. With one final thrust deep inside her, he let himself go. He came hard, feeling himself shoot ribbons all over her walls. He could feel their come start to leak out, dribbling down her legs and his shaft.

Clyde noticed that she had buried her face in his neck as she came down from her high, hands pressed against the scratches she had caused earlier. They were both trying to catch their breath, unwilling to move for just a moment.

“You doin’ okay darlin’?” he murmured, nuzzling at her hair.

“Mmmm,” she sighed in response.

“Did I tire y’out this time?”

“Mhm” she nodded her head lazily, making him chuckle.

“C’mon darlin’, you gotta get up for a second, so I can clean ya up,” he tapped her thigh until she stirred.

She lifted herself off him, causing more of their come to slide down her thighs. She moved to her side of the bed as Clyde got up to find something to clean with. He traveled to the bathroom to find a towel when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and his hair was starting to stick to his forehead but he smiled when he was the scratch marks down his biceps. He noticed she’d left him some hickeys on his neck that he didn’t know were there. He liked when his girl marked him up, letting the world know he was hers. He wiped himself off first before heading back to the bedroom. She was sitting up on the bed looking especially groggy. She smiled when she caught sight of him, letting him run the towel over her thighs to clean up the majority of the mess.

“That was really great baby,” she whispered as he threw the towel to the floor. She pulled him into a kiss as he got back on the bed.

“I wasn’t too rough with ya?” he asked, taking a mental note of the bruises that now covered her breasts and neck.

“No baby it was perfect I loved it,” she sighed, peppering his face with kisses. Clyde had them lie down, spooning her as he ran his fingers along her curves.

They lie in silence for a bit, slowly drifting off but awake enough to just enjoy each other’s company. It was right when Clyde was about to fall asleep when he heard her voice cut through their quiet bedroom.

“You were right, by the way,”

“Hm?” he mumbled as he hugged her tighter to his body, barely able to open his eyes.

“I was seein’ stars tonight. When I came, I thought I actually saw stars,”

He laughed and planted a kiss to her shoulder.

“Told ya Little Dipper,”

[notarelationship]

Along For The Rides, Ch 3

Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

Rating: M, eventually. T, this chapter. Words: This chapter - 4102

Warnings this chapter: A couple instances of homophobic slurs

thanks to @honeysucklepink as always! I did make some changes after her read through so please blame me for any mistakes.

--

On Saturday after their shift Kurt and Rachel decide to work their way through the assortment of midway games, but today decide to go to the food stands first. Kurt has mostly managed to avoid eating from the not so varied selection of fried food on offer at the carnival, but as they walk by the stands offering corn dogs, French fries, fried pickles and three different varieties of fried dough, his willpower is starting to wobble. He’s only human.

"French fries, Rachel," Kurt insists.

"Ooh, but funnel cakes Kurt." Rachel is on her toes, peeking into the display counter. "Powdered sugar Kurt!"

"Make sure you get it with extra fairy dust," a gruff voice says behind them.

They both turn to see who spoke, even though Kurt can identify the owner of that voice in his nightmares.

"Do you want something, David?" Kurt arches an eyebrow. David Karofsky made several of his high school years unbearable, until Kurt discovered just how troubled Dave was. After that it had mostly died down to verbal taunts when he was showing off in front of friends, but stayed away from him anyway. But high school was over, they really had no reason to cross each other’s paths.

Kurt looks between the two other guys, football players he barely remembers the names of only a few weeks after graduation. He congratulates himself for a moment on how quickly he’s moved on.

"We would like to eat our food without the threat of contamigay-tion. That's what." It isn’t Dave, but one of the other boys hurling insults now. Kurt rolled his eyes, catching Karofsky’s and he shakes his head as David looks away.

"You know you could both just buzz off," Rachel suggests, stepping forward in all of her five foot tall glory. "We're not in high school anymore, we don't have to interact at all." She crosses her arms with a smug nod and turns toward the food cart next to her.

Kurt frowns as David continues to scowl at them. He looks like he’s going to bounce out of his skin.

"Dave, are you alright?" Kurt asks. He can’t stop himself. He knows what Dave is going through.

Dave just shakes his head jerkily. "Let's just get out of here," he says to his friends.

"Fine." The third boy gets into Kurt's face to say this, shoving him hard in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but he loses his balance and falls on the ground.

Kurt starts to yell at him, but a blur of arms and legs appears from nowhere and tackles the guy, sending them both to the ground. All hell breaks loose, and one of the guys lifts the blur up off the ground and Dave swings at him, connecting his right fist with the side of the blur’s face. Kurt scrambles up, pushing to get in between the blur and Dave, and he can hear Rachel shouting for help, but he doesn’t see her anywhere.

In what seems like minutes but is probably less than thirty seconds they are surrounded by a half dozen carnival workers of assorted shapes and sizes, at least one of them with what looks like a sawed off baseball bat with a chain wrapped around it. Kurt silently prays to any deity who might listen to him that no one has a gun.

The first guy shoves the blur into Kurt, and Kurt catches him, wrapping his arms around the blur reflexively, and realizes that it’s Blaine. Cute, curly haired, hopefully gay Blaine had come to his rescue. Kurt didn’t swoon at all. At least he didn’t let anyone see him do it.

"Sam, get him to first aid." An older guy with a walrus mustache turns to Kurt after giving the instruction. Kurt thinks the guy’s name is Larry, but he’s not sure. The guy Kurt saw with Blaine the other morning, and who he’s seen around working on the rides, throws his arm around Blaine’s shoulder and heads in the direction of the First Aid tent.

"Did you see what happened?" Larry asks Kurt.

"Yes we did," Rachel says, pushing to stand in front of the mustache. "David and his idiot friends were hassling Kurt, and when they pushed him over that young man rushed over to help." She points at Karofsky. "Then his friend held him up while David hit him."

Larry looks from Rachel to Kurt. "Did he hit you?”

Kurt shakes his head. "No, he just pushed me and I fell." He rubs at his elbow where it had hit the dirt. “I lost my balance. It probably looked worse than it was.”

"I'd like to take Kurt to the first aid tent as well." Rachel interrupts. "He needs to wash out that scrape." She points to his elbow, which to Kurt’s surprise is bleeding a little from the fall..

Larry nods, then levels a look at Karofsky and his friends. "And you three. We'll be escorting you out. If I see any of you back here we’ll call the police."

Kurt walks off with Rachel, barely hearing Karofsky and his friends protest their banishment. Rachel whispering into his ear as they go.

“Kurt that was the guy from the ferris wheel! The one that tackled Dave’s meaty friend.” Rachel looked at him curiously. “That was very risky of him, he’s not a very big person. Exactly how well do you know him?”

“Not at all Rachel, he came into the garage, like I told you. That was it.” Kurt takes a breath, “I do know his name is Blaine.”

“His name is Blaine.” Rachel throws him an accusing look as she leads him into the first aid tent. “Kurt Hummel, have you been holding out on me?”

The tent isn’t big, but there are a few exam tables and some square folding card tables and chairs, and two nurses that Kurt can see. He imagines that there are probably enough carnival ride injuries to justify real nurses. Blaine is sitting upright on an exam table on the far side of the tent holding what looks like an ice pack to the side of his face.

“No I have not been holding out on you. He dropped a trailer off at the garage the other day. I had to drive him back here. We exchanged names.” Kurt pauses. “He like a medium drip, one Splenda, 2% milk.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do when we leave here,” she barely stage whispers. Kurt is sure the entire tent can hear her. “Excuse me,” Rachel turns and addresses one of the nurses on duty. “My friend was involved in the altercation that took place over on the midway. He needs medical attention.”

“I’m fine Rachel, really.” Kurt turns to the nurse. “I just scraped my elbow, really it’s nothing. If I could just wash the dirt out and clean it a bit I’ll be fine.” He swallows, ticking his head in the general direction of where Blaine’s cute friend is helping Blaine get comfortable on a cot in the corner. “Besides, you have your hands full already.” He looks in their direction and offers what he hopes is a friendly smile.

Blonde Cutie does notice them, and walks to where Kurt and Rachel are standing while the nurse fusses over Kurt’s elbow.

“Hey man, are you okay? Blaine said that guy knocked you over. I’m Sam.” He sticks out his hand. “You’re locals, right? I think I saw you in the ticket booth before.”

Rachel shakes Sam’s hand. “Rachel Berry. And this is Kurt.” She waves a hand across Kurt’s airspace. “We are local hires, yes. Just working the two weeks.” She looks over at Blaine and back to Sam. “But you guys aren’t from around here, are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“Nah,” Sam says. “We’re full summer hires. This is my second year, actually.” He gestures over to his friend. “It’s Blaine’s first year, though. I think he missed the lecture where they said don’t tackle the guests.” Sam laughs, his eyes darting good naturedly between Kurt and Rachel.

Rachel seems like she has the telling of their life stories under control, so after the nurse finishes with him he wanders closer to Blaine.

“Hey,” he says. He tries to catch Blaine’s eye, but Blaine keeps staring at his feet. “Are you alright?”

Blaine’s eyes dart to Kurt’s for a second and he nods. “Yeah, he didn’t hit me that hard.”

Kurt coughs out a chuckle. “I think that ice pack on your face suggests otherwise.”

“At least he didn’t break my nose this time,” Blaine mumbles.

“He broke your nose before?” Kurt asks, wide eyed.

“What? Oh no, someone else broke it,” Blaine lisps through his very swollen lower lip. “It was years ago. It doesn’t matter now.” Blaine looks up at Kurt for the first time since Kurt arrived at the first aid tent. He drops the ice pack away from his cheek. “How are you? Did you get hurt?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Not really, no,” he answers, holding up his elbow so Blaine can see the bandage. “Scraped my elbow on the ground. I’m fine.” Kurt takes a step closer, taking the ice pack from Blaine. He holds it against Blaine’s cheek, giving Blaine the chance to warm his hand on his thigh, rubbing it on his jeans. Kurt holds his breath a little when Blaine looks at him. “You didn’t have to do that you know,” Kurt says, lowering his voice. “They wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“You don’t know that. They knocked you over.” Blaine swallows, hesitating just a bit before he goes on. “I heard what they were saying to you. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. No one should.” Blaine looks away again, and Kurt wishes he wouldn’t.

“No. No one should,” Kurt agrees. “But David, he has his own problems. It doesn’t excuse him. But it wouldn’t have gone further.” Kurt shakes his head again, more to reassure himself than Blaine. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. High school is over, he’ll go off on some football scholarship and I’ll never have to deal with -”

“Kurt if you’re feeling better we should probably get going,” Rachel interrupts. “My dads are expecting me for a Barbra marathon tonight.” Her eyes go wide when she finally notices that Kurt is holding an ice pack on Blaine’s cheek. “Or, I could just call them to pick me up if you need to stick around here?” She’s beaming at him in a crazy way that Kurt doesn’t really trust. He loves her, but she is irritatingly over-involved in his life. That’s all about to change, too, he thinks, with her leaving and him staying here in Ohio. He’ll miss it eventually, he knows, but not enough to encourage it right now.

“No, no, Rachel. I need to get home too,” Kurt says quickly, returning the ice pack to Blaine, shuddering involuntarily when Blaine’s fingers trail across his in the exchange. He ignores it. “But I did want to say thank you, Blaine, for being willing to stand up for me, even if it wasn’t necessary. I don’t get that very often outside of my family and a few friends. So thanks. I’m sorry he hit you.” Kurt tries a sympathetic smile, but inside he’s tied in knots.

“You’re welcome,” Blaine says quietly, and he looks up at Kurt, and Kurt is caught off-balance by the depth of feeling directed at him from Blaine’s eyes. Then he blinks and it’s gone, and Kurt steps away.

“See you around,” Kurt says, his voice coming out quieter than he expects.

--

"He likes you," Rachel says, as they are walking through the parking lot on the way to Kurt's car. "And he’s totally gay. You should tap that."

"Oh my god Rachel, please never say 'tap that' again." Kurt rolls his eyes. He decides to keep the inclination he has to agree with her to himself, at least for now. “And how do you know that?”

"Sam told me. And why not Kurt? He's cute, and he likes you, and he got punched in the face trying to protect you!" Her voice rises higher as she ticked off each reason Kurt should throw himself at this adorable stranger.

“Sam told you? Rachel you didn’t -”

“Oh of course I did, silly, you’d be staring at each other across the corn dog cart and do nothing about it if not for my intervention.” Rachel softens as she continues. "And wouldn't it be nice to spend some time with a guy who likes you? At least for a little while. Who knows, maybe you can write a musical about your ill fated summer romance after he leaves! I of course can play myself!” She claps her hands together excitedly. “This is so exciting!”

Kurt chews on his bottom lip. This can’t really be happening, can it? Although it does make perfect sense that the only cute, interested gay guy he will ever meet in Ohio is essentially a transient Kurt will never see again after a week.

In Kurt’s fantasies about his future, he always imagined that his inevitable prince charming would be wearing designer suits and offering expensive flowers and taking him out to even more expensive meals. And possibly also buying him gifts, or spa weekends. Or maybe Kurt would get really lucky and make it on Broadway and he would get to be the prince charming.

It had never crossed his mind that when he finally met someone it might just be another teenage boy. Or that he’d be wearing ripped jeans and a very tight t-shirt and have a mop of unruly curls on top of his head. Or that when they met he’d have a busted lip and a once broken nose. And oh my god, what if he broke it regularly in parking lot brawls? That was not the sort of guy Kurt Hummel would date. Right? It didn't matter what gorgeous shade of hazel his eyes were.

"First of all Rachel I do not need protecting and you know it." He tosses a glare in her direction for good measure, as much to steady himself as to stop her from commenting. "Karofsky wouldn't do anything to me."

"Maybe not Kurt, but his friends are less predictable. You did end up on the ground."

"It wouldn't have escalated." Kurt was less sure about that, but since it hadn’t gone too far, he didn’t want to think about it. Once they are in the car and bucked up, Kurt starts the car, but looks at Rachel before he puts it in gear. "And I don't know if I could date a guy like that."

Rachel looks puzzled. "Like what?"

Kurt's shoulder twitches. "You know, one who gets into fights."

"You don't have to marry him Kurt. I'm not even sure you need to ask him his last name."

They stopped at a red light and Kurt turns to look at her.

"I don't know if I could use someone like that Rachel." The light turns green and Kurt accelerates through the quiet intersection. "I really hope I'm not that desperate," he mumbles. Sometimes he felt that desperate. What if he never gets out? What if New York rejects him before he even gets started? He might be that desperate right now.

"I know you're not desperate Kurt." She sounds a little condescending for Kurt’s mood, but he lets it go. It’s been a long day. "But it's your last summer in Ohio. Probably ever, and-"

"Don't jinx me."

"-I know you're worried about not having experienced, things, and at the very least, I think, maybe--" Kurt turns the car into her driveway and she doesn't finish that sentence.

"Think about it Kurt." She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "He might turn out to be a nice guy."

Kurt frowns. "While as usual I object to your overactive interest in my lack of romantic affairs, I promise you that I will think about what you said."

Rachel almost squeals, patting him on the knee. "That is all I ask Kurt." And with that she hops out of the car and bounds up the steps to her front door, disappearing behind it with a wave.

Kurt sighs, the sound loud in the now silent car. Blaine is certainly cute, and charming in a boyish ruffian way that Kurt is not immune to. He doesn’t seem to be immune to his smile either, despite the split lip and slight purplish tint to his left cheek.

He supposes he could use the practice. He’s never even talked to a guy with any real possibility that something might blossom. He didn't have to do anything. Flirting with a guy who liked him would be more that he'd expected to get out of his last summer in Ohio. It was only for another week, right? How much trouble could he get into in a week?

--

The next day Blaine stops by the ticket booth at least a half dozen times in the morning to talk to Kurt and Rachel; unfortunately Rachel is always there so he can’t get Kurt alone. Not that he has any idea what he would say if he did. He can’t exactly ditch his job and pull Kurt behind the cotton candy stand. So sometimes he only says hello on his way somewhere else, other times he tries to engage Kurt in conversation, asking him about what he had for lunch or if he has a favorite midway game, and if it might be the water gun balloons because Blaine would be there all day working the game if Kurt wanted to stop by and play a game or two.

He then spends the entire afternoon looking for Kurt in the crowds of people wandering up and down the midway. Weekends are usually crowded, and today is no different. Families, eager to take small children somewhere where they can run around in relative safety and not get into too much trouble and teenagers on first dates in the safety of the daytime. Blaine was sure Kurt would come by and visit, but when two o’clock comes and goes with no sign of him he thinks maybe his invite hadn’t been obvious enough.

Blaine’s lip is still sore but mostly healed; at least he’s stopped licking at it. He does still have a pretty good-sized purple blotch covering the left side of his face. Maybe it’s better Kurt doesn't show up while Blaine still looks like he lost at last night’s fight club.

He’s just about given up on seeing Kurt when three kids and what could be an aunt or a babysitter, but who looks too young to be a parent, set tickets on the ledge and pick their positions at the water pistols. Carnival rules generally want there to be at least five players every time they run the contest, and Blaine is supposed to wait a few minutes even when he has paying players in case someone wants to join in, so he adjusts the balloons in each of the clown-head targets to delay the start when someone clears their throat behind him.

“Do you have room for one more?” Kurt is holding up a ticket, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Blaine takes two steps toward him, unable to stop the grin that splits his face as he takes the ticket from Kurt’s fingers.

“Sure.” He winces a little. “Ow.”

“Oh no, don’t hurt yourself on my account.” Kurt smirks at him and picks up a free water gun. “At least not any more than you already have.”

“Yeah right.” Blaine gets the attention of everyone waiting. “Everyone ready? When I ring the bell you can start. First balloon to pop wins a prize.”

Blaine waits until everyone assumes a ready position then rings the start bell. He’s supposed to watch all the players, but he only has eyes for Kurt. The way he twists his face up in concentration, the tip of his tongue sticking out and wiggling just a bit, closing one eye to take aim. Blaine can’t help rooting for him to win. He looks adorable.

It isn’t quite a minute before the balloon pops in front of one of the girls. She squeals through the drone of disappointed noises and Blaine goes into his brief spiel about what prizes she can pick from, but he’s half watching Kurt out of the corner of one eye the whole time. The girl picks a barely recognizable stuffed anime character and then everyone disperses.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine notices that Kurt’s waiting for him, but before he turns around he pulls a step ladder over and climbs so he can reach the top shelf, where they keep the high quality stuffed animals, the ones that aren’t strange knockoffs of ten year old cartoon characters, the ones they never actually give away, and plucks the nicest one - an impressively sized giraffe – and holds it out for Kurt.

“What’s this?” Kurt smiles and takes the giraffe. Blaine shrugs, hoping he hasn’t just made a huge mistake.

“Uh, second place?” He tries not to cringe when he says it. He feels painfully obvious. Apparently making out with a few strangers hasn’t made him less awkward with guys. He lucks out though, and Kurt laughs at that.

“I didn’t know there was a prize for second place.”

Blaine thinks he can hear a gentle tease in Kurt’s voice, so he leans over the game’s counter, resting on his forearms so he can get a little closer to Kurt. Kurt’s a little taller than he is, so he doesn’t mind the new angle so much.

“Well if there was I’m sure you would have won,” Blaine answers. Kurt’s cheeks go pink, and Blaine likes it. A lot.

Kurt opens his mouth a few times, not saying anything before looking at his shoes. “I really should get back,” he finally says. “My break is probably over.”

Blaine nods. “Okay,” he says. “Maybe I’ll stop by later.” He winks at Kurt, and feels really lucky when Kurt blushes again. Blaine is smitten.

--

“So?” Rachel is giving him her most encouraging look.

Kurt shrugs. He really doesn’t want to tell Rachel too much. The last thing he needs is Rachel trying to intervene out of some misguided sense that she’s doing Kurt a favor.

“He’s nice, I guess.” He holds his large prize out and shakes it in front of her. “He gave me a giraffe.”

Rachel’s eyes get huge. “He gave you a giraffe? I don’t understand, you didn’t win it?”

Kurt bites his lip and slides into his seat in the little ticket booth, settling the giraffe behind him. He doesn’t answer right away, and his avoidance is aided by a busload of people who all want to buy ride tickets at the same time.

“Nope,” he says, once the crowd had moved on. “I definitely did not win a prize. He just gave it to me.”

Rachel looks at him, nodding with a knowing smile that makes Kurt a little uncomfortable.

“What?” He says, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what she’s thinking.

“You’re going to go for it, right?”

Kurt scoffs, but he can feel an embarrassed flush creep up his neck and he curses his pale skin. Not for the first time. He hopes the bit of color he’s picked up from being out in the sun for a week keeps her from noticing.

“I don’t know Rach,” he answers. But he kind of does know. There is something about Blaine. “Where could it go?” Kurt can’t even tell anymore why he’s trying to talk himself out of it.

Rachel tuts, rolling her eyes. “Come on Kurt, a whirlwind summer romance could be amazing for you! And he’s adorable. If he liked girls at all I’d definitely go for it”

Thankfully, they are interrupted by another group looking to buy tickets before she can continue.

“You’re insane,” Kurt says when the line has disappeared.

Rachel grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “You won’t think I’m insane when he’s got his tongue in your -”

Kurt puts his hand up in front of Rachel’s face, prepared to cover her mouth if necessary to keep her from continuing. “Stop right there. We are not having this discussion.” Kurt glares at her. “Ever.” Rachel giggles and pinches his arm.

[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

Backfire

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Porcelain Dolls - so ended up regretting that freaking prompt! Hate ‘em!!   

Word Count: 776

A/N: This is written for @torn-and-frayed’s Halloween with Dean Challenge and I wrote Jensen cause I am a rebel :P And I think I managed to scar myself for life here!

Thanks to @like-a-bag-of-potatoes for betaing this for me.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You should have known your revenge would backfire on you. Jensen always managed to scare you on Halloween. Either with some stupid gimmick with skeletons popping from closets, giant freaking plastic spiders in your bathroom or by dressing up himself as the grim reaper or a zombie, jumping out in front of you at the most unexpected of moments. Last year had been the drop that had made the cup spill over. The jerk had decided to wear his make-up home as he came stumbling in collapsing straight into your arms. You had actually started crying and begging for him not to leave you before the asshole started laughing. Needless to say Jensen spent the next two nights on the couch but you had still been dead set on getting your revenge this year.

The perfect idea had hit you when you by chance had chatted with your best friend Ida about weird crap you had collected as kids. Ida mentioned the giant box of creepy porcelain dolls she had sitting in her attic and you had instantly commandeered it promising you would get rid of them for her. But not before you scared the holy hell out of your husband with the thing he hated the most in the world.

With a little help from Misha and Jared you had managed to keep Jensen from noticing your arrival on set in Vancouver, as they had kept him from entering his trailer all day while you were working on your surprise for him. You had set the dolls up so his air condition hit them just right, causing their eyes to blink open and closed on their own volition. You had disabled all lights in his trailer but the ones directly above the shelves where you had placed the freaky fuckers. The only flaw in your plan was that you were just as, if not more, creeped out by the damn things as Jensen was.

Chills were running down your spine when time came to stay alone with them in the dark trailer for a good 30 minutes, and scenes from the movie Chucky kept playing over and over in your head, causing you to jump with the slightest of sounds.

Finally Jensen had arrived in his trailer, cussing when the light by the door hadn’t worked and it took all your willpower to not burst out laughing before he reached the jack on the back wall flicking the switch. The shelves across the room from him lit up, showcasing the small army of blinking dolls and the most unmanly of screams had fallen from Jensen’s lips filling the trailer, seconds before Jared and Misha’s roaring laughter had sounded outside the door and you had showed yourself practically rolling on the floor with laughter.

Everything had went according to plan and you had loved teasing your fake grumpy husband all night. He acted like he was pissed at you and his two childish friends, but actually you knew he was impressed that you had finally gotten him back. Jensen was hard to piss off and a prank most certainly never caused him any anger.

See the problem wasn’t your husband was mad at you. His facade had dropped the moment you were alone and he couldn’t keep his hands off you any longer. Long distance wasn’t easy and making up for lost time had trumped pretending to be upset with you. The trouble was the damn dolls. You had no way of getting rid of them until tomorrow and even though you couldn’t see them from his bed, you knew they were there. Waiting for you to fall asleep and murder both of you… okay you had watched too many horror flicks this fall but the fact remained you couldn’t sleep.

“You’re still awake too huh?” Jensen turned to look at you, rolling his eyes dramatically. “What were you thinking Y/N/N?”

“I was thinking you were a jerk that deserved to get a good scare,” you fake glared at him, making Jensen laugh.

“Well now neither of us are getting any sleep, not with those fucking dolls in the trailer,” Jensen grumped, falling back onto his back not noticing the smirk on your lips before you were straddling him with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

“Well if we aren’t gonna sleep…” you spoke suggestively, his shirt you were wearing slowly moving down your shoulders before squealing in surprise as Jensen wrapped his arm around your waist, throwing you back down on the bed, rolling on top of you with a boyish grin on his face.

“That’s the best idea you had all day sweetheart…”

Jensen Tag Team

@mysupernaturalfics @blacktithe7 @percywinchester27 @torn-and-frayed @docharleythegeekqueen @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @feelmyroarrrr @starswirlblitz @akshi8278 @jpadjackles @crushing83 @flufy07 @quiddy-writes @d-s-winchester @lenaabs @jpadjackles @petrovadixon @blanketmadeofstar @arryn-nyxx @winchesters-flannels @winchester-writes @ruprecht0420 @tas898 @emilywritesaboutdean @mogaruke @emoryhemsworth @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @supernatural-jackles  @jojo-nz @riakie @jayankles @mouselovesmusic @jensenackesl @ivvitm1109 @sinbadcat83 @winchestdiaries @thebunkerismyhome @iwriteaboutdean @winchesterprincessbride @captainradicalpassion @redunicorn10 @brooke-supernatural16 @atc74 @becauseimawinchester @deansbaekaz2y5 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @spn-fan-girl-173 @be-amaziing @sandlee44 @bringmesomepie56 @gecko9596 @impala-dreamer @jensen-jarpad @deansleather @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @phoenixia67 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @brihughes4 @aiaranradnay @angelsdeadromance @katarinfrost @castiels-broken-fool @bemyqueenofdarkness @moonstar86 @ashleydivine @winter-hunter @smoothdogsgirl @niamandthings @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @alicat-life @4401lnc @mcdaring @im-a-light-child @soulslaststand @itsmyeffingstory @maui137 @molleighs24 @itsbubbaog @roxyspearing @gemini75eeyore @moonstar86 @devilgirlsarah @plaid-lover-bay25 @iamabeautifulperson18 @blushingdean @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @deansgirl215 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

[newlyfaenesta]

The Lady and the Unicorn

Title: The Lady and the Unicorn

Fandoms: ACOTAR, The Last Unicorn

Rating: General

Summary: A unicorn sets out on a journey to find the rest of her kind and is accompanied by Cassian the Illyrian Magician and the mysterious (and grumpy) Nesta Archeron. Following a narrow escape from the monster Bryaxis, Cassian accidentally changes the unicorn into a fellow Fae. While Bryaxis may be the one chasing down Prythian’s unicorns, following him leads to even more danger: the King of Hybern and his adopted son, Prince Lucien. The king does not trust Cassian and Nesta’s companion, the Lady Elain, while Prince Lucien is more than willing to get to know her.

Chapter 4 Summary: Lady Amarantha taunts the unicorn with the other magical creatures in her carnival. 

Main overall fic characters: Nesta, Cassian, (Nessian), Elain, Lucien, (Elucien), and Hybern.

Disclaimer and all posted chapters can be found on AO3 here. 

Chapter 4:

The unicorn passed a nervous afternoon alternately pacing and trying unsuccessfully to rest in her cage. The grove in which their caravan sat was unusually quiet. Amarantha had ordered Keir out with the puca again before disappearing into her own wagon, and Cassian was left carrying out the rest of the chores before evening set in. He glanced at her every time he passed her cage with a rag or bucket but did not say a word or venture near lest Amarantha suddenly appear and grow suspicious. The unicorn did not know what Cassian had planned if indeed he had a plan at all. His indication that he would help in facilitating her escape was a noble gesture, but the charms around her cage were no match for her own magic. How could Cassian, lacking power as he did, hope to best Amarantha in her stead?

Tossing her dandelion soft mane, the unicorn snorted and began another round of pacing in her small rectangular cage. Every so often, small noises would issue from the other wagons, strange hissings and scrapings as of claws on metal, but she could not discover their sources, as all but hers remained covered. Soon enough, the sun began to set, its long dust-moted beams giving way to lengthy shadows, which made a quick meal in swallowing the crooked trees and brittle dead grass across the glade. The sun’s retreat seemed to function as a signal, for as soon as it had disappeared, Amarantha stepped down from her covered wagon, ruby lips smiling, eyes glittering with a keen sharpness. She had curled her red-gold hair and pulled it back in a partial twist, letting the rest cascade down her bare shoulders, and her new plum-dark dress draped over her curves like morning dew down an orchid leaf.

Keir returned soon after, carrying nothing but a frown and furrowed brows, and stomped around the backside of the wagon train in a desperate bid to avoid his mistress’ frosty gaze. Claw marks left deep gouges in the dirt around the puca’s cage, some new, most weathered and worn down from multiple skirmishes. Despite its inclination to deceive and devour, the puca was not a creature one should keep in a cage. The unicorn, hanging her head, sympathized.

“Lady Amarantha will be checking on her. . . possessions this evening.” Cassian’s low whisper as he appeared at her cage startled her into a nicker. “Once she is satisfied that all are well, she will go back into her trailer for the night. She does not spend much time with her creatures unless we are open to crowds,” he said grimly. “When she is in for the night, I shall try my best to help you escape.”

“I do not understand the meaning behind this,” the unicorn said to him, pointing her horn at the cages across the way. Under Amarantha’s direction, Keir was taking down the black tarps, allowing the cages to breathe freely for the first time that day. “What does she hope to accomplish by showcasing creatures to other fae? She seemed surprised to have caught me. What else has she managed to ensnare with her traps?”

“Look at the different cages and tell me what you see.” Cassian stepped aside and gestured to the wagons and their occupants, whose growls and moans grew increasingly louder as their coverings were removed.

The unicorn narrowed her eyes, starring hard across the clearing. The first wagon contained something vaguely resembling a fae but one covered from head to toe in dark scales, its arms ending in long black talons. Wide amber eyes blinked slowly from the shadows. A naga then. The second wagon was no less surprising. She had never seen a cockatrice with her own two eyes before, but she had once spent an amusing afternoon with a butterfly who was convinced it had just narrowly escaped being eaten by the rooster head before regalling her with an equally heart-stopping race against death by trampling from its two giant dragon claws. Another cage held a pacing manticore, yet another a droopy-looking dryad, and still another a snorting grootslang. Each cage beheld something even more alarming than the next. And yet, through all her observations and startling discoveries, the unicorn beheld a shimmer to the air, as if all of Lady Amarantha’s creatures of the night lived behind some sort of gauzy film.

“What kind of magic is at work here?” she asked angrily, stomping a white hoof. “What has sshe done to them? Why do they quiver and shiver so in the air?”

Cassian folded his arms and nodded. “Look again. Use your magic to see hers.”

Concentrating, the unicorn narrowed her eyes once again, pointing her horn at each creature in their turn. Her magic tore down Amarantha’s glamors quickly, the ease at which she accomplished her task just as shocking as what lay behind them.

“Why, what she calls a naga is merely a large snake!” The unicorn cried. “And she has everyone believing that tree sapling is a real dryad! These are illusions! Mirages! Why does your Lady Amarantha deceive her folk so?” That unicorn shook her head and pawed at the metal floor of her cage with her hoof. “Am I the only true creature here?”

Cassian glanced nervously to the end of the wagon train, where Keir was noticeably avoiding the last cage. “Unfortunately, no,” he answered, “though I'll not remove that one’s covering for all the magic in the world.” He took a deep breath, looked the unicorn in the eye, and lowered his voice. “And if you are smart, which I know you are, you will not waste your time on that creature either. The Lady Amarantha has caught a bogge, a true one. The other things, the dryad-tree, they are replaceable, but she means to keep that monster. Just like she means to keep you.”

The unicorn gazed with wide eyes on the cage that housed the bogge. Though covered with a dark, thick blanket, the unicorn could feel the evil dripping down the sides of the cage, could sense rather than hear the bogge’s hateful and repulsive tirade.

I will grind your bones between my claws; I will drink your marrow; I will feast on your flesh. I am what you fear; I am what you dread. Bring down my covering and look at me. Look at me.

The unicorn shivered down to her core, and it took all her willpower to finally tear her attention away from that malicious creature. “Oh, oh,” she moaned.

Cassian reached for the unicorn to pet, to soothe her, but dropped his hand at the last minute, as if afraid. “Yes,” he said shakily, “yes. I have tried to warn her about the consequences of caging a bogge. She caught it unawares, as she did you, and means to keep it as her display’s finale.” Cassian pursed his lips and exhaled loudly through his nose. “She feeds off the crowd’s fear,” he said finally. “She scares them and takes their fear to feed what little power she has in hopes of enriching it and gaining more.” He glanced down at his red siphons, which sat dully on his wrists and elbows. “I tried to tell her it wouldn’t work, but. . .” he trailed off, his mind lost to darker times, and the unicorn politely did not question him.

“Are you done now with my pet, magician?” Amarantha had slithered silently up behind them. She now ran a long purple nail down the side of Cassian’s cheek, and he jumped, his face red with shame. “Is it my imagination or is dinner not ready yet?”

“Not yet, my lady,” Cassian mumbled, shuffling his feet.

Her lips curled upward, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Then I suggest you get on with it.” As Cassian hurried away, he threw one last glance back at the unicorn, his cloak billowing out behind him. Amarantha grinned truly as she turned and surveyed all of her creatures, both real and reproduction. “How do you like my little menagerie?” she asked the unicorn with a grand gesture. “Won’t our crowds just gawk and stare in amazement at my ability to contain so much power and magic?”

The unicorn tried to avoid looking at the wagon of the bogge. “I would not boast if I were you,” she said, breaking her vow to never speak to one who captured her. “Your death sits in that cage, and she hears you.”

Amarantha chuckled, holding her hand to her chest. “Oh, I am sure it would love to kill me, but at least I will die knowing that I once caught both a bogge and the last unicorn in all of Prythian, while the bogge will have to die knowing it was caught. So how’s that for immortality, hmm? You, on the other hand. . .” To the unicorn’s complete shock and dismay, Amarantha touched the tip of the unicorn’s horn, pushing it back slightly. “You were on the road hunting for your own death, and I know where it awaits you. I know him, that one, for I have been trying to capture him too.” She sighed dramatically. “My carnival for a Cauldron-born. Alas.”

The unicorn reared her head back, choosing to ignore the Fae’s histrionics upon the unexpected mention of the very monster she sought out. “Do you speak of Bryaxis?” She spoke in a hurry, her blood pumping. “Tell me if you do, and where he is, if you know. Tell me.”

Amarantha lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “So you know his name? Then you must know Bryaxis hunts out of King Hybern’s lands. Well, you can rest easy, unicorn. He won’t get to you out here as long as you belong to me.”

The unicorn’s heart raced. She needed to discover what had happened to the rest of her kind, and the only way to do so was to find Bryaxis. Somehow, this monster of King Hybern’s was the key. “If I hunt my own death, then it is at my choosing. You know me; you have said I am the last. Keep your poor shadows and illusions if you will--I’ll not ruin your secrets--but let me go. And--” though the unicorn knew in her blood that any and every end to this story would lead to tragedy, she felt compelled to add, “let the bogge go. I cannot see it caged. It is real, like me. We are both creatures of true magic. Let us both go!”

Amarantha cackled, the shrill sound reaching in, clutching at the unicorn’s core until the hair on her back stood on end. “Being the last of your kind has rendered you delusional, my poor darling. You are too used to freedom, but freedom has a price, and its name is Bryaxis. You are safer here where he cannot get to you. You should thank me for protecting you.”

The unicorn took a deep breath and looked again at the wagon in which the bogge was hidden. She could hear it in her head, every word a raking claw across her mind.

I will kill you if you set me free. Set me free.

“I am safe here as much as you are safe from that creature, which is to say not at all.” The unicorn tossed her mane and pawed at the ground. “This minute your magic fades, so will you.”

Amarantha’s eyes hardened, and she pressed her lips firmly together. “Do you prophesy, too, unicorn? Then see this.”  She held out her hand, sweeping her long purple nails out across the horizon “You in my carnival, and I gaining ever more magic and power from my people. Forever.” She closed her hand into a fist and cocked her head to the side. “I don’t need to see that to know it will come true.” A glow of light brought the unicorn’s attention to the lock on the small side door. “Just a bit of added reinforcement.” She looked down at the unicorn, her ruby lips stretching across her face almost unnaturally so, in a twisted perversion of a smile. “Enjoy your evening.”

The unicorn hung her head, and shivered as Amarantha cackled once more, the echoes of her laughter sounding across the entire clearing. Not even the sight of the female casually avoiding the bogge’s cage could lift the unicorn’s spirits, for now her entire escape would depend on Cassian, and how was that ever going to happen without magic?

[my350lblife]

World Championship Snacking

If my weight loss was a wrestling match, my arch rivals would be Motivation and Willpower.  Those two, or rather a lack of those two, have always been the greatest foes that have kept me from making the necessary changes in my life.  Their ring manger, Emotional Eating, often interferes in our matches and makes me tap out early on when faced with stress from work or my personal life.  

I read a book a few years back called Habit by Charles Duhigg that helped me find motivation and willpower to create new habits.  As he explains in the book, we cannot eliminate bad habits.  Bad habits are hard-wired into our brains as soon as we develop and reinforce them.  We can, however, create newer and more powerful habits that will override the bad habits.  It takes lots of reinforcement, discipline, and willpower to build the new habits and cement them in place over top of the old bad habits.  After reading the book I resolved to make changes and for 3 months I was creating the new habits, flexing my willpower muscle and dropped about 30 lbs.  Shortly after that I began to relax my discipline and reward myself with fast food again...we know how the rest of this story goes.  It only took a small number of times letting my discipline and willpower slip to send me back down the road of bad habits.  

If I had to name my biggest food weaknesses, foods that are very, very difficult to control my cravings, at the top of this list would sit Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.  Perhaps it’s the scarcity of these eggs (only on the market 3-4 months per year) or the magical ratio of chocolate to peanut butter, but these confectionery delights are the #1 killer of any willpower I have.  As I ate 3 boxes in 2 days this week I started asking myself why these little 1.7 oz treats hold so much sway over me.  

Physical - sugar is more powerful in lighting up the reward centers of our brain than opiates. But it’s not all chocolate and candy I have this issue with so there has to be more than a physical need.

Psychological - 

Identity - when it comes to food, say Matt Autry and the people  who know would likely say pancakes, reese’s cup/eggs, and bacon.  I’ve often spoke passionately about reese’s eggs (mostly in a joking light) being the perfect Reese’s shape and so it would be no surprise to hear my name associated with them.  So perhaps eating Reese’s Eggs is just something that I am compelled to do because it reinforces who I am as a person?  What is Matt Autry if he doesn’t eat Reese’s Eggs?  This is much the same in regards to DVDs and records.  If I was to tell my friends and family that I have given away all of my records and dvds they would be terribly confused and shocked.  As much as I don’t want to be defined by what I have or where I work, I am.  I suppose I don’t really feel like there is anything special about me as a person so I built up these material aspects to make myself more interesting.  Only thing is now that streaming services are plentiful, the collection of dvds is far less impressive.  

Childhood - I can remember eating Reese’s Eggs from a young age and quickly became my most favorite Easter candy treat.  Sometimes when I eat the egg I think back to my childhood and remember all the good times playing with friends in the neighborhood, riding bikes and go-karts, baseball games and campfires.  Climbing in this dogwood tree that was outside my window that had this little branch crossing over two larger branches that was just perfect for hanging down and dropping to the ground to get out of the tree.  I have so many good memories of growing up at that house and it often appears in my dreams, more so than of the second home we lived in on Milton Ave.  It was a simpler time and my parents worked hard to provide a safe environment for my sister and I to grow up in.  We never wanted for anything and I never felt poor or less privileged than most of my other classmates, even if we lived in a double-wide trailer.  So maybe eating Reese’s eggs, a treat discovered and enjoyed many times in my youth, brings me back to those care-free days and symbolizes an retreat away from my current life,  

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

Don’t let the goofy title fool you; as we’ve already established, the Episode Ignis teaser trailer absolutely gutted me, so I channeled my grief into this 5K word fic for all of my followers to suffer through. I don’t know why my word count keeps running away from me, but if it makes you feel any better, this canon-compliant imagining turned out marginally less angsty than I had originally envisioned it.

Takes place immediately after the events of the Hydraean catastrophe, but before Umbra returns the notebook to Noctis. There is mild language and imagery that some readers might find distressing, so be aware; full text can be found in the link above as well as below the cut. Gird your feels!

He isn’t in his bed when Gladio enters the dimly lit room; the big man’s eyes dart frantically from the empty sheets to the far wall, only allowing a small sigh of relief to escape him when he sees that the strategist’s lanky figure is neither tangled in a heap on the floor, nor dangling from the ceiling by a lamp cord, but settled into an ornate chair situated near a closed window.

The curtains are drawn slightly, enough to allow for a few paltry rays of sunshine from the otherwise grey and rainy Altissian skies outside to bleed through, but not so much as to overwhelm the strategist’s compromised senses. The doctors had said he might have some mild sensitivity to light, but that was before anyone knew the extent of his injuries; now that he was awake, it was clear mild sensitivity was a massive understatement—Ignis couldn’t even open his eyes properly, as helpless and feeble as a blind newborn Coeurl.

He might not be blind forever, Gladio thinks, as he strides across the luxurious throw rug blanketing the hardwood floor. It was too early to tell if the damage done to his friend’s sight was merely temporary, or whether his long-term prognosis was more grim; regardless, he makes it a point to drag his feet loud enough for Ignis to hear him approaching. “Made it out of bed by yourself without breaking your neck? That can’t be a bad sign.”

The strategist has no discernible reaction when Gladio stops beside him. “I suppose not.”

“Prompto took a stab at scrambling some eggs, if you’re feeling up for a bite. I can’t make any promises on the quality, though.”

“I’m fine.”

Gladio fights back the urge to bark at him; his friend hadn’t consumed so much as a single bread crumb since he’d regained consciousness, and he had enough of an uphill battle to face without the added complication of self-imposed famine. “You gotta eat, man. Those beauty marks of yours aren’t going to heal without a little help.”

The strategist’s gaze is directed toward some indiscernible point out the window, his voice an eruption of utter monotony. “I said I’m fine.”

The big man sucks in an irritable breath and grimaces. “Suit yourself.”

“Any news?”

They were the first words that had passed through his lips when he awoke two days ago, and the same inquiry he had made at the top of every hour since, regardless of whether he was confined to his bed or being helped to the restroom on two shaky feet; Gladio glances down at him, wincing slightly at the sight of exposed muscles visible beneath the gaping wound that mars the left side of his friend’s face, and ponders briefly whether Ignis Scientia’s unwavering loyalty to the crown isn’t actually a result of him being a secret bastard son of the Amicitia family.

“Still out cold,” he murmurs.

The strategist nods solemnly; after a moment, he drops his chin to his chest and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “All right, then.”

A quiet lull descends on the room. There’s not much to say, really, and with Noct comatose in his own bed twenty yards down the hall—and Prompto choking back sobs at the slightest change in the weather—the lack of any meaningful developments serves only to agitate Gladio’s growing sense of apprehension. He shifts anxiously from foot to foot, peering out the window at the thick droplets streaming down the paned glass, until the silence becomes downright deafening and he attempts to make one last appeal.

“You sure you won’t try to eat something? It’ll probably give Prompto something happy to cry about, for once.” When the strategist responds only with a small shake of his head, Gladio flares his nostrils and moves to leave. “Then unless you need something else, I’ve got better things to do than to stand around and watch you starve yourself to death.”

“Could use a bath.”

Ignis’ quiet voice halts his exit mid-stride; Gladio returns his gaze to the slumped form in the chair, noticing that the stubble dotting his friend’s cheeks and jaw has grown out to an uncharacteristic length. “I bet you could,” he says. “I’ll get Prompto to draw one for you—wait right here for just a minute.”

The strategist fingers his rough chin absentmindedly. “Where else would I go?”

The big man ignores the dull ache in his chest and steps out of the room, scanning the long baroque hallways of the estate for any sign of the blond marksman. It’s only when he pokes his head into the extravagant suite Secretary Claustra had reserved for their private use that he spots Prompto, not blubbering into his overcooked eggs like he expects, but staring down at the screen of his cellular through dead eyes.

“Yo, Prompto,” he calls out from the doorway. “Iggy’s up. Says he wants a bath.”

Freckled features glance up from the phone, and Gladio can see the traces of tears that stain his younger friend’s cheeks. “That’s good,” Prompto says, setting his mobile aside and injecting some semblance of positivity into his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Figured you could get the hot water running while I strip him down.” Gladio then moves back out into the hallway, the sharpshooter hot on his heels. “The doc took his bandages off last night to let ‘em air out, so prepare your stomach accordingly.”

The expression of shock that crosses the marksman’s features when they return to their friend’s side matches the horror trickling into in his own gut; as the prince’s sworn shield, Gladio was no stranger to the sight of gruesome flesh wounds—his own included—but it was going to take some time to get used to the newest additions to the strategist’s face.

Mercifully, Prompto covers his surprise with a false smile and rests a hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “How’s it hanging, buddy? You’re looking better every day.”

The strategist lifts a weak hand in response, and Gladio sends the blond man off in the direction of the on-suite bathroom with a quick jerk of his head. When he can hear the sound of water splashing against the ceramic tiles of the tub, he reaches over and tugs on the back of his friend’s collar. “Ready to get out of those stinking clothes?”

The strategist is wearing the same loose pants and tunic the doctors had dressed him in the night they had dragged his battered and bloodied body back to the estate; if the smell of dried sweat plastered to his back for two days straight wasn’t overpowering enough, the stench of festering wounds was almost certainly driving the usually fastidious chamberlain slowly toward madness. He rises tentatively from his chair, swaying momentarily until he steadies himself against Gladio’s broad shoulders, and utters a painful groan as the big man peels the grimy fabric of his shirt up and over his head.

It’s not his friend’s nudity that gives Gladio pause when he helps him out of his pants—the brotherhood practically took sport in seeing who could withstand the glacial temperatures of Greyshire Grotto’s waterfall in the buff the longest before heading out to Altissia—but he is only now recognizing that Ignis’ wounds are not limited to his face. Removing his wardrobe takes with it the thin layer of crust protecting the lacerations that encircle his torso and thighs, and suddenly an eyeful of naked flesh is the least of Gladio’s troubles.

“Prompto!” he shouts. “We need a towel over here.”

The marksman immediately trots out of the bathroom armed with a pile of bath sheets, and the strategist stands in stoic silence as Gladio wipes at the blood trickling down his leg. But Ignis’ trembling knee betrays the true agony his body is almost assuredly in, and it takes all of the big man’s willpower not to throw his injured friend over his shoulder to save him from the misery of walking the twenty or so paces to the bathroom under his own strength.

Instead, he wraps a clean towel around the strategist’s waist and grips him gently by the elbow. “Take it easy,” he says. “It’s a marathon, not a race—Altissia ain’t gonna crumble any further just ‘cause it takes you two extra minutes to reach the tub.”

Ignis opens his mouth to speak, but words elude him; Prompto’s eyes widen at Gladio as he moves to the strategist’s other side, although whether it’s from shock or admonishment, the big man isn’t sure. He doesn’t spend much time mulling over his tasteless turn of phrase, however, because it’s clear from their friend’s pained expression that his stamina is failing with every one of his strides; Gladio’s heart winces at each agonizingly slow step, until his ribcage reaches nearly to the point of bursting before the three men finally reach the threshold of the bathroom and the strategist's kneecaps meet the edge of the ceramic vessel.

“It’s a clawfoot tub,” Gladio says. “About eighteen inches high. Watch your step.”

“As best I can,” Ignis replies sourly.

This time, there is no ambiguity in Prompto’s exasperated glare; Gladio brushes off the younger man’s disapproval as Ignis finds his footing, then helps lower his frail friend into the steaming water. “How’s that feel on your aching bones?”

For the first time in two days, the lines of suffering that furrow the strategist’s features relax into a small measure of tranquility. “A marked improvement, to be sure.”

Gladio then reaches for a washcloth hanging on a hook near the faucet and pushes it into Ignis’ palm. “Be careful with that gash on your face. In my experience, getting soap in an open wound feels about as good as pouring salt in it.”

“Hm. Noted.”

Prompto wrings a second washrag anxiously, the desire to be helpful clearly at odds with his fear of getting in the way. “Um, can we get you anything else?”

The strategist runs his hand across his coarse jawline, wincing slightly as his fingers meet the cut that splits his lower lip. “Perhaps just a razor.”

A look passes between the big man and his blond counterpart, their thoughts reaching the same dismal conclusion. “You’d better let one of us handle the sharp edges for a while,” Gladio says. “I’ll tackle your face for you, if you’re that desperate for a shave.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees. “Let us help you, Iggy.”

The strategist’s features crumple into a scowl. “I don’t see why I can’t do it myself.”

Because you can’t see anything, period, Gladio thinks, but bites his tongue. “Because it’ll give us something to do while we wait around for Sleeping Beauty to wake up from his nap,” he offers instead, and gestures to the sharpshooter. “Prompto, go find me a razor before I give his highness’ royal know-it-all something to really bitch about.”

Ignis’ scowl deepens, but he says nothing, and instead sinks farther down into the tub until the hot water is lapping around his shoulders. Prompto raids the nearest toiletry cabinet, returning to the big man’s side only when he’s located a bottle of shaving cream along with a questionably sharp blade. Gladio pours a generous amount of foam into his palm, then reaches for the strategist’s face—taking care not to gouge his grisly wound with his fingernails—and smirks. “Pucker up, gorgeous.”

But there is little humor to be found in this brief moment of indignity, because the exiled heir of Lucis was in a coma in the room adjacent to this one, oblivious that the world had changed irreversibly during his slumber and blissfully unaware that his bride had perished amidst the chaos. Scraping a few stubby hairs off a friend’s face was a minor inconvenience compared to the responsibility that lay ahead of whomever was ultimately tasked with delivering the devastating news to Noct; as he lathers the strategist’s jaw and drags the razor across one scarred cheek, Gladio woefully surmises there is only one man in this bathroom with enough tenacity of spirit to shoulder that terrible burden, and he’d need every ounce of strength to do so—even if he had to be force fed against his will.

He only gets partway through his task, however, before his hand slips—he hasn’t shaved his own face in years, much less anyone else’s—and the razor bites into his friend’s chin. Ignis flinches away, but he’s too late; the big man curses under his breath as he watches a drop of crimson blossom onto the strategist’s half-shaven jaw. “Shit.”

Prompto is already leaning over the tub, the rag in his hand moving quickly to stop the bleeding. “It’s fine,” Ignis says curtly, batting his assistance away and holding out a palm in the big man’s direction. “I’m sure I can manage the rest by feel—just hand me the razor, if you would.”

“No, no,” Gladio mutters, and reestablishes his grip over his friend's face. “I’m almost done—just sit still for another minute.”

The strategist grits his teeth in protest, but resigns himself to the inevitable and presses his lips together into a thin line. Gladio can feel Prompto’s anxious presence beside him, his nervous breath hot on his neck; he drives the younger man back with an elbow to his ribs, then returns his focus to Ignis’ bleeding jaw.

His confidence is already skating on thin ice, however, and his hand is trembling more than it was before; he only manages to get through two more passes with the razor before it snags on the strategist’s chiseled jawline yet again. “Goddamnit, Gladio,” Ignis snaps, recoiling angrily away to the end of the tub. “I told you to leave it.”

But the big man is already up, shoving the razor into a bewildered Prompto’s hand and swallowing the rage that is licking the insides of his throat. “You do this,” he shouts, then diverts his anger toward the figure floating in the water. “I’m not going to let myself be chewed out when all we were trying to do was help you.”

“I only asked you to draw me a bath,” Ignis counters. “I never asked to be treated like a bloody cripple.”

Had he been more in control of his turbulent emotions, Gladio might’ve picked up on the inkling of despair that laces the strategist’s voice; as it is, he can barely hear anything over the sound of his racing pulse screaming in his own ears. He stalks across the tiled floor and storms out of the bedroom, concluding on his way down the hall to the empty suite that Prompto was better at this whole nurturing thing, anyhow.

There’s little to distract him from his ire when he finally drops into a velvet sofa, so he returns almost immediately to his feet and paces the far wall. When treading a path nearly the depth of Pitioss Ruins does little to ease his agitation, he moves into the kitchenette and empties the last of the nigh inedible eggs Prompto scrambled from their skillet into a nearby wastebasket; as he dislodges the stubborn flakes from the frying pan with a dirty spatula, he takes a few deep breaths to quiet his roiling mind.

It’s only when he is no longer seeing red, and his heartbeat has returned to a more reasonable pace, that Gladio acknowledges to himself the real reason behind the strategist’s unusual display of impatience; comparatively speaking, a few minor nicks from a dull razor blade were drops in a bucket to the man who had survived having roughly half his face ripped clean off. But even without the use of his eyes, Ignis ought to have seen that his friends were merely looking out for one of their own—helping to pick up the pieces of his shattered existence in an effort to return some measure of normalcy and routine to their lives—and the big man isn’t quite sure whose pride is hurting more.

Half an hour goes by before Gladio catches a glimpse of blond hair strolling down the hall outside the suite; he darts over to the doorway and pokes his head out, flagging the marksman down. “Hey.”

“He’s fine,” Prompto says quickly, raising his palms to defend against any further berating. “I got his face all nice and shaved—he’s looking like a new man.”

Gladio punches him playfully in the shoulder to offset the panic in his friend’s eyes. “Took you long enough. After thirty minutes, it’s a wonder you even managed to figure out which end was the sharp one.”

Freckled features crumple into a frown. “My beard may not be as thick as yours, but I know how to get rid of a five o’clock shadow. We finished, like, twenty minutes ago.”

The hackles on Gladio’s neck stand up on end, and his pulse begins to pound once more. “Where is he now?”

“Still in the bath, I guess.”

“And you just left him there? By himself?”

Prompto’s eyes widen at the sudden heat in the big man’s voice. “I set a couple towels out for him—he said he could take care of the rest on his own.”

“Open your eyes, Prompto!” Gladio bellows. “Iggy can’t even take a piss without help—how’s he supposed to climb out of a two-foot bathtub without knowing where to put his feet?”

He doesn’t give Prompto any time to argue before he is grabbing him by the collar and dragging him down the corridor with him to the room at the end of the hallway. Only after the two men struggle to fit through the threshold at the same time does he finally release him, dashing across the throw rug and toward the closed door of the bathroom; when he opens it, his worst fears are realized as his eyes lock on to the jumble of wet limbs sprawled out on the tiled floor.

It’s not the first time Gladio has seen his friend take a tumble, and the strategist is already pushing himself to his knees when the big man drops to his side. It happened the first time he tried getting out bed by himself mere hours after regaining consciousness, and again in an effort to quench his thirst when no one was looking; it would’ve happened a third time after a misfortunate encounter with a wayward ottoman, but luckily Prompto was at the right place and time to help break his fall.

For a man with wet hair plastered to his forehead and wearing nothing save for the pewter skull pendant around his neck, Ignis remains remarkably dignified as he climbs to his feet. “Thank you,” he says, steadying himself against Gladio’s elbow as he gropes for the nearest towel. “It seems the walls of the tub were much slicker than I had anticipated.”

The big man is less restrained than his injured counterpart. “What the hell were you thinking?” he yells. “It would’ve taken you two seconds to call for one of us when you were ready to get out.”

“I’m fine,” Ignis retorts, the civility in his voice quickly being replaced by irritation. “You needn’t come running every time I blow my damn nose.”

“You’re not fine, so don’t act like everything is fine because your too vain to ask for a little help. Just look at yourself.”

“I can’t.” The ligaments surrounding the socket of the strategist’s right eye strain as he struggles to open it, and he finally manages to yank at the towel Prompto is holding out for him and cover his modesty. “I can’t look at myself, because I can’t look at anything. Or are you blind yourself?”

The tension in the air is as dense as the steam fogging up the mirrors of the bathroom, and the freckled marksman shifts uncomfortably between the two men. “C’mon, man,” he says to Gladio. “Maybe we should just give Ignis a minute—”

The big man cuts him off with a sharp glare, then takes a step toward the strategist and shoves a finger squarely against his wet sternum. “Listen to me,” he growls. “We’re helpless enough without you as it is, and I’m not about to let you crack your head open on the bathroom floor when your body is just starting to heal. Call one of us for help next time.”

The strategist has his face tilted vaguely in Gladio’s general direction; witnessing Ignis Scientia lose his everlasting composure was a sight even rarer than spotting an elusive Cactuar in the wild outskirts of Leide, but his expression is livid just the same. “I didn’t realize my own free will was under the jurisdiction of a committee. Or do I need your permission the next time I care to brush my teeth?”

It’s what the strategist is renown for, dishing out savage quips and pushing peoples’ buttons; Gladio would’ve been ashamed at himself for allowing Ignis to get under his skin so easily, if he was feeling anything other than pure, unadulterated rage in that moment. “Take that ego of yours and stick it where the sun don’t shine,” he snarls. “How’s that for permission?”

Then he’s pivoting on his heel and storming out of the humid bathroom; he can hear Promtpo’s footsteps squeak back and forth against the wet floor, evidently gauging his loyalty between the big man and the blind one, until the sharpshooter finally moves toward the threshold and calls out after him. “Gladio, wait—”

“Leave him,” he barks, wiping his damp fingers on his pant legs as he bursts out into the hall. “If he wants to choke on his own pride, who are we to stop him?”

The Pitioss path is about as useful at blowing off steam as his last pacing session—which is to say, not at all. But there’s no fitness center to be found in the secretary’s estate, no copious amounts of iron to pump that would help to soothe his wrath. So he gnashes his teeth together instead, marginally pleased that the marksman has trailed after him into the suite rather than indulge in the strategist’s thinly-veiled narcissism, although not enough to stop the taste of angry bile from flooding onto his tongue.

Gladio would’ve welcomed Prompto’s mournful silence in light of the alternative—the constant oscillation between incessant chatter and stifled sobs for two days straight was beginning to wear down on his last nerve—but the absence of conversation serves merely to heighten the suffocating ambience of the room, raindrops hitting the windows being the only sound coming from inside the suite at all. He stops at one of them and peers out at the increasingly ominous sky; it’s as black as his heart, the weather as fickle as the Hydraean when she unleashed her indiscriminate wrath upon both the corrupt and innocent alike, and as cold and wet as the dead civilian bodies he helped drag out of the sea with his own two hands.

When the haunting memory threatens to wrap itself around his throat and strangle him senseless, and he can see the expression of anguish on Prompto’s freckled face mirroring his own, Gladio finally breaks. “Spit it out.”

The marksman kicks a booted heel against the leg of the chair he is slumped in. “It’s nothing.”

“Spit it out before I make you.”

Prompto then gnaws on his lower lip, and Gladio waits for the tears he wholly expects to start pouring down his friend’s cheeks; the younger man surprises him, however, when he moves to fiddle with the studded bracelet on his right wrist instead. “I just think you’re being a little hard on Iggy, is all.”

“Why?” Gladio counters. “Because it’s easier to bring him a glass of water than it is to watch him eat shit every time he gets thirsty?”

“It’s not about that. You know it isn't.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t exactly have a lot of time to sit around and act like each other’s personal therapists. Telling Noct what happened when he comes to is going to be hard enough without having a second head case on our hands to deal with.”

The fingers fidgeting with the bracelet tug more anxiously at it. “It just feels like you’re punishing him for something he can’t control. It’s, like, not even in his DNA to ask for help—you can’t force him to do it. The only thing you can do is be there for him when he does fall down.”

“Don’t you see? His life doesn’t belong to him anymore—none of ours does. And he’s only going to make it harder on everyone if he keeps hurting himself.” The vein in Gladio’s temple begins to throb, but he clamps down on his anger and blows out his breath. “Look—we’ve all got a job to do, and Ignis can’t do his effectively if he’s taking careless risks and slipping on banana peels. He of all people should recognize that.”

“What are you going to do, give him a sponge bath every day for the rest of his life?” Prompto finally drops his bracelet and offers a tired shrug. “If he wants to do something on his own terms, we should trust him. It’s not like he’s racing into battle with a Malboro without a hi-potion.”

“I can only hope not to run into any tentacled creatures for some time.”

The strategist’s clipped accent pierces the air; Gladio whips his head around nearly as quickly as Prompto, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes when he sees Ignis’ sopping wet figure hovering near the edge of the threshold.

“What happened to brushing your teeth?” he asks sarcastically.

“It seems the tube resting on the sink I thought was toothpaste was actually antibacterial ointment.” The strategist’s nose wrinkles as he clutches at the bath sheet wrapped around his waist. “Regardless, I only stumbled this far down the hall so that I might inquire into a clean set of clothes. I’d rather not toss a pair of trousers over my head, if I can help it.”

Gladio’s gaze shifts to Prompto, but the sharpshooter is already on his feet. “I’ll dig up something for you,” he says, and disappears into the corridor.

Ignis runs his hand along the doorframe, feeling the ground in front of him with his feet as he steps tentatively into the room. “You needn’t worry—I’ll be on my way soon enough and let you two get back to analyzing my inner psyche.”

This time, Gladio does roll his eyes, although this irritable gesture is lost on his blind friend. “Cut us some slack, will you? We’ve got bigger fish to fry with without having to dance around your feelings.”

“My feelings in the matter are irrelevant. This is logistics we’re talking about.”

The icy air surrounding the strategist is palpable, and a twinge of pain tightens around Gladio’s heart as he watches his friend lower himself dejectedly into a nearby chair. “Give it some time, man—it’s too early to know what you’re sight is going to end up like. You’d be less of a burden on everyone if you just sucked up your pride, at least for the time being.”

The lines on Ignis’ forehead furrow, and he drops his voice to nearly a whisper. “I should like to reach a point where I’m not a burden on anyone, period.”

It’s an understandable fear, especially among those who have devoted their life to a higher calling; the idea of being so weak as to require defaulting on the assistance of others leaves a bad taste in Gladio’s own mouth. But the big man isn’t in the habit of tiptoeing around the proverbial Sylleblossoms, and there was a more pressing issue in need of addressing besides, so he sets his jaw in preparation of the next difficult conversation. “Speaking of burdens,” he says grimly, “one of us is going to have to break the hard news to Noct when he wakes up.”

A small fracture appears in the strategist’s aloof facade, and Gladio can see the faintest hint of sorrow lacing his features. “I have admittedly given the notion some thought.”

“What’s the plan, then? We gonna tag-team him, or…?”

The fractures deepen, his melancholy growing more obvious as his eyes move rapidly beneath closed eyelids. “That’s not necessary. I’ll do it myself.”

Gladio frowns as he studies the planes of his friend’s scarred face. “You don’t have to do it alone. There’s no reason me or Prompto can’t be there with you.”

“Prompto has a good heart, but I foresee his own grief getting the better of him before he could even eke out a single word.” The strategist runs a hand through his damp hair and heaves a sigh. “As for you—don’t take this the wrong way, but your sensitivity meter could use some calibrating.”

It’s why the dynamic between the Crownsguard had worked so well in the past; Prompto was the heart and soul of the Brotherhood, his kind and gentle nature a breath of fresh air in a sea of masculinity, while Gladio was the shield and protector, ready and willing to exchange his life for one of his own at a moment’s notice and without hesitation. Ignis was somewhere between the two, amiable to the point of taking genuine pride in the culinary masterpieces he created specifically with his friends in mind, but with enough steel in his backbone to turn around and slit an enemy’s throat with the very same knife he used to dice his carrots.

How their bonds would fare going forward remained to be seen, and a humorless laugh escapes through Gladio’s clenched teeth. “That’s probably true.”

The sound of hesitant footsteps entering the suite draw the big man’s attention, and he watches as Prompto sets a pair of folded slacks and a tunic on the coffee table in front of Ignis. “I found your purple shirt,” he says, his voice wavering slightly. “You know—the one with the Coeurl print. Thought maybe you’d want to wear something else besides pajamas for a change.”

The momentary fractures in the strategist’s veneer seal themselves, and he offers as genial an expression as he can muster. “You have my thanks.”

The marksman’s lower lip trembles slightly, and he nods once before turning back toward the door. “I, um—I’m just gonna go hang out with Noct, I guess. Maybe playing some King’s Knight in his ear will wake him up faster.”

“Prompto.”

The freckled man glances down at the fingers Ignis suddenly has clutched around his hand. “What’s up?”

The strategist’s left eye was likely a lost cause, Gladio concedes, but he can see his friend struggling to open the eyelid of his right one. After a moment, Ignis gives up his futile effort, his shoulders slumping forward with the same sense of despair that plagues them all. “There is a rather troubling task that lies ahead of me I’m going to need to prepare myself for,” he says quietly, his fingers tightening around Prompto’s wrist. “Would you be so kind as to scramble a few eggs for me?”

[pinebypine]

Theatre of Competition

Triplet AU fic. Ty and Mabel are bored by Dipper’s choice of film

Since Dipper insisted on seeing the movie he bought the tickets, but since Ty and Mabel were the ones with the sugar cravings they bought the snacks. The triplets sat in the back row of the theater so they could push up the armrests between their seats and get a little cuddly. The girls maneuvered Dipper into the middle and each grabbed a hand, intertwining their fingers and laying their heads on his shoulders. The first twenty minutes of the movie passed pretty pleasantly for Dipper, until Ty broke the silence.

"I'm bored. Mabel, aren't you bored?"

"Oh god yes." Her sister opined. "This movie is the snoozeville."

Dipper felt offended. "Hey it’s got dragons and sword fights and junk."

Mabel stuck her tongue out and made a raspberry noise. "The trailer does but so far its been wall to wall talking."

“It’s obviously going to start…” Ty’s fingertip pressed to Dippers lips, effectively interrupting him.

“While Dipper gets to enjoy his boring movie, I would like to propose an activity that will also keep the two of us entertained.”

“Do go on, dear sister. I’m all ears.”

“Well, you know how-” Ty made a conspiratorial throat clearing noise, “loud Dipper gets.”

Mabel giggled and nodded. They had recently been forced to enact a very strict never-when-the-parents-are-home-no-not-even-if-we-think-we-can-keep-it-under-control rule on account of Dipper’s volume and his apparent complete inability to control said volume when suitably stimulated.

“I propose that you and I enter into a good natured bet. First one to make Dipper make an embarrassing noise wins.”

Mabel’s grin shone in the reflected light of the movie screen. “Usual stakes?”

Ty shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Would you like to set any ground rules or does a free for all sound good to you?”

Mabel tapped her chin with one finger and looked at the subject of their little competition. Dipper was wild-eye and probably about to break into a sweat. “No tickling. No biting. No under the clothing.”

Ty’s eyebrows rose. “Well if that’s how it’s going to be then we better make sure the playing field is set up properly.” She reached over, grabbed the zipper pull on Dipper’s hooded sweatshirt, and pulled it all the way down.

Dipper gulped nervously. He had just realized that neither one of them were releasing their grips on his hands. “Uh girls. Don’t I get some say in this?”

Mabel shot him a glance and patted his shoulder. “Shh, Dipper. Grownups are talking. Are we playing until the end of the movie?”

“Yep. Terms accepted?” She offered her free hand and they shook on it.

“For crying out loud,” Dipper grumbled, “you are five and ten minutes older than me and I just want to watch the damned movie.”

Ty leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of her brother’s jawline and felt him clench his jaw muscles in response. “It’s so cute when you think you get a say in these things.”

Mabel placed a hand flat against his chest and let out a little giggle. “My my, somebody is all a pitter patter.”

“Because what you two are proposing is likely as hell to get us caught.”

Ty scanned the movie theater. It was a tuesday afternoon in the middle of summer. Apparently everyone else had read the reviews for this movie and had decided to pass on it. There were three other groups of patrons; a couple of women in the middle row, a group of three indistinguishable people farther forward, and, closest to the triplets, a man who was so obviously asleep a few rows in front and far off to one side, his head limply flopped backward over his seat, mouth agape..

“I think we’ll be ok, scaredy-cat. You just enjoy your boring movie and Mabel and I will enjoy our game.”

It took about four minutes before Dipper had to actually bite the inside of his lip to keep from letting a moan escape his mouth. Mabel noticed this and paused in her light touches, catching Ty’s eye meaningfully. Which was when Dipper realized that while they were ostensibly “playing” against each other, they were going to drag this out for as much of the whole two remaining hours as they could. When one of them won, they no longer got to have their fun.

They let him cool off for about five minutes, but it seemed like only seconds after they resumed that rivulets of sweat were running down Dipper’s back, despite how cold the air conditioning was making it in here. He was straining with all his effort to keep his trap shut; the fear of the disastrous consequences of them being found out by someone giving him extra reserves of willpower.

“Hey, we said no biting.”

“I was nibbling, not biting.”

“Don’t push the line, Pines, or I’ll take this to the next level.”

Ty snickered and ceased running her lips along Dipper’s neck. She leaned across his lap toward her sister, then made a quick “come here” motion, indicating as if she wished to whisper something to her. Mabel responded by leaning over as well and turning her head for her ear to be spoken in to surreptitiously. Ty made a quick glance to be sure Dipper was watching, and like he had a choice; they were inches away and right in front of his face. Then she reached up with her free hand and in one swift motion, she’d pulled Mabel’s face back round and drew her in for a deep, long kiss.

Dipper was about to explode. He was practically vibrating with tension in his seat, hands pinned in his sisters’ laps, unable to do anything to mitigate the situation. He was starting to worry that if he bit his lower lip any harder, he was going to actually draw blood.

The girls took their time with the kiss but when they separated, and Mabel looked at the straining expression on Dipper’s face, she tut-tutted her sister. “If that had been the winning move, you so totally shouldn’t have been allowed to call it in your favor; team effort as it was.”

Ty attempted an innocent expression. “Never would have occurred to me to even try to claim victory is such a scenario. I was just feeling a little bad at how much attention we were lavishing dear Dipper and none on ourselves.” As she whispered her hand dropped casually to Dipper’s knee and he nearly bolted up out his seat.

“Look girls,” he spoke very carefully through gritted teeth, “I know you’re having fun and all but is there anything I can do to get you to just postpone all this until we’re, you know, alone? I’ll do your chores for a week. I’ll take you shopping. Anything.”

His sisters giggled in response and then they both snuggled up closer to him. Dipper was on the edge of breaking down.

“You said embarrassing noise, right?” He bargained. “How ‘bout this, then?” Dipper scrunched up his face, opened his mouse, and made the loudest and most convincing series of pig squeals either of his sisters had ever heard out of him; the man on the other side of the theater even woke up and looked around, apparently startled and confused. “There. Game over. Winner: Dipper Pines.”

The girls had shifted back from him in surprised at his sudden porcine imitation. They looked around and saw that the few other watchers in the theater had all turned to look at them. Ty reached up with her free hand and gently smacked the side of Dipper’s head in reprimand.

“Seriously,” she shook her head in disapproval, “we can’t take you anywhere.”

“It was either that or you two get what you wanted and we all get kicked out of the theatre for- you know.”

Mabel rolled her eyes, released Dipper’s hand, and slumped into her seat. “You worry too much, bro. Besides, it’s not like you weren’t having fun too.” She pointed at her brother’s lap, which was having a serious tenting problem. Dipper swore under his breath and performed a quick tucking maneuver to at least reduce the problem.

Ty reached up and scruffed Dipper’s shaggy hair. “You don’t have to be such a spoil sport about it. We were just winding you up; we don’t want to get caught either. You’re just so much fun to tease.”

Dipper made a small huffing noise and pouted in his seat. “Well neither of you are the one going home with blue balls at the end of the night.”

“Oh poor Dipper’s little nuts.” Mabel reached over and patted him on the top of the head. “Why would you think we’d be so cruel to our little brother, Big D? Ty and I were gonna help you out.”

His other sister flung her arm around Dipper’s shoulders and and squeezed. “Of course; sisterly duty and all.”

Dipper’s brow furrowed. “But what about the never-when-the-parents-are-home-no-not-even-if-we-think-we-can-keep-it-under-control rule?”

“Oh, mom and dad aren’t home.” Mabel leaned on Dipper’s shoulder and he felt Ty’s hand start to play with her hair. “They have that dinner party for dad’s work; they’ll be out late.”

They silently watched the movie; the sword fighting bit had started up, but even Dipper’s heart wasn’t in it. After a few minutes, Ty felt Dipper’s hand on her leg; he gave her a gentle squeeze. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Look who’s not too reluctant to play now.”

“Actually this movie did turn out to be pretty lackluster and it’s not like I was able to pay much attention to the first part. So I’ve sort of lost the plot and…”

“Dipper Pines!” Mabel scolded in a whisper. “Are you proposing that we skip the end of the movie you so generously paid for?”

“Well…”

Ty snatched a hand of each of her siblings and leapt to her feet. “Oh thank god, I thought you were actually going to make us finish this awful thing.” She started dragging them toward the exit door. They were in the parking lot in record time and Mabel started to strip from sweater down to just her pony adorned T-shirt.

“Jeez, it was getting hot in there.” She tossed the garment at her brother and turned to walk backward a couple of paces ahead of the other two. “Now, I think Dipper was very patient with us, Ty; so he definitely deserves a little something.”

Ty’s eyebrows raised. “You thinking of our patented Triple-Double-Trouble?”

Mabel shot her some finger guns. “Read my mind, Tee.” Then her smile grew playfully sly. “Plus that’ll pretty much hit the reset switch on our favorite brother here, and you and I can get back to our bet.” She winked at Ty.

“You are so on, Mabel Pines.”

“Um girls, I think you’re expecting a bit too…” And then Dipper did the math and decided that with a Triple-Double-Trouble and a whole evening with the house to themselves, he was probably getting a bargain.

[wreckthelist]

we shall never surrender: how dunkirk took my breath away

I love film highs.

It’s the rare, addicting exhilaration of having my mind blown and my senses captured by the unexpected. The fantastic blow of being hit by a phenomenal experience, of having gone and lost my head and disappeared, transported into somewhere beyond the imagined.

And Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk pretty much destroyed me.

I’m going to rally here and agree with the reviews I read prior to my screening that the film was light in terms of emotional depth, but god, did I get so sucked into it, so invested. (Blame it on my unabashed, unadulterated love, attraction, and devotion to dark-haired boys who are all angles and sharp eyes.)

I shook my head when my war-crazed, history fanatic of a high school friend enthusiastically gestured at the Dunkirk trailer preceding our Wonder Woman showing. A ‘trio’ of trailers (peppered with Hans Zimmer’s fabulous, anxious tick, tick, tick) attacked again before my Baby Driver one, and I was left unconvinced.

“Looks good,” he said, “Watching it for sure.”

Of course you would, you war history buff.

(I miss him. Of the three of us, I’m the one left here halfway across the world.)

But then first came the lauds for the One Direction leading man, proclaiming Mr. Styles’ genuine acting abilities, despite this being his debut. The embargo came down, and the hype definitely got to me.

Nolan’s best, seemed to be the critics’ consensus. Watch it in IMAX if you must, no matter how far you have to travel, how long you have to wait.

I’m a BFI Member. I paid for a year’s subscription during my time here completing my grad studies, and normally I’d wait by my laptop, after having my monthly scan through the upcoming month’s Advanced Screenings and Members-Only showing, for the prompt 11:30am battle for tickets. (Granted, it’s only for me, there’s nothing to worry about in that aspect. I’m the most fanatical film fan I know.)

With Dunkirk, I’d waited for so long, having been so casual about it and not at all anticipating the film like I would for, say, Call Me By Your Name (my slot to name-drop that film y’all will be talking about by the end of the year like Moonlight. Stick with me, bear with it, and you’ll know.) that I forgot the IMAX would be filling up.

So yeah, at around 7pm, while taking a break from drafting my project report (big sigh and wild eyes), I decided to check out the IMAX showings on the BFI website.

I don’t remember my last IMAX film. It’s been so long since I’d treated myself to one, or deemed a film worthy of one. IMAX is an occasion, a decision, an event. And with this film, too full aware of my own exasperation with war films, I was going to watch it once and once only. Better to go all in, all or nothing. Go big or go home.

(Pour your clichés on me. Do it.)

I’ll say outright I shouldn’t have been surprised that the showings from 6pm onwards were sold out (SOLD OUT! In the freaking IMAX auditorium on the freaking Southbank in the freaking London!).

Taking advantage of the flexible working hours I was (and am) fortunate enough to have (I’m going back to work after this review, I swear. I’ve got to write this down, otherwise I’ll forget the rush of seeing Fionn’s face at 18K of experiencing the film), I started checking the showings before noon.

And the showing with the best seating available for a single person, surprise, surprise, was the 7:15am, the very first, on Britain’s biggest screen, at the highest possible resolution (18K, 15/70mm. God bless shooting in films.)

It would mean waking up at the crack of dawn (5:30am – my alarm for this morning. But thank God for summer sunlight.) and skipping my full, home-cooked breakfast to get on the Tube from West London all the way to Southbank (I’m jealous of the people living around Westminster, I am. Maybe just this once. Or maybe for being always so close to the BFI.)

But, and I will say this once for this film, I wasn’t going to watch an IMAX film, particularly a war one of shooting, torpedoes, bombs, and fires—from a seat that would torture me for two hours.

It had to be good, and it had to be done.

For that, I was willing to get up and come down.

I bought my ticket (we’re not talking prices here.), and, funny enough, I did end up getting tortured for the good two hours.

Let me breathe, Nolan.

Leave my children be.

It was a Row F seat, kind of okay and not too much of a hassle to watch planes fly around and boats and ships getting wrecked to hell. (The first time I watched a film so close to the screen was a Chinese martial arts feature, two rows from the front, that left me dizzy and disoriented, promising myself that I’d never let it happen to me, or my senses, ever again.) The guy asked if I wanted a T-shirt at the entrance, and I was caught off guard.

“Medium or Large?”

(They’re out of Smalls, of course. Sad.)

“Oh. Medium,” I replied, catching the black, “I saw Dunkirk in 15/70mm IMAX,” from him, and muttering, “Cool!” under my breath, already bewildered and getting ahead of myself.

That I wasn’t going to be excited for this I’d forgotten. That I was nonchalant and even shying away from the prospects of seeing a war film was wiped clear from my mind when I settled down in my seat.

(I was here for the good seat and the IMAX cinematography. I was here for the bombs and the boys and the anticipated film high I knew I was going to get. I was here to watch Harold Styles act his way out of French beaches, and I was here to witness the very first showing of Nolan’s war epic on the gigantic, couple-of-storeys-high screen, the way every critic out there was saying it was to be seen.)

“Since it’s the first showing, we wanted to get a picture,” said the general manager, “So turn around and raise your T-shirts to my colleague at the back.”

I’m sure someone’s T-shirt was blocking my face, and that’s okay. It was a thing—something—to be there, at that moment, at that time, for this screening. It was definitely a thing. It was my thing.

My cousin had asked about what I’ve done so far in terms of life outside the classroom during my time in London, and he was (duh. Knowing him.) unimpressed with me murmuring about going to the movies and the theatre and the concerts.

But this is my thing. He may not understand it. And he never would. But this is my thing. This is my life, this is the exhilaration I hold onto. This is my one true love, my joy. I love films, I love poetry, I love theatre, and I love music. It’s a lifelong love affair that had me from an early age and one I would stay committed to, till death do us part.

That said, the film started and the first friendly face we saw on screen was Fionn Whitehead’s.

(Thanks to the time-zone differences and advanced screenings in Bangkok, Twitter was a-fluttering with pictures of the Dunkirk boyband (est. 2017)—you can’t stop me. I didn’t start this. They did. *points finger*--Fionn (I’m putting my boy first. My boy.), Harry, Aneurin, Jack (Lowden), Barry, and the Big Leagues: Tom (Hardy), Cillian (Murphy), Kenneth (Branaugh), James (D’Arcy), and Mark (Rylance).

So you could say I, a fan of names, had the boys distinguished from the get-go.

Existing in the Twitterverse as I am, it’s impossible not to get swept up in a phenomenon the scale of Dunkirk’s. It was bound to happen.

Okay. Especially when I’m following one of the biggest Jack Lowden fans.)

It’s a huge responsibility for Fionn, to carry the film from the start and (spoiler—AVERT YOUR EYES) to be the last face we saw.

But boy, did he do a great job.

It’s a harrowing film, one that left me gasping, hand over mouth, at moments. I let myself go, give myself in completely (as one does), and Nolan took me away.

There’s the beaches, the skies, and the sea. The cameras swept across the screen, put us in the pilot’s seat. Bombs rattled the auditorium’s seats. I jumped each time shots were fired, hands clasped on my lap and praying for my boys.

The other reason I was going to stay away from this film was for fear of getting too absorbed, and here I was, nearly shedding a tear at the chaos unfolding in front of me, so close, and at a devastating scale.

There’s Fionn’s freckles up on the screen, Harry’s voice and Aneurin’s damp, curly mop of hair. They’re caught below a boat’s deck, water pouring in from the leaks around them. We cut to Tom Hardy in the skies and Jack Lowden in the civilian boat with Mark Rylance at the helm.

That little (SPOILER) scene of Aneurin alone on the ship, eyes closed, head resting against the wall, was one of the most subtle, touching scenes I’ve ever watched. Its quiet intensity burned me, stirred me. I love my boy Aneurin.

(But Barry! But Barry!

No spoilers here, so I’m going to yell. What emotional manipulation. How dare you did us like that.)

The deafening soundtrack, the bombs, the horrifying spectacles, the boys’ terrified, troubled eyes trapped me. I was immersed, stunned, and so involved it baffled me that a film could catch me so.

But I let it happen. Let it run its course, followed the boys on the beach, in the seas, below decks and on board sinking ships. Nurses handed them blankets, tea (ah, Britain), and toasts with jam, and that Harry Styles could carry scenes so convincingly was a wonderful, satisfying revelation.

I left the auditorium feeling so #shooketh and clutching my Dunkirk tee. That last scene (SPOILER again. I’m giving you advance notice with the CAPITAL LETTERS.) with Fionn reading the newspaper article, the shot of him, his eyes cast down, voice in solemn stillness and unwavering clarity as he read the words proclaiming Britain’s willpower, ended the film on a powerful note.

^^^this adorable nugget.

(Those. Eyelashes.

I adore profiles. And I love, love shots of people looking down.)

I’m still reeling from the film high (for good measure), and believe me when I say this, go watch Dunkirk in IMAX. Do not miss this chance. Do not let this go. Treat yourself. Do it. Feast your eyes and lose yourself and hollow out your hearts.

Nolan’s gifted the world with a war classic, and this is one we would be talking about for years to come.

PS. I’m writing this at the National Theatre right after the screening. It’s been two hours, and I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to get so attached to a certain black-haired leading boy. And I’m still not fine.

PPS. Seeing Aneurin and Jack so soon after finishing War & Peace (2016) is such a treat.