#i went to see glass animals live the other week and it left me BUZZING i absolutely adore this song and seeing it live just ouughhhh

[frenchonionsoop]

OOH NOW YOU'RE LETTING GO

HEART BEATING FASTER

FEET PUSHIN' ON THE FLOOR

AIN'T NOTHIN' BETTER

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x reader) Part 10

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend? 

Word Count: 4.9 K 

__

The loud buzzing of the tattoo gun was beginning to annoy Levi. The little pricks less annoying than the drone of the machine. He winced as the needle skimmed over a sensitive bit of skin.

"Try not to flinch." Farlan scolded as he readjusted his grip.

"Tch, sorry." Levi apologized through gritted teeth. Farlan reached for a wipe to clean off the excess ink, revealing the nearly finished piece. Like his other tattoos, this one was no different, the design was drawn out in thin delicate lines of ink. He had chosen to get this one on his tricep. Farlan spun his chair around to show Levi the design in the mirror, a flower, more specifically a lily of the valley. More specific yet, the flower for the month of May, the month his mother was born.

He nodded in appreciation a she admired the thin stem that led up to delicate bell shaped petals. The stems faded into a two leaves at the base of the design, they were all that needed to be filled in before the piece was complete.

"It looks good." Levi mused as he stared at the aggravated skin, the black lines were outlined with red angry skin.

"Thanks, I must admit I'm a bit rusty." Farlan chuckled as he leaned in with another wipe to clean the tattoo.

"Could've fooled me." Levi muttered as he turned in his chair to give Farlan better access.

"Let me finish this up and then we can go grab some lunch." Farlan gave the tattoo one last wipe down before he wrapped it in sandiderm. Once he was pleased with his work he tugged off the gloves and tossed them into the trash.

"Sounds good." Levi grunted as he stood up from the chair. Farlan had picked up tattooing as a side hustle, not that he booked many clients. It was more of a hobby for him, but he was rather good at it. As Farlan cleaned up the equipment and packed it back into his bag Levi went into the bathroom to wash up before they left for lunch. Isabel was out with friends, she hadn't been particularly interested in visiting the University with Levi and Farlan.

____

Levi trailed a few paces behind Farlan as they wondered through the sprawling campus. The campus had a dark academic vibe to it, with all the gothic architecture and the snowy lawns. Levi's trip was coming to a close, and he was glad that he had managed to squeeze in the visit. He spoke to an advisor, who was very enthusiastic about him applying. He figured that him coming from a single parent home, being an orphan with dual citizenship and good grades probably looked good for their statistics. So Levi and Farlan left, packets of information that they would need to apply. He decided that he should give Erwin a call, since he would be coming back home on the 26th, he originally intended on coming back after the new year but Hange had convinced him to come back early. Of course it was intended to be a surprise for Erwin and (Y/n), he felt bad for leaving Farlan and Isabel early but he figured that he could make up for the lost time when he got accepted into the University. They would have him all to themselves for four years if everything went according to plan.

"This place looks as good as any." Farlan paused in front of a small pub not too far from campus. Levi shrugged and kicked a chunk of ice out of his way. Farlan held the door open for him as they ducked into the dimly lit bar. The two settled into the barstools facing an impressive stock of alcohol, since it was about three in the afternoon the bar was basically empty save for a scraggly old dude that was mumbling to himself in a booth.

"Come here often?" Levi huffed as he inspected the sticky bar top. Farlan chuckled and waved for the bar tender.

"No actually, but I've heard that it's popular with the uni students." Faralan explained as he waited for the bar tender to finish counting the money in his hands.

"Two gin and tonics please." Farlan asked politely, the bar tender nodded and began to make the drinks.

"So you leave in what five days?" Farlan asked as he grabbed his drink and took a long swig.

"Yeah, sorry it was kind of last minute." Levi apologized, Farlan waved him off dismissively.

"Wait what did you get Isabel for Christmas this year?" Farlan asked as he slammed his already drained glass onto the counter.

"I bought her the DVD set for that one show she likes." Levi answered as he nursed his gin and tonic.

"Ah no way! That's a good one! The veterinary show right?" Farlan gushed, clearly impressed with Levi's choice of gift.

"Yeah that's the one." Levi nodded, a small smirk spreading across his lips.

"She'll love that. I got her some new jeans and a stuffed animal." Farlan shrugged, as he motioned for another drink.

"Not the shittiest choice." Levi mumbled as he brought his glass to his lips.

"Thank you Levi." Farlan held his glass up for a toast, and Levi indulged him, gently tapping his glass against Farlan's. Levi knocked back the rest of his drink before pulling out his phone to check his messages.

"What time should I pick you up from the airport?" Levi pursed his lips in thought before responding to Hange's text.

"Six in the morning."  he typed his response quickly and sent it. He had already planned on arriving early to give himself plenty of time to prepare himself for the annual post Christmas party that your family hosted.

"See you then, don't have too much fun in France!" Hange's reply was instantaneous,  Levi hated to admit it but he missed four-eyes and bushy brows. Hell he even missed Erwin's bratty sister.

_____

You draped your arm over your eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the blinding light that was flooding your living room. Although the snow was pretty, it sure was a bitch when the sun hit it, causing the light to reflect sharply in through the large windows in your living room. It was finally Christmas break, and you were enjoying it to it's fullest, basking in your sweats on the couch. Your mom had just gotten back from grocery shopping and was beginning to set out ingredients for the baking that she had planned to do for the rest of the afternoon. Erwin and Hange had gone ice skating with Mike and Nanaba, and planned to all meet up back at your house to assist your mom with the seasonal baking. Your phone chimed on the coffee table and you stretched to check it.

"Coffee and chill? 🥺" You rolled your eyes at Jean's message. He had been trying to contact you relentlessly for the past week. You had evaded him, not quite ready to confront him about his wrong doings. You ignored his text and instead favored to ask Mikasa if she wanted to come over to bake.

"hey I know it's been a while, but want to come over to bake cookies with me today? You could bring Armin and Eren if you want!" You sighed and dropped your phone back down onto the table with a sigh. You were pleasantly surprised by how quickly she responded.

"What time?"

"an hour?"

"See you then :)"  You smiled at the screen as you read her response. You always thought it was cute how she preferred to use characters instead of emojis when she texted. You decided that a shower would be a good idea since so many people were coming over now, so you hustled up stairs. You were thankful that Hange and Erwin weren't home because they had made a habit of interrupting your showers. Whether it was Hange trying to join you in the shower to "save water" or Erwin coming in to take a massive dump while you were in the shower. So you fully took advantage of your uninterrupted shower time while you could. You took your time, washing your hair and the rest of your body and enjoying the hot water. By the time you were finished the bathroom was cloudy with steam from the hot shower. You wrapped yourself in towel and scurried to your room to change. You pulled on a pair of leggings and a cropped fitted turtleneck. You then proceeded to tug on a faded crew neck to complete the look. You loped down the stairs, but paused about half way down. The sound of shoes being toed off and a coat being hung up made you rethink your decision.

"Oh Kenny! I'm so glad you made it!" Your mom gushed and you bristled. It wasn't that you didn't like Kenny, it was just that you weren't expecting him. It seemed that your house needed to keep an Ackerman on hand at all times because as soon as Levi left Mikasa and Kenny began coming around more frequently. Your mom invited Kenny over for coffee on Sunday mornings and you invited Mikasa over for sleepovers and craft nights.

"Hey sorry I'm late, I brought booze though." Kenny's rough voice felt foreign to your ears. Despite his sudden presence at your house he still felt like a stranger to you. Of course you could only blame yourself here, you tried your best to avoid him and his questions, not sure how you felt about the gruff man. He seemed nice enough but you weren't quick to trust him, Erwin certainly wasn't either.

"Ah (Y/n)! Perfect timing! Come down stairs and say hello." your mom called out, you winced but obeyed, descending the last few steps.

"Hey there kiddo, how's it hangin'?" Kenny drawled as you slunk into the kitchen sheepishly.

"Hey Kenny, I'm good how are you?" You asked politely, aiming to please your mother more than Kenny. The man smiled triumphantly and leaned further back into his seat.

"I'm fantastic." he stated with a smug smirk plastered on his lips.

"Mom, I invited Mikasa, Amrin, and Eren over is that alright?" you asked, dismissing Kenny.

"Yeah of course baby, the more the merrier!" she cooed as she continued to set up the mixer and prop up the cook book.

"So my little niece will be joining us tonight?" Kenny affirmed as he stood to help your mother untangle to cord of the mixer.

"Yeah." you trailed off, not sure if this was good or bad. Although the pair had both been frequenting your house recently, they hadn't run into one another yet. You knew that Levi had a bad relationship with his uncle, so you could only assume that Mikasa's relationship was also just as rocky.

"haven't seen that brat since she was in diapers." Kenny mused as he flipped through the cook book.

"really? Well she sure has grown. Such a lovely young woman." Your mother sighed dreamily as she thought about Mikasa.

"Glad to hear it.." Kenny mumbled as he paused on a gingerbread recipe. Before you could decode the meaning behind his bland tone, the door flew open and Hange sauntered in. Today she was dressed for the weather in a downy parka and leggings with a thick crewneck. Erwin followed close behind, dressed in joggers and a t-shirt, he tended to get hot easily. Mike however was different. Mike was dressed for Arctic temperatures with a thick quarter zip underneath his north face and a pair of denim jeans on his legs. Nanaba wore a quarter zip as well but leggings instead of jeans. You rushed to help them shove their coats into the cramped closet and put snowy shoes over vents to melt off the ice. Soon they were all crowding into the kitchen, Mike was quick to help your mom set out ingredients while Erwin went to light the fireplace. Hange was rushing up the stairs and Nanaba was skimming through the cook book.

Ah yes such a familiar scene. You immediately felt better in the presence of the upperclassmen, Kenny seemed to melt into the background as he watched you all fall into a familiar rhythm. Erwin returned to the kitchen, dusting his hands off as he entered.

"Hey." He greeted you with a slight nod before he stooped to pull a baking sheet out of the cabinets.

"How was ice skating?" you asked as you leaned against the counter near Erwin.

"Cold, we saw Petra and Oluo there." Erwin mused as he sat the sheet down with a clatter.

"Really? Are they a thing?" you quizzed, your interest piqued.

"Couldn't say, wouldn't surprise me though." Erwin shrugged, his large frame pressed against the counter opposite to allow Nanaba to squeeze through.

"I don't know Erwin, last time I spoke to her she seemed pretty fixed on Levi." Nanaba interjected as she stooped to pull out a bowl.

"I thought she was over him. He left her hanging at my house a few months back remember?" Mike reminded Nanaba who pursed her lips in thought.

"Oh yeah I remember that...she was upset." Nanaba agreed as she sat the bowl in front of you on the counter.

"Then why was she with Oluo huh riddle me that." Erwin challenged, a sly smirk on his lips.

"Oh they've always been close, doesn't mean she likes him or anything." Nanaba scoffed.

"Well he sure likes her, saw him checking out her ass." Mike chuckled, your mom gasped and hit him upside the head.

"That's enough you guys! (Y/n), Kenny mix cut this butter up." Your mom ordered, grabbing you by the bicep to drag you over to Kenny at the island. She dropped a huge brick of butter in front of the two of you along with two butter knives.

"Oh I can do it on my own mom." you insisted with wide eyes.

"Nonsense, show Kenny how it's done." she slapped you on the back and turned to help Mike crack eggs into the wet ingredients bowl. You and Kenny shared an uneasy glance, you took the knife and sliced the chunk of butter in half. You slid half to Kenny and took the other half for yourself. You began to slice the butter into thin chunks and drop them into a bowl. Kenny watched with raised brows, the knife hanging loosely in his hand. You spared him a glance and an amused huff.

"Just slice it into chunks and drop them in this bowl." you instructed, pushing the bowl closer to him. He chuckled and then began to tediously cut the butter into uneven chunks. You nodded in approval as he began to gain confidence.

"Where does this go once it's done?" Kenny asked as he finished chopping the butter.

"In the mixer." You directed, as you wiped your hands on a damp rag. The doorbell chimed and you weaved through the kitchen to answer it. You were greeted by the familiar faces of Mikasa, Armin, and Eren. The trio piled into the house and kicked off their shoes and shrugged off jackets.

"Perfect timing guys, we just started making cookies." You said as you helped Armin out of his coat.

"Great! We brought our piping tips." Eren said, holding up a plastic bag filled with piping equipment.

"Oh yeah I forgot that you're a natural at cookie decorating Mikasa!" you complimented as you guided them into the kitchen. You placed the bag next to Kenny who was staring at Mikasa with slightly widened eyes, she returned his gaze with a surprised expression.

"Hey hothead!" Hange called out to Eren in a sing song voice as she descended the stairs.

"O-Oh Hange!" Eren cringed at her volume as she swang into the kitchen.

"Hange!" Armin cried out excitedly, you'd known that Armin looked up to the brunette due to her intelligence.

"Aw hello coconut head." she cooed as she ruffled Armin's blonde mop of hair.

"And baby Ackerman!" Hange giggles, turning her attention to Mikasa who was scowling at the brunette.

"So nice to see you all!" Hange gushed as she pulled on an apron.

"That was an awful long shit. You constipated or something?" Mike scoffed as he whisked the eggs.

"Ha ha very funny Mike." Hange scoffed as she sidled up next to Erwin who was crushing almonds loudly with a rolling pin.

"I'm just trying to pick up the slack. Someone needs to make Levi's crass jokes for him." Mike sighed, setting the whisk aside.

"Ah I'm sure he will appreciate the sentiment." Erwin approved with a chuckle and another jaw-rattling smash of the rolling pin.

"Kids why don't you start rolling this dough out and cut them with these." Your mother instructed as she thrust the large mixing bowl into your hands and pointing over to Kenny. You led Mikasa, Armin, and Eren over to the open counter space. Mikasa was side eyeing Kenny as she sprinkled some flour out.

"I want to make a penis." Eren remarked, a stupid look on his face as he looked to Armin for approval.

"That's inappropriate Eren." Armin chided as he reached for the dough in the bowl. He dropped the heavy ball of dough with a thump and a whoosh of flour.

"Hah! I'd like to see it!" Kenny chortled as he brushed some flour off his shirt.

"See he gets me!" Eren chuckled as Armin began to roll out the dough. Mikasa and you both rolled your eyes at the boys. Nanaba breezed by and brushed her hand across both yours and Mikasa's shoulders as she passed.

"You girls want pizza?" She asked with an angelic smile as she stopped by the landline.

"Yes please!" Eren answered before either of you could.

"Shut up Eren!" You snapped before turning to look at Nanaba who was holding the phone up to her ear already.

"Yes please Nanaba, can you put pineapple on one of them?" you asked with a sweet smile.

"Ew pineapple on pizza are you insane?!" Hange screeched from across the kitchen.

"Now now, if you order one with pineapple I'll eat it." Kenny agreed as he pressed a cookie cutter deep into the dough.

"Ugh, you guys are disgusting." Mike shook his head in disappointment as he poured the liquid ingredients into the dry ones for the next batch of cookies.

"Alright everyone be quiet while I order this." Nanaba ordered as she pressed the phone between her ear so she could jot down the orders on a pad of paper. The volume in the kitchen fell from a roar to a soft murmur as Nanaba placed the order. Once Nanaba hung up the phone the bustle picked right back up. The cookie hustle only stopped once all the dough was in the oven and the pizza had arrived.

When it was all said and done you all settled in the living room to watch christmas movies and eat pizza. As the movie began to play you finally took some time to check your phone for the first time all afternoon. You were surprised to see at least twenty messages on instagram from a swagmasterfarlan. You clicked on the first message and your frown deepened.

"cutte assf."  

"Let me show you parish"

"I cantreat you right."

":)"

The seventeen other messages followed a similar pattern. You noticed that the last message that had been sent two hours ago. You glanced at the clock and frowned, it was already eight pm. You considered blocking the account but upon checking, you realized that it was Farlan's  side account. You'd seen drunk texts before and these were no different. You glanced up to see Kenny with his hat over his eyes as he snored on the arm chair. Your mom was already dozing off on the couch with her feet in Erwin's lap, Erwin had an arm around Hange who was babbling about special effects to no one in particular. Nanaba and Mike were in their own little world on the floor as they watched the movie. Eren and Armin were joking in hushed voices as Mikasa's head lolled against your shoulder. Yeah you could use some entertainment.

"I would love to see parish."  you smiled at your response as you sent it. Not two minutes later a new message appeared.

"Woh, I'm durnk as shit."  

"yes you are swagmaster ;)" you responded with a giggle.

"Let facetime before levi punches my face."  Farlan's words were becoming clearer so you figured that he must be sobering up to some degree.

"Alright."  as soon as the read receipts confirmed that he had gotten the message your phone buzzed as he called you. Mikasa grunted as you shifted to answer the call, you answered on the third ring, thankful for the darkness in the room which concealed your features for the most part.

"Heyyyyy kid!" Farlan drawled, you could tell he was in his apartment, the surroundings familiar due to the times you had facetimed Levi.

"Hey Farlan, nice to finally meet you. I've heard all kinds of things." You chuckled as he squinted at his screen.

"No kidding! Hey what time is it over there?" Farlan questioned as he brought his phone closer to his face, giving you a perfect view of his eyebrows.

"It's about 8:30 here, what time is it in perish?" You mocked his blunder from earlier and he gasped in offense.

"That's cold!" he moaned, playing along with your joke.

"Spell it right next time!" you snickered, you glanced up from your phone and met Hange's curious gaze, her head tilted to the left. When you returned your attention back to your phone you were surprised to see the camera was no longer on Farlan's face. Instead it was spinning, the sound of grunting and shuffling was deafening. You winced the struggle continues for a few moments before there was a thud and a deep groan.

"Get into bed now before I punch your lights out." Levi's voice was gravely and strained with exhaustion as he spoke. Hange's ears were still perked as she tried to figure out who you were on the phone with. Once she heard Levi's voice she stood up and skipped over to the sofa to sit next to you.

"I'm serious Farlan this isn't cute get the fuck in that bed or so help me-" the phone clattered down to the floor, and you could make out the sound of stumbling footsteps.

"What is going on?" Hange asked as she leaned on your free shoulder to see the screen. You shrugged and bit your lip as you tried to decipher what was going on.

"No Levi, I've got to talk to her, she's still on the phone!" Farlan grumbled, his voice sounded a bit far away.

"You can talk to her tomorrow just go lay down already." just by the tone of his voice you could guess that he was pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was frustrated.

"nah I'll just go grab my phone and-"

"No." the sound of bed springs creaking and Farlan grunting hinted that he had been pushed onto a bed. After a few more moments of the bed creaking and incoherent mumbling, the sound of footsteps approached the phone and then finally the camera was turned back towards the ceiling as it was picked up. And then Levi's face filled the screen, his eyes widened in surprise, you snapped a screenshot of the moment much to his displeasure.

"What the fuck." he huffed as he took in both you and Hange's amused expressions.

"Hey Levi! How's it going?" Hange cooed as she angled your wrist to show more of her face.

"How-"

"He called me." You answered quickly as you angled the phone back onto your face.

"why?" Levi interrogated. You simply shrugged as you took in his face. You were relieved to see that he looked the same, maybe his eye bags were a bit darker, and his hair a tad longer. But otherwise, he was the same.

"What are you doing?" Levi continued to grill you, to answer his question you panned the camera around the room, sure to not linger on Kenny who was snoring in the chair across the room.

"Thrilling." he scoffed when you brought the camera back to your face.

"Yeah, we spent the day baking. What about you? Seems like you guys are busy." You began your own interrogation.

"Yeah, Farlan had one too many at the bar." Levi agreed as he dropped down into an arm chair with a heavy sigh.

"And you? Did you have anything to drink?" Hange asked with a sly smirk. Levi's brow creased at her suggestive tone.

"If you must know, no I did not drink.... a lot." he answered.

"Lucky, I wish I was drunk right now." you sighed wistfully.

"I never said I was drunk." Levi clarified.

"Any big plans for your birthday Levi?" You asked, quick to change the subject.

"No, just dinner and gifts." Levi replied with a shrug as he sank into the chair.

"That sounds nice." you smiled, Hange dropped her head to your shoulder, her chin digging into your shoulder as she did so. Levi shrugged and averted his gaze for a moment.

"Where's Isabel?" Hange asked as here eyes scanned the background, which was too dark to really reveal anything.

"In her room playing some stupid video game." Levi scoffed as he cocked his head in the direction which you assumed Isabel's room was.

"Fun." Hange mused as she closed her eyes.

"And you? What are your plans for Christmas?" Levi's question surprised you, but you still answered.

"Same as always, gifts in the morning, breakfast, hopefully be plastered by 2." you sighed, Levi scoffed at your answer but seemed satisfied.

"What about the 26th?" Levi asked carefully. you pursed your lips as you thought about your schedule.

"Hmm well I'm not sure, probably-"

"Oh I forgot to tell you, Annie is hosting a party and asked me if you'd come." Mikasa's sleepy voice startled you.

"Really? Huh that's weird. Are you going?" you asked, tilting your face down to speak to her.

"Yeah. We're smoking weed." Mikasa mumbled, her eyes still shut.

"Guess I'll go too." you shrugged. Meanwhile Hange and Levi shared a wide-eyed glance, this could throw off their plans. More specifically Hange's plans, even more specifically her plan to set you and Levi up.

"Weed?" Levi asked, clearing his throat after the word fell from his lips. You knew that he had smoked the stuff in the past, but recently he had stuck to his juul and the occasional dab pen.

"yeah, Annie has like 30 grams right now." Mikasa answered.

"I've never smoked weed before." you mused, excitement bubbling up in your chest at the thought of the chance for a new experience.

"Eh it's okay." Mikasa shrugged.

"Guess I'll just have to try it for myself." you teased, nudging her with your shoulder.

"Guess you will." Mikasa mumbled before falling silent once more.

"Well there you have it. I'm going to Annie's on the 26th." you smiled as you answered Levi's original question. With the 26th only three days away, it gave you something to look forward to.

"Fine. Do  what you want." Levi rolled his eyes and stood from his chair, his whole vibe seemed to change. You wondered if it had been something you'd said or if he was just growing bored.

"I've got to go. Farlan's phone is almost dead." Levi said as he walked through the apartment.

"Oh well it was nice-" before you could finish he had already hung up, or the phone had died.

"Classic Levi." Hange chuckled as she rose up, stretching her stiff muscles before returning to Erwin's side. You rolled your eyes and sat your phone down in defeat. You reached behind you for a throw blanket to cover you and Mikasa, you shuffled over a bit so you were snuggled between the arm of the couch and Mikasa, who had followed you. Using the arm as a pillow you lied down as much as you could with Mikasa still using your side as a pillow, she had stretched out as well to prop her feet up in Eren's lap. Eren was already passed out, his head leaning against Armin's shoulder, who was in a similar position to you. It was nice, you hadn't made much time for nights like these recently. Since you had spent most of your time with Jean you had neglected your friends, and you felt awful about it.

You had missed them deeply, in fact this had probably been the longest you'd gone without a weekend like this. Your family had been close to the Jeagers since you were babies. Your mom and Dr. Jeager both worked at the same hospital and often worked together, they had only grown closer when your father died of cancer when you were 9. Grisha and Carla had helped your mother our a lot the months following his death. Meaning you spent a lot of time with Eren and Mikasa, and by extension Armin. That same year was when they took in Mikasa since Kenny had been deemed "unfit" for a second child in his care. You assumed that the Jeagers would be coming over for Lunch like they always did on Christmas, as well as Armin and his grandfather. You felt your eyelids grow heavy as you thought about all the preparations that were needed for you to host this year, and before you knew it you had fallen asleep.

[hannie-dul-set]

sins of lust [yoon jeonghan]

“lust /ləst/ — the mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the spirit is life and peace - romans 8:6″

LUCKY 7′S MASTERLIST

PAIRING | yoon jeonghan x female! reader GENRE | college! au, borderline smut, angst WARNINGS | nsfw themes obviously lmao but no actual doing the dirty because i can’t write smut for shit, swearing, jeonghan is the literal devil WORD COUNT | 4.5k

a/n: I’M SO VERY SORRY THATTHIS IS SUPER LATE ; - ; but anyways!! this is my last piece for our luck 7′s collab with @haokyeom​ :D this was,, very out of my comfort zone but i still do hope that you enjoy :’>

Your mother had always told you to never trust strangers.

“They’re like foxes,” your mother had once said as the both of you gazed through the window of your small cabin beside the thick walls of trees in the woods. Her hands rested gently over your small shoulders, and you two eyes the coat of orange fur speeding through the outside, a familiar stuffed animal hanging limply by its mouth. You had accidentally left it outside while you were playing.

You frowned upon seeing the animal disappear into the trees, and even at your young age, you knew that it was lost forever.

“They take what they can without a hint of remorse. You wouldn’t even know until you see them running away,” you looked up at your mother who stared into the distance with eyes stained in sadness. You turned around, hugging her waist and burying your face into her stomach, and she released a laugh as she patted your head. “My Y/N’s a smart girl, right? Never forget mommy’s words, okay?”

And you did. For eighteen years, you had lived with only the company of your mother, your homeschool teachers, and your precious cat, Salem. There were times when your grandparents would visit, usually during the holidays, but you weren’t exactly close with them (they didn’t seem to like you, either). It was only when you had finally entered college when you were given the chance to actually mingle with other people, especially people that were your age, and it was the first time that you had left to live on your own outside of your homey cottage beside the woods.

Initially, your mother was against the idea of you living in your campus’ dorms, especially the fact that you had to live with another person that you knew nothing of. You weren’t keen on the thought either, but it was far more reasonable than commuting every single day to the city all the way from the middle of nowhere.

At least your roommate was never around.

‘Staying over at Johnny’s xx,’ you sighed upon seeing the text message, and you stepped forward in the light when the person before you did as well. It was only the third week of the semester and you were already wishing for things to go back as they were.

A part of it was your fault for being socially inept, generally avoiding people and not even talking to anybody unless talked to. Your mother’s words rang into your head every single time, and naturally you had built up a wall. This wall was what made you feel comfortable, made you feel safe— you don’t trust anyone here, and it would be better to finish your studies without getting personally tangled with other people.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

Though, there were indeed times where you wished that you were at the very least not so awkward.

“A regular americano,” it took you so much strength to squeeze that out of our esophagus, relieving the tightened airway with a breath of relief when the barista nodded at your order and jotted it down. Hurriedly, you went to sit at an empty table, your racing heart making you move quicker than necessary. God, you wondered how many more trips to campus cafe would it take until you finally got the courage to order without feeling you were being held at gunpoint.

You huffed, squeezing your eyes shut. At least you didn’t stutter today, so that’s improvement.

Stop deluding yourself, Y/N. You’re still—

“Whoa. Careful, now.”

A thud. The feeling of warmth fluttering over your shoulders. An unfamiliar sweet voice seeping into your ears. And you looked up.

“Are you okay?”

His steady grip had left your shoulders but the traces of his warmth were still buzzing over your clothed skin like mini fireworks erupting when he made contact, and when you met his concerned eyes, it felt like you were about to reach the climax of the light show. He didn’t say anything, only waiting for the confirmation to fall from your lips with a worried look on his face. Your heart was still racing, but it was in a completely different rhythm. 

You had once felt your heart threatening to bounce off of your chest out of fear, and at times due to excitement. Your pulse rising due to nervousness was already like an unwanted friend to you.

But this.

What is this?

“Miss?”

“I, uh—” the man shot you a smile that was devoid of any malice despite you being a stuttering and mess that was frozen in place. Heat rushed to your cheeks while you were trapped underneath his gaze. You wanted to move but it felt like your mind was completely detached from your body, soaring above your head because you can't seem to grab a hold of it. But with enough willpower, you managed to squeak out a small “sorry’ before shuffling away to the farthest seat possible with your head down.

When you sat yourself on the seat, the first thing you did was look up to the direction of the male, only to see an empty space. You bit down your lip, hastily taking out your laptop from your bag and just move on from what happened, but the racing of your heartbeat refused to let it go. Was this… normal? You let out a choked groan, removing your hands from the keyboard to bury your heated face into your palms. There were times where you hated that you were so sheltered, and this was one of them.

If only your mother wasn’t so protective of you, if only she let you live a normal life, if only—

Your phone started buzzing.

Slowly, you sat up and took out your phone from your jean pocket, and the pace of your heart was slowed down by a surge of guilt.

‘How were classes today, honey? I hope you drank enough water today. Even when I’m around, you always seem to forget. The weekend is just around the corner. Are you coming home?’

You smiled. Of course, your mother had only wanted what’s best for you. Finally relaxing your muscles, you adjusted your position on the chair and silently tapped on our phone.

‘Classes were fine, mom. And that was before! I’ve been drinking a loooot of water, you know? Do you want me to…’

The next day had come. You quietly entered the near barren classroom, the early morning rays leaking through the open glass windows on the wall. You liked this class mainly because not a  lot of people are enrolled in it— even if it meant sacrificing a few more hours of your sleep. The less people to deal with the better.

I’ll just take a nap later after lunch. You thought to yourself as you let out yawn, your palm hovering over your mouth as you did. You arrived a little earlier than usual, so there was still an ample amount of time to review for a test for a different class before your professor arrived. You recalled your conversation with your mother yesterday, and you were slightly disheartened when you told her that you couldn’t come home for the weekend because you had a lot of things to finish that required you to be on campus. Even if you wanted to go, you couldn’t risk lagging behind your work.

A few more people entered your peripheral as you were scanning your notes, and you took this as a signal to put it away. You pulled your bag over your lap and tucked in your notes neatly before pulling out your laptop. More people started flooding and you noticed that the seat beside you was now occupied.

“You seem fine today.”

You jolted, the familiar voice entering your ears causing the veins underneath your skin to start buzzing. The moment you turned your head to your side, you were met by a small smile from the man that you bumped into yesterday. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I-it’s fine.”

Has he always been in this class? You’ve never seen him here until now. Then again, you didn’t really pay attention to the faces around you. The gap between your chairs seemed a little too close for your sanity, so you scooted a bit farther to the left.

“Are you feeling alright now?” his voice caused you to abruptly freeze as you tried to discreetly move your chair without being exposed, and you bit down your tongue. As if he noticed the sudden distance between you two, he thoughtlessly moved his chair closer. “You didn’t look too well yesterday considering how dazed you were.”

Why was he talking to you? A lot of people did try to befriend you during the first few days, but it gradually stopped upon them seeing how dismissive you were. “O-oh, I’m fine, uh— sorry for bumping into you,” he had his elbow propped on the table, his cheek resting on his palm as faced you, a seemingly permanent smile on his face that you’ve been desperately trying (and failing) to avoid. Maybe isolating yourself from the rest of the world dulled down your ability to perceive normal human emotions like the stuttering of your heart was trying to tell you.

Jesus, you thought that you were going crazy.

“That’s good to hear,” he hummed, turning his attention to the laptop screen before him. “My name’s Jeonghan, by the way.”

Jeonghan. You repeated in your head. Why did finding out his damned name feel like 200 pounds of gratification? Maybe you were really going insane. He cocked his head to your direction, the curve of his lips that never disappeared aiming directly at you, but they did not part to say anything. Jeonghan looked like he was waiting for you, which caused you to intermittently panic because why in the world was he just staring at you like that?

“It’s not fair that I gave you my name but I don’t know yours.”

Oh.

“Y/N,” your cheeks flared as you spoke, diverting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “It’s Y/N.”

He released a light laugh before nodding in affirmation, and you swore your heart was trying to run away from you in condonation. It felt like hours had passed it between the seconds of your small exchanges, causing you to wonder when your professor was going to enter and distract you from the fervent blows on your ribcage.

It didn’t seem like your professor was arriving any time soon— the guy was always late so you weren’t even remotely surprised but for the love of god, he could’ve made an exemption today. Your eyes flickered over to Jeonghan’s space on the long table, and you saw him scribbling indecipherable doodles on what was once a blank sheet. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating with yourself over and over again until one side of your mind finally overtook your senses and sensibilities.

You jumped into the ocean when you’ve never even stepped into a lake.

“I—I never noticed that you were in this class until today.”

It took a lot from you to say that one simple sentence, the words barely squeezing past your throat, and you realized just how pathetic you were. Luckily for you, Jeonghan didn’t seem to mind the lapses in your voice, the diversion of your eyes, or the way your fingers nervously thrummed over the white coated desk. Even if he did, he didn’t say anything about it, only sending that angelic smile on your way.

“Really? I’ve noticed you since the first day,” he started. “To be frank, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but you always looked like you didn’t want to be bothered.”

“You— you wanted to talk to me? Why?” 

He shrugged. “You seemed cute,” there was a slight pause before he continued. “And I was right.”

You blinked, gawking at him. Jeonghan was saying such— such unprovoked things without a hint of shame while your face was flaring like it just made contact with the sun. In the middle of you trying to recover, your professor had finally decided to walk in, capturing the attention of Jeonghan and everyone else inside the class. You released a breath that you didn’t know that you were holding and lightly tapped both of your cheeks in attempts to lower your ever rising temperature. You caught the male beside you laughing a little, and when you slightly turned your head to face him, you were struck defenseless with a playful wink.

It was quiet for the rest of the class, but you couldn’t focus. Not when your mind was making a lot of noise, not when your heart was about to explode inside your chest.

And definitely not when the pretty boy beside you kept on shooting you glances in between. 

“Do you like movies?”

Jeonghan asked the moment he sat down beside you, and your brows raised at his sudden question. It had been a week since your first encounter with him, and within those few days, you’ve been seeing more and more of him. You weren’t sure if it was a coincidence or if he’d been deliberately trying to squeeze himself into your life.

But what did you know? Nothing. That’s why you let him.

“I do,” you answered, a small smile tugging at your lips. You remembered the times when you and your mother would watch countless movies in just a single day when you were feeling sad. You couldn’t leave the house easily, and when you did it was nothing but forest, forest, and more forest. Sometimes you were lucky to come across a wild hare, or sometimes even a small deer. Which reminds you— it’s been a while since you’ve gone home. You took a mental note to schedule some time for you to go back there.

Your curious eyes flickered over to Jeonghan. “Why?”

“There’s a film festival this weekend,” he leaned back against his chair, legs crossed and arms swinging lazily at his sides until he raised one hand to your face, a finger poking your cheek. “And I’m taking this pretty girl with me.”

“What?”

You gaped, dumbstruck. His lips were pressed into a brazen smile as his eyes were gleaming at you while you were still frozen in shock. He didn’t even ask you— did he think that you were just going to go with whatever he’s saying that easily?

“I—I haven’t agreed to anything!” you rebuked with a quick stammer, which caused a frown to replace the previous smile on Jeonghan’s face.

“But I thought you said you liked movies,” he sat down straight, the legs of his chair making a noise upon meeting the floor. The unabashed pout on his face, accompanied by the confused furrowing of his eyebrows, soon dissipated from his features when he let out a sudden gasp. “Wait, are you saying you don’t want to go with me?”

“I-it’s not that! I’m just—”

You couldn’t come up with any words to follow, distracted by the pained expression that Jeonghan wore. Was he just overreacting to mess with you? Was it fake? Or was he really hurt? Your ineptitude to social cues made you want to rip your hair out of your scalp. Once more, you quickly looked at him before snapping your head away, harshly biting down your lip before taking in a sharp inhale.

“Okay, fine!” Jeonghan’s face lit up, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “I—I’ll go with you.”

You refused to look at him with how much your face was heating up, but you heard him let out a satisfied hum. It was quiet for a moment, giving u the opportunity to relax your shoulders and release your breath. Looks like the professor is late again. You dug into your bag to take out your notes, relaying yourself before class actually starts, but your actions were halted when you felt a thin, cold object pressing lightly against your arm. You looked over to see a phone, and the phone was attached to a hand, and a hand which belonged to a Yoon Jeonghan who was twinkling at you with an expectant gaze.

“Your number.”

Any moment now you swore that you were going to melt.

Within seconds, you snatched the device from his hands, rapidly smashing down the few digits, and you shoved it back to him at the speed of light. How you wanted to throw yourself out of the window, right now. A quick buzz in your pocket distracted you from your internal meltdown, and you took your own phone out, expecting a text from your mother, but instead—

‘See you on saturday, pretty girl :) hehe <3’

You shot up to meet the smug smile on Jeonghan’s face, and you bashfully looked back down at the message on your phone, feeling a smile of your own blossoming on your face.

It was late at night when you two finished.

Jeonghan insisted on bringing you home, protesting when you said that you said you could make it your way back at the movies, protesting when you said that you can walk through the campus to your dorm building alone, protesting when you said that you can head upstairs by yourself, and now when you had finally reached your floor, he stopped protesting— but he didn’t seem to how any signs of leaving just yet.

“Did you have fun?” he asked in a quiet tone. It was near midnight, and neither of you expected that the festival would go on for this long. You nodded, laughing a little, back pressed against the door leading to your room. Perhaps you were feeling a little loopy and tired from all the movies you watched, some of the scenes that stood out to you still replaying in your head.

He smiled, a few tufts of his hair shadowing over his eyes. “I’m glad.”

“I took note of a few of the films that I really liked! I’ll probably rewatch them with my mom when I get home,” you beamed, and he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “What about you?”

You almost regretted that you asked. Jeonghan was silent for a moment, a pondering look on his face as his eyes stared at the side before quickly flickering back to you. His lips were curved into a playful grin as he ever so slowly closed in on you, causing you to melt yourself into the wooden surface of your door as your heart violently thundered.

“Do you want me to be honest?” he asked in a teasing tone. His face was barely hovering over yours, and you felt your nerves screaming at you to rest your racing pulse. He didn’t do anything, though, seemingly waiting for you to respond to his question, but all you could manage was a small nod. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the movies.”

Your breath hitched and your mind was a whir. What was he doing? The waves of your senses were pulsating in an uneven rhythm, causing you to stumble over your own presence of mind as it was gradually slipping away, replaced by a haze of an uncharted storm of emotions overtaking you.

Heat was rising and you didn’t know what to do.

“I would have paid attention if it wasn’t for this pretty girl distracting me the entire time.”

“Jeonghan!”

You exclaimed, your voice being louder than expected. “I-it’s getting late. Isn’t—isn’t it time for you to go?”

There was a nervous smile on your lips as you stared up at him, eyes quivering when you tried to meet his clouded gaze. You waited for him to go, to step away from his closeness so that you’d finally have enough room to breathe, but dropped an unexpected question.

“Do you want me to go?”

The silence was deafening.

Jeonghan waited for you to say something, but the answer was something you yourself did not know. He waited until he derived the answer from your lack of response, sending you a nod and a smile before turning away. Your eyes were shaky, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in your moment of an unprecedented assault of hesitation, head filled with white noise because you couldn't think— therefore you listened to the fever stirring your restlessness.

You grabbed onto the sleeve of his coat at the last moment.

There was a glint in his eyes when he turned around, a knowing look on his face as if he had been expecting it. Swift steps and an even swifter heartbeat chased after you and once again Jeonghan was mere centimeters away from you, his warm breath igniting fire against your skin. “You could’ve just said so, pretty girl.”

He didn’t even give you the chance to breathe when he captured your unguarded mouth with his.

The air brushing against your fevered skin felt different, especially when Jeonghan was all up against you, ravishing your parted lips until you felt your senses slipping away. God, you’ve never done anything like this before and your conscience belatedly rang in your ears the moment you felt his hot tongue claiming yours as his own. You let out a faint whimper, the voice at the back of your head yelling at you that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. This was wrong.

You barely knew him— ten days wasn’t enough for you to know him. But you were too drunk over this foreign heat of emotion unfurling in your core to listen to your better judgement. You shouldn’t have stopped him from leaving, you shouldn’t have let him graze his teeth over your skin, let his hands roam all over your your body, let the feeling him pressed roughly against you being the only thing your dizzied mind could think of

But fuck, it felt so good.

You blindly reached for the door knob as you let Jeonghan trail wet kisses on your neck, and with a clicking of the lock, the both of you disappeared into the darkness of your room.

You said that the first was going to be the last— your mother’s words like playing a mantra in your head to bring you to the edge of guilt. But a week had passed yet that “last” never seemed to surface.

“H-hi, mom. Yeah, I—I’m fine, don;t worry. My classes just ended and—ah!”

You bit down your tongue after releasing the uninhibited noise, gulping down when you realized that Jeonghan had no intentions of stopping his ceaseless attacks from your jaw all the way down to your chest. There was fear trickling in your veins as your mother was still at the end of the line, possibly hearing the indecent sounds coming from her own daughter. You tried your best to remain quiet, but it started to become impossible when you felt Jeonghan’s teasing fingers brushing over your clit. You stared at him with wide eyes, suppressing the violent waves crashing over you, but all he did was smile at you and kiss you cheek before pressing his fingers down.

A loud gasp fell from your quivering lips.

“Mm? Shouldn't you be keeping quiet, baby?” he mumbled into your jaw before pressing a down kiss, and you let out a shaky breath. The hand that you were using to hold your phone returned to your ear, and you were welcomed by the worried voice of your mother.

“O-oh, it was just Salem! The little guy suddenly jumped— jumped on my lap,” you trailed off with a hint of nervous laughter, and you met the mischievous glint shining in Jeonghan’s eyes. He removed himself from you, causing you to close your eyes in relief and let out a sigh. “Home? Ah, I—I don’t think I can go there soon, but I’ll make sure to— oh my god.”

You were too focused on your conversation on the phone to notice that Jeonghan was now buried between your legs, nipping at your inner thighs. You slapped your hand over your lips, suppressing your moans from his bites, kisses and licks. He shot you a look of warning, and your heart stopped when you felt his hot breath hovering over your core. Quickly, you fumbled out a farewell into your phone.

"S-sorry, mom, I—I have to go—"

Another week had passed and you started to feel the consequences of your decisions crashing over you like falling debris. Jeonghan and you still met frequently, but "good morning" and "good night" texts slowly fizzled into conversations consisting only of "can I come over?" and "are you free?". It left a heavy feeling in your gut when coffee dates and movie theatres were forgotten, replaced with nights in his or your room, and suffocating scenes in his car. You couldn't help but think that maybe you should have thought things through.

But you were weak.

Today was no different.

You were buried in your bed, thick blankets covering your figure as you watched Jeonghan swiftly pull a shirt over his head. He had an evening class after this and you couldn't blame him that he was in such a hurry. Even when knowing this, you still wanted to take your chances.

"Jeonghan."

You called out to him in a quiet voice, small and fragile and lacking in firmness. He stood in the middle of the room, ready to leave but he turned around to look back at you— even if it was stupid, it bubbled the faintest shimmer of hope. You pulled the covers closer to yourself, looking down at the crumpled white sheets as you pressed your lips together before saying.

"I like you."

He didn't say it back.

Instead he smiled at you, feet padding against your wooden floors as he walked up to you in bed, pressing a small kiss on your forehead before ruffling your already messed up hair.

"I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl."

But you didn't see him tomorrow.

You didn't see him at all after that.

The seat beside you in class was now occupied by an abhorrent emptiness that made you want to drag your nails against your skin. You tried searching for him in the crowded walls of the large classroom, but he was either not there or hidden by the enormous mass of bodies. He left you with a heavy heart and the only one you could find yourself to blame was yourself. Your mother's words never stopped ringing inside your head since then.

It was like fate was laughing at you when you saw him again at the campus cafe— just like the first time you met him. You were in a hurry to leave when you accidentally bumped into him, your coffee nearly spilling from your hands. You parted ways without anything exchanged.

Your mother had always told you to never trust strangers.

Maybe you should have listened to her words.

[ufuckingpastry]

Where Gods and Monsters Meet

AO3 Link

Disclaimer: This fic is based on the characters in the Dream SMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Summary: They stood in silence, their backs to the walls as they faced each other. If one took a step in one direction, the other followed in suit, effectively circling each other. As Technoblade looked over his old partner, his grin faded the longer he looked. He could read Dream easily, guess his next steps, gauge his reactions, and even guess his expression beneath that cracked mask. Technoblade realized with growing concern that isolation was affecting Dream more than expected.

Technoblade gazed up at the prison. The design was elegant, pristine, foreboding. Darkness resided there, amongst the obsidian and marble. He remembered Tommy’s retelling of his visit. More rivers of lava in one place than they saw in all of the Nether. A spot of hell above ground, held together by cold and unfeeling black. Techno pressed his lips together, hiked up the axe resting on his shoulder, and strode forward. He found Sam behind his desk, a book open on the lectern awaiting his signature and promise to behave.

“What is your relationship with the prisoner?” Sam’s voice brought him up away from the voices buzzing in his skull. Technoblade blinked at Sam, then raised his gaze to the ceiling stories high above his head as if he’d find the words hidden in the cracks and shadows. His relationship with Dream was… complicated to say the least. He respected him, with all that happened in the past. Though, recently, that had been called into question. He did not particularly like him. Well… No, yes, that was correct. But Dream and his goals had aligned in the past. He pressed his lips together as his gaze flicked back down to Sam, who was waiting patiently for his answer.

“We were business partners for a while, but after… L’Manberg, we were not. Would I like to kill him? Potentially, yes, I would. But not today.”

“Do you believe he was rightfully imprisoned?”

“Yes,” Technoblade replied with little consideration and little hesitation. Once the questions were complete and the book agreed to and signed, Technoblade ducked into locker one. He removed his armor, his weapons, his potions, and other such gear. He stored the keycard in his enderchest without even a cursory glance over it. As he walked out, Sam gestured to his crown. Technoblade shot back a challenging look.

“The crown stays with me. You can check it for traps, but it stays with me.” He offered Sam the crown for inspection. He took it with a soft huff and searched it for traps or hidden mechanisms. Finding none, he handed it back with a satisfied nod. The physical search was much the same: uneventful. The trip through security felt as though it should have been building up to something. Something important. A confrontation of sorts. But as he passed through the wall of lava, honey blocks squishing uncomfortably under his hooves, he found his destination less and less important. His reasons for coming, to satisfy his own curiosity and another’s fears, seemed anticlimactic. Even as he signed his lives away should something go wrong, it didn’t feel as monumental as it should have been. Though, perhaps, that was how things like this went.

“Does he know we’re coming?” Technoblade asked as he handed the last two signed books over.

“He will be able to tell someone is coming, but not who.” Sam frowned briefly, then searched through his pockets. “There’s something I needed to give him, but since you’re visiting,” he pulled out a clock and held it out to Technoblade. “Can I trust you to give it to him?” Technoblade glanced down at the clock and took it carefully.

“Sure.” He looked it over as he waited for the lava to fall, his weight on one foot. When the ceiling was visible, he took a few moments to marvel at the engineering of the prison before his gaze landed on the man in the prison cell. Even from this distance, even with the mask concealing his expressions, Technoblade could read his surprise from his stance. A smug smirk cracked across his face and he shifted his weight on his other foot, cocking his hip out. Dream had backed up, obviously thrown off by Technoblade’s appearance. Good. When the stone started moving across, he easily kept up with it. He strode across the lava, his smirk spreading into a grin. Technoblade’s blood sang with the voices in his head, their buzzing growing to a roar. Dream kept his distance as he approached, taking a few steps back from the netherite wall. He knew a dangerous animal when he saw one. His steps echoed around the small chamber. It was strange that the obsidian was cold, even as heat bloomed behind him as the lava dripped back down. When the netherite wall lowered, Technoblade stepped in, turned on his hooves, and grinned at Dream.

They stood in silence, their backs to the walls as they faced each other. If one took a step in one direction, the other followed in suit, effectively circling each other. As Technoblade looked over his old partner, his grin faded the longer he looked. Dream’s movements were less controlled, he noted. He could read Dream easily, guess his next steps, gauge his reactions, and even guess his expression beneath that cracked mask. Technoblade realized with growing concern that isolation was affecting Dream more than expected.

Dream eyed Technoblade, chewing his lip as they stood in silence. He discarded questions and tactics, already thrown off just from seeing Technoblade show up at all. The pigman didn’t strike him as someone who wanted to visit. Of all the times Dream visited him in the past, he hadn’t liked him around, hadn’t liked him just showing up out of nowhere. He tongued his teeth, pressing his lips together behind his mask, then casually shoved his hands in his sweater pockets. He tilted his head at Technoblade.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly, a twinge of annoyance sneaking into his voice. Technoblade snickered, enough to break the otherwise blank stare. “What?” Dream hissed, his teeth bared unseen.

“So straightforward!” Technoblade laughed some more before he regained his composure. His smile returned, at least briefly. “It looks like you’re losing your touch, being trapped in here. No quick wit and no bite.” He exaggerated the word, snapping his teeth together and flashing his tusks. The subtle tilt in Dream’s head told him that he was eyeing his tusks. There no fear scent—he’d never known one from Dream—but his caution was potent in the small space.

The two of them had faced off before many times over. The memories of each time left Technoblade’s blood roaring, the voices chanting, begging for more. It left him exhilarated. There was no creature, in the Nether nor Overworld, that was as dangerous as Dream. There was very little that could rival him, stand toe-to-toe with him and still have a chance to dare to be a victor. Tommy and Tubbo were lucky. They were infinitely lucky that near everyone they knew came to save them. There was only one person who could match Dream, had matched and exceeded him.

And he now stood in front of him.

“Well?” Dream prompted him. Technoblade hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t answer. A low growl slipped out from behind Dream’s mask before he could stop it. The growl made Technoblade straighten, though he tried to play it off by shifting his weight to the other foot. “Why are you here?” Dream repeated, barely holding in his snarl.

“Oh, you know. To chat.” There was a pause, then he dug into a pocket and pulled out a clock. “Sam said to give you this too.” Dream eyed him, stepping forward to take the clock. He frowned at it as he turned it over in his hands. Why give him this? He glanced back at his other—

Oh. Right.

In a fit of sudden rage, he had thrown both the clock and one of the “novels” Tommy had ordered him to write into the lava. Sam had been… busy and was unable to get him another one for… a week? More? Time was already hard to tell in this world, let alone in the dark unchanging of the prison. Dream’s hands gripped the clock tightly, so tightly they began to shake. The gold and glass creaked as his fingers curved like claws. All his attention narrowed, focused on the clock. His rage boiled again, a snarl ripping through as his tight hold on himself loosened—

Hooved hands settled over his, interrupting his thoughts. Dream could feel Technoblade close, his chest rising and falling in slow breaths close to his face. Dream’s mouth was still bared in a snarl, his eyes wide and breath panting. Technoblade waited. Dream closed his eyes, allowing his breath to slow, his hands to settle. His mouth relaxed, hiding his teeth again behind his lips. His anger didn’t die out, but it settled. For now, he was settled.

“Allow me,” Techno whispered, taking the clock from Dream. There were holes in the gold where Dream’s claws had deformed it, but it seemed to still work fine. He hung it up, checking with Dream to make sure it was in the right spot. Afterwards, he stepped close to Dream again. Dream lifted his face up to Techno, afraid for the question that was sure to be on his tongue, but silently begging for him to ask.

“Take off your mask, Dream,” he said. Dream closed his eyes and started to step back. Techno let him, watched him move.

“No, no, Techno, you know I…” His hands clenched into fists, shaking again. “You know why I wear this, right? You haven’t forgotten that, right?”

“Intimidation?” Technoblade guessed, half a joke on his face. At Dream’s expression, he continued. “I know, Dream. So, you should know why I asked you that.” Dream tilted his head away, discarding responses and retorts. Finally, he undid the straps and removed the mask. The hair on the back of Technoblade’s neck raised at the sight of his eyes. They were always to first to turn when he removed his mask. Unnaturally green, the pupils thin and beaded like lizards he found in the jungle sometimes. He shifted his weight, his face blank as he watched Dream set the mask aside. He looked… not small, but vulnerable. Dream wouldn’t hide himself here, not in his presence.

Technoblade leaned in close, giving Dream a smirk. He kept his weight ready to jump back in case Dream snapped. He wouldn’t put it past him. He had done it before. Dream eyed him with his strange eyes, his expressions more open and readable now without the mask. Unnerving as all hell, though.

"There," Technoblade said with a small bit of mirth. "Now everyone can see your ugly mug."

Dream's eyes narrowed at him and he straightened. His lip lifted into almost a snarl, but then cool, collected Dream returned. He bounced back and forth on his heels, a slow smile forming. "With your face," he started, reaching up carefully. Technoblade watched his hand, waiting for the rest of his response. When Dream snatched the crown off Techno's head, he twitched in response. Dream glanced at it as he twirled it in his hand. "I think I'm just fine."

"You got a problem with piglins?" Technoblade growled, reaching to take the crown back. Dream flashstepped back half a step, just out of Technoblade’s searching hand.

"Nah. Just you." Dream rested the crown on his head and took a full step back. He twirled around on his toe, tilting his head with a grin at Techno. Technoblade could see his teeth turning now too, sharpening and filling his mouth too full. Finally, things were getting exciting. Dream stuck out his tongue, the fork in it more obvious now as the color changed to match his eyes. "Fitting, don't you think? I'd love to see you bow to me, for a change," he said, a snicker on his breath. Technoblade's gaze snapped up from Dream's mouth to the crown. The voices started buzzing in his skull again, sparked by desire blooming in his core.

"Bow? To you?" Technoblade threw his head back as he laughed. When he looked back at Dream, he found his gaze intense. Technoblade’s voice dropped into a threatening growl. "Not a fucking chance."

Dream hyperfocused on Techno, his eyes bright and grinning as he poked and prodded the tiger in its cage. He wanted to sink his teeth into Techno's flesh, taste the golden blood that sang to him, join his voice to the thousands filling Techno's skull until he reigned supreme.

The only noise in the cell was their breathing, their panting, each tasting the air to determine who was threat and who was fear. Who was predator and who was prey. Who would be king and who would be slave. Technoblade stepped forward and Dream echoed the step back. Another step forward and another step back, a dance each partner knew intimately. A giving of ground, a giving of trust. Dream felt the cold obsidian on his back, warming slowly outside in as lava dripped and popped around them. But still, he wore the crown.

“So,” Dream started, breathless as he tongued his fangs. “What was that about my bite?” Techno gazed down at him, his eyes glowing with a faint hint of red. Dream knew that look. And it took all his willpower to not drop to his knees and offer his own blood as sacrament. Technoblade tilted his head, gaze back on Dream’s mouth. He opened his jaws wide to show him. He knew Techno loved to see his mouth open, loved the teeth.

“Are those things even sharp enough to break skin yet?” Techno asked, not sounding convinced. The insult made Dream burn and he snapped his mouth closed, loud enough the sound echoed around the walls and back into his own ears.

“You want to find out?”

Dream saw his challenge alight something in Techno. He grabbed Dream’s chin and forced him to look up at his snarl. When he kissed him, it felt like a hurricane crashed into him. A giggly keen bubbled out of his chest as his lips caught and tore on Techno’s fangs. Dark blood smeared across their mouths and Dream felt his eyes roll back in delight. His hands clutched at Techno’s clothes, holding on as if it was the last thing grounding him to this plane. Techno’s tongue snaked past ruined lips, just under his teeth. Dream closed his jaw, the threat of a bite pressing down on the intruding presence. But Techno opened him up, exposing him for his pleasure. His tongue slid over ancient fangs that longed to sink into flesh, flesh with heart still beating, bloody, and struggling.

It felt like ages passed before they parted. When Technoblade moved away, Dream followed with a whimper. Dream watched, pupils blown wide from the dark depths of his desire, as Techno licked the dark blood from his lips. The intensity of Dream’s stare followed down his throat to watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“It’s been a while since I last tasted your teeth,” he said, breathless from the kiss as well. Dream’s hands tugged Techno’s shirt free and burrowed beneath to warm against his skin. Techno’s breath hitched. Dream took this chance to urge him closer.

“More,” he whispered, he begged.

“Needy,” Techno teased with a laugh. He obliged and kissed him again, the hunger and voracity returning in full force. It had been. So long. Since he had touched someone else. Technoblade felt real, a grounding force that he had missed. The teeth in his flesh, the hands pinning his wrists to the floor, Technoblade’s breath labored above him. It was real. And Dream never wanted to let go.

But all things must come to an end.

Technoblade released his shoulder with an annoyed grunt, tilting his head to the side. Dream blinked his eyes open and gazed up at his partner. He heard the crackling static of someone talking to Techno.

“Yeah? Bruh, come o—” he growled softly, then continued in a calmer tone. “Alright, Sam. Give me a few more minutes, then I’ll be ready.”

Sam. Dream’s claws clenched around Techno’s sides, his body stiffening. Techno was leaving. He was leaving and Dream would be alone in the dark with his clock and his novels. Maybe for days. Or weeks. Or longer. A horrifying thought occurred to him, one that left him cold and shaking. Technoblade might never come back. Maybe this was a one-time thing. A last fling before he left him alone forever. Technoblade hissed in pain, flinching back from him.

“Dream,” he said, trying to pull him arm back. Dream’s claws went tight like a vice, breaking skin. “Dream!” Technoblade shouted.

“You’re not leaving!” Dream snarled, the second set of jaws falling in place. Technoblade snapped his fingers in front of Dream’s face, snatching his hand back before he lost it to Dream’s jaws. “You’re not-!”

“Dream,” Techno called again, softer this time. He cupped Dream’s cheek and waited until his strange eyes focused on him again. “I will come back. I promise. When I can get away, I will come and visit you. But you have to behave for the time being. If you claw me up, Sam might not let me back in. So please,” he motioned to the claws in his arm. Dream stared at him, panting, whining, then slowly retracted his claws. His gaze dropped away from Technoblade, guilt beginning to eat away at him.

“Hey, look at me.”

Technoblade watched as his partner lifted his gaze up. Dream’s hair was mussed up, his strange, strange eyes blinking openly at him. His mouth was closed and Technoblade could tell Dream was trying to hide his features again. Couldn’t let Sam see. He rubbed his thumb on Dream’s cheek, allowing a rarely soft expression to show on his face. “Beloathed,” he said. Dream’s tension softened a touch at the pet name. Technoblade knew he liked hearing it, liked being called those things. Technoblade had thought it stupid the first time Dream asked, but it grew on him over time. “I will come back. I promise.” He stood up and reached for Dream’s mask. He handed it back to Dream, coaxing him up to a sitting position. Dream hesitantly reattached the mask back on his face, then lifted his face up towards Techno.

Technoblade nodded with a firm nod, hid his arm in his robe, and called Sam. As he walked back across the lava, he glanced back at Dream. He was watching him, sitting just against the wall. Waiting for his next visit.

[pinballwitxh]

heavenly - request - spencer reid x oc

summary: a local sketch artist comes back in for a case the team is working on and discovers she’s slowly taken a liking to the resident genius.

warnings: so much smut, some cursing

a/n: I was so excited to write this one that I took it on right away. sorry that I went out of order but I had to get this one out!  the inspiration to write this came and went so I am sorry if some things seems repetitive and others seem...actually good lol.  enjoy!!!!

Spencer sat behind her as she introduced herself to the young victim across from them. The girl was wrapped snuggly in a blanket and fidgeting constantly.

“I’ve already told everything I know to the cops, can I please just go home?” She began to sob, “Don’t make me retell it all!”

“I’m not going to ask you anymore questions,” the artist said calmly as she leaned forward, “You just need to describe his face, anything you’re able to remember.”

“Just take some deep breaths and close your eyes,” Spencer said as he leaned over the artist’s shoulder, “It may help you to remember as many details as possible.”

The girl leaned back in her chair and wiped her eyes before nodding to them. Spencer sat back and watched the artist and her hands work, absolutely mesmerized by how fluid her hands moved and how perfect the lines were.

She didn’t even really know what this man’s face looked like and yet it was coming together beautifully.

For a little over an hour they worked with her before happily dismissing her to rejoin her worried family in the lobby. The two stood side by side with smiles as she ran into their arms, sobbing happily.

She handed him the drawing, “Team might need that soon,”

“We really appreciate all your help,” he said as he took the paper and shook her hand.

“Never thought my interest in art would take me to the FBI someday,” she said as she gathered her things.

Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled, “You have a really great gift, it’s fascinating to watch you work, actually.”

She blushed and hugged her sketchbook close to her, “Thank you, Doctor Reid-”

“You know you can call me Spencer, I think we’ve worked together enough to be on a first-name basis.” he said with a grin.

In a surge of confidence she scribbled her number down on a piece of sketchbook paper and nearly shoved it into his chest from all the nerves.  She knew she had been crushing on the genius for awhile now.

“In that case I guess we can be on texting-basis, too,” she chuckled.

Spencer held the piece of paper close, “Would it be too forward to ask you on a date before texting you?”

The look of surprise that washed over her face made Spencer think he had done something wrong, he had definitely been too forward.  He profusely apologized to her while stammering over his words.

She laid a hand on his arm, “I’d love to go on a date, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” she sighed, “It’s just been a very long time since I’ve gone on a date with anyone.  I was kind of shocked you asked me,”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh, well you don’t have to if you aren’t ready-”

“Text me tonight so we can figure out a time, Spencer.” she winked before waving at him and turning to leave.  He watched her all the way down the hallway before turning around and cheering to himself quietly.

- 6 MONTHS LATER -

She looked around the buzzing bar for Spencer, meeting his smile from across the restaurant.  He stood from his chair and opened his arms, pulling her into a tight and close hug after she ran to him.  

It had been a two-week long case, lots of lives were lost and to say it was frustrating was an understatement.  The dark circles clouded his eyelids and his skin was so pale she questioned how long it had been since he had seen daylight.

The rest of the team laughed and they sat down, jumping back into the conversation.  His hand travelled up her thigh slowly, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.  Spencer wasn’t one for PDA, usually, but if it was happening it usually meant he was upset.  Her hand found his and her fingers coiled over his easily, holding his hand tightly and squeezing it once in awhile.

She turned to look at him in the middle of conversation, it was clear that some of the stress was already gone but it still lingered behind his tired laugh and half-hearted smiles.  He caught her stare and smiled widely at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“I think we should all go home and get some rest,” Hotch said, a command laced behind his words.  

Before the couple left Derek approached her and brought her in for a hug, “How’s everything going with you, Der?”

He smiled, “You always know how to cheer me up with that smile, sweetness,” he leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead, “I am a little worried about your man, though.”

She frowned, “What happened?”

“It shook us all, kid, not gonna lie,” he sighed, “It shook us up in different ways but Spencer was especially upset that he was away from you.”

“I mean, neither of us like it when he has to leave,”

“Just talk to him tonight, I don’t think he’s gonna sleep very well.”

She nodded and squeezed her friend in a side hug, “Thanks for looking out for him, Morgan.”

He smiled, “Always have to keep an eye on Doctor Strange.”

“I liked that reference,” Spencer said as he approached them, holding his hand out for her to take.

The drive home was very quiet, which was unusual for Spencer after coming home from a case.  His hand held hers steady over the console and he didn’t let go until they pulled into the parking garage of her apartment.  He frowned and looked over at her, “Why didn’t you drop me off at my place?”

“You already have your things packed up, so I figured you can stay the night,” she smiled as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He didn’t object, Spencer just liked to know plans ahead of time and yet he found himself content with being here.  The elevator ride up to her apartment was also very quiet and it was starting to worry her.  Spencer was usually pretty well-recovered after coming home from a case.  

Clearly he wasn’t.

- - -

While Spencer took a very long bath and shower she got a fire going and laid out some fluffy blankets on the couch.  She had a few new movies that she had found on Netflix listed in her phone that she thought they should try out.  From the shadows her cat emerged, mewing at her and rubbing against her leg as she rifled through the fridge for food.

In a scurry her cat bounded towards the bathroom door, pawing at the wood in an attempt to find out who was on the other side.  She rolled her eyes and followed the animal, picking him up and scratching behind his ears, “You can’t get attention anytime you want, you know?”

Spencer opened the door and gasped when he saw her on the other side.  She blinked, keeping her eyes level with his so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.  Spencer hadn’t been super intimate with her, ever, and she was okay with that.  They had been slowly testing the waters, edging closer to the edge each time they were together.  

Seeing him shirtless was a rare sight and she wanted to let her eyes roam over his entire body so bad.

“I-I left my clothes in your room,” he stuttered.

She laughed nervously and stepped out of the way to let him pass.  Before he shut the door behind him she looked over her shoulder, taking a glimpse at his bare back and the water that dripped down his shoulder blades.

The door shut and she jumped at the sound, instantly brought back to reality.  Her cat squirmed against her hold so she set him down, once again he began to paw at the door Spencer had just disappeared behind.

She decided to leave him be and get as far away from his naked body as she could.

He came walking down the hall with her cat in his arms, cuddling him close.  She smiled at the sight and laughed, her cat was such a suck-up when it came to Spencer.

The couch dipped as he sat next to her, cradling her cat like a baby and scratching the underside of his chin.  She pulled her blanket up closer and offered him a glass of wine, to which he surprisingly accepted.  

“Must’ve been a hard one,” she said as she passed his glass over to him.

He nodded, “You have no idea,”

She looked away, “I’m sure I don’t, I’m sorry, Spence.”

He smiled as he set her cat down between them, “Let’s just watch a movie, something funny.”

Ten minutes later both of them were curled up warmly under separate blankets, sipping on wine and engrossed in the film.  About halfway through was when she could feel his legs pressing up against her feet and she slowly slid her legs over his own.  Without even looking at each other they settled into the new position and continued to watch.

His hand found a resting spot on her inner thighs and immediately she could feel the heat flush her face.  She shifted her legs and left him more room to slide his hand down lower, and he did.

Not even ten minutes later she decided she couldn’t take it anymore and apparently Spencer couldn’t either.

They practically lunged at each other after making eye contact.  His placed both of his hands on her hips while hers latched onto the sides of his face.  There wasn’t much time left for breathing as they kissed deeply and hungrily, tugging at each other’s lips and tongues sliding around one another.  

She slid lower onto the couch with a vice-like grip on his collar.  His body loomed over hers and he subtly nudged her legs apart, making room for him to lay between them.  He hastily tossed the blanket to the side and groaned at the fact that the only thing separating them now was a very thin layer of clothes.

“Spence,” she moaned quietly between kisses, his hard-on becoming very apparent now.  He ground his hips down onto hers, something he had recently learned that she liked.  She shuddered at the contact as a chill spread throughout her whole body.

He let out a small groan, “I need you,” he whispered.

For a moment she didn’t think she heard him correctly, so she continued to kiss his lips feverishly.  He barely had time to catch a breath between the needy kisses, so he pulled away and captured her face in his hands.  

She opened her eyes and stared up at him, chest heaving.

“I want you, so bad,” he whispered as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She blinked, “W-want me as in. . .”

He cleared his throat and nodded, “In every single way possible,”

His eyes flickered across her face and he smiled down at her.  She noticed it was a small smile, but genuine nonetheless.  She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him deeply, taking his larger hand in hers.  Slowly she guided his hand to her breast before he took over, massaging it slowly.  His breath caught in his throat as she ran a hand up his chest, fingers dipping beneath the seam of the Cal Tech shirt he wore.  

He dove his head low to her neck, nearly suffocating himself in the warmth of her skin.  He peppered kisses all over her throat and with his tongue he could taste the faintest bit of sweat beginning to form on her.  She let out a guttural growl, something Spencer had never heard from her before.

His erection twitched and he ground against her slow and hard.  With her arms wrapped around his neck she sighed into his shoulder, kissing the exposed skin on his neck as he nudged her bra off slowly.  Soon both of their shirts were off and Spencer had yet to open his eyes.  

She sat up and straddled his lap, tilting his head up to meet her stare.  He slowly opened his eyes, brows knitted together in a deep frown.

She placed a strand of hair behind his ear, “Are you sure you want to?”

He nodded vigorously, “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” he said quietly, tracing his knuckle over her cheek.

“Then what’s got you hesitating?”

He looked away and pulled her close, not saying a word.  For a moment she waited, not sure what to expect from her boyfriend.  Spencer was a very quiet person when it came to his feelings.  Despite the fact they had been dating for nearly 6 months, she found that did nothing when it came to talking about their feelings.

“You have to talk to me if you want to do this,” she whispered as she took his face into her hands and forcing him to look at her.

There were tears in his eyes and she frowned, immediately pulling him into her hold and hugging him close.  Quietly he cried into her neck, shoulders heaving with the faintest hiccups.  She shushed him, sitting up against the couch and cradling him.  

Nothing like this ever happened and it startled her a little bit.

“Stop hiding things from me, Spencer,” she kissed the top of his head.

He pulled away and wiped at his dark eyes, “I’ve never been more of anything else in my life,” he paused to take a deep breath, “Those two weeks that I was gone was one of the most eye-opening experiences ever.”

She nodded and kissed his cheek, “I’m so sorry,”

“There was a couple, they were engaged,” he smiled, “And I could see us being them.  B-but,” he paused, “She was murdered and there was nothing we could have done to stop it.  Her fiancé, he was so broken. . .”

“But I’m here, right now, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know you are, but it made me reevaluate us and what we are,”

She sat back with wide eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re-”

“Absolutely not, I couldn’t imagine life without you,” he kissed her deeply, “It made me realize how badly I don’t want to lose you.”

She placed a hand on his cheek with tears in her eyes, beginning to understand what he was saying.

“I’m so ready to share me with you, all of me, and I don’t want to waste anymore time because our time here is so precious,” he smiled, “It made me realize how much I love you, seeing all of that.”

She pressed her lips to his held him so close that there was no space left between them.  The kissing grew heated and more passionate and sweat began to pool at her forehead.  She pulled away with a smile and tugged him as she stood up.

Spencer held her hand tight as they walked to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.  Spencer pulled her to him with hands on her waist, staring down at her with tear streaks across his cheeks.  She smiled up at him and kissed his nose, eliciting a small chuckle from him.

“We don’t have to do this, I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because you’re upset or because of anything I’ve ever said to you-”

“I want to.”

The confidence in his voice and the look in his eyes was something familiar to her, she had felt it in her own body before awhile ago.  He leaned down slowly and captured her lips in his own strong ones, a smile crossing his face.  She wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her up, to her surprise, and carried her to the bed.

The city lights streamed in from the window, she had a perfect view with large windows to accompany it.

He laid her down gently and allowed her to run her hands over his chest, studying him.  Adoringly he gazed at her while she took him in with her eyes.  She had an artist’s mind, he remembered, she liked to study people and every piece of them.  

She was trying to drink in every bit of him that her mind could allow, she was finally getting to know him physically and she wanted to remember every little detail.  Every little freckle, scar, birthmark and indent on his body.

“You’re gorgeous,” she whispered with a laugh.

He blushed, “Thank you,”

She met his eyes before letting her hands trail lower, running over the bulge in his pants.  He let his eyes slide shut and groaned at the feeling of her palming him.  It felt heavenly, this was a feeling he never knew existed.  It was so perfect.

She yanked his belt off and slowly unzipped him, allowing him time to adjust to the feelings.  He nodded his head when she began to tug down on his pants, asking with the look in her eyes if it was okay.

Once his pants were off, he too began to run his hands over her hips and the jeans that clothed her.  She smiled at him and tugged down on her pants, allowing him to help her slide them off, leaving them in only their under garments.

His lips parted in awe, he had never seen her like this.  Her hair spilled all around her and the lights from the outside made her look so ethereal.  She was everything he wanted, and he wanted her now.

Slowly he lowered himself to her chest, placing his hands on each of her breasts and squeezing lightly.  She ran a hand through his long curls and smiled as he ran his thumbs over her hardened nipples.  A gasp escaped her mouth as he finally dipped down to suck on her.

Her body was on fire.

He could feel just how wet for him she was and he never imagined a feeling quite like it.  He groaned as he switched to her other breast, taking her in his mouth once again.  His tongue swirled around the throbbing bud and the joy it brought to him to hear her moan his name only made him want her even more.

If that was possible.

He pulled away and immediately she was straddling him, grinding her hips against his own.  She pushed him back on the bed and he settled into her duvet, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her mouth on his stomach.

He gasped when her fingers curled around the seam of his underwear, tickling him the slightest bit.

“Is this okay?” she asked quietly.

He opened his eyes and peered over at her, “Keep going,” 

She smiled and continued to pull his underwear off, slowly sliding it down his legs.  Her focus was solely on him as she leaned down to take his length into her mouth.

He shuddered violently and he gripped the sheets tightly.

“Relax, Reid, just close your eyes.”

He nodded and she went back to work, bobbing her head up and down gently.  He whimpered as she placed a hand at the base of his cock, beginning to pump it with her mouth.  His hand found it’s way into her hair that dangled over his thighs and he tugged each time her mouth squeezed around him.

His whimpers turned to cries of pleasure and soon he found himself teetering over the edge.

“I’m ready, please,”

She pulled away and clambered over him, kissing his lips with desire and hunger that neither of them had felt.

“I-Is this your first time?” he asked quietly.

She pulled away and smiled at him before shaking his head, “It’s been a long time, but it isn’t my first,”

“A-Are you sure you want me-”

“Nothing will ever change my mind about you, and I hope that it doesn’t change your mind about me,”

“Of course it doesn’t,” he said as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone.

She smiled, “All that matters is that I love you and I want to this to be everything you want and more.”

Tears brimmed his eyes once more and he kissed her forehead, “I love you too,”

She pulled him close and laid back on the bed as his body towered over hers, a hunger in his eyes that made her nearly come undone on the spot.  Slowly he peeled her panties away and off her legs, his eyes never leaving her own.

“You can look, Spencer,”

His eyes traveled down her body and to her throbbing core.  His hands roamed over her body and shook with excitement.  She placed a hand over his own and guided it to her center, nodding.

His hands explored her folds delicately, rubbing her nub when her moans became louder.  She was dripping for him and it made him so hungry for her.

He reached for his erect cock, stroking it slightly before lining himself up with her.  She leaned up on her elbows and placed a hand over his, guiding himself closer to her entrance.  She held his gaze and urged him to push, “We can go slow,”

He nodded before finally leaning into her, pushing his entire length inside of her.  His moans carried over hers and he shuddered, leaning over her body to take some deep breaths.  She arched her back with a hand around his neck, moaning his name.

He twitched inside of her at the sound of his name and immediately felt the urge to begin pumping in and out of her slowly.  His movements were soft and agile, paying close attention to her body language and slowly figuring out what she liked best.

“Does it hurt?” he asked timidly.

She shook her head, “It feels perfect, Spence.” she said breathily.

He finally pulled away to look at her as he sped up his pace.  Her breasts were bouncing with each thrust he gave and her lips were parted in what seemed bliss.  Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her eyebrows were knitted in ecstasy.  The sweat covering her body made her shine in the lights of the city coming in from the windows.  

She looked like an angel, he thought.

Her eyes open and he slowed his thrusting, holding her wide-eyed stare.  She smiled up at him and let loose a small laugh, one that he loved so much.  She pulled him close and kissed him deeply as he stopped inside of her.

“I-Is everything okay-?”

“I just wanted to look at you,” she whispered as she ran a thumb over his nose.

Spencer smiled, tears pooling in his orbs once again.  They trailed over his cheeks and onto her own, the emotion slowly building up in her.  Soon she had tears of her own spilling down the sides of her face.

“Happy tears?” he asked her, placing her hair behind her ear.

She nodded, “Happy tears.”

He smiled before placing a very passionate kiss on her lips, beginning to move inside of her once again.  Spencer watched her very closely as she began to squirm even more beneath his body.

“G-God I’m so close,” he breathed out, “Jesus. . .”

She looked up to him and held his gaze as his thrusting turned into pounding as he held himself to her.  His eyes finally met hers and she watched as he came undone inside of her.  The moans of her name in her ear sent her coming quickly undone as well, clinging to him with desperate cries of pleasure as he finished the last of his bucking hips against her.

For awhile they laid there, tangled in each other’s limbs and coming down from the pleasurable high.  She tangled her hands into his messy curls and massage his head, his breath heavy against her neck.

He finally pulled out of her, another moan coming from both of them.

He leaned down and kissed her long and hard, his tongue probing the insides of her mouth gently.  She giggled against his lips and pulled him down next to her.  Propped up on her elbows she placed a hand on his chest and drew soft circles.  He smiled up at her, studying her face.

“That was incredible,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her cheek.

She turned to him, “Was it everything you expected?” she looked away from his eyes with a sad look.

He frowned, “It was everything and so much more,” he made her look at him, “I feel closer to you than I ever have with anyone else in my life before.”

She let out a small, happy sob at his words.  Leaning into him she kissed the palm of his calloused hand smiled up at him, “It’s not an earthly feeling, is it?”

He shook his head and patted the spot next to him.  She quickly snuggled under the covers and nuzzled up to his chest.

“I don’t think anything can explain this,”

She scoffed, “Doctor Spencer Reid is stumped?”

THE MASTERLIST | REQUEST DETAILS

[joelmillerthirstqz]

From this prompt: Joel meets y/n and he makes it his MISSION to fuck her. Throw in a daddy kink if you’re brave

(I did, with ten thousand character-intensive caveats. Porn with obligatory plot, is there a tag for that? Anyway have some suspiciously assertive Joel)

---

Joel moves throughout the rooms of his house, picking up one occupation after the next, bored around one in the afternoon and faced with the reality that he neither remembers nor knows what to do with actual free time, safety, and space of his own. Tommy and Maria had brought some kind approximations of traditional housewarming, but much of his home was furnished by the previous resident and he sat there overwhelmed by spatial possibility. For all his griping about Ellie’s perpetual stream-of-consciousness chattering, the silence roared in his ears like he’d been dragged downstream.

Do people just go drink now? Just talk to each someone to pass the time? he thinks to himself, frustrated. By the time he could legally go to a bar, he’d been twenty-one and Sarah had been three, her mom long gone. He hadn’t spent time alone since the outbreak—always Tommy or Tess and others in between nearby. Acute problems to solve, no time for chronic reflection.

Tommy brought a lone box of possessions from his apartment with a case of cheap beer the night Sarah’s mom left, hanging around more tangibly than any other family had and often taking Sarah to school once Sarah was old enough. Tommy joked that it was more like Joel having two kids to deal with; Joel ribbed him for perpetually flirting with the very clearly married moms of his niece’s classmates.

Joel gulps a breath, self-flagellating with the idea that he hadn’t been able to protect Sarah when Tommy and Maria so clearly deserved to have their own child, forgetting as ever that his brother executed the soldier that shot Sarah before he could get to Joel—without a blink.

Wonderful. That’s what you do alone with your thoughts for two seconds. Jesus, Joel, he grumbles inwardly.

He’d been dragged to so many damn things since settling in Jackson and didn’t know what to do when it was his choice, so he looks outside. If Ellie’s light is on, he’ll go awkwardly try to make conversation, see if she’s okay. If she’ll be caught in a forgiving mood; if not, if he’s really pushing it.

Joel’s boots thud softly on the flagstone they’d carefully laid together, a path for her to get up to the house without soaking her sneakers through. Tonight, though, she’s gone or playing dead, so he sighs and shrugs a coat on, headed for the Tipsy Bison.

————

Joel spent a nontrivial amount of his time lately fending off interested parties in Jackson.

It was just cuffing season, he dismissed—encroaching fall making people a little weird. Since he’d begun to settle in, slowly accustoming himself to having Ellie out of his sight often and a normal couch in a house without shattered windows, he’d slowly accepted more public interactions. He’d grudgingly shoulder into town meetings, quiet until Tommy or someone else would put a question to him like he had a fucking clue.

Joel went on patrol, helping some of the greener residents learn to keep themselves safe. Unfortunately, it meant more people caught sight of him. Joel was used to prowling through quarantine zones swollen with cowering masses plainly terrified of him, which left him minimally prepared for reactions he thought he’d stopped evoking long ago.

The people whose breath hitch when they first notice him, the longing stares when he’d finally break and smile or laugh—they’d gotten embarrassing enough for him to avoid certain places.

Whenever Joel seems like he’s about to not comply with her wishes, Maria frequently threatens to tell the women who ask her in lewd tones if Tommy has a brother the truth—he does, and how about I introduce you?

The truth was he didn’t feel capable of starting anything with someone who’d ask where he’d been. Joel didn’t want to remember, even if he’d finally pinned the picture of himself with Sarah at a soccer game up next to the blooming collection of pictures in his living room with Ellie, Polaroids in Jackson blooming over nearby wall space every few weeks. People who wanted honesty to go with their peaceful existence reminded him too much of Tommy’s near-fatal optimism, and he felt like it would be too dishonest to start anything with anyone who still lost sleep over distasteful things done to survive. Delightful first-date baggage, in his estimation.

At the Tipsy Bison, he edges in by the drinking patrol nearest the door, welcomed gruffly and responding the same. It was nice to be recognized without raw fear or calculation as he entered, and Joel warms enough to drop his coat over the back of his chair, his rust-colored flannel’s buttons parting over the shirt beneath it as he moves, listening to Eugene tell some inflated war story with an almost-cold beer.

“Alright, fuck this. Knuckle up, asshole, I’m not doing this on patrol tomorrow,” Joel’s ears perk up at the sound of your chair clattering backwards as you stand. Joel recognizes you from the newer batch of arrivals, clearly deemed capable enough to join an early patrol just days after your arrival.

“Jesus, settle the fuck down,” one of the younger patrolmen grouses, standing up. Alex. Oh, the dumb kid.

“Nope. Now or never,” you insist.

“Listen, I’m not hitting you,” he sounds unapologetic but tries to portray himself as the reasonable party. He’s wiry, and Joel’s seen him fend for himself, but his posture doesn’t belie cool confidence.

“You clearly have some doubts, so let’s get into it,” you urge, agitated beyond belief. He’d been needling you about perceived skill, something about not growing up having to field dress animals, and you’d fucking had it. He was going to make a point on patrol and get someone hurt, and you were not carrying bodies back into Jackson because of some ego or misplaced crush.

He taps your shoulder mockingly with a closed fist, a gentle little motion, trying to smile playfully.

You hook him across the jaw, staggering him before taking a knee to his stomach as he tries to right himself.

“More, or you’re finished?” you ask.

Joel fully sits up in his chair. He hasn’t seen anything like this in Jackson. Glancing over both shoulders for his brother, Maria, and finding a clear coast he watches the outcome with interest, sipping his beer with an upturned mouth.

You’re cute, or appealing, or some reflexive word Joel hadn’t used in years, pushing hair out of your eyes as you regain your center.

Alex tries to sweep your legs out, successfully swiping one and getting a knee to the diaphragm for it as you land.

“Okay, fuck, I’m done,” he grunts and you rise easily, offering him a hand.

“Good,” you mumble, letting go the second he’s righted. You look around a little chastened by all the eyes on you, deciding to forego another round.

“I’m going to bed before we do this again,” you nod at Alex, and the rest of the patrol group you recognize in turn.

Joel eyes you as you depart, beer polished off and goodbyes waved, coat gripped in his fist to be flung on once outside. He knows your name, had seen you near the stables and conversing with the patrols. Hearing you speak, despite the context, maybe because of it, let him confirm something he’d been suspecting when he caught glimpses of you before. Never having had the right circumstances or raw spare time to devote all his energy to taking someone to bed, he steels himself to confirm it.

He trots after you, tugging his jacket back on and finding his way to the four-story hotel the town had spent arduous time clearing, stripping of spores, and making hospitable enough for people new to Jackson. Joel ended up leading a lot of the effort himself, vaguely proud to be doing something other than dismantling things, stretching old skills. Your little corner balcony faces off of one side, a nice view of the town unfolding as people begin to switch lights on for a sooner-than-yesterday sundown. You’re appreciative of a strange little luxury—not sure when the last time you stood with your back to a door without anticipating some infected would burst through.

You lean your elbows on the railing, a flask of whisky tipping in your fingers as you watch Jackson light up, a lone figure’s long strides coming into view down the broad street. The night is cool against your skin, but the little shiver the breeze causes feels affirming.

You’d always loved the fall, and Jackson’s soft sounds of life feel unreal enough that you could never sit here just sobering up before bed. It would leave you too wired, buzzing with the anxiety of certain impermanence. Reconciling this liminal zone with the gnashing horror just beyond it wasn’t something you’d take on without help. If Jackson was only a passing reprieve, you had to make yourself calm enough to enjoy it.

Joel halts below where you’re standing, hands on his hips pulling his jacket open as he looks up at you.

You’re instantly sheepish—you’d guessed in whatever patrol hierarchy there was, he was rather important. And you’d just visibly beaten someone down.

“Alex okay?” you call.

“He’ll be peachy. Not here for that,” Joel retorts, low drawl pleasant.

“Well,” you shrug, gesturing to the two mismatched chairs on the balcony with your flask. “Allow me to be a gracious host.”

He smiles and looks down for a moment. Even a couple of stories above him, you can see his height, start to assess his proportions because you’re too tipsy to be a human fucking being about your first interactions in a good place. You quickly add up a sum: his legs are long, shoulders broad, hair long enough to tug on. His frame suggests complete capability and you have a dire need to test it.

Aw, fuck.

“Y’know, I’ve got real glasses for drinking that,” Joel insinuates before he can tell himself to shut the fuck up, or to stop harassing newcomers, or any other sensible thought.

“Fair enough,” you call, closing your flask and holding a finger up to signal that he should wait.

When you arrive downstairs, boots poorly laced and denim jacket barely enough for the chill, Joel’s leaning on the veranda of the whole structure. You suppose its fair to gawk in appreciation so you do, assuring yourself you could have chosen not to.

“Look, I’m not going to ask what this is, and you won’t ask why I’m saying yes, okay?” you say softly when you’re a couple of feet from him.

Joel raises his eyebrows, feeling untethered. Some corner of him expected to humiliate himself to death so he could go home and fall asleep barely after dark, anything to shut himself up until he was occupied again. His heart speeds a little at your reply, hand on the back of his neck as he pushes back onto both feet.

“I’m close,” Joel offers, hand down towards the street, fists quickly in his own pockets. You pull your bottom lip inward, looking at his profile, wanting to hear it again, lower, helpless.

You pass the walk in tense but not unpleasant silence, glancing at each other until you reach his porch and he edges in to unlock his door.

Turning on lights as you toe off your boots and follow him inside, you watch how he moves, past the need for any type of persuasion. He returns from the kitchen with two matching, unchipped short glasses and a cylindrical glass of amber liquid.

“Trade?” Joel asks setting the bottle down and closing an open window. Your mouth quirks.

“That’s a nice custom. It a Jackson thing?” you ask, tipping your flask into his glass as he returns and pours from the bottle for you.

He laughs, sharp hazel eyes jumping up to you and back down, hand running over his beard.

“Not sure. What else would you do?”

You drop onto one of the two couches, arranged in the way that says people actually spend time here together. Joel gets onto his knees to build a fire, definitely a necessity, though kind of needlessly sweet for the occasion.

“This?” you tease, gesturing between the two of you. Joel joins you on the same couch, heat radiating into the space around you, well before the spark in the fireplace could catch enough to reach you.

You take stock of each other in comfortable silence, and a slow grin moves from one side of your face to the other. You finish your drink with a tinge of shyness, setting it down as he does the same.

You have no warning before his mouth is on yours, hands on either side of your face. It’s achingly good to be kissed with complete attention, luxury of time changing the entire tenor of kissing another person. You’re grounded to who’s holding you, mouth accepting him as Joel leads, guiding your jaw where he wants it with the flat of his palm. Joel moves slowly, plenty of time for you to reciprocate his motions though you begin to shift closer, scant sense of rhythm keeping you from straddling his hips.

The taste of him and your anticipatory haze keeps you fixed on the kiss, his hands sliding lower and beginning to move you towards his lap.

You try not to break the kiss with a smile, but it happens anyway and he looks up curiously. You sit back on your heels and tear through the buttons of your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and stroking fingernails through his beard before beginning the kiss again. Joel tugs you closer by the hip, urging you into his lap. He scans your face intensely, pulling you fully against him and letting his hands run the expanse of your back.

You can feel how rough his hands are through your shirt, so your fingers fly to his to work the buttons of his flannel.

“Christ,” you roll your eyes, exposing a second shirt underneath. He chuckles warmly in his chest, your foreheads bowed together a moment.

“C’mon,” Joel mutters, broad hands under each of your thighs as he rises with you wrapped around him. A segment somewhere in your brain shimmers, clicking with the novel experience, a knockout strike in the lane of neurons igniting to remember their roles.

“Where’s c’mon?” you ask incoherently between kisses, moving your mouth to his neck so he can answer. You think regretfully that it’s probably substantially warmer down here, fire catching nicely.

“Upstair—” Joel cuts off, your teeth nipping his pulse point.

You feel his heart jump against your mouth and your chest at once. You kiss him slowly as he takes you upstairs, stopping halfway up. He pushes you against the banister and deepens the kiss, hard length made clear. Shifting you closer to his waist once you resume, Joel’s hands creep a little higher, fingertips edging up as they dig in.

As you reach his bedroom, you have one hand hooked in the bottom seam of his shirt, ready to pull it off as he tries to set you down. Joel grunts when you tangle his broad shoulders in it, getting free and discarding it agilely. He bears down on you under dark lashes, chest rising and falling noticeably. The chill upstairs dissolves quickly as you twine together, hands running over his chest. It’s impressively broad and defined, thickening line of hair leading into his jeans.

You strip out of your two shirt layers with a casual roll of your upper body. Joel’s rapt eyes dragging over every rib leave you feeling exposed until his hands cover your breasts, mouth on your neck. You try to tug the rest of him towards the bed by the belt loops, but get frustrated and try to unclasp his belt instead.

Joel stoops to claw quickly at his boots, both thrown one handed before coming to rest against the wall. He hasn’t taken his eyes from you as you rise to slip your jeans down, one hand already curled back around your waist. He spreads his other hand across your abdomen, callused fingertips making you shudder appreciatively. Shoving you back, Joel gets to his knees with one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, grasped in his palm, kissing down your thigh. His free hand still moves over the rest of you.

Your mind is blankly focused on the rasp of his beard inside your legs. If you were honest, head wasn’t a frequent priority after the outbreak, sex usually a time-sensitive stress fix—for everyone. Add to that the average skill of the college peers you’d fucked before and, well, you’d only ever mildly enjoyed it.

Joel sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and you arc off the bed. He moves without an ounce of uncertainty, shifting and roughly positioning you for the best angle as he goes. Being pursued like this, by a person who squarely checks boxes you didn’t know were empty left you wet enough to take him the moment you’d been out of your pants. His tongue pushes inside of you, followed quickly by one finger and then another, static but wonderful. You writhe on the bed at the feeling, low hum of a chuckle skittering across your sensitive skin.

One hand in the sheets, your other makes it into his hair. You grind against him without being able to help it, riding the stretch of his fingers as his tongue laves forceful circles around your clit.

“Fuck,” you try to grit out, embarrassed by the disassembled breathiness of your voice. It’s more a sigh as he curls his fingers within you, hazel flicking up to watch your reaction. You paw at his shoulders blindly, wanting him closer, wanting to fuck him, trying to pull back from him to tell him. He’s deadset in his focus, teeth softly grazing you in reply to your attempt.

“Can you just—” Joel grumbles, rising,“—be good for one goddamned second—” he yanks you towards him by your ankle.

“This where you want me to tell you to make me?” you tease, sitting up in his lap and wrenching him closer with your legs.

He huffs a small laugh, making to kiss you, but you hold him back.

“I want you to make me, okay?” You say seriously, grasping the hair at his nape to emphasize it.

Joel leans forward, biting your lip with care.

“Alright,” he confirms, hands around your jaw. You taste yourself on him, and a near-growl ripples through him, evident through his chest pressed against yours.

You duck away from his kiss, not caring to get his jeans off before getting a hand around his cock, your mouth enclosing the tip before you can register how much there is to take.

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes shut, face turned towards the ceiling. As your hand becomes slick enough to work over his shaft, his hands stabilize in your hair, bunching. You feel him flex in your mouth as he parts his lips and tugs on your hair, hauling you up level with his face.

“You don’t get to end it now,” Joel smiles, mouth almost against yours. You smile at the rough motion, hot interest skipping down your spine. His opposite hand is running over your chin while he composes himself, far closer than he’d wanted to be at this point.

You bite his fingers, pulling two deftly in to suck and keeping his gaze. His pupils darken and you feel a surge of pride at the same time as you feel him shove you back onto the bed, tearing his jeans off and finally joining you. Joel covers you, kissing you roughly and pulling your thighs around his hips, on his knees. He sheathes inside you without resistance, groaning and bowing his head at first. Even ready, he stretches you noticeably and you gasp at his first experimental thrusts, dragging your hips up to his each time.

You rise up to meet him, nails dug into his shoulders for traction, meeting his thrusts.

Joel hisses more in chastisement than discomfort at it, smacking your ass curiously.

“You know I’m not delicate,” you say close to his ear, snapping the lobe between your teeth unnecessarily hard.

“Shit, ow—” he grumbles, smacking you harder. You moan at the feeling, spread over his lap and trawling nails down his back. You tug where you’ve latched on, moving lower and biting his neck. He does it again, rolling his hips as you clench down on him. You scrape your teeth over his shoulder. Joel hits you again, force of it stinging how you’d hoped.

You provoke him to continue, pulling his hair, hard, and biting the skin over his collarbone.

Joel fists your hair and tugs back hard, exposing your throat to him even as you keep riding him, spanking you with almost musical timing. You almost draw blood scratching your nails out of his hair to the nape of his neck, grinning from your forced angle as he pants under you.

Joel leans forward and nips carefully over your larynx, clamping down hard on tendons just next to it. It’s a brash spot to suck a bruise into, and even the less visible parts of your body would surely be screaming on patrol in the morning.

You cry out, nerves and instinctive reaction to teeth near your neck making your heart and your cunt clench.

Joel flips you without effort, pressing a palm against your lower back to shove you into the mattress. You feel him strike your ass, once, twice, three times, and then his fingers are at your entrance, coaxing your hips to tilt up. He brushes his knuckles against you, leaning over to breathe into your ear.

“Here?”

“What did I just say?” You retort, appreciative of his caution but entirely sold on the possibility that walking will hurt tomorrow.

Joel doesn’t reply but you can see him roll his eyes from the corner of yours as he swats your cunt, hard, sensation shattering across your skin. You moan and he takes the initiative to do it again. Your shoulder blades pinch together around his hand, veering up with it. You turn your face entirely into the bed, muffling moans and faux-objections as he works, tenderness rising to the surface of your skin.

You feel Joel’s hands harshly grasp handfuls of your ass the second before he thrusts into you again, the force pinning you to the bed. He fucks you hard for long minutes, sweat building between you enough to make his hands slip. Joel’s forearm slides around your front and pulls you back against his chest.

You immediately claw at his arm, grateful to anchor yourself to him directly, pushing your hips down against his as he falls back to a gentler pace. His mouth reaches your shoulder and your hand flies to his hair again, straining to kiss him. Maybe it was weird to seek him like that—could still be a fantastic, unattached fuck—but Joel kisses you with this unerring focus that already makes you hope it will happen again.

“Takin’ me perfectly,” he drawls, some enunciation falling away with his blood coursing like this. You want to keep hearing him, so you nod and resume kissing him.

“More delicate than you thought? Need a break?” Joel taunts, and your eyes narrow as he speaks low and close, still thrusting shallowly.

“You want it hard again?” Joel teases, fingers skimming your stomach to roll your clit between them his thumb and index. It pinches and you suck in a breath, your hips floundering against his patient rhythm.

Your eyes spark and you decide to push.

“Yes, daddy,” you mock, almost sneering at him.

A dim recollection of a girl he’d briefly seen after Sarah’s mom left dusts itself off, and he reconnects dots that drifted apart from disuse after the outbreak. Joel raises his eyebrows at you and tips his head as if to say, “Well, alright then.”

You’re on your hands and knees before you can react, his hand spanning across your collarbones, bracing you against his repeated impact. Joel’s breathing becomes ragged each time he slides home, folding over you again to spill an endless wave of questions into your ear. His fingers are smoother across your clit now, drawing soaked concentric circles as you hitch.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel punctuates with a snap of his hips.

“You gonna come for me just like this?” Again.

“Come around my cock like a good girl?” Again, rough.

You moan, dropping to your elbows as he pounds into you, orgasm building inside of you spilling over to his fingers’ stimulation, a low groan meeting yours. You’re past words and shivering on the edge of climax when he taps your jaw.

“Focus up, c’mon,” he rumbles in your ear, demanding your attention. The pressure of his length against the tension inside of you has your vision blurring at the edges.

“Tell me,” Joel demands, pulling out halfway.

“Yes! Please, please,” you hear yourself sound panicky at the threat of losing his touch.

“Not what I asked you, baby,” he goads, nipping softly across your shoulders. His hand hasn’t stilled, and you know your eyes are rolling with the distracting pleasure of it.

“Yes, yes I will, please—”

“Tell me what,” he slips in an inch, voice shaky with thin control, fingers flexing where they meet your skin.

“Come for you, please don’t stop,” you plead, trying to shove your hips back to to meet his.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel murmurs and you break, quivering against his fingers and fussing with effort and relief. Your cheeks and mouth bloom red as your eyes droop with the onslaught of endorphins, still cresting as you feel Joel’s hips snap in quick succession, burying himself deep and making the best, most broken noise you could have hoped for. Even deep in your own fog, you reach for him, finding his mouth as it seeks yours again, aftershocks rolling through him.

Joel rolls onto his back, tugging you along one side. You don’t much enjoy being pinned if you weren’t also being penetrated, so the intimacy of lying there like lovers with someone you’d barely glimpsed, much less talked to, was unsettling.

Joel laughs like it’s easy for him, face lighting up with the motion, hand stroking your hair behind your ear.

“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Just surprised you said yes,” he clarifies. “I’m don’t—this isn’t a usual Wednesday for me,” he clears his throat.

You analyze his expression for a second, looking for the deceit and just finding something genuine and suspiciously shy for having nearly spanked you to orgasm minutes ago.

“You don’t accost every vulnerable newcomer and ply them with good whisky?” You prod, draping yourself over his chest, an easy negotiation of legs happening without either of you needing to acknowledge it.

“Bourbon, and, just the ones who start fistfights, really,” he teases, hands drifting over you, hungry warmth reaching his eyes as the afterglow begins to recede.

“Come downstairs?” Joel asks, like you weren’t tangled up in his bedsheets, surrounded and willingly captive to whatever he wanted.

“That was the original plan,” you protest, peering around for his shirt and slipping into it.

He smirks and kisses the tip of your nose, pausing and tipping your chin up to kiss you properly.

God damn it, you think. Oh, god damn it.

[redheid]

S supposed to be the most dismal fucking place you can imagine spending the holidays: cooped up in a dingey little flat wi a band of fellow smackheads who had all, completely unplanned but completely expectedly, upped and left their own different little homes aftir conveniently wanting tae go oan a Christmas eve walk tae breathe in the crisp air in an act of good health at the same time, not tae come back till the middle of the night tae whoever they’d lied to in the first place tae get oot. Tryna pass off whitever smack induced quiver they’ve taken thit’s letting them knock everything down in their war path in a nefarious attempt to act as the notorious bearded fucker thit should be climbing in through the chimney later thit night. (God forbid the ones thit go home tae a place wi kids in the house actually staying up tae try n catch a glimpse of the guy in red only tae find their brother or uncle or cousin tae be sneaking in through the backdoor in a total fuckin daze n no even noticing them and their bright peeking kiddy eyes peering oot through their bedroom doors before the fail to be santa collapses as close tae the door as they can, once they’ve made sure they’ve absolutely made it through the threshold of the house.)

The dismal place they’ve come from is dreamy tae me, probably tae the smackheads alike. The aftermath is the grim boxing day of the visit.

Swanney’s place’s got smoke stains seeped so far intae the walls you can hardly tell the colour they were painted in the first place. The respect tae the physicalities of the place went swiftly down from there, once people realised a kick in the wall by an angry punter or whoever had come storming the place was either never noticed or never bothered tae get fixed, totally left fir the dust tae gather; the place became an incoherent art installation fast.

For instance, right now ah lay sprawled oot against a wall, right in the corner, the crevice of the flat where the spiders typically gather and ah squash when ah sit oan them, where if you look up tae the other wall holding you up, just tae the side, and if you squint hard enough, you can just aboot make oot a tree oan it formed from some cunt’s handprints. If you squint harder, muck a few artificial additives intae yir system thit lets you see the wonder in the simplest things, like in a grotty little flat thit stinks of piss and farts and burning, you can pretend the weary stains oan the painted greenery are colourful little specks purposely put there as decoration. They nearly look like ornaments and you can nearly act like Swanney’s taken note of a calendar or the weather outside and dressed the place up for the festivities.

Obviously some artsy fucker came in one time thinking high enough oaf themsels tae start the handy masterpiece but no enough to finish it, it was no work of our Mother Superior, but it’s a tantalising thought tae imagine him wi a bowl of paint and a green hand. The furthest his goodwill extends for the holiday season is not booting you oot immediately once you’ve got your stuff (dependent on how many freaks and geeks had made their way to his place to score likes), not until he runs ootay walls fir the lot tae fall down on does he point tae the door and tell us tae get tae fuck.

Ah was one of the first few tae arrive, see, and ah had the cognisant joy of watching the rest trickle intae the place through a very slow set of blinking eyelids while I masel was in and oot oaf a daze. Ah was well fuckin intae ma experience n well oan ma way down when ah saw Swanney pointing at the door and talking aboot wanting the place clear.

— Ah’m no having any sleepers, Swanney sais. The only reason ah hear thit one, come to consciousness enough tae even register it as a sound directed anywhere in the vicinity oaf me, was through Sick Boy’s stinging voice next tae us near enough fucking pleading tae the fucker.

— Where’s the spirit, Swanney?

— Santy can come kicking down the chimney if he likes, Simon, but he’s no invited either,

Unfortunately, ah’m in no state tae argue, though ah had planned accordingly: tae be a sleeper during the day. Naw a dozer, actually. There was no sleeping, but the dozing state was paramount tae ma festive experience. Ma Rudolph riding time in the sky.

Ah was there at the perfect time tae ride is oot and still have a happy aftermath tae deal wi when ah was tae head back home under suspicion not at all tae be compared tae the likes of those stumbling in ruining the night when they pulled the Christmas tree and bunting, should the household be so inclined tae put it up, down wi them when they came back home and made their bed on the floor. Under no fucking circumstances would Mark Renton be found drooling intae the carpet oan Christmas morning.

Ah stand up without fuss. Simon is still rattling tae the side of me and ah nearly crumble intae the wall which is not at all of my own accord (it is in my best interest tae stay as firmly upright as ah can). Ah nod a see ya tae Swanney n mibbe mumble a happy holidays.

…

– Disnae seem fair is awl ah’m saying, Rents.

Ah nod a simple nod ah’m not at all mentally tied intae.

– Not thit ah care anyways, the cunt.

Ah nod again.

– Ah’ve got a lovely supper awaiting me.

Another fucking nod.

– Baccalà.

Again, ah nod nod nod.

– Cod. A lovely, salted cod. Not thit you’d know anything about thit wi your plea for animal rights.

– Ah’m vegetarian, Si.

– Vege-fucking-whitever, it’s no good fir yir health. Examplo numero uno, he points a cuntish finger tae hissel. Ah don’t know how he has the energy. The strained finger runs from his face and over tae me. – And you.

– Ah just dinnae like the taste.

– S no very à la Christmas is awl ah’m saying. It’s the time tae feast, abbondanza, Rents. Whit, you forcing your poor madre tae cook you thit tofu shite?

Ah don’t know how he has the appetite. Physically for the feast he’s claiming or mentally for the bothering he’s doing tae me. Ah shudder. It’s fucking freezing.

– Ah just eat around the turkey. Potatoes and carrots.

He tsks all better than. – Potatoes and carrots, fucking waste.

He continues but ah keep my arms tucked nicely around ma shaking body as we get tae the bottom of the road and ease the sound of his voice ootay ma heid.

Ah look over ma shoulder and catch a few more people heading outay Swanney’s, ah bet they’re no looking tae dae half as much talking as my solid companion, but I also suspect they’re not exactly people ah’m looking for company from, thit even if they did want tae talk as much as Sick Boy they winnae have half as much tae say. Who the fuck does?

Ah watch as the cold hits them and their arms shoot up too to cocoon themselves in a solitary embrace. Fair few have jackets oan them, thick enough ones are few and far between. Ah have oan ma bomber jacket, far too short and far too fucking thin tae do any good but make it look like ah’ve been existing from my hand-me-downs aged ten. Not so much fabric thit it would make a difference if I had ten of them oan.

The buzzing breaking through the cold turns intae a sharp prod in my arm. Ah look away from Swanney’s wi a scowl back at Si, the proprietor of said prod. – Whit? ah snap belligerently.

– Knew you were no fucking listening, fucking waster.

– Fucking cunt, ah mutter.

It disnae persuade him tae stop, disnae deter the fucker at awl. Ah let him go oan and oan till we make it tae our ain separate crossroads and head our ain separate ways. Wave a merry Christmas and he says something about the meat feast thit is Christmas day, whit his sister’s are cooking, and ah listen politely fir the fact ah cannae be bothered tae tell him how much ah could no care less until he finished up and ah stumble back to Fort Renton.

…

Aftir we got the flat off the housing department oan behalf of our Wee Davie’s various fucking various illnesses, the weeks approaching the end of December were awl aboot making solid attempts tae make it look homely, tae really work wi the tree we’ve had since Billy was born n give Cathy Renton something to focus oan other than when we were getting Davie home and if his bed was ready fir him and who was going to spoon feed him whitever they were planning tae. It was aboot showing how much the place was cared for as if people were watching (which, actually, ah suppose a good few were – the Curran’s a few doors down were hawkeyed and insisting we only kept Wee Davie in our care, living wi us like, until we got the new place tae live free of charge and shipped him oot the second we got the keys as if we’d pawn him off like thit).

This is the first Christmas there’s no really any of thit, even if ah see Mr Curran’s radge fucking face peeping ootay his blinds at us.

The measly tree dinnae go up until the 21st despite attempts from ma faither tae encourage Ma intae it n even when it did go up, she dinnae even really care thit the tinsel was looking the scraggiest it ever had. No thought tae go and get replacements.

Ma faither took the ‘good’ side of the tree n put it facing the front windae, as if people like the Curran’s were actually coming up tae ours and press their faces up on the glass tae see how we were treating the place aftir Davie’s death. Whether we were packing up tae give it up fir someone else who needs it.

Well fuck thit. Finders keepers losers fucking weepers. Ma faither’s intense need tae show the outside world our supposed love and respect fir the holidays, however, left the sight for sore eyes side of the tree fir us tae look at in the living room. He’s been squinting past the plasticy brambles and the shedding metallic tinsel thit’s covering the floor so he can watch the telly in peace fir the past two days and pretending it disnae bother him thit he has tae do it.

The good old Cathy Renton has been sitting desolate as can be oan the settee oan the other side of the room, pretending tae watch the telly and not at awl pretending tae care aboot the tree and lack of quality decor.

S fucking depressing if you ask me. Ah immediately miss Swanney’s when ah step through the door.

– Where’ve you been? Fucking Billy, doss cunt, waiting fir me tae get back. He looks like he’s been sitting in thit chair at the dining table since the moment ah left waiting for a festive confrontation.

– Last minute shopping wus it, son? Ma mother sais from the settee. Ah didn’t see her when ah came in but now thit a look at her ah see the blinking colourful lights off the tree bouncing off her wrinkled face.

Ah weakly present a facsimile of a laugh n a smile. – Something like it, yeah.

– Where’s yir shoppin then? Billy snidely remarks. This gets ma mother’s attention and ah see her brows take tae work and fold inwards at the hapless confusion.

Ah dinnae have the brain power fir this.

– Leave it, ma faither sais contritely from his chair and squints further past the tree. He also looks like he’s been firmly planted there since ah left however many hours ago ah did, glued tae the telly like he has been fir days, avoiding the sincere lack of coughing and the sound of ma mother slapping wee Davie’s back in the next room this year. Doof doof doof doof nae more.

It’s Billy’s bedroom now. The worst noise we’ll get from thit room has already been heard when Sharon, his new burd, comes over.

Fuck if ah’d ever bring a burd round tae muh ma’s house. I eye the fucker, repulsive.

– What? he says, as if he’d been up in ma brain wi ma thinking, as if he had free scope over thit domain. Ah sneer back but pretend it’s a smile because ah know ma’s still watching us outay the corner of her eye. She’s especially sentimental this year. Her two boys, her two wee yins. We’ve been partly trying tae get oan fir the sake of her this year. Course the picky fucker waits till crimbo eve till his resentment towards me rears its ugly head aftir awl the arguments we’ve ignored wi our ma in the room the past few weeks. It’s been bubbling up inside of him just like it has me and ah know he’s looking for the free second tae set up his sniper oan ma forehead.

– Boys, ma faither speaks. Ah look ovir and see he dinnae even do us the grace of looking from the tv. Ah look back at Billy who’s rolling his eyes at us, ah ball up a fist and pretend it’s just me tightening ma grip oan the shopping back ah did no at awl come back wi.

– 10am, ma da sais, – sharp. Mass, back here, dinner oan n eaten then sat back down here round the tv for 3pm.

– Aye, Billy says. The fucking suck up. Wouldnae miss the queen’s talk and a seat right next tae ma faither nodding the fuck along taw whitever the old trout has tae say fir the world. Highlight of their fucking year those ten minutes of insincere spiel wi cases and cases of gold surrounding her are. – Cannae wait.

– Aye, ah say, – riveting stuff. Ah’m always hold ma breath when she pauses fir too long case she keels ovir once n for awl. Christmas day, like, drama of it.

– S pre-recorded, ye dippit. Billy scowls at me. Ah cheer masel on in ma heid. Point Mark Renton.

– Ah know, but…

– Why yis sayin it then?

Ah scowl back. Never fucking mind.

– Please, Ma sais. She’s settled intae the flow of keeping her eyes directly on the glowing screen. Ah cannae quite bring myself tae lean intae thit, Christmas eve wi the family or no.

Ah nod an awright. Billy gets his eyes off me but not at awl before giving me the condescending nod of the century. Ah smile back thit same sneering smile from before and say – Ah’ll be going tae ma room then.

Billy tsks before anyone else gets a word in, ah glower at the side of his head but realise both of the parental figures have decided tae take the goodbye in visually and are looking right at me.

– Bed so soon? ma Da sais. – You’ve just got back.

– Excited for santy, Ma says in faux delight. There’s a dead enjoyment tae her voice thit’s got me thinking she’s been stuck on the lack of a doof doof doof doof in the next room too. Ah go along wi it fir the sake of fragility of any sense of okayness in this household.

– Aye, wanna be up early. Try and catch the man in red in the act.

This seems to appease them, Ma and Da at least. She gives a half-hearted smile and ma faither gives no outward reaction which seems tae be the best case. Billy the fucking bully looks at me fir another second like he knows where the fuck ah’ve been and ah’m sure enough he does, but he lets it settle too so ah sulk off tae the privacy of a closed door.

The locks are long gone but as long as ah act the way ah’m supposed tae when ah’m oan the other side of it, the shorter the times the door gets busted down by Billy or ma faither or wi a tentative knock from muh Ma.

Ah collapse like a lump oan the bed. Thump fucking thump, ah land. Ah close ma eyes and melt intae the fucker.

It’s no long till ah hear the tv switch off. Not too much longer till ah hear Billy slam his new bedroom door shut. Believe me, ah’m glad tae have a box tae masel now, a singular bedroom, not have to listen to the snoring fucker fart himself awake every other night, but ah despise the speed in which he claimed Davie’s room. The soil was fresh on his grave and the air in the coffin was yet to turn stale before he’d started hanging up his clothes in the wardrobe.

Doof doof doof doof doof. Thit was the sound ah used tae drift off to, Davie’s chest being knocked aboot and cleared so he could make it tae the next day. Ah was always surprised he could take such a beating. He always looked so fragile.

Naw, fuck this. Ah’m sooner gonna hear the footsteps of the immortal creep from the north pole tiptoeing across the roof delivering good and peace tae the Renton’s than the doof doof doof again. Ah shut ma eyes tighter, consider moving fir a few minutes tae organise masel enough tae put oan a record, but ah unfortunately spent all ma energy oan behaving as acceptably as possible when ah had entered the home. The rest of it had been spent making a dig at the queen tae piss off Billy in his suck up time wi our Da, who the fuck’s acting like the queen’s speech is the best part of a Christmas day anyways? Fucking idiot.

Ah ball ma hands up and shove them intae ma sockets till ah see stars. Ah have a headache coming oan. Ah let the balled fists fall down ontae the duvet either side of me (thump thump) and ah squint at the far end of ma room and ma green tinny locker turned closet. Ah reckon if ah asked Billy nice enough and gave him the lock fir it, he’d wait fir me to climb in and lock me in there till the 24th turned to the 25th to the 26th. If he were feeling especially nice he’d let me stay in there till the new year passed and he’d simply slide me the odd plate of dinner tae sustain me; let me wither away, but give just enough tinned whatever tae stay alive till ah had some kind of clarity and stopped hearing the doof doof fucking doof reverberating through my skull thit’s no fucking there.

Dear the red man thit would be climbing through our chimney if we had one, may you bring me somewhere cosier and more isolated fir the holiday season. Mibbe tae an undiscovered island, nothing too fancy: a few rocks, a couple palm trees and a coconut fir me tae drink outay. This year may you give me a bit of peace and fucking quiet. Leave me a note tae say yir coming and ah’ll slip outay ma room and leave the windae open a crack fir you tae sneak in through. Kind regards, Mark Renton.

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Epilogue

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

                                                One Year Later

Elide had taken off her heels long before they walked down the hall to their penthouse. The champagne in her blood from the countless toasts at Fenrys and Nehemia’s rehearsal dinner was losing its touch and she felt clear-headed as she unlocked the door and dropped her shoes and mother of pearl minaudière.

Her clutch matched the drop pearl necklace she wore, her accessories simple with her dress. A light lilac silk number with a ruched bust that looked beautiful on her, like a liquid as it clung delicately to her curves. The colour of her almond-shaped acrylics – just long enough to scratch his scalp the way he liked when she played with his hair – matched her dress as well.

“Baby!” she called, spinning around as Lorcan shut the door behind him. He smiled and she felt her lips – painted a dark berry that was stark against her pale complexion – pull up into an intimate grin.

They lived in Orynth now. Elide had quit her job as a prosecutor basically the day they returned from the Northern Isles and when she had gotten an offer as a child advocacy attorney in Orynth, they’d both agreed that she should take it.

Elide had moved to Orynth nine months ago and they stayed separated as Lorcan finished his articling and then snagged a position with Crown Counsel in their new city.

“Princess,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth as he wrapped his arm around her waist and his hands slid down to the curve of her ass. It sent a shiver down her spine. “You looked nice tonight.”

“’Nice’?” she repeated, fake ire in her dark eyes. “That’s all you have to say? I look nice?”

Lorcan rolled his eyes as she went on, chiding him for his ‘lukewarm’ compliment as she put it. With a sigh, he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek, “Darlin’, you look beautiful, as always. Absolutely stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. A fuckin’ goddess. Exquisite.” His other hand splayed over her lower back and his thumb circled over her tattooed wyvern’s tail. Due to the slinky, low-cut back of her dress, her tattoos were on full display, something she never would’ve done a year ago.

He switched to Ozuye, praising her in the language she loved so despite only understanding the basics. A pleased, soft grin appeared over her mouth and Lorcan leaned down, resting his brow against hers. “Is that sufficient, your Highness?”

“I think it’ll do,” she whispered, tilting her chin up and kissing him so softly, her hands coming up to cup his face, her fingertips resting elegantly on his stubbled cheeks. With a happy little gasp, she pulled back, “Will you make me food?”

He laughed, his head tipping back. Elide giggled, eyes tracking her boyfriend’s joyful expression. “Yeah, princess, I’ll make you food. What do you want?”

“Ooh remember that pasta you made, like, a week-ish ago? That,” she said, almost buzzing from her excitement. "Please."

Lorcan chuckled and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, “Ok. Let me change and I’ll do it.” Before he could lead her to their room on the second floor, she stopped him, wiping her lipstick from his lips.

“It’s not your shade. Clashes with your suit and skin tone,” she told him, patting his cheek, and letting him tug her behind him.

Entering their bedroom, they found a nest of blankets on their bed, though it had been made before they left. Elide squealed lightly, “Hell, baby!” A furry head popped up, icy blue eyes bright even in the darkness of their room.

Lorcan chuckled as Elide scooped up the Husky puppy – named Hellas – and cradled him close. “I told you he’d be lonely,” she accused him, frowning as she bounced the bundle in her arms. It never failed to make him smile when he remembered just how soft her soft spot for fluffy, little animals was.

“And I told you Mia would kick both our asses for bringing him,” he answered her mildly, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it onto the armchair in the corner. He loosened his tie and went to change while Elide spoke quietly to their pet, his paws swiping the air above him.

By the time he was changed into sweats and a cut off t-shirt, Elide had done nothing except move to the balcony, holding Hellas so that he could look over the glittering city. She held one of his paws, pointing out various sights. Lorcan walked to her, freezing as he approached the threshold of the sliding glass door, unable to think of anything else but when Elide would hold their child like that.

Kids were… abstract to them. They were both fairly young and neither felt any pressure to produce any offspring. Creator damn him, they weren’t even married. The ring in his pocket was practically burning a hole through his sweatpants, taunting him.

“Princess,” he said, his voice low, “I’m gonna get your food started. You want anything else?”

Elide spun neatly, smiling brightly as he reached for the dog and put him down after kissing the top of his head. “Nope! I’m gonna pop in the shower and I’ll be down soon,” she said, resting her hand on his chest as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and then thumbed off the mark her lips made. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he murmured, patting her ass, “c’mon, go on.”

“Someone’s eager to get me wet and naked,” she said, voice cheeky and sultry all at once as she winked.

He leveled her with a flat look and her cackle, indicating she was pleased with the reaction he’d given her, followed her as she waltzed into the master bath, her hips swaying hypnotically.

Lorcan hadn’t been sure when he would ask her, but tonight was perfect.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide toweled her hair dry after changing into a crewneck from her alma mater and a pair of her boyfriend’s boxers. Hair damp, she threw it up in a messy bun as she walked down the stairs, able to see Lorcan at the stove, his back to her.

Hellas was curled on the staircase landing and she scooped the three-month old puppy up, putting him on his feet. He bounded down the stairs, tail wagging as his nails clicked on the hardwood floors. Lorcan leaned down, not taking his eyes off the saucepan to scratch Hellas’ belly when the dog practically threw himself down at Lorcan’s feet and whined softly.

Elide laughed softly and walked down the rest of the stairs, crossing the open-plan floor of their apartment. She stopped by the wine cooler, browsing for a moment before choosing a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, one that paired well with the creamy and rich pasta alla vodka she loved.

They didn’t speak as she sat herself on a barstool that opposed the stove, set in their kitchen island. Lorcan smiled as she passed him his glass and sipped lightly, nodding at the flavour. “Solid choice, babe.”

Elide laughed at his commentary and drank from her own glass, moaning softly, “If this wine was a person, would you be mad if I left you for them?”

“Like I wouldn’t be the one to leave,” he snorted, lifting the wooden to her lips. “Taste.”

It was delicious, buttery, tomato-y, creamy, rich – “Oh, fuck that’s good. This is, like… head worthy.”

“Keeping it classy as always, are we, Lochan?”

“Only way I know how,” she said, wiggling her brows as she took another sip of her wine, the slightly acidic notes and citrusy undertones cutting through the velvety heaviness of the sauce. “This is the life, you know.”

“Oh, really? Elaborate, if you will, princess,” Lorcan drawled, expertly tearing leaves from the basil plant they had on the black marble countertop and chopping them up, the sharp knife merely a flash of silver.

“Cute dog, lovely apartment, a pretty man to make me pasta whenever I ask for it… every girl’s dream,” she said. “I’m a very lucky gal.”

His eyes softened, the shade of his irises melting into liquid obsidian. Lorcan spoke, his voice quiet, “I like to think I’m the lucky one.” There was a certain intimate happiness, domestic bliss to have her bare faced, hair messy, wearing an old, faded sweater and underwear. Gods, he loved her.

Elide’s face softened as well, her grin small. “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree,” she whispered, running the tip of her index finger over the rim of her glass.

Soon enough, Lorcan placed her dish and a fresh glass of wine before her on the little table. They were on their living room balcony, their dog curled up inside on the L-shaped couch, his snout tucked against his side.

Elide had her feet in Lorcan’s lap, her legs stretched out beneath the table. As they ate, he kept one hand on her right ankle, thumb steady over scarred flesh as he traced gentle patterns over the mangled skin.

They talked about absolutely everything and utterly nothing at the same time as they ate, wrapped up in their own little world.

When the dishes were clean, the bottle of wine empty, Lorcan cleared the table, his heart practically throwing itself against his ribcage, similar to how a wave would smash against a cliff, over and over, harsh, and vicious each time.

Elide noticed it as he pulled her into his lap, but he didn’t give in to the feel of her stare on his face. Instead, he kept his gaze on the city. Despite the late time – far past midnight – it was still bustling. “What’s wrong?”

Her fingers ghosted over his face, gripping his chin, and turning his head to her. “Baby?”

“I have a question for you.”

“Don’t hold me in suspense,” she quipped, whatever had been clouding her eyes in worry dissipating.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Elide said, a look of confusion passing over her face.

“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he continued, smiling as tears sprung up in her eyes and she realized. Lorcan dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring, a simple silver band and a kite-cut black diamond.

“Oh,” she gasped, her hand coming to rest on her throat.

“Every day, I want with you. Remember a while back, you had gone out with the girls and I came to pick you up and you asked me why you?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Because I didn’t know why, I just knew. Nothing else, nobody else makes sense, except for you. You’re the only person I want to commit marriage fraud with, the only person I’d make pasta for at,” he glanced at his watch, a rough chuckle escaping his lips, “…3:27am. Marry me.”

“That’s not a question,” she whispered, smiling so widely, her nose scrunching up. “Not exactly giving me oodles of options.”

“Do you need them,” he questioned her, raising a brow as his heart lodged itself in his throat.

“No, I don’t need them. Of course, I’ll marry you. Yes, yes, yes,” she said, sitting up to straddle his lap as he took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. “Perfect fit.” Her hands gently cupped his face, like they always did before she kissed him.

Her lips were soft against his, slow and searching as his rough hands gripped her thighs. Elide deepened the embrace as she looped an arm around his neck and fisted her other hand in his shirt, holding him tight to her.

Lorcan obliged her demand, pulling her closer with his arms around her slim waist. Elide nipped his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue before letting go. He let loose a groan, looking up at her with lidded eyes.

Elide brushed his hair back from his brow, “Do you think Fen and Mia are going to yell at us for getting engaged on their wedding day?” They would keep it quiet, of course, not at all wanting to take away from their friends’ day. But their group were a perceptive bunch and even if she didn’t wear her ring, they would sniff it out somehow.

Especially Aelin and Rowan. They were like Gossip Girl, secrets just went to them, like moths to a flame.

Lorcan shrugged and stood up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his hands sliding to lock beneath her ass. “They’ll yell at us for doing it today and yell at us for not telling them. There’s no good option.”

She laughed, tilting her head back as he walked them to their bedroom. “We are a loud bunch, hmm?”

“Just a bit.”

Elide smiled down at him and Lorcan thanked the gods for her, for the chance to make her smile like that every day for the rest of their lives.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: hehe we done! thank you all for reading 🥺 i loved writing this and i may have....like.....a new project or whatever.....

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein @rosegoldannie @pilesoffriles @julemmaes @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @januarystears

[tirednotflirting]

happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time

a day late on getting this here but!!! some bday jalex i wrote for @reveriesofawriter​‘s bday! sticking to our all taylor is jalex brand, it’s a 22 fic :) 

kinda fits within the marble mansion wus writing universe that my pretty venom fic is in if you want more of these boys (they’re quite sweet i think)

here this is on ao3 if that’s more ur jam x

Alex is a planner. 

Early on, being a frontman meant he was the first person anyone trying to coordinate band things reached out to, and as time went on, he embraced the role. He likes organizing and keeping track of the who and when and where of it all. He likes the sticky notes and his planner and the dry-erase board he keeps on his fridge for lists. He likes knowing what is coming next.

Alex never meant to fall in love with his best friend. He never planned on Jack.

They’ve reached the point where they should probably have an adult conversation about whatever it is that’s going on between them. Honestly they probably reached that point half a decade ago, but Alex knows neither of them was ready for it then. He wonders if they’re really both ready now. He knows he is. But it scares him a little to think about what happens if the other involved party isn’t.

That conversation and what it might sound like is what Alex is thinking about as he watches the end of the sunset over the desert from the edge of the pool at the house they’re renting. He lets a wine glass dangle from his fingers, the last few sips of his pink wine swirling around the bottom. His feet slowly swing in the warm water to avoid splashing over the edge. For someone whose job it is to come up with words for feelings, he finds himself struggling with where to even begin. He wonders if that should feel significant.

He’s draining the last of his wine when he hears the back door slide open and feet pad over the stone in his direction. Just as he’s about to question who’s come to join him, the visitor sits behind him and legs drop to frame his body. Alex leans back into Jack’s chest and breathes in the scent of his cologne mixing with the nighttime air. Jack’s arms wrap around Alex and the mess of thoughts trying to piece together the conversation to be had word by word fades off to the back of Alex’s mind.

“What are you doing out here?” Jack asks, his lips brushing against Alex’s neck. Probably against his tattoo. Jack’s always particularly fond of pressing his lips there.

“Just finishing my wine,” Alex says, and lifts the empty glass as evidence. “Wanted to watch the sunset, too. Don’t think I’m ever going to want to say goodbye to this view.”

“You should get a house out here someday,” Jack says as he rocks them back and forth a little. Alex leans further into his chest. “This place has your vibes and the stars look really sick out here.”

Alex smiles at Jack thinking of his astronomy habits. “I like the way you think,” he agrees before turning to stand. “Is it time we go in and join the pregame?” 

Jack lifts a hand to be helped up and elects to keep holding Alex’s hand as they head in the direction of the door. “Why do you think I came out to find you?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says as they approach the door, a blush painting across his cheeks. “Was just a little bit stuck in my head, trying to figure something out. Didn’t mean to leave the birthday boy waiting.”

Jack smiles and drops Alex’s hand before he reaches for the door handle. They’re in the desert in June, but Alex immediately misses the warmth. The two of them so easily gravitate physically toward one another when they’re together but they don’t hold hands in group settings. The way Alex wishes they did starts the spiral of words again. “Let me know if you need any help figuring whatever it is out?” Jack says as a worried look takes over his features.

Alex never wants to worry him, so he drops a hand to Jack’s back to guide him inside. He lets his answer to Jack’s question mix into a smile. Others in the living room grab Jack for shots. He shoots Alex a look as a lime is placed between his fingers; Alex points in the direction of the stairs and mouths need to change as he heads off. A smaller smile pulls at Jack’s lips as he nods and turns the rest of the group whining for him to join in. 

Alex takes a deep breath before making his way out of the room and only lifts his brows to acknowledge the knowing look from Rian as he climbs the stairs.

*

The club is loud. Alex isn’t sure why he always expects them not to be, but the sounds in his environment accompanied by the buzzing in his mind is almost overwhelming. 

He’s just grabbed another drink and when he gets back to the table their group has claimed for the night, Jack is sitting on the tabletop, his legs swinging as he talks to a couple of girls. Alex smirks as he watches Jack lift up the birthday sash someone had shown up with for him before they left the house (it’s pink and says I’m 21 Today! in sequins). The girls laugh before they wave and disappear into the crowd. Jack turns and his eyes brighten when they fall to Alex.

He scoots closer to where Alex sits and leans in. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the cup Alex has just come back with. 

Alex raises the drink in front of his face and frowns as his tipsy mind forgets whatever the drink was called. “Uh, pink?”

“Lemme try,” Jack says and plucks the cup from between Alex’s fingers. Alex hadn’t planned to argue with the request but he can practically hear Jack’s voice reciting the statement Alex has heard probably hundreds of times over the years: You can’t say no during birthweek.

Jack takes a sip and then leaves the cup beside him on the table. He nods thoughtfully for a moment before leaning back in so Alex can hear him. “You’re right, it tastes very pink.”

Alex laughs but before he can respond Jack is moving to sink into the seat beside him and his head drops to Alex’s shoulder. “Are clubs busier than they used to be? Feel like I can’t breathe in here,” he whines. Alex agrees, though he was ready to just blame it on their age. “Where are Rian and Zack?”

“They were talking to some girls at the bar, I think,” Alex explains. “Rian told one of them he’s a drummer and she basically melted, it was hilarious.”

“You think anyone in here has even heard an All Time Low song before?” Jack asks, his tone indicating he’s reached the kind of happy drunk where every thought that comes to mind has to leave his lips. 

“Maybe ‘Dear Maria’?” Alex offers as he drops his arm to rest against Jack’s back. His fingers trace lazy patterns against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Jack hums but he doesn’t sound convinced.

Jack nuzzles his face into Alex’s neck and Alex hears him sigh. “Hey Alex?”

“Yeah?” Alex replies while his eyes track one of the bright lights circling around the room over the crowd on a dance floor.

Jack lifts his head up and throws Alex big brown puppy eyes. He can tell Jack’s about to ask him something and before he’s even heard the question he already knows his answer will be yes. He’s never been able to say no to Jack. 

“Can we leave?”

Alex laughs. “Thought birthweek had no time for quitters?” he jokingly asks, recalling something Jack yelled across the room at Zack when he tried turning down shots the night before.

“Please?” Jack asks. “It’s loud and I want a snack.”

“Anything for the birthday boy,” Alex replies with a nod. Jack smiles again at the response. “Thought I saw a diner down the road. Late night breakfast?”

“God, you’re the best.”

Jack slides out of the booth as Alex reaches for the jacket he shed shortly after they arrived. While they head toward the doors that lead out to the street, Alex sends a message to the group text (The BoyDay Boys) to let the crew know they’re headed off.

The nighttime air is cool when they step out onto the street. Alex can’t remember which direction they’re meant to head so he pauses once they’re out of the way of the entrance to the club and pulls out his phone again to figure out where they’re going. 

Another cool breeze blows down the street and Jack leans in closer to Alex’s side in response. It’s a frequent habit of his, the way he’s always trying to share Alex’s warmth. If Alex were a little more tipsy he probably would just wrap his arms around Jack’s waist as he leads them in the direction of the diner he’s successfully located. But he’s a little bit too self-aware for that at the moment so he elects to let Jack continue to lean into his side as they head down the street. 

They pass couples walking in the opposite direction, their fingers tangled or lips pressing together without a care in the world. Alex finds he feels something in the realm of jealousy, though he’s not sure that’s the right thing to call it. Loneliness, maybe? He knows he should just say something, just see if there’s any chance at all that Jack feels the same way about figuring out what the hell they are. But it’s been so easy to just teeter the line of something for as long as they have. Alex doesn’t want to scare him away by considering the idea of throwing a label on it. Every time he explains it to Rian like that when he asks, Alex is told he’s being ridiculous and have you seen the way he looks at you, Alex?, but the fear in the back of his mind won’t budge.

The line they tightrope across is confusing, Alex thinks. But even so, he’s not unhappy. Maybe this is just the way they’re meant to be. Confusing but happy. Alex could be okay with that.

It’s a short walk to the diner and Jack chats to Alex most of the way there about some party he went to the previous week. There had been a petting zoo for some unknown reason. Alex listens to Jack describe the animals he got to pet and the kitten that tried stealing some of his White Claw. Soon enough they reach the door and push through to inside, a tiny bell jingling over their heads as they enter. 

Someone behind the counter tells them they can seat themselves, that they’ll come find them in a minute for their drink orders. Jack wanders to a booth in the back of the room and Alex follows him. He waits to let Jack pick a side and slides into the one opposite him. A clock on the wall tells Alex it’s just past midnight, meaning Jack’s actual birthday has just finished. The celebrations should continue for another day or two.

A waitress comes to take their drink orders and they ask for a couple waters and a couple coffees and then they’re alone again. Jack squints his eyes down at the menu while Alex glances around the diner, ignoring the butterflies stirring whenever their knees knock together below the table and neither of them make any effort to move. 

The entire scene has waves of nostalgia crashing all around Alex. It’s a pretty regular event during Jack’s birthday celebrations that he and Alex slip away from the rest of the group to catch a moment of something more tranquil during all the crazy of the week-long party. 

It had become something Alex looked forward to every year. Usually when Jack’s birthday fell during a break from touring or between cycles, they would just go for a drive. Jack would find whatever couch or bed Alex had passed out on and pull him from sleep to go watch the sunrise or the sunset (his body clock was always thrown completely off balance during birthweek). 

He’d usually want to go to the beach. Jack would play navigator and call out directions to whichever beach involved the least amount of traffic to get to, in a voice rough both from sleep and from screaming along to Top 40 hits in karaoke bars and clubs around LA. Once there, they would walk all the way out to the water and let little waves splash against their ankles as the sun rose higher and higher or sunk lower and lower. Eventually Jack would smile and nod toward the Pacific and sigh a deep breath of salty air and that would be the cue that he was satisfied with the experience. They usually would end up at a diner like the one they’re at right now, sipping coffee with tired eyes and laughing over pancakes.

It’s probably a two hour drive to the coast from where they currently sit but if Jack had asked to go to the beach, Alex would have gotten him there without a second thought.

Jack moves so their long legs are all tangled together below the table, and it breaks Alex out of the nostalgic place he’d been transported to for a moment. He looks up to meet Jack’s tired, happy gaze. Alex raises his eyebrows in a silent question and a gleeful smile pulls across Jack’s cheeks.

“Do you think they’d put sprinkles in my pancakes if I tell them it’s my birthday?”

That’s when it hits Alex head on, like a dart hitting the bullseye. They walk a tightrope but there’s always been a net to catch them if need be just below their feet the whole time. The look Rian’s been trying to convince him to see for years is staring back from the other side of the booth, and it says everything in the most plain but beautiful way possible. It’s the same smile Jack would give to the Pacific just after the sun had set over the city of stars. Alex breaks into a quiet laugh and wonders if he’s ever not been in love with this sunshine of a boy sitting in front of him.

(They do put sprinkles in the pancakes. Rainbow ones. And add whipped cream and a candle too.)

*

It’s close to 1AM by the time they pay the check and head back out into the early morning desert air. They had enough water and coffee that they’re pretty much sober now. The moon shines bright down onto them as they stand in front of the diner, unsure of where to head next. 

“Want to take a walk?” Alex asks while pointing down a more quiet part of the street in the opposite direction they came from. 

“Sounds nice,” Jack agrees, and motions for Alex to lead the way.

They start down the sidewalk and let the nighttime noises play as their soundtrack for a few minutes. Jack breaks the silence to tell the story of something his mom told him about when he called her a couple days ago and at some point in the middle of the tale, he reaches for Alex’s hand and threads their fingers together so their joined hands swing between them. Alex continues listening as he looks down, and there’s some tiny part of his brain that tries to start making another set of pros and cons lists, but then he shakes the thought away and stops walking. 

Jack glances back with a confused look when he feels the pull on his arm. “What is it, Al?”

Alex lets out a sigh as he looks back and forth between their hands and the look on Jack’s face. The words fall from his lips before he can even process them fully. “Jack, I really like you.”

The look of confusion fades into something more stunned as Jack takes a step closer to him. “What?” he asks in a quiet voice, like he’s worried that speaking too loudly might shatter the moment that Alex’s confession just created.

“I really like you,” Alex says and reaches over to pull Jack in at the waist. “I like you in the want to show you off and kiss you until our friends groan and introduce you as my boyfriend at parties kind of way. I want to hold your hand when we walk back inside after watching the sunset like the cheesy idiots we are.”

For a moment he just watches Jack nod before a smile brighter than the full moon overhead pulls across Jack's face. He lets his arms wrap around Alex's neck and pulls him close enough that their foreheads touch. “I like you, too. So much. I might love you, I think, but that feels like a really big word,” Jack says back, in a voice still just above a whisper. “I could never come up with the words to say that until right now.”

Alex doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Jack moves to cup Alex’s cheek, his thumb running across his cheekbone just in time to swipe away a tear. “God, we’re stupid. You’d think we of all people would know to just let the words come to us.”

Jack shakes his head and pouts. “Hey, you’re the veteran songwriter here. I'm still new enough to this that I have an excuse.”

“Shut up,” Alex laughs, and then he leans closer to press their lips together. Jack adjusts to cup his hand around Alex's other cheek as Alex's grip on his waist tightens. It’s not even fireworks and confetti like Alex had imagined it would be. They laugh against each other’s lips between kisses and it’s just them. When Alex pulls away and tucks his face into Jack's neck, his lips pressing lazily against the triangles inked into Jack's skin, he feels peace. Holding Jack feels like coming home or a deep breath of the cool ocean air just after sunset. He feels like what Alex always imagined love to feel like. 

*

Somehow they still beat everyone else back to the house. Their giggles echo off the halls as they kick their shoes off before heading up the stairs, one of them stopping the other every so often for another kiss.

They make it up the stairs eventually and Alex drags Jack in the direction of his room. Alex only whines for a moment when Jack pulls away because Well, you want me to brush my teeth, don’t you? When Jack returns Alex is changed and going through his own routine in the bathroom. When he glances out through the open door to the bedroom, Jack has already claimed his side of the bed and is looking at him across the room, a lazy smile pulling across his face.

“What?” Alex asks as he turns off the tap and shuffles over to lean against the doorway.

Jack shrugs. “Nothing.”

“What’s that look for then?” Alex asks. Jack sits facing towards him, his temple resting against the headboard. He’s changed into sweats and a tank Alex is pretty sure was swiped from his own closet. It’s stretched and worn enough that it’s falling off of Jack’s tattooed shoulder. If Alex could pick one image to look at for the rest of his life, this one would certainly be in the running.

“I think I’m just glad we kind of figured this out a bit,” Jack replies. 

“Well, I’m pretty sure if I went another day without saying something, Rian would have threatened to tell you himself and I think we’re just a little bit too old to be having our friends communicate our feelings for us.”

“Yeah, maybe a little bit,” Jack laughs as he slides beneath the sheets. Alex hits the light in the bathroom and pads across the room. He hears the front door open and close downstairs followed by laughter, signalling the rest of their crew has arrived home. As he listens to the quiet conversations happening on the first floor, he crawls into bed and drops his head on the pillow beside where Jack rests with his hand holding up his head. Alex drops an arm around Jack’s waist and pulls him closer.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep when I feel like I’m dreaming,” Alex says while Jack turns to shut the lamp off.

“Alex, I adore you, but that was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and your exhaustion is showing,” Jack says with a laugh before pressing his lips to Alex’s temple. “I’ll still be right here in the morning.”

“Will you remind me of all of the cheesy things I said tonight?”

“For as long as you’ll let me,” Jack replies. He drops his head against the pillow and smiles up at Alex.

“I’m holding you to that,” Alex says. He presses a kiss to the tattoos on Jack’s shoulder he’d been admiring from the doorway before moving to settle his head against his chest. 

As he lets his tired eyes fall shut while settling against Jack, Alex is surprised that the swirling mix of words in his head he’s become accustomed to isn’t there. He’s used to his mind still trying desperately to plan out whatever needs to come next even as he falls asleep. But as Jack tucks an arm around his waist and drifts closer to sleep, Alex decides maybe he’s alright with not knowing what comes next so long as they stay like this.

*

[cecilspeaks]

173 - The Hundred Year Play

Quoth the raven: [bird noises] Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, some exciting news from the world of theatre! The 100 year play is about to reach its final scene. Yes, this is the play that has been running continuously since 1920. Written by a brilliant playwright Hannah Hershman, designed to take exactly 100 years to perform. And the tireless volunteer of the Night Vale Players Playhouse have been going through those scenes, one after another, for decade upon decade. There’s little time to rehearse, for each hour brings new scenes and each scene will only be performed once the play moves on, in order to keep up with the tight schedule needed to execute the entire script before a century elapses.

It is a monumental work of theatre, but like all work, it must some day cease. Today, specifically. I will be in attendance at that historic moment, when the final scene is performed and the curtain closes on the 100 year play.   More soon, but first the news.

We bring you the latest on the lawsuit “The estate of Franklin Chen vs. the city of Night Vale”. As you know, this case has grown so large and complicated that I’ve not had the time to discuss it in my usual community radio broadcasts. But instead, have started a true crime podcast called “Bloody Laws, Bloody Claws: The Murder of Frank Chen”, in which I strive to get to the truth of just what happened on that fateful night when five-headed dragon Hiram McDaniels met Frank Chen, and then later Frank Chen’s body was found covered in burns and claw marks. It’s a confounding mystery. The Sheriff’s Secret Police announce that it seems really complicated and they’re not even gonna try to solve that sucker. “Oh, what?” a Secret Police spokesman muttered at an earthworm he found in his garden. “You want us to fail? You wanna see us fail? That’s why you want us to investigate this case, to see us fail at it?” The family of Frank Chen say they merely want the appropriate parties, in this case the city of Night Vale, Hiram McDaniels and an omniscient conception of God, to take responsibility for their part in this tragedy. The trial is now in its 10th month, and has included spirited re-enactments of the supposed murder by helpful Players Playhouse performers in between their work on the 100 year play. 3 changes of judge and venue due to “some dragon attacks and constant interruptions from a local audio journalist, who hosts a widely respected true crime podcast”. Still, with all this, we near a verdict. Judge Chaplin has indicated she will issue her ruling soon. “Like in the next year or so?” she said. “Certainly within 5 years. Listen, I don’t owe you a verdict, just because you’re paying me to do a job, you can’t rush me to do it. The verdict will be done when. It’s. Done.” Chaplin then huffed out of the courtroom followed by journalists shouting recommendations for episodes of their podcast to listen to.

I was present, you know, on opening night of the 100 year play. Ah, how the theatre buzzed! Of course this was partly the audience, thrilled to be at the start of such an unprecedented work, but mostly – it was the insects. The Night Vale Players Playhouse had quite a pest problem at the time, and still does. It’s difficult to do pest control when there is a 100 year long play being performed on stage at every hour of every day. The curtain opened those many years ago on a simple set of a studio apartment,  a kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come in, it’s open,” the man says. A woman enters, flustered. She is holding a newborn. “There’s been a murder!” she says. “The victim was alone in a room, and all the doors and windows were locked. “My god!” the man says and springs up. “Who could have done this, and how?!” the woman tells him: “It turns out to be the gardener, Mr. Spreckle. He served with the victim in the war and never could forgive him for what happened there. He threw a venomous snake through an air vent.” The man sits back down, nodding. “Aah! So the mystery is solved.” As a playwright, Hannah Hershman did not believe in stringing up mysteries a second longer than was necessary. The baby in the woman’s arm stirs. “Shush, shush little one!” the woman says. The man looks out the window where he cannot see the sky. “It might look like rain,” he says. “Who knows?” Thus began a journey of 100 years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s episode is sponsored by the Night Vale Medical Board, which would like to remind you that it is important to drink enough water throughout the day. Drink more water! Your body cannot function without water. Without water, you are just dust made animate. Water forms the squelching mud of sentience. Try to have at least ten big glasses of water. Not over the entire day, right now. See if you can get all ten of them down. Explore the capacity of your stomach. See if you can make it burst. You will either feel so much better, or an organ will explode and you will day painfully. And either one is more interesting than the mundane now. You should drink even more water than that. Wander out of your door, search the Earth for liquids. Find a lake and drain the entire thing, until the bottom feeders flop helplessly on the flatlands. Laugh slushingly as you look upon the destruction you have wrought. The power that you possess now that you are well hydrated. Move on from the lake and come to the shore of an ocean. All oceans are one ocean that we have arbitrarily categorized by language. The sea knows no separation, and neither will you when you lay belly down on the sand, put your lips against the waves and guzzle the ocean. The ocean is salty. It will not be very hydrating, so you’ll need to drink a lot of it. Keep going until the tower tops of Atlantis see sky again for the first time in centuries, until the strange glowing creatures of the deep-deep are exposed, splayed out from their bodies now that they no longer have the immense pressure of the ocean depths to keep their structure intact. And once you have drunk the oceans, turn your eyes to the stars. For there is water out there too, and you must suck dry the universe. This has been a message from the Night Vale Medical Board.

20 years passed without me thinking about the 100 year play. You know how it is. One day you’re an intern at the local radio station doing all the normal errands like getting coffee and painting pentacles upon Station Management doors as part of the ritual of the slumbering ancients. Then 20 years passes and everything is different for you. Your boss is gone and now you are a host of the community radio station, and there are so many new responsibilities and worries and lucid nightmares in which you explore a broken landscape of colossal ruins. So with all of that, I just kind of forgot the 100 year play was happening. But they were toiling away in there, doing scenes around the clock, building and tearing down sets at a frantic pace, trying to keep up with the script that relentlessly went on, page after page. And sometimes one of the people working on the play would wonder: how does this all end? But before they could flip ahead and look, there would be another scene that had to be performed and they wouldn’t have a chance. So no one knew how it ended. No one except Hannah Hershman, the mysterious author of this centennial play.

Soon after becoming radio host, during the reading of a Community Calendar, I was reminded that the play was still going on, and so decided to check in. I put on my best tux, you know it’s the one with the scales and the confetti canon. And then took myself to a night at the theatre. I can’t say what happened in the plot since that first scene, but certainly much had transpired. We were now in a space colony thousands of years from now, and the set was simple, just some sleek chairs and a black backdrop dotted with white stars of paint. A woman was giving a monologue about the distance she felt between the planet she was born on, which I believe was supposed to be Earth, and the planet she now stood on. I understood from what she was saying that the trip she had taken to this planet was one way, and that she would never return to the place she was born. “We… are… all of us… moved… by time,” she whispered in a cracked, hoarse voice. “Not… one of us dies… in the world… we were born into.” Sitting in my seat in that darkened theatre, I knew two facts with certainty. The first was that this woman had been giving a monologue for several days now. She wavered on her feet, speaking the entire four hours that I was there. And I don’t know how much longer she spoke after I left, but it could have been weeks. She was pale and her voice was barely audible, but there was something transfixing about it, and the audience sat in perfect silence, leaning forward to hear her words. The other fact I understood was that this woman was the newborn from the very first scene. Not just the same character, but the same actor. 20 years later, she was still on that stage, still portraying the life to the child we had been introduced to in the opening lines. She was an extraordinary performer, presumably, having had a literal lifetime of practice. And that was the last time I saw the play, until tonight, when I will go to watch the final scene.

But first, let’s have a look at that Community Calendar. Tonight the school board is meeting to discuss the issues of school lunches. It seems that some in power argue that it isn’t enough that for some reason we charge the kids actual money for these lunches. They argue that the students should also be required to give devotion and worship to a great glowing cloud, whose benevolent power will fill their lives with purpose. Due to new privacy rules, we cannot say which member of the school board made this suggestion. The board will be taking public comment in a small flimsy wooden booth out by the highway. Just enter the damp, dark interior and whisper your comment, and it will be heard. Perhaps not by the school board, but certainly by something.

Tuesday morning, Lee Marvin will be offering free acting classes at the rec center. The class is entitled “Acting is just lying. We’ll teach you how acting is just saying things that aren’t true, with emotions you don’t feel, so that you may fool those watching with these mistruths.” Fortunately, Marvin commented: “Most people don’t want to be told the truth and prefer the quiet comfort of a lie well told.” Classes are pay what you want, starting at 10,000 dollars.

Thursday Josh Crayton will be taking the form of a waterfall in Grove Park, so that neighborhood kids may swim in him. There is not a lot of swimming opportunities in a town as dry as Night Vale, and so this is a generous move on Josh’s part. He has promised that he has been working on the form and has added a water slide and a sunbathing deck. He asks that everyone swim safely and please not leave any trash on him.

Friday, the corn field will appear in the middle of town, right where it does each September, as the air turns cooler and the sky in the west takes on a certain shade of green. The corn field emanates a power electric and awful. Please, do not go into the corn field, as we don’t know what lives in there or what it wants. The City Council would like to remind you that the corn field is perfectly safe. It is perfect and it is safe. 

Finally, Saturday never happened. Not if you know what’s good for you. Got it? This has been the Community Calendar.

Oh! Look at the time. Here I am blathering on and the play is about to end. OK, let me grab my new mini recorder that Carlos got me for my birthday. It’s only 35 pounds and the antenna is a highly reasonable 7 feet. And I’ll see you all there.

Ah. What’s the weather like for my commute?

[Shallow Eyes” by Brad Bensko. https://www.bradbenskomusic.com/]

Carlos and I are at the theatre! The audience is a buzz, with excitement yes, but also many of them are the insects that infest this theatre. The bugs became entranced by the story over the years, passing down through brief generation after brief generation, the history of all that happened before. The story of the play became something of a religion to this creepy crawly civilization. And so now the bugs are jittering on the walls, thrilled to be the generation that gets to see the end of this great tale.

The curtain rises on a scene I recognize well. It is the simple set of a studio apartment. A kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come on, it’s open,” the man calls. A woman enters. She is very old, tottering unsteadily on legs that have carried for her many many years. “Please take my seat,” the man says with genuine concern. “Thank you,” she says, collapsing with relief onto the cushions and then looking out, as if for the first time, noticing the audience. I know this woman. I first saw her as a baby and later as a 20-year-old. It seems she has lived her whole life on this stage, taking part in this play. “My name,” the woman says, “is Hannah Hershman. I was born in this theatre, clutching a script in my arms that was bigger than I was. My twin, in a way. I started acting in that script of mine before I was even aware of the world. I grew up in that script, lived my entire life in the play I had written from infancy to now.” And she rises, and the man reaches out to help, but she waves him away. She speaks, her- her voice is strong, ringing out through the theatre. “The play ends with my death, because the play is my life. It is bounded by the same hours and minutes that I am.” the audience is rapt, many have tears in their eyes. Even the insects weep. “Thank you for these hundred years,” Hannah Hershman says. “This script is complete.” She walks to the window. “It might look like rain,” she says. “Who knows?” The lights dim.

Thunderous applause, cries of acclaim, and Hannah Hershman dies to the best possible sound a person can hear: concrete evidence of the good they have done in the lives of other humans.

Stay tuned next for the second ever Night Vale Players Playhouse production, now that they finally finished this one. They’re going to do “Godspell”. And from the script of a life I have not yet finished performing, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Many are called, but few are chosen. And fewer still pick up. Because most calls are spam these days.

[ellie-writes-things]

The Lemon Tree (memoir)

As a child of about six or seven years in age, my father owned a little red piglet.

Though mis abuelos had six of their nine children in San Jose, California, they moved them all back to Ajijic, a city in Jalisco, Mexico where mi abuelo owned land and livestock, even a mercado, as I’m reminded periodically when my father and I discuss family. Abuelo trained Arabian horses to dance in the shows there, and there was an instance where he beat my father when he lost one of his prized stallions for the day.

But, my father had a small pet pig.

He has told me this story several times, over the course of my life. I was about fifteen years old when he first mentioned this piglet. We sat in an IHOP, surrounded by his replacement family, my step-mother to his left hand my new siblings around me like bookends made of flesh. I fidgeted in my combat boots and fishnets--a decision made in haste to spite my father--my pale face flushed under the layers of foundation I wore, aware of my otherness compared to the vibrancy of the newly formed clan. The smattering of Spanish and English blended to buzz in my ears, and I felt dizzy.

The first Spanish phrase I remember learning from my father is, “Enrique es mi héroe.”

Despite the ritual retelling of the tale, I never remember how he managed to acquire this tiny ungulate. He never told me what he named it, either

He cared for this pig. He massaged it, bathed it, and fed it corn and cornmeal. After some time passed, the pig grew to a considerable girth and adored my father.

He has told me this story a dozen times.

On his way home from school, my father walked past the town’s butcher, where his gaze caught on an animal skin on display in the window. The skin reminded him of his pet at home, but he did not think much of the coincidence at the time and continued to walk along the cobblestone and dirt roads with the sun beating down on his diminutiveness.

He arrived at the large double doors of his family’s house as the sun dipped low on the horizon, drifting down into the earth. His pig did not greet him in the foyer, and he searched out his mother, who he found in the kitchen. She busied herself with ordering my two aunts, who were old enough to help with household chores, on how to serve dinner. He asked his mother, in Spanish, if she knew where his pig went.

Abuelita only rummaged her hands in her pockets and produced, for a child, a rather significant sum of money and handed it to him. She said something to him to the effect of, “This is your cut.”

Every time my father tells me this story, he says that the only thing he asked her is if he could get another pig. And he laughs.

My father, a man named Enrique--though most of the world knows him by the Anglicized Henry--works at Santa Clara University as the Head of Fire Safety. My parents, at this point, have been divorced longer than they were ever together, and I am the only lasting product of that union. Even the house they purchased together in Santa Clara has since been gutted and remade in the image of my father’s current family. I have scant memories of my parents married, and the few I have are tinged with the haze of sentiment or bitterness. I talk to my father once, maybe, a month by phone. We text more often. Once every couple of weeks, to make sure the other is alive, though I rarely initiate a conversation. If we were to stand side by side, we have the same eyes, the same features, the same unfortunate Roman nose that, while attractive on a man, stands out and appears garish on a woman.

I could be his doppelganger.

We both enjoy trivia and telling bad jokes, and, at times, delight in others’, and our own, misfortune. We’ve also both been emotionally absent in nearly all of our relationships. “Almost no one in our family has ever been married less than three times,” my father jokes, often, slapping me on the back afterward. I point out his older brother who has been married for over 50 years and my dad shrugs.

I visited my father recently with my partner and drove the three-hour trip for a visit that lasted two hours. We sat on the loveseat, Rory and I, backs straight and shoulders stiff as I spoke, my voice high and thready and the sound of it reverberated through the room. My dad nodded along and Rory left for the restroom, abandoning the two of us in each other’s company. My father inquired about my schedule, and I remarked I recounted my work and school schedule. He nodded again, humming along to the tune my words set. I sighed and asked how work was going for him. Last we spoke he confessed to being fearful of getting fired. He assured me things smoothed over. I told him he was just paranoid. He mentioned that my step sister and her family finally moved out of his spare bedroom. I rolled my eyes and exhaled through my nose, the force of it tickling my upper lip. He grew quiet and settled back down into the sofa. By the time Rory returned, my father and I looked at the television screen, where one of his old westerns played. Something with John Wayne, I think. I crane my head to gaze at the photos that lined the walls, out of habit more than sentiment. An old picture of my step-sister, Adriana, the one closest in age to me and who recently vacated my father’s home, at her quinceanera; a couple photos of Esmeralda, my stepmother, from her younger years; their wedding photo, just the two of them; two family portraits from the same day; and my photos are conspicuously absent among the throng of photos that detailed their lives together.

I did go snooping, one time, a few years back, and found my senior portraits jammed behind the printer stand, a thick layer of dust covering the frame.

I never asked about it.

The house, otherwise, still remains the same as it ever was. White walls, muted colors, blinds without curtains, and the laminate flooring that replaced my mother’s polished planks. The living room is neat, tidy. Not too different from how it appears in my old family albums, but a world apart.

My father’s shoes laid against the leg of the coffee table, propped at an angle, and flecks of dried mud dotted the sides of the rubber soles. His glass of water dripped condensation onto the surface of the table on which it rested, creating a ring on the glass. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and whispered, after he glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, “Are you guys doing okay with money?”

“God, yes, Dad. We’re fine,” I bit out. Rory nodded next to me and I struggled to keep from sniping at him as well.

He dug through his pocket and pulled his wallet out. He told Rory to move closer and shoved a pile of gift cards into Rory’s palm. He stammered a thank you to my father, the tips of his ears glowing. I crossed my arms and said, “Ditto.” Rory leaned into me, nudging my arm with his elbow and I shrugged away from him and scooted closer to the opposite edge of the love seat, clutching my purse on my lap.

In the bedroom, I heard my niece, Esmeralda’s granddaughter, move around, the bedsprings creaking and the sound of the sheets rustling echoing down the small hallway as she roused herself from sleep. Sixteen years old, she is the daughter of my oldest step-sister, but she resides full time in my father’s house while my sister lives somewhere in Fremont with her younger two children. There, too, are photos of my niece that line the wall opposite of the family portraits. Soccer, softball, school portraits that show the same girl in ascending ages grinning, wide and toothy, at the camera.

Smaller photos, in paper frames, are lower than that from various trips to San Francisco. The type of photos you get after you take the Red and White tours at the Embarcadero out into the Bay and listen to someone drone into a headset, listing the various sites of historical interest and how many people died building the Golden Gate Bridge, that is discarded immediately after boarding the boat because you’ve heard the guided tour enough times to recite it word for word.

I would sit and gaze out the window, the skyline in constant view and wondered what it would have been like for the people who first arrived to San Francisco, to see the city for the first time as they stood above on the deck of the ship, with salt and mist lashing at their cheeks, leaving them inflamed.

Before his new family arrived, and before my father trusted me enough to stick by his side on a trip to San Francisco, we fed the ducks together at whatever park we decided to go to for the day. One--whose name I cannot for the life of me recall--we frequented more than the others. There was a large man-made pond and mallards would flock to it in droves, likely to the dismay of the property owners nearby. My father ignored the signs that I now know tell passersby to desist from giving the ducks bread, and we would go to the nearest 7-11 and he purchased a discounted loaf of Wonderbread and gave me carte blanche to do as I willed with it. This usually involved me eating one slice and then ripping the remaining slices to shreds, laughing when the ducks surrounded me.

One instance stands out more than the others, perhaps because it was the last time we did this, but I cannot know with any certainty as the memory of a five-year-old is fickle: The clouds lay low above us, and the breeze carried a taste of warmth in it. My father’s mustache and beard tried to make another appearance at this time, as they did periodically through my childhood, and he wore his large aviator glasses for his near-sightedness that shielded the eyes that were like my own. We walked along the side of the pond, my pink-clad legs burning as I kept up with his strides. My father picked me up and swung me around over the water. My heart pounded within my ribs and I begged him to put me down, waiting for his grip to slip and struggling to hold onto the sleeves of his windbreaker with my hands that became slick with sweat. He laughed and told me that he saved me when velocity and his arms brought me back into his body. My lungs hurt and I felt like I swallowed sand, but I wrapped my limbs around his torso and felt his hand rub circles along my back, the fingers pressing into the knobs of my vertebrae.

When his then-girlfriend-now-wife moved in with him, we ceased doing anything alone together. Any trip after that needed to involve her children as well, as they all needed to be treated the same. Occasionally, we made it to San Francisco alone. Somewhere, long since lost, there are photos of my father and I, at various ages, much like the photos that hang on his wall today. As we both grew older, along with Esmeralda’s children, the time we had shortened and, eventually, it ceased. I still came over to his house for a while still, but Adriana was involved as well. Sometimes Vicente, the youngest.

There was a night, when I was seven or eight, and we just finished my father’s weekly ritual of scratching off lotto tickets. I won five dollars out of the fifteen or so cards he purchased. The house was still being remodeled, so the floor was scuffed and there were gaps between the rooms in the floor, showing the concrete interior. Outlets were exposed, and I felt the grit of construction dust under my nails every time I went over to his house. I kept my sneakers on, anxious that I would step on a nail, or get a splinter, and I stayed to the one area of the floor that appeared the cleanest. I wanted to go to the movies that night, but no one else wanted to go, or they didn’t want to see the movie I wanted to watch, so we stayed in for the evening and indulged in my father’s whim. At the end of the night, before my dad took me home, he went to hug me but I shrank away and crossed my arms in front of my chest, and wrapped them around my ribs. My father shrugged and hugged Adriana. He turned to me and said, “See, Adri loves me? Why don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything else to him, I just sat down in the front passenger seat in his Honda and waited for him to take me home while I bit the insides of my cheeks, the tang of copper weighing my tongue down.

As a child, I was fraught with emotions that felt too large to be housed in my body that scratched and tore at my flesh and crawled out of my mouth and eyes like serpents slithering down my face and form. More than once, my mother scolded my father for saying the wrong thing to set me off and would spend an hour or so consoling me by rubbing my shoulders as they trembled and shook. He eventually started paying me to tell my mother we had fun.

I took the money and told my mother the truth anyway.

My dad laughs at something on the screen: a baby food commercial. He turns to smile at me, and my face twitches in response, baring my teeth when my lips pull back.

“You know,” he began, “When you were that small,” he cupped his hands in front of his body, “I used to take naps with you just laying on my chest like this.” He leaned against the sofa and patted the center of his torso a couple times. My stomach roiled, the acid sloshing against the lining of the walls, and I nodded, shooting a glance to my partner. His lips twitched. I let out a puff of air. I itched, my clothes tight and bunched around my body. I tugged at them to relieve some pressure, and crossed and uncrossed my legs several times. My hair felt greasy despite washing it that morning and my skin felt heavy. I ran my fingers through my locks to smooth them down and I asked my father if Esmeralda felt alright and we could always leave if need be. He shook his head and stated that she’s just taking her time and last night was rough for her. I hummed and leaned forward, my legs bounced on the balls of my feet as my breath came in several deep inhalations. Across from me, my father sat back, his fingers tapping the beat of an unheard tune. He coughed, every so often. Rhythmic wheezes escaped his mouth as he cleared his throat, while my own tickled in response and I swallowed against the spasms of my diaphragm. The noise that emanated from the television hung in the air, filling the room and clogging my ears with static.

My father refuses to install an air conditioner in the house and chooses to keep the doors open and instead lets the aroma of grass waft through the home, sticking to the walls and furniture.

I swallowed a lungful of summer-perfume air and the band that knotted itself around my esophagus shifted.

Rory moved his hand to my knee and rested it there: a hot weight that clamped onto my leg that I tried to extricate myself from, but then patted his hand with mine for a couple strokes before disentangling completely. I flashed him a smile, a grimace, and scooted a bit further away, the fabric of the loveseat grabbing my pantlegs. The sound grated on my ears and I winced at the racket my body made in the echo chamber living room. Rory said something to my father, and he responded, voice pressed and rushed. He asked questions about work to Rory, asking him if he’s thought about doing IT consulting for the university he works for. I stifled the groan that bubbled up in my throat, and told my dad that Rory’s family lives in the exurbs of Placer County, so it would be hard to move with his family life and my school. He said that he knew, but it was a thought. Business is bigger in the Silicon Valley. I told him my life is in Sacramento.

I can’t keep uprooting myself.

Before Rory and I left, we said our goodbyes to the inhabitants of my father’s house, and he walked with us outside. He shook Rory’s hand, and I let him press me in an embrace. I squirm, my skin prickling while I hold my breath. He chuckled and asked me, “I guess I won’t see you for another year then?”

I shrugged away from him and ducked my head. “We’ll try to get back down here sooner. We’ve just been busy. You know how it is.” I scuffed my shoes against the sidewalk.

He stared at me for a long time, the lines of his face more prominent outside under the sunlight. The light glints off the thinning, greying hair that has started to make an appearance. His eyes followed the contours of my face, and I brought my hand up to smooth back my hair again, my fingers catching on the knots there. I swallowed and laughed and turned to Rory to say we better get going so we don’t get caught in traffic.

Rory turns on the engine to let the air conditioner soothe the balmy interior of the vehicle. The air is thick and clogs my lungs. I turn my gaze out the window as Rory puts the car in drive and creeps away from the sidewalk. The sun washes the landscape out and reflects off the stuccoed exterior of the house. My father forms a stark silhouette against the brightness of his abode. An empty place exists in the front lawn, an indentation with little growth in the otherwise verdant lawn, where the lemon tree he planted to celebrate my birth once stood, its roots growing and coiling around each other for years. Chopped down a couple summers ago because of an infection it got that he didn’t want to spread to the other plants. The hedges that line the house and the roses my stepmother planted years ago bloom and rustle in the breeze, their leaves catch the sunlight as their branches wave along to those who visit, but never step inside.

[writing-essence]

Fear - Jonathan Crane

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x (female) Reader

Warnings: Language

Summary: Reader is a student as Gotham State Univeristy and is taking Dr. Crane’s psychology course.

Author’s Note: Hopefully I have the energy to make this a series! I enjoyed writing this one 🥺 -Kelsie

Word Count: 1,536

Gotham State University was your favorite place to be during the spring. Sometimes it felt like the only place in Gotham that had life. Spring was when the cherry blossoms on campus bloomed, flowering the pathways between buildings in a soft pink carpet. Not to mention the campus was always bustling with students and animal life.

Spring term had just started for you, a sophomore at GSU, and you were currently sprinting through the main building on campus. It was the first day of class and you were already running late. Rude glances got thrown at you as you pushed through the crowd of students in the psych hallway but you couldn’t care less. You couldn’t start this term as the girl who was late. First impressions mean everything.

You ended up overestimating how much time you had to get to class, and busted loudly through the door two minutes before class even started. The lecture hall fell silent and all eyes drew to you, panting in the doorway. A deep blush spread over your face and you dropped your head as you quickly made your way to the back of the hall, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself.

“Could I ask you all to sit down at this time? Class is starting,” Whatever chatter had started back up after you entered quickly died down as the professor stood up from behind his desk. He adjusted the mic next to his face awkwardly before making his way toward the front screen.

You squinted from your seat in the back of the hall. He seemed a bit young for a professor. Especially for one at GSU.

“I’m not going to spend the first day introducing myself and going over a syllabus,” He said, monotone, “You don’t need to know about my personal life and I don’t need to know about yours. You’re here to learn,”

You frowned. This guy seemed like a party pooper. It was a slight relief though, you had already done three icebreakers in other classes this week. It would be nice just to jump into the material.

“My name is Dr. Crane and the syllabus is emailed to you if you need to read it,” He mumbled before turning toward the projector with a clicker, “We’re starting off this course with fear, something that I feel as if fuels everyday life,”

“That’s a huge claim,” A student from the front said loudly.

“You can leave if you disagree,” Dr. Crane stated simply, not bothering to even look toward the student, “And you raise your hand in this class if you need to say something,”

Yeesh. You wondered if this scary persona was a part of this lesson on fear.

“Fear is one of humans most important emotions. It’s what kept our ancestors alive from, let’s say, wooly mammoths, and it’s what keeps you from jumping out the window at every one of life’s inconveniences. It’s both biochemical and emotional- which is an important part of today’s lesson,” He clicked his clicker and the projector quickly switched toward a slide explaining the biochemical and emotional responses to fear.

You scrambled quickly to write everything down as quickly as he was saying it but ended up with a page full of unreadable scribbles instead. You were better off just sitting back and listening to what he had to say.

“Biochemical responses to fear are universal while emotional responses are purely individual. This is why some people enjoy scary movies and some people don’t,” He continued, the slides on the projector clicking loudly as they slid in and out of place, “Biochemical responses are part of survival. Without them, none of us would be here today. Some physical reactions to fear include sweating, increased heart rate, and high adrenaline levels. The common “Fight or Flight” response is also a biochemical response to fear,”

You slowly started to zone out as you watched him ramble on more about emotional responses to fear. Every once in awhile he’d readjust his glasses that kept slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. As he readjusted his glasses his hand would hit the mic causing a soft scratching noise to echo throughout the hall. You couldn’t tell if it was just your boy-less spring break but you were starting to find his awkwardness endearing.

“Now fear is incredibly complex, and the causes of them are purely individual. Phobias can be caused by trauma or just a general lack of control. Other people fear things simply because of the physical response they get from it. Take heights for example: you look down and you feel your stomach drop. Are more scared of being so high or is it just the feeling you get? Is this something that can apply to all fears? Does this make all phobias treatable?”

What he was saying was actually pretty interesting and you would’ve been a lot more focused on it maybe if he wasn’t so damn attractive. Instead, your eyes watched carefully how his hair flopped as he ran his hand through it. Your stomach did a bit of a flip as he turned toward the hall of students.

“That’s all for todays lecture. I’ve sent an email out of a paper I want on my desk before next class on Thursday. Read it carefully,”

Shit. You completely blanked on the last half of the lecture, too busy watching him and not listening. As the rest of the class quickly got up and out of the class, you fumbled awkwardly trying to shove several notebooks into your bag at once. Once everything was inside your bag you brushed your hair out of your face awkwardly before realizing there was only a few students left in the hall and they were quickly making their way out. You glanced over toward Dr. Crane’s desk and made eye contact with him briefly before he quickly looked down at the folder opened in front of him. You blushed furiously before quickly leaving the hall.

-

The paper was supposed to be written about a phobia or yours, but for some reason, you just couldn’t think of one. You sat in just the light of the buzzing computer in your living room for an hour trying to research different phobias seeing if you could find one that you related to, but couldn’t.

The door to your shared apartment opened and closed quickly and you turned around in the squeaky desk chair, watching as your roommate slumped against the wall, defeated.

“How was work?” You asked, noting the grease stains on her apron.

“Great,” She mumbled, “I need a drink,”

You rolled your eyes before turning back toward the computer. What if you went meta? With just one quick search you found it, phobophobia: the fear of phobias. It wasn���t a fear you had but it’s not like that was none of his business.

-

Thursday rolled around quickly and you confidently placed your paper on his desk ten minutes before class started. The lecture hall was empty besides two other students and Dr. Crane who sat behind his desk watching you curiously.

“You’re early today,” You blushed, embarrassed that he remembered you from Tuesday.

“I figured out how to manage my time better,” You awkwardly stated before spinning around and walking toward the back of the class.

That class period he spent reading through the papers that were turned in as a documentary of the Stanford Prison Experiment played on the projector. It made you uneasy, watching the raw clips from the 70s. You could definitely see how fear played into this experiment.

You looked away from the screen and down toward Dr. Crane who sat flipping through the papers. How could he remember you so clearly from Tuesday? There were at least 100 students in this class alone, not to mention his other classes. Did you make that bad of an impression?

He looked up at you, most likely sensing your stare and you quickly glanced back at the screen. Another blush slowly crept across your face.

Near the end of the class, he slowly handed the papers back out. It was only the second day of class- how was he able to know everyone’s name? You finally decided that he must’ve just been really good at associating faces with names. Maybe you didn’t make as bad of a first impression as you initially thought. Maybe he was just really good at recognizing people.

He walked up toward you slowly before sliding your paper in front of you. You avoided eye contact, pretending to be invested in the documentary, but watched as he walked away.

As the documentary ended, the film in the projector started clicking loudly and Dr. Crane finally turned it off.

“I want a paper on The Stanford Prison Experiment on my desk Tuesday before class,” He said loudly as he turned the lights back on, “Try to write it better than this last one, the average score was 70%,”

You looked down quickly at your paper where a neat 100% was written at the top of your page. You sighed, relieved, before noticing the note written underneath it.

See me after class

[mirdance]

No Matter How You Look at it, My Loving Girlfriend is a Cat Now!

Working with Gam has been such an honor! Her art is absolutely gorgeous, and I'm so glad she enjoyed my whimsical cat idea enough to draw it. Working with her MC, Cho, was a lovely experience, and I hope Cho forgives me for turning her into a cat. <3Thank you to @mysme-rbb for providing this opportunity! Link to Gam's art Instagram: gammam0n Read the story on A03 Summary: Saeran and Cho have been living together for a couple weeks in their new apartment. Co-habitation has had its up and downs, but Saeran thinks he has started to get the hang of everything. He’s even able to cook her favorite breakfast and separate the laundry. Things are looking swell. That is, until his girlfriend turns into a cat.

Saeran’s life really was something out of a fairy tale, if you gathered all the Brothers Grimm tales and mashed them into one horrifying short story with a Snow White happy ending. He thought he had his shit together by this point; who wouldn’t after helping run a cult and years of therapy? You kinda learn something about life in all that mess. But the love of his life, his one and only, Cho, turning into a cat, was something life nor therapy taught him how to deal with. While cute for fiction, the actuality of seeing her curled on the bed, white fluffy tail around her body, sent his eyes twitching.

Earlier, he’d been making them omelettes. She was always waking up early to cook them breakfast, so he’d wanted to do something for her for a change. They’d been living together in their new apartment for just a short while, but she seemed much more put together and relaxed in the fresh environment. He admired her strength, even if he was a tad jealous of her ability to adapt. She was independent, something he could never be, no matter how much he strove. Even with his progress, he still found himself leaning on her too much. Hell, when they’d first met, he’d been running around in the rain for so long, trying to figure out the bus schedule, when she’d stopped to help. She never asked for help, though.

He flopped his finished creation on a plate. Ray nudged the forefront of his mind. Saeran sighed as he prepared a glass of orange juice. All things considered; he was doing so much better than he could have ever imagined. Waking up to cook, laundry, working, they were hard, but he’d endured more and could get through this. He made his way down their tiny hallway with a skip in his step. Just thinking about how it was theirs, and how he was no longer alone. Sure, he had his family and his friends, but having Cho to hold him on those rough nights was simply different. A different kind of home.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his hip. “Time to wake,” he whispered with a grin. “I’ve made you—”

The plate fell to the floor with a clatter. Eggs flew across the floor and landed near the foot of the bed. Saeran coughed. His throat began to itch, and he pulled on his collar. “I…I’m sorry,” he reached down and began cleaning up the mess. “I thought…thought. We were going to pick out one of the kittens from the shelter next week? Because they’re overrun and all…”

Sleeping on the bed was a fluffy, white, cat. It resembled Elizabeth the 3rd in some ways, but its fur was not nearly as long, and its eyes glowed amber in the sunrise of the window. It stretched and yawned before jumping off the bed and eating the eggs off the floor.

Saeran bapped it away. “I don’t know if you can eat everything in this…”

Much to his dismay, the cat did not listen and only ate faster. What was this, a dog in a cats body? He lifted the cat as he stood and stepped over the egg mess. “Cho? Did my brother put you up to this?” He glanced around the corners of the room to find the hidden camera. There was nothing in the bed or closet. His heartbeat throbbed throughout his skull.

“Cho?”

He called her name several more times. She’d just been right here, sleeping under the covers. He hadn’t heard her move from the room. The window was intact. This had to be some joke his brother put her up to. Instinctively, he kissed the top of the cat’s head, and it rubbed its chin along his jawline. He couldn’t help but smile even through his disappointment.

“We said we’d pick one out together. I know, it’s probably dumb of me, but I’m kind of let down. It’s nothing against you, I promise.” He sat the cat on the bed and scratched behind its ear. “Please stay here while I clean this mess. I need to find Cho and see what’s going on.”

As Saeran bent to place the omelette back onto the plate, the cat jumped down once again and dove into the food. He lifted the plate into the air. “You must be hungry. I think we have some wet food.” He grimaced and checked around the floor once more. Cho hadn’t even set up a litter box. Hopefully, it hadn’t peed anywhere.

“I’ll be back.”

He’d said that, but the cat followed him to the kitchen, anyway. Were cats always so friendly? Well, in his experience, some were, but only after lots of food and getting to know one another. Maybe there was a reason Cho picked this one out? He didn’t want to assume anything bad. She was probably on her way to get emergency supplies or something. He discarded the eggs. The cat pawed at the trash can.

“I’m getting you food, hold on.”

He rummaged through the cabinets as the cat circled between his legs. They kept wet food for the stray cats that ran around and were hoping to prepare for a kitten of their own. “I hope you like chicken flavor,” he murmured as he popped open the lid. He dumped the food on a saucer before setting it on the ground.

“There you go. Doesn’t that look yummy?” The cat turned its nose up, and Saeran swore it shook its head. It turned its back to him and sat on the ground. Saeran cleared his throat. “Well, I guess it might be a bit hard to eat.” He grabbed a fork from the cabinet and began cutting the wet food into bite sized pieces. “I guess it does kinda stink, huh?”

The cat squeaked somewhat but did not meow. It jumped onto the counter and stared down at him.

“Oh, do you want to eat it up there?” He sat the plate before the cat.

The cat knocked it to the floor.

Thankfully, it was a plastic plate.

Saeran took a deep breath before anyone impatient could co-front. Maybe Ray would be better at dealing with this. “Okay, chicken is out of the question. Unfortunately, that’s all we have at the moment. The big stray Bo outside loves beef flavor and ate it all up. I think…we have turkey? For sandwiches. Hold on.”

It was a good thing he was off work today. How could Cho leave a cat behind with nothing to eat? He was still expecting his brother to pop out of a corner, but the apartment was eerily silent. Cho had never been so unprepared. He quickly grabbed his cell phone from the top of the fridge (Why was it on top of the fridge? Who left it there? Somehow, he remembered it being up there, so one of his brain mates was probably laughing their ass off.) He dialed Cho.

And it rang.

And rang

And rang

Saeran stared at his phone for far too long until he realized her phone was ringing in the bedroom. He darted for the room, only to find the phone buzzing on top of the dresser, still charging from the night before.

“Cho, this isn’t funny anymore.”

Saeran lunged for the phone and tried to type in the password. Wasn’t it her birthday? Not that they went through each other’s phones all the time, but occasionally they played games together and traded. The phone vibrated in defiance. He didn’t want to lock himself out. He logged into messenger on his own phone, but no one was awake. Not even Jumin Han or Jaehee.

Clattering noises echoed from the kitchen. Crap. He jogged back to the cat to find it…on the table, turkey on bread. A literal sandwich laid before a cat with the cat nibbling the edges. He laughed. Had he made this cat a sandwich and forgot? No, he simply thought about feeding it turkey. Maybe Ray had? No, Ray didn’t show up as far as Saeran could remember. Wait, were cats supposed to have bread?

He set the phones on the table and slid the turkey from the bread slices. “Not for kitties,” he mumbled. “I don’t know how you made yourself a sandwich, but you’re one smart animal.”

A low growl rumbled from the cat’s throat as it sat on its haunches, but otherwise it seemed at peace. Its ears were perked normally, and its tail rested softly at its side. At least it hadn’t mauled him. Maybe Cho had noticed how picky it was and ran out to get groceries. Maybe she’d forgotten her phone? He couldn’t see it, but it was possible.

“Hm, I wonder if you’re a boy or a girl?” He was tired of calling it ‘it’. It didn’t have a collar. “Excuse me,” he went behind the cat and lifted its leg. Both Cho and Saeran had learned to tell the differences between sexes while volunteering for Yoosung’s vet office, so this was nothing but procedure at this point. Its ears laid flat against its head. Saeran apologized once again before putting the cat’s leg down and allowing it freedom. “Well, it’s a girl,” he said, smiling and scratching behind her ear. “I wonder when your mom will be back. Should I got out and look for her? I’m super worried.”

She ignored him, walking past him and to the phones that lie on the table. Her tiny paws tapped the screen of Cho’s phone before it lit to life. Saeran sat down at one of the chairs and blocked the corners of the table with his hands. “Please don’t start knocking over more stuff,” he begged.

His phone began ringing. He quickly picked it up, only to find Cho’s profile across the screen. His eyes darted from Cho’s phone to his. This cat…had called him. Wait, this cat had unlocked the phone!

“I guess you got lucky,” Saeran said, hanging up both phones. He began looking through Cho’s. Everything was normal, her schedule, the menus. He sighed and sat the phone back down. “I guess I’m going to have to go out and find her myself. She’s probably just at the corner store looking for…”

Once again, the cat called him. He jerked the phone out of the cat’s paws and hung everything up. He wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural, but hell if this wasn’t weird. Against his better judgement, he locked Cho’s phone and set it back down. There, cat. See if you can unlock it again.

The cat seamlessly tapped its little paws on the screen, unlocking the phone with what seemed to be Cho’s birthday. Saeran wanted to smack his head on the table. “You can’t be serious. I swear to god if my brother is in here, he will not live to see tomorrow.”

The cat used its nose to click around, smudging the screen in the process. Sarean wiped it with his sleeve. “You’re going to ruin the screen.”

The cat, resigned to its fate of only using its paws, eventually opened up notes and tapped at the keyboard. Saeran--still not believing that the cat knew what it was doing because how could it—chuckled and pet its flank.

Hhji itds mje cvho I lolve u

Saeran slid the phone over to himself and read the garbled message. What…no. Ha. Hahahhahahahhaa. No. That looked an awful too much like Hi it’s me, Cho, I love you but typed with fat cat toes.

Everything was too much of a match for Saeran to doubt. Even the cat’s eyes were the same color. “Cho…is that really you?”

The cat placed a paw on his hand and nodded…cats didn’t nod. Well, unless they were in some cartoon, which Saeran was very much beginning to feel like the protagonist of. Did someone sneak elixir in his juice? Had he taken too much medication?

He gulped. “If…if you’re really Cho, spin around two times.” He wanted to laugh more, but part of him was deathly afraid of his own mental state. The other part of him was afraid for hers.

Saeran almost reached out to stop her as the cat spun around twice. She sat and seemed to glower at him, as if daring him to ask for more party tricks. Saeran lifted his hands in the air in defeat. “Okay, okay, Miss Cho. I believe you. I’m either high as a kite or you’ve somehow turned yourself into a cat, but either way, I trust you.”

Cho nudged his arm with the side of her cheek. God, it was so cute. He couldn’t think like that, though. He had to gather his thoughts. How could they turn her back? Whether he was off his rocker or not, it was important to settle the matter. Cho was a cat for a reason, and even though it was super cute, it was probably not the most comfortable. After all, how could she go to the bathroom? Would he need to get a litter box? Or maybe keeping the lid up on toilet was enough. Could she eat human food, or would that hurt her stomach? While they get to the bottom of this, maybe it would be best to try and get her to eat cat food. Should he take her to the vet?

“Merow.” Cho rolled onto her back, and Saeran’s heart thumped against his ribcage.

“Ha…you’re so cute. I know cats down like belly rubs but…” He reached out tentatively and gently ran his fingers across her belly fur. So…soft. She put her paws around his hand and nibbled his knuckles. “Is that too much?” He tried to pull his hand back, but she bit down harder. “Hey, that’s not fair. Stop that.”

Cho licked his hand apologetically with her sandpaper tongue and let go. Saeran would have to remember not to give too many belly rubs. Hopefully, she would poof back into a human any time, but it would be good to take mental notes of her likes and dislikes. It sort of reminded him of the fairy tales his brother used to tell to put him to sleep.

“Oh, maybe the princess needs a kiss from the prince?” He rested his head on the table and pushed his nose against her wet nose. But how was he to kiss a cat? He pecked her nose and mouth area, but nothing happened. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Cho licked him on the mouth; her sandpaper tongue felt pretty gross, but he tried not to grimace. He thanked her for the kiss and sighed. Maybe whatever was wrong with her would eventually wear off? He’d need to make a list of quality-of-life necessities and see if she agreed with them. In addition to food and toiletries, she probably needed toys. Maybe Jumin could recommend some cat trees.

Jesus Christ, he was beginning to sound like the man himself.

“I’m going to take care of you, Cho. Even if we can’t figure out how to change you back, I’ll love you. Just the way you are.”

Cho stretched into a stand and rammed her head against his several times. He couldn’t help but laugh as fur danced around his nostrils. They’d need several lint rollers, too. Would she want to go out on walks? He couldn’t keep her cooped up in the house, no matter how much he wanted to protect her. It would be fun if she could speak to other cats.

“By the way,” he whispered as he ran his fingers along her back. “I didn’t get to mention it the other day before I left for work. But thank you. You’ve worked really hard to help me despite my struggles. I know it’s not easy living with me. I can be an airhead sometimes, and I shouldn’t have put your shirt in the wash like you said. I just wanted to get it clean because it’s your favorite. Now it’s ruined. Gah, I don’t know anything about this stuff.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and Cho placed a paw on his cheek. He smiled shakily into her paw and pecked it.

Her paw grew warm until it was almost scalding. Before Saeran could freak out, cat paws turned to fingers. Her nose turned human, and the rest of her body followed, save for the cat ears on top of her head. Saeran’s face tingled, and he quickly looked away from her naked form.

“Omelette is ready,” she said. It almost sounded like a morphed meow, but he could tell it was her voice.

Saeran cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“Merowwake up.”

The top of his head began tingling and sent a cool sensation down his neck; he went to scratch his head, but his hands were fuzzy. As he stared at them, they grew into paws. He sneezed as fur tickled his nose. Wait, no. He didn’t want to be a cat, either! How could he learn to cook with his girlfriend? Pick out the kitten together?

As he cried out, only meows echoed against his skull. The kitchen stretched into ginormous walls as he shrunk and shrunk and shrunk. He reached his little paws as far as he could to grab hold of Cho, but he fell off the chair.

Before he hit the ground, his surroundings changed. Bedsheets stuck to his back, and his fingers gripped the comforter. Fingers. Good. He stretched them out in front of his face to make sure he hadn’t grown paws. There were no ears on the top of his head, either.

“You’re acting lively,” Cho said. She set a glass of orange juice on the nightstand. “I hope that means your fever is down.”

Saeran rolled his head over on the pillow. Cho held a plate of omelettes and sat next to him. The bed creaked as she crossed her legs and stabbed the food with a spoon. She wasn’t a cat. He wasn’t a cat. And in the end, he hadn’t even woken up to make her breakfast.

“I’m sorry I’m so useless,” he mumbled. “I meant to wake up and make you something since you’re always doing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You went to bed with a fever, don’t even start. And I enjoy doing these things. It gives me a sense of freedom.”

She pushed the spoon towards Saeran, and he took the food without complaint. He’d stayed up all night over the toilet; no wonder his dreams were whack. He debated on telling her, but the thought embarrassed him. He didn’t want to seem as cat obsessed as Jumin. Saeran couldn’t lie, though. He was a bit nervous about taking care of something totally reliant upon him, but Cho said they were ready.

After his meal, Cho gave him cold medicine and ran her fingers through his hair. “I know you’re stressed about postponing with the shelter,” she said, gathering the dishes. “But it’s no big deal. Just get some rest.” She leaned down and kissed his nose.

He closed his eyes and touched where she had kissed, making sure to imprint it into his memory. “I’m sorry about your shirt,” he mumbled.

She sighed and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry about it. Make it up to me by feeling better soon, okay?”

He nodded as she left the room with dishes in tow. His eyes were heavy even though he had just slept. Part of him wanted to jump up and offer to do the dishes. Offer to make her food. Offer something, anything. Yet his body fought against his mind. There was no energy left in his limbs. He’d make it up to her eventually. He’d promised her that he’d take better care of himself. Thus, he allowed the voices to quiet down in his mind and sleep peacefully.

[exoczn]

VERTIGO || CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER ONE • CHAPTER TWO • CHAPTER THREE • CHAPTER FOUR

m.list

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader x Yuta

Genre: Angst, Fluff

warnings: none for this chapter

Plot: what happens when you feel like a failure yet again like always and you’re not enough in a new city and accidentally meet a stranger who is broken himself but changes your life along with his own by a short encounter near the Vancouver river

————————————————

   You woke around afternoon because you slept at 3:30 am and spent the last night listening to soft alternative music, drinking cheap wine and looking at the sky; it wasn’t starry in particular but you always liked nights like this.

   You get up to make coffee for yourself and your phone buzzes. 

Yuta: Heyyy 

Yuta: The party thing is still on, right??

 You suddenly realise that it's Saturday and start panicking. You go to your closet and start finding something to wear but you’re too confused and you feel nothing looks that good according to you. So you call Yuta immediately.

he picks up after 3 rings 

 "hello?? y/n, what's up? don’t say you can’t make it and break my heart.” he chuckles.

 “Hey no! I won't do something like that yEt but well anyway that's not why I called you. I called you because I’m confused as to what should i wear and i wanted to ask you, uhhh 

what would you be wearing?”

 “well it's just a bunch of rich kids renting an airbnb and throwing a party, nothing fancy?  He sighs and continues  “I’m literally so excited to see you again idk why but can’t wait”

You try for it to not affect you that much and stop yourself from smiling that much and continue “Yes me too”

  “anyway y/n I’ll pick you up around 10:30?”

“sure”

——————————————————————

 You started getting ready around 9 after having some leftovers from last night. You were wondering about how things in your life were going pretty smoothly and how Yuta was everything you wanted in a guy. It really had been a week since met him and he texted you the night you met him in the coffee shop. 

  You both talked about music, anime, how you felt about the city, he talked about japan and his old neighborhood where he grew up and realized you both were going to the same university and Mark too. 

   You looked yourself in the mirror. You were wearing your 560 levi’s and a black cropped tank with your chelsea boots. You wore silver hoops and a small lock necklace. You were about to finish your look with a clear lipgloss when you heard your doorbell ring and figured who it might be. 

 You finished applying your gloss quickly and rushed to open the door and saw him standing there with a smug smile on his face and his pretty eyes. His eyes were almost too pretty. He was wearing a black shirt with a pair of light washed jeans as well.

 “Oh my goodness you’re looking almost as pretty as me” he said, widening his eyes with an open mouth smile showing his perfect teeth.

Why is he so pretty? What's happening to you y/n?

 You rolled your eyes while laughing and said “ha ha ha right” sarcastically. 

  “And look! We’re matching! No wait… you copied me”

 “We’re matching, yes. I copied you, it's not even possibly possible einstein.” 

 “But anyway y/n, you look- “

  “Amaaazing, i know.” you both laughed.

  “Now, shall we?” He held out his hand and you took it.

-----

  You enter the place and see a tall guy with brown hair walking up to the two of you with a huge smile and hugs Yuta.

  “y/n this is Johnny, johnny this is y/n.”

    “Dude wow! She pretty pretty- “

  “TOLD YA” Yuta says while shrugging 

  “Hi Johnny and thanks” you shake his hand and smile.

 “Hey John, where's Mark?” 

 “You know he hates parties, he's probably in the balcony or somewhere drinking his beer.”

 You weren't much fond of parties yourself but you came anyway as you already had no social life here and didn't know anyone else other than Sehun who lived in front of you and Kaitlyn your college friend.  

  You played a round of beer pong with Yuta, Johnny, Taeyong (his other ‘bro’) and some other people. At this point you were somewhat tipsy and wanted to have some water. So you went to the kitchen to get some water for yourself and for some reason the kitchen was somewhat dark but illuminated by the light coming from outside so you didn't bother to switch on the lights. 

You walk inside, you hear somebody “Y/n?” You jump

  “MARK???!!” 

 “Yes its me, calm down.”

 “MY HEART WAS GONNA COME OUT OF MY CHEST, YOU DUMBASS!” you almost screamed

 “I'm sorry I must've startled you” he chuckles.

 “No shit sherlock”  you roll your eyes and he starts laughing, it's almost like he's squeaking. It's cute. 

 After he stops, there's awkward silence between the two of you. You gulp down the water in your glass.

  “So how are things going between you and Yuta?” he finally asks. 

  “Good” you nod your head “great, I mean. He’s a nice guy and he's funny but very cocky. I think that's why I like him that much.”

 He chuckles again “I know he can get very cocky but it is indeed funny. He might look like an asshole to people or intimidation but he's a good guy.”

  “What’s up with your ex thing btw? Do you still miss her or-” you try to make conversation and also you were genuinely curious about how he is coping up with it because the first time you saw him, he looked pathetic.

  “Oh no no i don't anymore, i don't care about her anymore and i've realized that the whole dating shit is not for me i guess. Plus i like being alone now, it's comforting and i don't have to worry about ‘how to tell her that i hate being around her friends’ thing.” 

 “Right” 

 “Also did i tell you that you look good with that haircut.”

 “Thanks” you smile. “My brother thinks i look like a 7th grader.”

 “No wayyyy. It suits you” he gives a genuine smile”

 You thank him and then you remember “Oh Yuta, Johnny and your other friends were looking for you!”

  You leave the kitchen with Mark and you see Yuta, Taeyong and Johnny near the staircase.

You walk to them and Yuta says “Oh markkk where were you? I’ve been looking for you since I walked in.” 

  “I was uh-”

  “y/n where’d you find him and where were you ???” yuta asks you this time.

  “I went to get water in the kitchen and i saw him there.”

   Yuta got asked, “Oh.. are you fine??!!” 

  You noticed him completely ignoring the other three’s existence which made you feel special but guilty for some reason. 

You shook your thoughts away and replied

  “Uhm yes i don't know, i'm good, just a little exhausted.”

  “Should i take you home?”  

  “No, it's fine, I can take the train and go back on my own.” 

  “It's not safe at this hour, I'll drop you.”

   With that you both take off after saying goodbyes to johnny, mark and taeyong. 

 ---------------------

MARKS POV/

 After y/n and Yuta left,, Taeyong went to get smirnoff and 

 Johnny asked,”Hey Mark! Uhm why do you like y/n by any chance too?” 

  He caught me off guard by asking that and there were sirens ringing in my head and i didn’t know how to respond to it but i knew that lying wouldn't be a sensible option because he would easily catch me in seconds but i still tried to act as if i didn't know what he was talking about and said

 “W-what makes you think that?” I fake laughed.

 “Listen bro idk how others didn't notice but you know you were being quite obvious. Like when he rushed next to her to ask if she's okay, your face screamed that you were sooo jealous, i don't know what you plan on doing next but i really suggest you talk to her about it bro.”

 “man, i thought of it kinda and tried asking her about what's up with the whole situation and honestly, she seemed to really like him and well i don't wanna get into whatever they have for each other by confessing it to her and like i don't even know her so it's just plain weird for me to think of anything.” I tried to justify what I was doing to him and it felt more like trying to justify myself. 

  I went ahead and told johnny about how we actually met and how back then i was a coward and not smart enough to say anything but i realized i didn't really get a chance to say something to her and started wondering about what johnny said. 

Was it that obvious? What am i trying to do? Am I a bad friend? 

 ------------------------------------

  You reached your building around 1ish and Yuta tried to ask you out on another date but this time he said it'd be a proper just you-and-him-alone-date and you thought it'd be cool because so far things were going too well and you liked him too.  

 It was weird for you to process how vocal he was about his feelings for you and you realized that's probably the most attractive thing about him, he wasn't playing games with your feelings like you're used to otherwise and it was nice for a change. 

    You would have your mind wondering about mark once a while but you’d force yourself to tap back into reality.  

[antihero-writings]

The Empty Throne (Ch1)

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood & Manga)

Fic Summary: It's been a long time since that word died on Ed's lips...but relationships may be the only thing that can come back from the dead. || Exploring Ed and Hohenheim's relationship using the songs "Stumbling in Your Footsteps", "The Alchemist", and "Youth" as prompts.

Character focus: Edward Elric

Notes: This chapter explores Ed's view of his father more early on in the series, using the song “Stumbling in Your Footsteps” by Get Scared as a prompt.

Also, this chapter expands upon Chapter 42/Episode 20 "Father Before the Grave," and includes some lines only from the manga. (I actually highly recommend reading it, because Ed and Hohenheim talk more in it than they do in the anime). 

As always, I would absolutely love to write more about this fandom, so feel free to give me FMAB prompts!! You can drop them in my ask box!!

Chapter 1: Living Ghosts

The study door was ajar. Little Ed ran past it without a thought…but as he passed, something in the corner of his eye flickered, and he stopped.

Something. A fleeting shadow, like hope. And his heart staggered.

He backtracked to the door, something in his chest bubbling, a word fluttering to his lips:

“Dad?”

But it dissipated like smoke; there was nothing but an empty chair, and a few flies buzzing in the empty air. Disappointment tugged at his blushing face, before anger took hold, twisted in his chest, and he marched off.

That was stupid of him. How could he possibly think that man was back? It had been weeks now.

“Ed?” His mother popped her head around the corner. “Did you say something?”

“No, nothing. I just…thought I saw something,” he mumbled as he marched up to her.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this ghost.

Each time the front door creaked open; each time he saw a shadow across the lawn; each time something woke him in the night, or early in the morning, that word would rise in his chest and ripple onto his lips, and all too often he couldn’t help letting it escape.

And each time Winry came in the door, or a stray dog walked by the porch light, or he found it was just Al coming back from the bathroom… the word would flicker and die.

The hope that planted that word there slowly unwound, a ball of yarn at the center of his chest getting smaller and smaller; a plant withering and dying.

The house was full of ghosts such as these.

Over time that thing in his chest that jumped and hammed at each passing noise, and plummeted into his stomach when there was nothing there, became tamer, less excitable. But it didn’t just die… it changed.

In the fall it became something…instead of bright and warm, bubbling inside him, it was sharp, and burning; a painful heaviness sitting in the center of his chest.

After all, Icarus felt the warmth of the sun before he sank into the cold waters of despair.

And that word, so eager to flutter to his lips, he trapped in a jar.

******

Trisha felt a tug on her dress as she walked through the garden. She turned to see her son’s golden eyes shimmering up at her.

“Oh, hello Ed!” She turned to him, holding the basket at her side. “What’s going on?”

“Are you picking tomatoes?” he asked like his mind was on other things.

“Yes, I was going to make soup for us! You always loved this soup! Right?”

He scratched his head, frowning, then muttered softly;

“When’s dad coming back?”

The abruptness of this question seemed to hit Trisha.

This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this, nor the second, nor the third. Still, each time it hurt her a little more. She understood his reasons…but she knew Ed didn’t. And she’d promised Hohenheim she wouldn’t tell them…not that they could really understand at this age anyways.

She’d wait for him. But she hoped he’d come back soon, for their sons’ sakes.

Her lips curved into a smile all the same—somehow—as she knelt down in front of him.

“Oh honey.” She set the basket down, and put her hands together. “He’ll be back before you know it!”

She smiled, yes…but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s been months now.” Ed muttered.

“I know.” She petted his head. “I know its hard. You just gotta be patient Ed. I promise if you just keep waiting a little longer—”

“Yeah but…how long?”

“I don’t know honey.” The sadness tugged at her words; the sadness she was desperately trying to keep at bay. “But I know he’ll come back.”

He paused, looking at the ground, his expression twisting, like he didn’t want to speak the words festering behind his lips.

“What is it?” She asked gently.

“Why did he leave?” His voice was soft. “Were…Were we… not good enough for him?”

“Oh honey.” She put her hand on his cheek. “Have you been carrying that around this whole time? Of course not.” She pulled him into a hug. “You’re perfect. And your dad knew that. You were the world to him. He just...had something he needed to do.”

“What went wrong?” he mumbled into her shirt. “Was it something I said?”

“No, of course not!” She held him tighter. “Nothing went wrong at all!”

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to hold these words like precious jewels.

Once, he could have. Once these words had given Ed hope, made him look forward to tomorrow, be willing to wait. But she’d said them enough by now they were nothing but that; empty, flowery words.

If they were truly the world to that man, why would he leave his world behind? He’d had it all.

They were meant to be a kingdom, a fortress against any obstacle. But the king had got up and left his throne.

Adults always throw around such words when they don’t want to tell kids a painful truth, thinking they’re ignorant. Ed thought that was crueler than simply speaking said truth. Because the more they repeated those things…the more the truth behind them bled through the cracks in their smiles.

The truth that Ed could see behind her smile, the truth that made him begin to cry into her shirt today was that he knew he was never coming back.

******

Ed’s footsteps were rough against the floorboards as he walked into Pinako’s house.

Usually he would give her a pleasant hello, but his irritation was rather boundless at the moment;

“Hey I’m here. Sorry it took so long. Also a stray mutt decided to follow me home.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Hohenheim froze, peering at him over his glasses.

“Edward! You had your brother and I worried sick!” She smacked him with a dish towel. “Next time call us!”

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his head. “I got dragged off on an…unexpected detour.”

She pursed her lips. “Some top secret military mission no doubt.”

Before he could respond, her eyes landed on Hohenheim and her expression fell. She glanced between them, and her voice was gentler as she spoke;

“I see you found your father.”

“The bastard decided to materialize is more like it.” Ed put his hands on his hips

“I wanted to warn you he was here…But you didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

“You need warning before seeing me?” Hohenheim looked strangely sad at this.

“Yeah,” Ed threw over his shoulder, “a big blinking sign would have been nice.”

“Well.” Ed didn’t wait for a response before he changed the subject. “I have sand in…places, so I’m going to go take a shower, if that’s alright with you freaks.”

They didn’t have a chance to reply before he rounded the corner.

The floorboards creaked as he marched down the hall, and into the bathroom, shutting the door a little louder than necessary.

He groaned, kicking the empty trash can—(it went flying across the room, since he used his automail leg)—before pausing and leaning his head back against the door.

Closing his eyes, he let out a long sigh. Had he been holding his breath ever since he saw that man?

He hadn’t been lying about the sand…but more than anything he just needed some space to breathe.

The news about Maria Ross, what the Ishvalans said in the Xerxes ruins, the Rockbells…and now Hohenheim showed up? After ten years he picked now? Not when they were in Liore, or Central, or even when Al was there too, nooooo. It just had to be in the three seconds he alone was here.

Three seconds…A day.

…Ten years.

Was the difference negligible to Hohenheim?

That was the only explanation he could think of for why he might react the way he did today. Were all adults like that? He hoped he wouldn’t be when he grew up. Did they not realize how the years felt to a kid? Maybe ten years wasn’t much to an adult like him.

But to someone still growing up? Ten years may as well be a century. Childhood is the only time the years feel long; just a few hours to play is weeks in some fantasy world. Those moments get shorter as each year goes by, like a speeding train, and suddenly you start to see how many seconds you’ve wasted. Kids don’t have that concept. Ed was just starting to understand it himself.

None of them could ever get those years back. They couldn’t patch the memories up with the other sewn back into the gaps. Those years when they might have played together, ate together, practiced alchemy together…just been together. All that might have been was snuffed out when the door shut.

And today, now he walked back in like he left yesterday.

Who did he think he was?

Ed opened his eyes.

What was he doing again? Towels. Yes. He should probably get those.

After cleaning up the spilled trash, and putting the can back, he walked over to the cupboard above the toilet to pull one down—(…the rest fell on top of him in the process—no it wasn’t because he was short).

When Ed saw Hohenheim at the grave, he’d been sure it was a ghost. It was the right place for one, after all. Even a living one.

Over the years he’d seen far too many ghosts of Hohenheim to believe the man standing there was anything corporeal. He was too angry to allow him to return at the moment he was least needed.

After reorganizing the towels and setting his by the shower, he pulled his hair out of the messy braid he’d made, catching his reflection in the mirror as his hair fell across his shoulders.

“We have the same look.”

Ed scowled at the mirror, balling his hand into a fist.

That’s all he had to say, after ten years?

“We do not have the same look.” He muttered to the mirror.

They may not have the same style…but he couldn’t deny they had the same hair and eyes.

He was almost granted the mercy of forgetting. Made sense, considering how long it’d been since he’d seen his ugly mug.

Proceeding to the shower, he turned on the water, the faint hissing filling the room as steam rose, warming the air.

This wasn’t the first time he wished he had inherited more of his mother’s features. More than once his mom mentioned how he and Al looked like their father. That had made her happy, and once upon a time that was enough. But now that they were alone, he lamented the fact that he had his father’s features instead of hers… he’d much rather people saw her when they looked at him.

He took off his clothes, throwing them onto the floor and stepping into the hot water. The warmth spread through him, like a cure to the bitter cold piercing his chest. Sighing, he closed his eyes and put his hands on the back of his neck, letting it trickle across his face.

So long since he’d seen his ugly mug.

Ten years. It may as well have been a century.

The last time he’d seen him it was through the wide eyes of a child, looking up at this towering figure with his back turned. Those cold, gold eyes, looking down at him. Saying nothing at all as he left them to grow up on their own.

He had grown up since then. He’d done and seen things adults couldn’t bear to look at. And he’d stopped seeing Hohenheim through those eyes; those eyes that gazed up hopefully, sure the adults have all the answers, wondering why he did this, assuring himself that man had some logical explanation that he’d come back one day to give them. And they’d forgive him. Some hope he would come back and fix their future. That he wasn’t a bad man.

Now he knew he wasn’t a saint, nor a good man who had simply gone astray. It was much simpler than that;

He was just a fool.

Ed reached over and grabbed the soap.

That was all. There was no deeper reasoning. No explanation to be had. He was just a fool. Some deadbeat dad who couldn’t even be bothered take care of his sons. He chose to save himself, instead of saving them. Left them to make sense of it all on their own.

So that’s what he was doing; making sense of it all. And the sense he saw was that he was a selfish bastard, nothing more.

Their mother had once said that they were the world to that man.

If that was true, he’d had the world right at his feet…and he’d walked away. He had it all, and he stepped off the planet. He hoped he fell into a black hole.

Was it so hard for him to stay, and take responsibility for his kids, and own up to that fact that they were his own, despite the fact that he was a fool? Even a fool could try his best.

Was the look in their eyes so hard to bear?

Today, he hoped it was. Ed hoped his eyes haunted him as much as Hohenheim’s gaze had himself. He hoped he could still taste them on his tongue those ten years. That he could never truly spit them out.

That wide-eyed, shimmering gaze of yesterday had become a fire of glass no one could put out, or shatter.

He knew that no one was going to take care of him. No one was going to comfort him when he cried anymore. The only one who would look after him was himself—(well, and Al too).

—Yet… the moment he saw him, he was hit with a shrink ray. Those wandering eyes, wondering thoughts—

—Dad? I-Is that you? After all this time?—

—Why did you leave? What are you doing back?—

—(Please stay)—

And that resounding desperate plea from long ago he’d done everything to deny, to block out…

Please come home again.

The house was empty. So, unbearably empty. A hollowness that bored into his chest and made a nest there.

When the thunder rumbled outside, the house shook with it; the wind whispering through the corridors.

That word had long since died on his lips; he’d long since stopped seeing Hohenheim out of the corner of his eye; his heart had long since stopped jumping at each passing noise.

Yet, now, when he walked by the kitchen, sometimes he thought he could still smell Mom’s soup. When he strode through the garden he was sure he saw a flutter of her dress. When he lie down to sleep, sometimes he swore he heard the wind whisper “Goodnight,” and felt a kiss on his forehead.

And though that thing in his heart had hardened, the warden of his lips never pardoned, when he saw a shadow across the lawn or heard a stray noise, the image of a man with golden hair and eyes flared up to his brain.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He was never coming back. He forgot about them, left them to rot away, and for that he didn’t deserve the courtesy of these far-fetched wonderings.

But the house was so empty. And the hollowness burrowed into his chest.

So that night, after hearing his parents’ voices echoing through his dreaming head. Something in Ed broke.

He threw off the covers and stood there in his room, breath heavy on his chest.

The buzzing in his body wouldn’t let him go back to sleep, or lay there doing nothing. Something was vibrating at the frequency of everything he was made of. The resonance animated his legs, carried him through the moaning hallway, down the stairs of that big empty house, and into the yard, where the rain was pouring down.

He ran, his bare feet getting cut on pebbles and sticks.

Was he crying or screaming? All he knew was that humming in his body just kept getting louder.

He tripped on a rock and fell to the ground, his hands smeared in the mud. But he didn’t get up.

That resonance manifested in his throat. And at last he knew he was screaming.

It started with wordless sounds rending the air, like he was some wounded animal caught in a trap, until finally it manifested into words;

“Where did you go, you bastard?!” He roared. “Why did you leave?! Why did you leave us?! Leave mom?! Were we not enough for you?! Huh?! What did you have to lose?!”

His breath cut through his chest in gasps as he sobbed onto the grass, his tears mixing with the rain, the dirt and grime coating his hands and knees.

The thunder rumbled in reply.

This house had once been an illustrious kingdom. They made castles out of couch cushions, cathedrals out of books. They were lead by a perfect king and queen whom they would follow to the ends of the earth.

Until the king packed his things, and left his throne, his riches, his people too. Shut the portcullis, and was never seen again.

Until the queen lie bleeding on the checkerboard floor.

“Mom…please…” His voice was barely a drip of rain now. “Please come back, Mom.”

The kingdom lie in ruins, a crumbling echo of what it once was.

Their kingdom had lost its king, and now its queen too. Two lonely knights wandered the board alone. Who was left to lead?

The word was less than a breath:

“Dad…Dad please…”

Tears streaming down his face he sat up and yelled to the grey, grumbling air, the reverberation in his lungs louder than that thunder, “PLEASE COME HOME AGAIN!”

He fell back down, breathing heavily, shivering, finally realizing just how cold he was.

“I promise to be good.” He murmured. “Let us show you we’re good enough for you.”

The sentences ran out, and finally into the dirt there was only word breathed over and over:

“Dad…Dad…Dad…”

Until, at last, that word was gone from his lips.

He put the soap back and moved on to the shampoo.

The moment he saw Hohenheim before that grave…

He felt so small.

And he hated feeling small.

Hohenheim’s eyes hadn’t changed one bit. He may as well have walked straight back through the door that day.

That look from when he left was a scar across his mind, one that still burned when the nights were long enough, and the days were hard enough. He almost searched his body for the mark.

Even though the anger was sizzling on his tongue, bolstering him up, making him feel superior, he couldn’t help but feel so tiny.

“You were hiding the memory.”

Said so casually, reading him like a book when he’d looked at less than a page. He wanted more than anything for him to be wrong.

—(But when your house is full of ghosts, the only way to keep them from following you…is to burn it down)—

No How have you been, Edward? No I’m sorry I left, Edward. Not even a simple explanation or apology. Were those two little words so hard to say?

Ed felt so sick to his stomach.

He leaned forward, closing his eyes, resting his automail arm on the wall, the water draining through his hair.

He wanted to wash it all away, this day, the scent off his skin…erase the connections. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the traces wouldn’t come off.

After turning off the water, he reached out from the curtain to grab the towel, ruffling his hair with it, drying off and putting his clothes back on, carrying his jacket over his shoulder.

As he passed by, the mirror taunted him;

You’ll never be free from him.

When he reached the door he hesitated, his fingers flickering before the doorknob. He bit his lip, wondering if he should go out there at all.

He didn’t want to see that man, to talk to him.

It’d been so long.

The look on his face as he left was burned into his mind. When he saw him again, before that grave, for a moment that memory was all he could see. How could that tape, so long stuck in one place, suddenly be moving again? Talking and walking like it wasn’t defective for ten years?

What could he possibly say to him? What should he say to him? What did he want to say to him?

Nothing. Said the wrath that hadn’t been put out by the water.

Everything. Said the little boy in the rain.

He took a deep breath before venturing into the hall, and a long exhale before entering the kitchen.

Pinako was standing at the sink in an apron, stirring something, while Hohenheim sat at the table cleaning his glasses—(ya know, not helping her, like the bastard he was).

Ed threw his jacket on the back of a chair, determinedly not looking at Hohenheim, and walking up to Pinako.

“Can I help you with anything, Granny?”

“Sure. Keep stirring this for me.” She pointed to the pan of the stove, then added, “You should feel right at home.”

Ed looked into the pan to see it was full of bean sprouts.

“WHADDYA TRYING TO SAY, BEAN SPROUT LADY?!”

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID, YA MIDGET!”

The house soon bounced with their indiscernible shouting match.

After they’d exhausted the topic, Ed stirred bitterly, and leaned over, whispering out of the corner of his mouth,

“So do you have any idea what the hell he’s doing back?”

“Beats me.” She muttered. “I’ve got the same information as you, kid; he just decided to show up one day.”

A few sprouts fell on the counter and sizzled as he gave him the stink eye over his shoulder.

“Who does he think he is?” he grumbled, “Showing up without so much as a warning...”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Wja—That’s different!”

“Well…Like it or not he is your father, Ed. Maybe you oughtta trying talking to him.”

“What, you mean like before he decides to jump ship again?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Hohenheim’s level voice broke through.

“Yeah well—good.” Ed grunted and stirred more vigorously, but didn’t continue the topic.

After a moment’s silence, Den clicked over to them and lay at Ed’s feet, whining slightly.

“Hey, buddy.” He switched stirring hands to pet him. “Is something wrong?”

“…Animals have never much liked me.” Hohenheim answered softly.

Ed smirked, scratching Dug behind the ears. “Good boy.”

“Alright, that should be enough, thank you.” Pinako took over. “Sit down, Ed. Supper’s just about ready.”

“Oh.” He backed up, remembering that staying for dinner entailed actually conversing with that man. “Well, on second though I…I’m actually not that hungry.”—(which wasn’t a lie).

Pinako looked at him over her glasses like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Sit. Down.” She enunciated.

Ed surveyed the room and sat in the spare chair against the wall, facing away, putting his hand on his chin.

After a moment Pinako grabbed the back of the chair and dragged him into the spot opposite Hohenheim.

“You’re strong for an old lady!”

“You’re weak for a young man.”

“Wh—I’m plenty strong!”

“Maybe if you drank more milk.” She put a glass of it in front of his plate. “You’d be stronger.”

“So we meet again ya bastard.” Ed scowled.

Hohenheim looked like he was about to speak when Pinako clarified, sitting beside him,

“He’s talking to the milk.”

“Ah!” His tone shifted. “It appears you and I have something else in common!”

Ed looked between the two like he was about to start a self destruct sequence.

He grabbed the milk and tried to chug it, but quickly failed and ended up spitting it out.

“Nope.” He coughed, milk dribbling down his chin. “Still can’t do it.”

Ed thought he saw Hohenheim’s mouth quirk up slightly, but it was quickly overshadowed by the realization that he was staring at him. Not in a you’re-talking-so-I-should-look-at-you way, but a ah-yes-a-test-subject kind of way.

“Your eyes stuck, old man?”

Rather than apologizing, or stopping—(like a normal person)—he adjusted his glasses to get a better lock on. “This is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at your automail.”

Ed looked at his own arm, realizing there was an unfortunate side effect to taking his jacket off. He looked back and forth from him to Pinako, as if she’d rescue him.

He’d never felt embarrassed about his automail before—actually, it was pretty badass, if he said so himself. But Hohenheim’s scrutinizing continued to be that shrink ray—why? He didn’t care what he thought…

“Pretty nice, handiwork, huh?” Pinako jabbed him with her elbow.

“Yes, expert craftsmanship.” Hohenheim responded absentmindedly.

“Wouldja quit examining me!”

Hohenheim finally broke his lock, resuming eating. “Pinako said it was your leg too.”

“What, you want a fashion show?” He spoke through his food.

“No, no that’s fine.” He said like it was a genuine offer. He took a bite of food before continuing. “So your leg was taken when you tried to transmute your mother, and your arm when you transmuted your brother’s soul into one of my suits of armor, yes?”

Ed swallowed roughly, turning to Pinako. “Did you tell him everything?!”

“Well…He does have a right to know.”

“Since when?! He doesn’t have a right to anything when walked out on us!”

“How old were you?” Hohenheim plowed on like he couldn’t hear them.

“Eleven.” He answered through gritted teeth.

“That’s rather impressive. You were able to bind a soul at just eleven? There’s not many who could do that at thirty.”

It was the first time someone said that that he didn’t think sounded impressed at all.

“How is your brother doing? I would have liked to have seen him.”

“As well as he can be without a body.” He muttered through his food again. He couldn’t really taste anything.

Hohenheim paused before asking softly;

“…Why did you do it Edward?”

Ed nearly choked, jerking his head up, his eyed widening. Was he really asking him this, now?

“Why do you think?!” He stabbed his food without intention of bringing it to his mouth.

“Didn’t you know the risks?”

“We didn’t care!” His voice rose, and he stood up, his chair groaning against the floor. “It’s not like we had anyone here to—oh I don’t know—give us a reason not to!” He paused, then said in a normal volume. “No offense, Granny.”

Hohenheim said nothing. Even though Ed was standing over him, as his glasses shimmered in the light, he still felt as though he was being looked down upon.

That look, that look from when he left, never leaving his face, that look that made him want to punch him—(he would have, if Pinako wasn’t there)—

“I’m going to bed.” He grunted quietly, turning around.

“But you’ve barely touched your food...” Pinako pointed out gently.

“I’ve lost my appetite!”

Ed just caught the words “He’s rather hotheaded, isn’t he?” before he slammed the bedroom door.

It was then he noticed how almost every part of his body was tense.

He leaned back against the door, this time sinking all the way to the floor, putting his hands on his face, digging his fingers in his hair, the tenseness translating to trembling.

One conversation.

One moment.

Ten years.

Once upon a time he waited weeks for him to come back. Once upon a time, he wanted more than anything to just talk to him—he’d take a mere moment. To talk about something, anything.

Now that he was back, he could barely stand to be in the same room with him.

The buzzing in his body made him want to run out into the fields and scream again, to punch him over and over until he was beaten bloody. But this time he remained in place, a creature frozen in ice, trying to break out, shaking in his crystal prison.

Now their kingdom had become more than just a ruin, or an echo of itself…it was a bone yard.

Ed said he wanted to go to bed, and he did, but apparently that translated to ‘lay awake in bed for hours.’

He didn’t know how many had transpired when Hohenheim came in. Ed didn’t directly see him, but he knew it was him. For one thing, Pinako would never be so creepy. He didn’t even do or say anything, he just came, and left. Pervert.

…And the worst part of this day wasn’t seeing him again, it wasn’t the anger broiling in his gut…

It was that as he sat up in bed, staring at the door…for the first time in close to ten years he could taste the putrefied remains of that word on his lips.

[jemej3m]

radio silence (chapter 2: andrew and aaron)

andrew starts taking his medication and aaron hates it just as much as his brother does, especially seeing as the pills wont even let him say it 

(heavy tw for mentions of matricide, canon-typical violence, sexual assault (thanks giving, andrew’s perspective), medication and drake’s murder) 

*

Andrew supposed he’d deserved it when Aaron went silent on him after Tilda died and Andrew forcefully shut Aaron into the bathroom of their new place to get clean, but it was still never silent.

There was always someone there at the other end of the line. Someone breathing down the phone, waiting to hear whatever you said. It was comforting only because it was all Andrew had ever known, unable to fathom what it was like to be completely alone.

When Andrew had been forced onto his medication after his perhaps over-enthusiastic response to Nicky being pushed around by a bunch of assholes outside Eden’s, a new kind of buzzing filled his head. 

Static. Grainy, grainy static. An external pressure, squeezing around his temples like his head was stuck in the clouds, thousands of miles above normal altitude. He hated the way it felt but there was nothing he could do about it, the grin curling on his lips without consent.

The first time Aaron had spoken to him in months was in the quiet of a dark kitchen. Nicky was asleep in his room. Andrew was making hot cocoa and unable to sleep because he’d taken his dosage too late. He’d noticed Aaron lingering by the kitchen’s entrance and refused to say anything, letting the false cheer dangle off the tip of his spoon as he watched droplets of hot cocoa slip off the aluminium surface, back into his mug. It’d long gone cold.

“I can’t hear you,” Aaron said, finally finding his spine to talk to his loony twin. “I can’t—reach out to you. It’s silent.”

“Well,” Andrew drawled, tempted to laugh. “Isn’t that a shame?”

“I hate it,” Aaron hissed, contradictory in every way. “We’ve never—we’ve never been apart before. I hate it. Can’t we—can’t you appeal?”

“Oh, Aaron,” Andrew lamented, hand over his heart. His brother’s vulnerabilities were cute, but there was no way Andrew would share his own. Not out loud. “You should go cry to someone who’s capable of caring. Because that person is definitely not me.” He grinned, arching an eyebrow.

“This isn’t you,” Aaron said, resolutely. As he paced back into the hallway, he repeated himself. “This isn’t you.”

Andrew simply laughed.

*

“On one condition,” Andrew said, pointing at Wymack and almost poking the old man in the chest. “My brother and cousin come on the team, too. And I get to come off my meds for games.”

Aaron startled. It was the first time Andrew had ever hinted that he, too, hated the loneliness.

*

When Kevin stumbled into Wymack’s apartment with a shattered hand, Andrew had laughed, pointing at him with a bottle of booze in his hand.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” He crowed. Kevin glared and did not laugh.

Pity. Aaron probably would’ve appreciated that.

*

Andrew, Aaron had whispered, sickeningly relieved as the curtain between them parted, their minds severed no more.

It would only be for another half hour or so, before Andrew had to take his dose at half time. He looked at his brother, watching the way relief wormed down Aaron’s spine and had him grip his racket harder.

It was their first game on the line. Most of the team hated Andrew and his merry band of monsters, of which had grown from three to four when Kevin promised Andrew that he would find him something to live for after his medicated euphoria eventually wore off. It was a lousy promise at best: Andrew had no disillusions about finding satisfaction in his life, and no desire to lie to himself either. Kevin’s miserable obsession with Exy couldn’t fill the gaping wound that’d been carved into Andrew’s chest the minute that Tilda left him in the plastic bucket of baby rejects.

The connection with Aaron strengthened as the withdrawal kicked up, sped up by the gruelling game. The Foxes lost, because of course they did, and Andrew faked a laugh to convince everyone in the arena that he wasn’t deviating from his parole.

Until next game, Aaron said, as Andrew swallowed the pills. He was too physically wretched to stifle the weak nod. Kevin looked between them, eyes narrowed. He’d probably figure it out, just like Nicky had a long while ago, but neither of them would say anything. It was best to just pretend that the twins hated each other, just like everyone else assumed.

Andrew was comfortable in the shadows of those assumptions. The four of them settled into the strange routine, dodging Riko and his Ravens and spending nights under the haze of cracker dust and alcohol.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, he knew Aaron was counting down the days till Andrew could come off the medications.

He, admittedly, was too.

*

Andrew was suddenly glad that Aaron could not hear his loudest thoughts most of the time, when Neil Josten rocked up, a bundle of lies and a bigger bundle of threats.

He was brown haired and brown eyed and barely tall enough to fit all his too-intricate stories within, and yet there he was, able to tell the difference between him and Aaron immediately, running away from Columbia in a feverish demand for freedom, stood in Wymack’s living room with half-truths tolerable enough for Andrew to swallow.

If Aaron could hear the way Andrew’s mind twisted and turned over Neil Fucking Josten, he’d be mighty suspicious.

Worse was when Neil began asking. And Andrew let himself answer. Worse was the way Neil practised honesty enough to keep Andrew intrigued but continually lied like an animal licking a wound it should just leave alone.

Thanksgiving came and went.

The real nightmare was the weekend after.

Andrew had never grown used to the static, not in the four years he’d been medicated, especially not when he let his shield against the world drop occasionally, for games or for nights at Eden’s. It was enough that neither him, nor Aaron, really got used to the absence. The absess.

He walked up the stairs to where Luther had promised him liquor, opening the door to Nicky’s old bedroom. It was dark, curtains drawn and the rust on the lock suspiciously etched, like it’d been tested recently. If Andrew was capable of conjuring warning bells through the cloud that surrounded him, he’d be hearing them ringing like they did in a bad man’s chapel on a Sunday morning.

One moment, he was staring a fully-fledged nightmare, dead between the eyes. The next his bottle of Blue came careening through the air, and the trickle of liquid down Andrew’s scalp was a strange concoction of hot blood and iced spirits, glass shards just to make it interesting.

It was like a waltz. One, two, three. One, two, three. One: Hand around Andrew’s neck. Two: Whispered words in his ear. Three: Seconds Andrew had to contemplate why him, like he was thirteen again. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two—

“Andrew,” Aaron snarled, more terrified for Andrew than he was of himself. He’d always known exactly who Drake was, who the Spears were: He’d almost been there. He’d certainly heard every one of Andrew’s broken cadences, desperately searching for an out.

And yet there he stood, bloodied, with Neil’s racket in his hands and blood across his face. Andrew couldn't hear himself, not when he laughed, not when he demanded if the blood was Aaron’s, not when Luther appeared in the doorway clutching the silver cross that dangled across his throat.

Remember? Andrew laughed. Cackled. Remember when you insisted it was just a misunderstanding?

“He told you, and you still brought him here?” Aaron said, cold, furious. They were closer and more intricately woven than anyone knew, Andrew clutching onto Aaron’s bloodied shirt as Neil covered him up with a sheet, laughter still wracking his body like a bloody cough. “Get out. Get out!”

Wasn’t it just niche, the way everything worked out. Aaron was lugged off in police custody whilst Andrew was strapped to a stretcher, paramedics shining light into his eyes. He was still buzzing too high off the ground to reach out to Aaron and see if he was alright, because even if Andrew cared about nothing, Aaron’s survival was still imperative. He’d fought so long for it, after all.

Neil offered himself up as Kevin’s leash, like he wasn’t fulfilling that role already. He shoved Andrew’s hand under his shirt and gave him his true name and Andrew was spinning. He was dancing so close to the edge. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so fucking terrified of losing control all over again.

“You’re not going to say goodbye to Aaron?” Abby asked, when Betsy had filched him from the comfort of his room to take him to Easthaven.

“Can’t say goodbye if you never said hello in the first place,” Andrew said, cheerfully as he skipped his way to the front door. None of them would truly understand the significance of that statement, that Andrew and Aaron had never said hello, nor goodbye. There was no need if they never left you alone.

He ignored the way Neil watched him as he left, ignored the idle chatter Betsy filled the car with, ignored the introduction of his psychiatric team.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have taken more care. It was too late now.

*

Andrew, Aaron breathed, when the fogginess lifted perhaps two weeks later. He had no way of telling, really. Andrew had his head in a bucket, the smooth plastic his constant view. Aaron’s voice was—admittedly—a comfort. Andrew, are you alright?  

You still behind bars? Andrew asked, craning his neck as he settled back into his stiff, unforgiving bed and its cold, unyielding sheets.

Matt’s mom paid my bail. We’re heading up to New York for Christmas as thanks.

You’re not telling me something.

Aaron made a derisive noise. Andrew was always the more perceptive one. Neil knows.

How.

He figured it out. I don’t know how. He told me to tell you not to let Proust near you before he left yesterday.

Left where?

Uncle was in town apparently. Wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.

Liar, through and through.

Be careful, Andrew. I have a hunch that Neil’s got privy information. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but it seemed valid.

Thanks for the input, Andrew thought, sourly. Aaron snorted. Now, fuck off.

I hated the silence, Aaron offered.

Andrew stared silently out of the metal grate that covered his window, the bleak clouds and wind-swept trees.

As a form of peace offering with the only person who’d always been there for him, he said: Me too.

*

I’ve met a girl. Promise me you won’t hurt her.

I won’t if she gives me no reason to.

Her name is Katelyn. She makes me happy. Scare her off when you get back and I will tell everyone that you waited for months after our 11th birthday for your letter to Hogwarts.

Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kill you first.

*

Andrew walked out of his room and down the familiar corridors of his ward, beady eyes peering out at someone who was walking free. He was directed by Dr. Whoeverthefuck, clipboard under his arm and a haughty expression scrawled across his narrow features.

There was a bit of talking. Nicky called out his name, concern obvious and sickening and too much. Kevin was evaluating, Neil was curious and Aaron just looked at him blankly, like he always did. They didn’t need expressions or emotions or even spoken words to communicate. It was just enough to be. So when Andrew marched straight for the exit and threw his ward-stay clothes in the bin, Aaron wasn’t phased, following along closely behind.

Andrew held out the keys for Neil, who passed them over without a qualm. Good. He didn’t feel like arguing with Neil now, when he felt scraped out and broken down into tiny little fragments. Neil said nothing, his garishly blue eyes darting between Aaron and Andrew, perhaps a little too obviously for Neil’s liking. He had a bandage under his eye and bruises littering what little exposed skin Andrew could see, the red curls falling in tresses over his ears.

Why are you looking at him like that? Aaron muttered, climbing into the car. Andrew turned away from Neil sharply, clambering into the driver’s seat and slamming it behind him.

He kept the music loud enough to drown out Aaron’s curious prodding, refusing to look in the rear-view where Neil was sat, looking wistfully out of the window. Even Nicky was quiet, unsure of how to approach Andrew when he hadn’t really spoken to the man sober in four and a half years.

The drive was too fast. Aaron shuffled Nicky and Kevin inside the tower with little more than a brief you should take a nap, or at least have some coffee, before you face the others, like Andrew was still a prickly toddler.

Neil wasn’t as easily swayed. He reached under the driver’s seat to grab his stalker binder, bound in a plastic bag, before Andrew even had the chance to move out of the way. He couldn’t say he minded the proximity, even when the way Neil looked at him when Andrew accused him of breaking his promise made his heart skip.

“I hope Aaron warned you off Proust,” Neil murmured. “Riko said if I didn’t go, he would—“

His hand covered Neil’s mouth before he could let another treacherous word past his lips. Andrew fucking hated him. He fucking hated him.

Proust had entered his room in the early hours of an average morning, smiling beseechingly. Andrew refused to talk to him, instead threatening the nurse that came in after Proust’s session that if he ever caught Proust in his vicinity again, he would break the man’s neck.

The doctor was kept well away from Andrew after that.

“I don’t need your protection, or your condolences.” He snapped.

“No, I suppose not.” He echoed. “Have you and Aaron always been able to hear one another? I thought it was an urban myth.”

“Shut up.” Andrew said, voice more of a snarl than he intended it to be. Neil was making his control slip and he hadn’t even been back for a half hour yet. “I hate you.”

“I know.” Neil said, easily.

*

i know theres a lot of lacking scenes from canon but its not about andrew and neil srry lmao its twinyards week for a reason (andreil worms its way in anyway, but i tried my best)

stay tuned for tomorroww!!