#i wrote all of this while somewhat inebriated

[lemoncrushh]

Taboo

Summary: You and Harry have a little fun in the bathroom during a party.

Warnings: smut, public fornication - 18+ ONLY!

Word Count: 1642

A/N: This was the first one-shot I wrote in 2016, so it's the last one for me to repost here (with the exception of a couple holiday themed one-shots I'll be reposting later). Famous Harry x Reader. Inspired somewhat by the song "Taboo" by Koda Kumi.

Blah blah blah

This party was as dull as the last one you went to, and probably every other one before it. These swanky Hollywood parties were all the same. Fortunately for you, Harry had been keeping your glass filled all night, going to the bar or grabbing a new glass from a cocktail waitress that walked by. He knew you didn't always have fun at these parties, but at least you could get a little tipsy and go home with him.

Harry was busy talking to some people whose names escaped you, so you sauntered off down a large corridor, your wine glass in your hand. You found a small alcove with a settee, an enormous french painting behind it. You set your wine glass on the small round table nearby and stared at the painting for a few minutes, entranced by the colors and the strokes.

Suddenly, you jumped as you felt a hand touch your waist, sliding around to your stomach. Harry said nothing as he pulled you closer, his other arm wrapping around you. You felt his breath in your ear while his lips grazed the edge of it.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" you asked, inquiring about the painting.

"Yes, very lovely," he murmured as his lips moved down your jaw to your neck.

You giggled and squirmed under his embrace, trying to wriggle free. Harry resisted, though you were able to turn around and face him, placing your hands on his chest. He gave you a sexy smirk as his hands roamed down your sides to cup your bottom.

"What do you think you're doing?" you teased.

"Nothing I haven't done before," he replied, leaning his forehead against yours.

You pushed your palms against him, finally freeing yourself from his arms and sitting down on the settee. You adjusted the hem of your dress and crossed your legs, reaching for your wine glass. Harry sighed and sat down next to you, his thigh touching yours. You watched his hand land on your knee, seductively sliding up your leg to the edge of your dress while you took a sip of wine. Without a word, you grabbed his hand and returned it to his lap. You heard him groan, which made you raise your eyes to his face. His brows were furrowed, and he gave a child-like pout which made you chuckle. When you swallowed the last of your wine, Harry quickly took the glass from you, setting it on the table. Then he looked at you with hunger in his eyes before slipping his hand under your ear and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You tasted the alcohol on his tongue as it met yours. You suddenly realized you hadn't been keeping track of his consumption and wondered just how drunk he was. The idea excited you rather than unnerved you, your own inebriation rising and making you feel light-headed.

When Harry's hand returned to your leg, you first welcomed it with a slight moan. When he moved it up under your dress, however, squeezing and caressing it with his thumb, you slapped it away, then pulled back from the kiss. He glared at you questioningly, knowing you've never been one to push him away or refuse his advances.

"We're in public, Harry," you commented.

"So," he remarked, gazing up and down the corridor. "I don't see anyone."

You pursed your lips and stood, walking away from him, further down the hallway. You stopped when you turned the corner, hearing his footsteps behind you. You were enjoying this cat and mouse game. You licked your bottom lip as you leaned against the wall, waiting for Harry to find you.

"Why are you teasing me, baby?" he asked in a low tone.

His gorgeous face came into view then as he rounded the corner. His mouth showed no expression, but his eyes danced with excitement. You knew he was enjoying this as well.

Just then you heard another set of footsteps and turned to see a man coming closer from the right end of the hall. Both you and Harry nervously nodded, acknowledging his presence as he walked past. When he was out of sight, Harry grabbed you by the waist, causing you to let out a gasp. He pulled you to him kissing you with heat and fervor. All your senses awakened as he pushed you flush against the wall, his mouth moving down to your neck.

You decided then to stop the teasing. He was turning you on so much, there was no way you could continue resisting him. As his hands gripped your hips, you felt him grind up against you. Your breaths quickened when his hand found the hem of your dress again, sliding underneath. He grabbed your bare butt cheek before finding the edge of your thong, his finger slipping inside.

"Oh, God," you moaned just as you began to hear the sounds of laughter coming from the end of the hall. "Harry...we can't..."

He lifted his gaze to meet yours and nodded, releasing his hand from your panties. Then he looked down the hall once more before grabbing your hand.

"Come on," he instructed, pulling you towards a closed door to the right.

Just as you entered the room and the door shut behind you, you heard the chatter and laughter getting louder, knowing surely a group of people were just feet away. You turned and looked at Harry, the same burning in his eyes. Realizing then you were in a bathroom, you grinned as you stepped closer to him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It was your turn to kiss him, to give him what he'd been wanting. When your lips met his, he pushed you back against the door with a thud. He reached for the door handle, turning the lock. Then he continued where he'd left off in the hallway, quickly sliding his fingers inside your thong. You moaned against his mouth, moving your hips slightly to add to the friction.

"You're so fucking wet, baby," he said when he released your lips.

"I know," you breathed. "You always make me wet."

Harry chuckled as his finger met your center, pressing gently before entering. You leaned your head back and sighed while he pumped his hand, his lips roaming down your neck to your collarbone.

Your need to feel more of him taking over, you grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked on it. Harry shrugged out of one sleeve, then slipped his finger out of your pussy to remove the jacket completely.

You heard more voices outside as Harry lifted your hips with his hands, guiding them around his waist. Then he carried you over to the vanity, setting you down on the edge of it. He licked his lips as he unbuttoned his pants, his eyes focused on you. He pushed them down with his underwear, his hard cock springing free.

You felt your wetness intensify as you shimmied your dress up to your waist and pulled down your panties. Harry's impatience caused him to tear them from your hands and throw them on the floor. Standing between your open legs, he brought his hand to his mouth, wetting his fingers with his tongue. Then he gripped his erection, sliding his hand down to lubricate it, never taking his eyes off you. With one quick thrust, he was inside you, a sweet sting making you bite your lip.

A low groan escaped Harry's throat as he moved his hips against you. You folded your legs around his waist, leaning back just a bit to get the best aim. You clawed at his shirt as you felt your stomach burn, the sensation overwhelming.

"So...hot..." Harry muttered between breaths, his eyelids heavy.

He kept his hands resting on the vanity on either side of you as he began to thrust harder. Just as a moan rose up from your chest, you heard the doorknob jiggle, someone apparently choosing that moment to go to the restroom.

"Shit," Harry cursed, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't stop, baby," you begged.

"Wasn't gonna," he smirked, grabbing your hips.

You bit your lip to keep from crying out, the climax building. You lifted your hands to his neck, needing something to grab hold of.

"Oh my God." You weren't sure how much longer you could hold out. It felt so good, you could barely breathe.

Suddenly Harry moved his hands to the underside of your thighs, lifting them so that your feet were propped up on the counter. You let out a loud moan then, thinking surely whoever was out in the hall could hear you. But that only seemed to make it better, for you and for Harry.

"Fuck yeah, baby," he cried, moving in and out of you faster.

You came then, wanting to scream his name, but instead you bit his shoulder, the sound muffled by his shirt. Harry's body shook as he came soon after, a low moan of ecstasy.

When both of your quick breathing subsided, Harry pulled up his pants and helped you down off the vanity. You giggled when you realized your panties had been tossed across the room, retrieving them from the other side of the toilet. After you put them on and readjusted your dress, Harry gave you another kiss.

You waited a few minutes, listening for signs of life on the other side of the door. When you heard none, you slowly opened it and peeked out.

"All clear," you called.

Harry followed you out into the hall, and you both rejoined the party. Perhaps no one was the wiser, but the idea that someone might have heard you was taboo and titillating. You smiled as Harry put his arm around your waist, handing you another glass of wine.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

I also have a handful of shorter fics which I consider blurbs rather than one-shots. They are all less than 1k words. I am thinking of just posting them as one long post rather than individually. Let me know your thoughts.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[moonytoonsy]

[this time written on a piece of paper that looks like it had been ripped from a journal. Hand writing is still messy, but easily legible, and any words scratched from the paper this time were scratched out due to a rewording not a misspelling. A smell still lingers on the paper, but this time it’s the smell of a flowery perfume, not rancid alcohol.]

Dear Dekarios,

I do not remember sending you a letter.

Now, I don’t doubt I did. As amusing the idea of you creating a fake letter just to send me a correspondence back is, that seems out of your character, I would never expect you to be nearly so… desperate? And unfortunately, writing and sending a letter to a man I haven’t talked to in years while in too inebriated of a state to remember it does not seem out of him.

I hope whatever was in that damned letter of mine was nothing too horrible, though considering your post script, your talk of hatred, and your need to question whether or not I ever mucked up tampered with your portal… I get the idea impression I may have admitted to a few things I am no longer so proud of.

In any case, I am glad to have your correspondence. And I am happy to hear to you didn’t hate me. Trust me, though, you had no reason to envy me. A few spells casted with ease is nothing compared to a large ever growing vast collection of spells casted with little difficulty. You are were Mystra’s chosen after all, you had no reason to envy a simple sorceress, even if I’m still of the belief I have more magic in one horn than an average wizard does in his body. But you are no average wizard.

At least your magic doesn’t come with the ever present risk of turning into a cat though that is rather nice sometimes, or a potted plant, or summoning a mephit, or shrinking, or teleporting into a wall, or blowing yourself up.

You get the general idea.

I’m glad surprised to hear you missed me. If I knew Gale Dekarios, great mage of Waterdeep previous pain in my ass missed my company I may have written sooner, even if only to wonder why. You mentioned yourself in the beginning of your letter that I wasn’t exactly doing the greatest, something I’m not surprised but half ashamed you were able to deduce so easily. You were right. I am not great, but I’m fine. A bit more worse for wear since the last time we’ve met that’s for sure, but fine. Nothing extraordinary, good or bad. The idea you’ve missed my company seems laughable. The fact I’ve somewhat missed yours seems imaginary.

Here is the part I would normally try to defend that I wasn’t drunk when writing you, but quite honestly I doubt I’d fool either of us, so instead I will simply write it is a bold claim of you to assume I’ll ever be sober.

On a more serious note, your offer is kind. I’ll think about it, but more than likely I doubt I’ll ever manage the trip to Waterdeep. I’m not sure if even want you to see me as I am now. The trip to Waterdeep is a long one, and one I doubted I’d have the time nor ability to undergo. As ridiculous as the notion sounds, I have responsibility here. A sister, friends, shockingly a steady enough job I’d prefer not to repeat here.

But who knows, perhaps some day I’ll make the trip simply to see what in the gods’ names I wrote in that initial letter to you.

No matter if I ever make the trip or not, I’d like to keep in touch. You’re right, it’s been too long, but even if we can’t speak, I would like to keep writing you. Assuming my handwriting is more legible this time, of course. And perhaps one day we will get the chance to speak, if you’re ever in Baldur’s Gate, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me lurking around somewhere.

Hopefully not making a fool of myself, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I hope to hear from you, or read from you, again.

With love, a fool

-Irisa

Ps. I’m sorry to say I did tamper with your portal home. A bit. I suppose even if my younger, hormone riddled brain couldn’t figure out if I could tolerate you or not, it knew I didn’t want you to leave.

{written on pub stationary, stained with aclohol. The hand writing is messy, obviously written in a less than sober state. The paper is creased and crumpled, as though it’s original destination was to be the trash bin. Multiple words are misspelled or crudely scribbled out.}

~

Dear Dekarriose Dekarios,

I guess youre actual title now is the Wizard of Waterdeep, it may be inappropriate to still simply call you ‘Dekarios’ or ‘Gale’. I still will, change all you want, detest me all you want for it, I cannot change that image I still have of you from our youths.

A cocky bastard smug young man who probably had a good reason for being smug. A learned young wizard who, despite his inherent talents, buried his nose in a million books a second to learn more. I hated you for it back then. I think I hate you for it now.

I don’t know. I’ve never understood it. I never figured out how you could be more with so much inherent magical talent, but not enough to make you a sorcerer. I never understood how you could be more in control of your magic than a sorcerer. I never understood how we could be the same age, and yet when I first started my academic career at Blackstaff you were already finishing yours. I admired you for it, I hated you for it.

I thought you hated me too.

Not hate, that’s not right. I thought you abdhorred disliked me. I thought in some way, it was okay, we were rivals. We had our fun, I cursed you a few times (if you never knew that was me doing it. Sorry.), you explained every spell you knew in such detail I assumed you were being condescending on purpose. I casted spells with ease without trying but I could never learn a new spell. You learned a million new spells but took great effort in casting them. I hated you for your succeeding where I failed. I thought you felt the same.

I question that recently. I have people who hate me now. It’s not the same. If you did hate me, I guess I liked the way you hated me, it was more fun than how I’m hated now. But did you hate me? Were you being condescending, or did you just like to talk about things you found interesting? Do you even remember a word I’m writing down? Do you remember me? I can’t bame blame you if you don’t. It’s been so many years, even I only remember once I’ve reached the bottom of a bottle, but I remember a lot.

I’m reaching the end of the page. I feel I’ve written a lot about nothing, so I guess it’s time I cut to the chase. I do miss our rivalry, our misadventures, our friendship, whatever you’d call it. I miss Gale Dekarios, the smug little bastard that once tried to tutor me. I miss you.

I wish you the best,

Irisa

-~•~-

{set before the events of the game, written by my tiefling Tav, Irisa, a wild magic sorceress who briefly did not know she was a sorceress, thus she briefly tried to learn Wizardry at Blackstaff. It did not go well. In her time there she had a rivalrous relationship with Gale, because the two of them were young and immature, and eventually she was expelled from the academy. Years down the line her life is not great, she’s drunk a lot, misses petty arguments with our favorite wizard, reflects on their time together, and wrote this letter and sent it out when drunk and probably forgot all about it come morning.}

Dearest Irisa,

Your letter, though quite barely decipherable, comes as a bit of a shock for me. I did not expect to receive word from you after so many years, and though I can tell you’re not doing exactly the greatest at the time of writing, I hope you’re well otherwise.

It may shock you to know that, despite how many years it’s been, I do remember you. For all it’s worth, I remember the rivalry between us. Who puts a Wizard and a Sorcerer in the same fold? I’ll never understand how that came to be, but it was an enjoyable few years with you there.

I do get that a lot, the admiration and the hatred all mixed in one. It may do well to understand that I am, or, rather, was one of Mystra’s chosen. Though my abilities as a child were to be challenged, it was all because of her. It’s not every day you have an eight-year-old human practicing magic, and Mystra knew that of me. She’s the only reason why I had such control and understanding, though it helped being quite studious.

Despite it all, I can say I never did hate you. You pushed me to countless new limits, helped me see my oddities and how to work through them, and showed me the intensity of magic on a grander scale than reading books ever could. You brought out the best in me, regardless of our differences.

While I didn’t hate you, I can confidently say I did envy your ease in casting spells. If only I could whisk a spell together that easily! Concentration gets the best of me nowadays, perhaps I should have practiced more of that while at the Academy.

I do sincerely apologize for any condescension you may have felt. I tend to do that at times apparently! It was a genuine interest on my part to have someone who shared a similar understanding with me, and I wanted to tell you of all the worlds we could both accomplish. My mother has quipped it as “Galesplaining”, whatever she intends that to mean.

I remember you completely. All the glory, the joy, the hurt, the failure. It’s ingrained in my mind and I doubt I can ever sand it away. I wouldn’t want to, either. You made my time at the Academy more enjoyable than it had been for years. You changed me, in some of the best ways imaginable.

I can’t deny finding myself at the bottom of a bottle stirring over the past, much like yourself, wondering what I could have changed or done differently. Maybe we could’ve stayed friends, that’s a nice alternate reality to think of.

I miss you, too, Irisa, even if you were the cause of all my misdemeanors and failures when my day started on the wrong foot. I have to know, were you the one who caused my portal home to get so out of shape?

When you’re sober, I implore you to visit my tower in Waterdeep. I’d like to catch up with you, it’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂��𝒊𝒐𝒔

And, for reference, I sort of liked the way you hated me, too.

text reads: gale dekarios

[mailorderfictionalcharacter]

ok, tfatws shipping thoughts:

Sam/Bucky: expected to be into this based on ca:cw but I’m more into Sam & Bucky. Failed to be sufficiently gay (or so homophobic it circles back to being gay) in my eyes.

5/10

Sam/Steve: obvs sinks the ideal of healthy samsteve unless you go canon divergent some point before or after a:iw BUT I think a story about Sam watching his bf go live with his dead dead gf and then having a weird but consensual revenge friendship (or f*ck) with bucky would be deliciously funny and ironic so 

5/10

Bucky/Leah: I did not expect to become a Bucky Barnes het shipper, time to hand in my lesbian card, but here we are. I very much enjoy the idea of superheroes pairing off with normies and Leah seems like someone who could handle being adjacent to that sort of crazy world. Like, levelheaded but still a bit spontaneous. 

8/10 because leaving ur first date is a point against. 

Bucky/Sarah Wilson: they are very cute! Sarah’s already handled being adjacent to the superhero world and bucky seems like he’d be content to be a happy supporting character in her life. bucky has retired from being an important person and now does nothing but make dinner for his cute girlfriend and her annoying brother that he barely knows, no, he’s never met that man before in his life. Sarah’s like <heart eyes> hi cute white boy stay on this boat forever and help me annoy my brother. On a more serious note, Sarah would probably appreciate having someone who’s had some heavy life experiences already to emphasize with her since she’s a widow who also had to go through the blip. 

9/10 

Karli Morgenthau/Sharon Carter: I see the potential particularly with bitter and not SHIELD associated Sharon. 

5/10

Karli Morgenthau/Sarah Wilson: They passed the bechdel test, so I’m sure they can pass over Karli’s little murder threats. Srsly though, Sarah Wilson offering to take in the young anarchist and help her cause while slowly growing closer to her and torn in different directions because of her connection with her brother 20,000 word fic? yeah. God tier. 

10/10

Helmut Zemo/Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes: three idiots on a plane, none of them should probably be doing this, but here they are anyways. 

7/10

Helmut Zemo/Sam Wilson: not 2 be gauche, but part of the appeal in this is how many people are passing over black characters for Zemo but also how everyone who points this out seems to feel the need to be like “why would anyone ship zemo, he’s evil, how dare.” 

So anyways, Sam Wilson is looking at Zemo like, “I’ve made worse decisions, right? Right?” Because he should not be having a four hour conversation with this terrorist about music but like, maybe he should? It’s a really good conversation, dude has a bit of a playful and sexy aura about him, ha ha but what if- ?” 

10/10

Ayo/Bucky: I feel like they maintained mutual respect after a very deep dividing conflict... probably has some staying power. don’t have any idea how I’d go about it, but I’d definitely be open to seeing some of it. 

6/10 

Ayo/Helmut Zemo: This is a terrible crackship would-never-fecking-happen of an idea, but it would be very interesting to see two individuals with strong and opposing moral codes come to a sort of impasse/connection somewhere in their discussions and then become uncomfortably aware of the not so different you and I moment whether in a platonic or romantic context

9/10

[r0b0-writes]

looking for ramble topics so authors synopsis of your favorite mn/the cove/both chapter !

I chose: Chapter 6 of Musical Nerds

Okay, so I'd first like to state that I love the irony in how much Cakes loves his car and how he takes such good care of it, but in actuality, it's probably a junk car. And also how Sweet feels just a tad jealous of the car, iconic.

Anyway, okay. So, the beginning has a few things to take note of. There's some foreshadowing about the reason why Cakes didn't have his license yet. He's so secretive, why? However, Sweet doesn't question the answer that they're given. We learn Cap'n isn't going to the party with them and will show up later because he wants to look 'stellar'. Cap'n's the type to want to show he put in effort, especially for occasions or events he thinks is important. They get to King's party and Sweet has a moment of doubt, but K_K's reassurance that they can leave anytime keeps them going. Sweet is excited to explore the house. They get really excited to see the most mundane of things. A waterbed, a lava lamp. Wonder why those things seem so interesting to them?

We also see that King has some disgust for public declarations of love with him telling K_K, "You got issues, dude. Real issues." When K_K says that he loves Sweet for being so excited.

Sweet has a realization that he's not being mocked. Swatch has given them compliments on how they look and no one has pointed or laughed at them for being new to this sort of thing.

Sweet leaves the scene and we see Mark and Jevil, the two jump onto the chandelier and start swinging and drinking on it while Sunny ends up rescuing them. In a slightly inebriated state, Mark has a moment of weakness and compliments Sunny.

We go back to Cakes and see that Queen, Tasque, and Swatch have been asking him a ton of questions about Sweet. All Cakes cares to give as to his reason for liking Sweet is "he's cute!" but we know there's more to it than that. He mainly doesn't go into it because he knows that the three are gossips. (More on that in later chapters). We learn that King is supposedly 'affectionate' with Queen and that's why she likes him.

K_K gets possessed by breakdance music.

Sweet runs into Spamton while getting tipsy and finds out Spamton does NOT like K_K at all. Spamton feels upset that K_K gets to be popular when he's the onw who's been working to be popular for so long. It's unfair! He's supposed to be the [[ Big Shot ]]!! Sweet takes huge offense to this. (Also should be mentioned, Spamton talks 'normal' during this chapter).

Cap'n arrives! He finds out that Queen was not the one to invite him to the party. His heart is crushed. Or is it? He thinks to himself about why he even likes her. He somewhat comes to the conclusion that he likes her because she's easier to like than Sweet or Cakes. The main reason is that he's been friends with Sweet for so long. And he was still a little unsure about Cakes at this time.

King has entered the chat! King wrote the note! King insults Cap'n's dad! Cap'n insults King by reminding him that "at least my dad loves me!" King threatens to break Cap'n's handle!

Sweet has entered the chat!

When Sweet shows up... it's devastating for Cap'n. The last thing he ever wants is for Sweet to get hurt. Sweet, now drunk, verbally insults King, saying nobody likes him and is only scared of him. Including Rouxls.

King implies that he'll make Sweet speakerless like Mark. Sweet insults King's relationship with Queen.

King goes to hit Sweet, but Cap'n jumps in (like a hero)! Funny how he couldn't stand up for himself, but when Sweet was in danger, he didn't hesitate.

"He just couldn’t let Sweet get hit, never again. He squeezed the space below King’s neck tighter. He’d never let Sweet get hurt like he did. Never again."

Never again? Has King and Sweet had a confrontation before? Oh well.

King manages to get Cap'n off of him. Cap'n tries desperately to get Sweet to run away, but Sweet doesn't want to. They've been pushed around too long and they're tired of seeing Cap'n being pushed around, too. They push King into the pool just as Cakes comes out.

King tries to attack SCC, but they run away and ruin a lot of the party in the process.

Mark slashes King's tires so he doesn't follow them.

They escape and get to hope that nothing bad happens to Mark. But, they end up figuring that if anything happens to Mark, that King would have to deal with Sunny, which no one wants to do. (She packs a mean punch when she's angry)!

[juminies]

Thank you Xela, you're so very kind. It means a lot to me, really 🥹💕

I actually tend to struggle with endings (I don't want to make them feel too abrupt or out of place) but in this case I felt relatively confident about that last line so I'm happy to hear it left an impact!

I know you said recently you're interested in hearing about writers' processes, so let me indulge you if you'd like to know more.

The last line was actually one of the first things I wrote, before even the majority of the vague comic script. I did the secret ending again after I replayed Saeyoung's route and of course (because I'm a Jumin MC, it's only natural) I found myself thinking about Jumin's role in it all. I wanted a sort of character study(..?) type piece focused on him alone. Not so much any of his relationships, but his emotions within his isolation. Originally when I decided to make something myself I didn't want to get too deeply into his grief itself but rather explore his frustration, and comic form made it feel more (for lack of a better word) lighthearted. Sort of easier to work with a heavy topic in a different format? But I'm just a writer at heart, I think. And so when I was working on fleshing it out I had to look more closely at the bigger picture, and my direction changed a bit. With that came the gritty, hopeless, stubborn, lost Jumin.

The circumstances leave Jumin with practically no chance of closure, and a lot of untied threads. Usually he is very grounded. He's someone who wants clarity and concrete answers. All of the events of SE.. provide him with neither. He would not take that well behind closed doors. I imagine that once the immediate aftermath of the disaster becomes slightly less of an impending cloud of doom and Jumin's responsibilities are let up a bit that's when it would really start to get to him. At this point he's done thinking about how Jihyun died and all of the chaos that came after. He doesn't have anything much to keep him as ridiculously occupied anymore, and part of him wants to relax, but all that happens is the thoughts and the guilt of the before catch up to him. So he withdraws, because he can't let this part of him (the perceived weakness) shine through. In keeping to himself he becomes a bit more like V, in some horribly sad way.

My idea about the marriage question came from V's dying spiel about always being with Rika I think? But that question specifically was something that began as sort of a placeholder and ended up sticking. I just knew I wanted to include something small between Jumin and Jihyun that was always intended to be innocent curiosity but sort of became twisted in the weight of everything that happened. Something that Jumin could grasp onto and solidify an answer to as a result of V's death.

I could have made the letter even longer in this version, but I decided I wanted to try and at least somewhat keep in tact the desperation in the original idea. That one was already shorter, it was supposed to come across less composed, more sleep deprived and inebriated and angry. My plan was actually to have Jumin's handwriting get messier as it continued – an idea which could not smoothly come to fruition in this version, as I knew I wanted both to end on the letter and not have it broken up. I think it worked out like this, though.

Here's a handwritten version I did of the draft of the last part to give myself an example while I was brainstorming!

talk to him

post secret ending. jumin doesn't mourn (except he does).

angst, referenced character death, implied alcoholism, secret ending spoilers

AN: I originally had this idea a couple of months ago with the intention of it being a letter from Jumin, accompanied by art in a sort of comic style. I have come to realise it's somewhat unrealistic that I'll ever actually finish that hahaha. I still didn't want the idea to go unseen forever, though, so on a whim I fleshed it out for it to make sense as a fic :-)

☁︎

“You’re not normal,” Zen mumbles, clearly irritated that he isn’t getting through. Jumin has been listening but has little to say – the alcohol has his brain too clouded and he’s too focused on the fact that Zen’s glare feels as though it could kill him if he’s not careful. Jumin hates it; hates that he’s being interrogated in his own home; hates the way he feels trapped; hates the familiarity of being seen as abnormal.

He tries to suppress the brewing unsettling feeling that some sort of Medusa is standing in front of him. The RFA does not need to lose another member in a matter of months, and while Jumin thinks himself more logical than to believe that Zen could possibly petrify him, there’s something in the back of his mind that whispers the chance of danger.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here,” Jumin says, if not just to break up his own thoughts. Zen continues to hover near the doorway of the penthouse. He hasn’t moved since he arrived eight minutes and twenty-four seconds ago, and has essentially repeated himself five times, though it still isn’t making sense.

“I told you. I– Saeyoung and Yoosung are worried about you.”

“Then why aren’t Saeyoung or Yoosung here rather than you?”

Zen huffs and clenches his fists. “Stop being so aggravating and just– Everyone is worried!”

“Then tell them not to be. My emotions are none of your concern, and to be frank I’d much rather remain a pillar for you all in situations like this.” He swirls the amber liquid in the glass he’s holding. “I am used to enduring. I have been enduring for months already and I will continue to endure. Now, if we have nothing else to discuss and you aren’t in need of my assistance, feel free to leave.”

Jumin feels Zen’s eyes leave him, finally, and he takes the opportunity to look up. He takes a victory sip of whiskey when he finds that Zen’s hair has not turned into snakes.

There’s a long, haunting silence. Zen wanders a few steps across the room to a bookcase and picks up a photograph lying face down on a shelf. It had been placed face down on purpose, but the actor takes the opportunity to stand it back up.

A much younger, happier Jihyun stares at Jumin from within the frame. His once loving gaze now feels even sharper than Zen’s.

“Maybe you should try talking to him,” Zen finally suggests. He spares a glance to the almost empty glass of liquor as he notices Jumin put it down on the side table. “Or writing, or something other than sitting around drinking your feelings away like an idiot.”

“To whom, exactly?” Jumin asks, though he knows, and he can already feel Zen's patience withering away.

“V.”

Jumin subconsciously digs his nails into where they rest on his thigh, hard enough that it’s certain to leave little half-moons in his flesh – even through the thick material of his trousers.

“I said what I needed to at his funeral.”

As if he hadn’t tried calling Jihyun’s phone tens of times since he passed, hoping for one more chance. He had only gotten to hear his voice through the answerphone message twice before the battery died along with its owner.

“Listen, trustf–” Zen starts, a little too angry. He takes a deep breath. “We all know you’re not coping as well as you’re pretending to. He was your best friend! You’re allowed to be upset. You should be, even!”

“Again, it’s none of your concern.”

Zen lets out a sigh, or a grumble. Jumin can’t tell.

“Whatever. I’ll get going.”

Jumin hums, displeased, and looks at the clock as the younger man turns and reaches for the door handle. Eleven minutes and eight seconds of Jumin’s time, wasted.

Then Zen pauses, turning back to where the director is seated, one leg crossed over the other, nails still pressed harshly into dark grey wool. Jumin doesn’t look away, even for the still lingering fear of being turned to stone. He continues to count the seconds that build up.

“Just think about it.”

—

Jumin has barely slept in days. Sometimes the wine – whiskey on worse nights – puts him to sleep, but tonight he’s angry. Too angry to sleep, though he won’t admit it to anyone but himself. The others might assume things; place wild bets on whether or not he cares, but they don’t know unless he tells them. And he won’t.

It’s almost 4am when he finally moves from his position on the couch. Surely he may as well try to get some sleep. An hour and a half is better than none.

As he stands and turns toward the direction of the master bedroom however, the picture Zen had repositioned on the shelf hours before catches his eye. And he does not go to bed. He places the frame face down again and makes his way to the old desk in his barely-used home office.

He sits with nothing but the word Jihyun written in front of him for twenty minutes, unable to form words on the page, then tries to give up. He leaves the room, the light flicking off behind him bathing him in darkness once again.

He walks back past the bookcase. Backtracks; stands the photo up again. He loiters in front of it for a few seconds, unable to pull himself away until he suddenly feels compelled to apologise (though for what he's not sure).

He goes back into the office. He doesn’t bother switching the light back on, instead opting for a dingy reading lamp he’s had since he moved in. He’s half surprised to find the bulb hasn’t run out.

His pen scratches as he begins to write, on the verge of running out of ink.

Jihyun.

When we were young, and you asked me, “Which one of us do you think will marry first?” I was certain it would be you. It just made sense, did it not? You were always warmer than I was. You were more approachable. For better or for worse, you were more willing to give up everything for someone you loved. So when you told me that you were to marry Rika, my congratulations were promptly followed by an “I told you so.” I thought it was entertaining that you weren’t sure what I was referring to, but my memory always was better than yours, wasn’t it? You couldn't even recall once I told you the story; explained what you had asked while you were feeling somewhat existential about our futures one evening shortly before I left the country for college.

Of course, when Rika left us I was heartbroken – for you more so than I. Congratulations had quickly become condolences. Did I ever tell you, though, that I always thought you handled her death extraordinarily, despite the distance it put between us? Because I did. At the time, I did. It was only as she stood silently across from me in the churchyard three months ago that I came to understand why you seemed to take it so well.

When we were young and you asked me, “Which one of us do you think will marry first?” I was certain it would be you. But considering it now, you always were so stubborn. Too self-sacrificing.

I can’t help but feel a little regretful for telling you that I will never forgive you for leaving on your own, though it’s true. Don’t you know you had so much ahead of you? So much you could still have ahead of you? Had you just talked to me; had I just been more persistent. I think you’ve left me with more questions than I started with.

I also have one more answer, however. It seems it will be me.

[shy-peacock]

Hey! How are you doing? I'm that anon that asked for Namaari taking Raya in all fours a long time ago. Loved your answer, dude. Your smut it's just incredible. Now, I think I've read all the smut abalible for this ship and I need to scratch a very specific itch, if you're willing to. In your SKC AU, I really want to see Raya take Namaari apart completely. Like, riding her face, spanking her, idk. All that stuf that's usually reversed. No need to answer if you don't like the idea tho!!

Hello again!

Not exactly what I’m sure you meant, but I hope you like it! This Raya in my fic SKC isn’t really one IMO to be more dominant in that sense. But the Raya in the Tutoring AU might????

Either way! Here is what I wrote.... enjoy! PART TWO OF Phil’s Wedding Prompt XD LMAO Rated M/E for-...you know 

The wedding didn’t get any better from that point. Another hour in the sun followed by being trapped in a tent that was far too crowded and the food more artsy than actually good. The entire group was led to greet with the Bride and Groom who, of course, mentioned the fact that Raya knew the woman. That being an awkward encounter on all parts, except with Phil who had clearly no idea how any of them knew each other.

Watching people who didn’t know how to dance.....dance. Downing champagne that was cheap but the only way to forget about this event. Even the cake sucked, which put Sisu in a foul mood.

“Who the fuck orders lemon cake for a wedding…LEMON?!” She cried, disgusted with the treat in her mouth. “This is the stuff they feed people who have committed crimes!”

Honestly, Raya couldn’t agree more. Hardly touching the food at all, just the drinks. Taking sip after sip of the champagne as the night wore on without much thought to it. Not until they were leaving the party for their hotel rooms, Raya standing up to take a step forward and nearly falling flat on her ass.

Definitely too many drinks.

Which had Virana laughing who also had a bit too many drinks (wanting to forget this whole event ever happened). Namaari assisting her wife while Benja, the gentleman that he was, helped Virana. The two women fairly normal until they reached the hallways of the hotel they were staying at where they suddenly became amused by everything around them. The two bouncing off each other’s energy, not so much drunk now but certainly silly as one would walk only to stumble and the other would laugh and then also trip over their clumsy feet. Resulting in them both erupting into hysterics.

Much to Benja and Namaari’s demise. The two being far more responsible in that moment as they helped the women to their rooms.

“You sure you don’t need assistance, Benja?” Namaari called, finding it much simpler to just pick her wife up in her arms over walking her. The two parting ways with the others as their rooms ran down a different hall.

Benja, red in the face from trying to keep up, waved her off.

“I-…got this!” He breathed out, feigning confidence, “I’ll have your Mother in her room in no time!”

Namaari smirked and pointed down the hall, “you’ve got a runner-“

Benja turned on his heels, seeing Virana leaving around the corner. A heavy sigh falling through him as he gave chase. Namaari leaving that challenge up to the man. Taking care of Raya who was tamer now that it was just the two of them.

Well…somewhat tame.

Less disruptive, but quite a lot more of something else.

Raya’s head was swimming along pleasantly in her inebriated phase, cozy and safe in her wife’s arms as she brought them to their hotel room. Plopping her down on the bed before she turned back to lock the hotel door and began to take off her shoes and undo her dress. Moving along just fine while Raya could only manage to sit up.

Raya watched her, enjoying her body then as it was on full display for her as her dress hit the floor. How her lingerie hugged her bust, just begging to be pulled off. Every inch of her practically calling Raya to have pressed against her, wanting her skin on her. Apparently she had been staring for awhile as Namaari looked over and a smug look filled her face as picked her dress off the floor. In nothing but her undergarments now as she shifted closer.

“Like what you see, dep la?” She teased, bending to give her a small kiss before grabbing her hands, “come on, let’s get you out of this dress and get you to bed so you can sleep this off.”

But Raya no sooner was pulled to her feet, standing before the bed, when she crashed their lips together. Arms wrapping around her neck, tugging her tight against her body. Namaari nearly falling forward into her, catching herself before they fell onto the bed. Melting into her kiss, clutching her hips tight, before moving back.

“Apparently that’s a yes, you do-“ Namaari breathed out, amused as Raya tried to pull her into another needy kiss. “Dep la, you’re-“

“I want you to touch me.” Raya hissed, her eyes lidded, aroused yet dazed from the drinks. “With your tongue-“ she added, which caused a tremor down Namaari’s spine at the neediness of her voice, “please?”

“Are you sure?” Namaari asked, “you’re a bit dru-“

“I’m fine, I’m totally so fine-“

She laughed, “are you?”

“Yesss” Raya whined, tugging her head down so that she could kiss her. Sloppy, messy, Raya’s body arching into her when she felt Namaari’s hands move lower. Cupping her ass, squeezing it, a moan tearing up her throat. “Dep la..”

“Shhh,” Namaari whispered, smiling in between peppering her lips with kisses, “I’ve got you”

Namaari moved until Raya’s body bent back into the bed, crawling over her as their lips connected once more. Heated, hands roaming as they fit perfectly against each other’s form. Kissing slowly, deeply, Raya’s moans increasing in volume as they went. Her teeth taking ahold of Namaari’s lower lip before saying-

“I wanna ride your face..”

Namaari honestly felt she would pass out at the words. Hot, breathy against her mouth. Her wife smiling wickedly, knowing exactly what her words did to Namaari. Hand gripping the back of her head, tugging her hair gently.

Namaari gave her a quick peck on her lips before she rolled onto her back, putting a pillow under hear head as she gave Raya a coy look.

“Climb aboard then.” She said, loving the way her wife crawled over to her then. Throwing her leg over her body, across her chest.

Namaari leaned up, pushing Raya’s dress up. Rising past her thighs, hips, until Raya bunched it together by her stomach where Namaari kissed along her skin there. Licking the space, teasing her around her belly button while her nails lightly dug into the small of her back. Lower, hooking her underwear down and off as Raya shifted from one leg to the other until the fabric was being thrown off to the side. The dress as well, leaving her in only a bra.

Namaari’s hands once more coming up to touch her waist, to guide her as she straddled her head. Knees pressing down into the mattress, her thighs skimming her ears. Already, Raya was taking a fistful of her hair, her hips jutting forward in her desire to have Namaari’s tongue working her up. Which her wife planned to quickly partake in, eager more to please her than tease.

That first touch was everything. Raya knew she was craving her, but it was a totally different sensation to actually feel her tongue run across her folds. Dipping inside her, having a generous taste of her. Raya was already wet, hot from their kisses, though she imagined she was like a waterfall now that Namaari’s mouth was on her. Not that she could imagine a lot, not with the overwhelming sensation that plowed through her body then. Her mind shot, gone, a blur of feelings over coherent thoughts. A tingling, almost unreal, pleasure seeping through her that had Raya whimpering as she slowly canted her hips down into Namaari’s waiting mouth.

“Ah…dep la..yes..” Raya whined, her mind bursting at how good it all felt, from the sucking wet noises of her wife’s mouth to the way she clutched her hips and pushed her further into her ministrations. Raya truly going for a “ride” as she bucked into her faster now. “Fuck..me…ha..yes!”

Namaari hummed in response, her tongue vibrating against her clit that had Raya writhing above her. A gasp filling the air when she felt her teeth gently scrape against her, eagerly, which had Raya’s own teeth sinking into her lower lip. One hand coming up to run through her hair, tugging it as her head fell back in her pleasure.

It was insane how good she felt. Raya unable to tell if it was the stress of the annoying day, the alcohol or the way Namaari’s skillful tongue worked her; but God…damn…she was so into it right now. Raya couldn’t stop how her body was reacting to Namaari, how that little dip in her gut was begging for release. It was making her so wet, so needing to be fucked, that she couldn’t help but rub her need harder then. Namaari not at all seeming to mind as she practically was drowning in between Raya’s legs, pulling her down hard as she pushed her mouth roughly into her.

“Fu-ck…I’m Ah…yes!” Raya screamed, after a powerful flat lick. Long, hard. Hitting a spot on her that was just right. “Maari-“ she whined, needing release, her body bending forward. Riding her face unashamedly.

Namaari’s hands ran up, one clutched around her thigh while the other went to her breast. Fondling them, brushing her thumb over a hardened nipple under her bra. Teasing them, squeezing, until Raya combusted.

She came, yet even still Raya rocked into her. Namaari slowly licking her now, allowing Raya to come down on her own pace. When she finally did, she practically flopped onto the bed then. Panting, spent, her body curled now while Namaari sat up. Her hair an absolute mess, face red and shiny, yet holding the biggest smile on her lips as she wiped her chin.

“I think I stopped breathing like five times..” she joked, dramatically, Raya laughing in response. Weakly, her body so satisfied yet exhausted as Namaari loomed over her. Kissing her skin softly as she removed Raya’s bra carefully, and then pulled back the blankets to help settle her in.

Still, even as she did, Raya pulled her closer as she played with the band of her underwear. Leaving sloppy kisses against Namaari’s pulse, wanting to touch her then.

“Raya you’re falling asleep,” Namaari laughed, “don’t worry about me-“

Raya mumbled something that was half “it’s okay” and “but I want to”. But before Namaari could even question what she had said or advise her to sleep, her wife was passed out. Mid-kiss, her face buried in Namaari’s neck. The Fang Leader pulling back carefully, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous she looked then. Pursed lips, wild hair, the complete look of someone who had drank to much and passed out with such “grace”.

Namaari tucked her in, removing the rest of her clothes completely before plopping down at her side. Blissful, exhausted, and mostly thankful they didn’t have to be back early the next day. Allowing the both of them to simply rest off the chaotic event they had to attend the day before.

.

.

.

.

.

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~* Bonus scene!*~

Namaari: (wakes up after hearing a knock on their hotel door, quickly gets dressed and answers it to find Benja standing on the other side)

Namaari: ah...wha-?

Benja: I lost you mom..

Namaari: ....

Benja:....

Namaari: okay, let me get my shoes on...

~*later that next day*~

Namaari and Benja: (falling asleep on the ride home)

Raya: geeze, why are they so tired???

Virana, shrugging: I have no idea.

.

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.

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.

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~*ANother bonus scene!!?!?*~ (edit)

The waiter found her off in the corner, passed out, smelling like lemons and cake and champagne all at the same time. The blue haired woman, curled up in a the table cloth from the wedding party, slowly rose up as he nudged her with his foot. Confused as to why even now, hours later, she was still here at the reception. Well after the bride and groom and all the guests had gone home.

“Do you need me to call a cab, M’am?” he offered, “why...are you still here?”

She mumbled something in response, utter nonsense to the man.

“What?”

“I said..the writer forgot about me..so she wrote this so I’d have a decent ending to this prompt..” the blue haired woman said, speaking even more nonsense that the waiter could not understand.

What prompt?

What writer?

Clearly she was crazy, yet the waiter couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation at her words. Feeling as though, right at that moment, he was being watched. 

“Right...well, I’ll give you another hour..then you’ll need to leave..please..” he got out, turning then as he prepared to go. Not wanting to linger in this space any longer than he had to.

“Don’t worry.” the blue haired woman scoffed as he did, “the story will be over by then.”

[huihuiheart]

Spiked - Minho

Part of @clandestine-lixie ‘s Smutmas Collab and a great excuse to get some more Minho on my page! 

Summary: It’s pretty much tradition at this point that Changbin spikes the eggnog at the annual Christmas party. What happens though when secrets slip through drunk lips and aren’t forgotten the next morning? At least not forgotten by the very person you confessed to. 

Pairing: Minho x F! Reader

Warnings: Drinking (not drunk when having sex), drunken confessions?, cursing, some angst in the beginning, smut, lovemaking, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving), lots of petnames, moments where Minho is kinda smug, lots of praise, it’s sugary sweet, mild sir kink for a moment, fingering, some playful teasing.

I sincerely apologize but I haven’t had time to edit this yet, so...please excuse any errors and stuff I’ll be getting to those when I have some time. I wrote over half of this today with a migraine so we’re working on fumes here. Also if something seems off I apologize, I’ve never celebrated the holidays before so I honestly don’t know what Christmas is like....sorry.

Word Count: 4,992

“Awe don’t tell me you’re already finished taking bets? I haven’t even got mine in on how long before Changbin tries to get us all drunk.” You tease the rambunctious group in the living room as you remove your shoes by the door. Christopher joining you a moment later to help you with your coat, hanging it up for you as he often did. 

“Hey, don’t look so glum. Felix was just getting to the interesting wagers now anyways. Bets of any kind are in Minho’s care this evening. Gifts for tomorrow morning under the tree as always.”  Chris caught you up with where the ever excitable boys had already impatiently gotten up to, before stepping away with your coat so you could join the others.

“So what did I just miss then? You know the topic that had you all in a giggle fit?” You raise a brow as you claim a spot in their circle, between Minho and Hyunjin.

“Oh we were just discussing the last bet. Not that you’d be able to participate anyways seeing how it was about you.” Jisung smirks wickedly until you match his gaze with your own that was just as devious, making him fold in an instant, or so you think, “Just betting on whether we thought you’d stay the night or not this year.”

“That’s not interesting though, I stay practically every year cause I’m too drunk to go home alone and none of you will take me.” You chuckle shaking you head, “ A better bet would be who will get drunk the fastest, my money’s on Hyunjin.” 

Minho took your bet money counting it out before the other boys made their wagers too, writing them all down as more and more bets danced through your group. Both those typical for the Christmas party and those unique to this year for whatever reason. Debates starting up over a few of them as they always did.

“No I’m telling you Y/N will be the first one to admit it. She always gets loose lipped when she drinks.” Jisung teases despite the validity of his statement, something you’ve proven true to them at more than just the previous Christmas parties. 

“Still who she likes is the secret she guards more than anything else, she’d have to be so shitfaced for that to come out it would be ridiculous!” Changbin counters, “ My money is on Felix, he was practically giving it away unprompted last year. It wouldn’t be too hard to get it out of him if we really tried.” 

“Maybe that’s just cause Y/N doesn’t trust some of you to keep your mouths shut.” Christopher shrugs as he takes a seat, though all eyes are on him not because of the motion, but because of his words. Giving away that you had already confessed your crush to at least one person in the room. 

“Wait. So you told him, but you didn’t tell me? What do we even gossip for? Let I’m lowkey offended right now.” Hyunjin whines used to being your partner in crime when it came to exchanging secrets about your group, even the things you’d never tell anyone else. Trusting the other to lock it down tighter than even their own secrets, even if you exploited that information at times. Like when Hyunjin conveniently ended up paired with his crush for every game of the spring break party.

“In my defense I was distraught and looking for you when it slipped. Chris was just the only one around, so he’s the one who got that information.” You counter knowing there wasn’t any taking it back at this point anyways, Hyunjin barely accepting your answer with a grumble. You were somewhat glad that it was the case though, he’d surely exploit the information tonight if he had it. In this case you should be safe, or so you thought before you noticed the subtle smirk on Christopher’s face before he glanced between you and the very crush you’d revealed to him....Minho.

“Hey, the boys sent me to see if you needed any help.” Minho steps into the kitchen watching as you moved to pull something out of the oven. Most of the food had already been prepped before you arrived so you offered to be the one to actually cook it. This being the fourth time in an hour and a half that Minho had been sent to check on you, each time he showed up besides you though he announced himself with those same words....the boys sent me. Them digging a little deeper into your heart whenever you’d hear them again. It implying that that he never actually chose to come to you of his own will, only coming to you since the boys told him to.

“I’m fine Minho. You can go back to the others.” Your words were sharper than you intended and it nearly made you wince, even if he didn’t return your feelings he was still your friend and you shouldn’t be so harsh to him. Sometimes your feelings managed to rear their ugly head before you could stop them though, something you’d feel regret for later

“Rose....your thorns are showing again.” Minho’s gentle voice says the familiar phrase as he moves to stand at your side. His nickname for you with a subtle announcement of the fact that your emotions were slipping out quicker than you often registered, something he always managed to stay calm through no matter how snappy you sometimes got, “I don’t know what riled you up, and I don’t have to. You should go take a minute to calm down though. I’ll watch the food.”

The way he spoke to you was enough to calm you down enough to regain your composure, but not wanting to be so close to him and unintentionally get worked up again you conceded. Slipping outside into the frigid air for a few moments to collect yourself before finding the others in the living room again, sitting besides Christopher now.

“The eggnog spiked yet?” You question with a soft sigh as you lean against his shoulder, causing him to chuckle and nod, “Good, cause I’m going to need a drink to make it through the night.”

“You drunk yet Y/N?” Changbin teases as he pours you another glass. Internally cursing him out, he knew damn well he put something stronger in the eggnog this year without any warning. Knowing that you and Felix at least would try to keep up with everyone else despite being two of the light weights of the group. The others in that category smart enough to stop before they could make a fool out of themselves, even accidentally.

“Not drunk enough to lose to Felix or spill any secrets yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” You call him out, brow quirking as if to challenge him to tease you again. The alcohol buzzing through your system making you more confident in challenging them, even if it slowed your wit slightly. 

“Nah just wondering if you’re drunk enough to at least confess you’re spending the night? Well officially anyways. We thought of a way to determine who you’re going to stay with tonight.” Changbin brings his own glass to his lips, hiding his smirk knowing that Christopher had come to him and Hyunjin with a plan to rig it so that you’d end up with Minho. 

“Fine, I’ll confess to that.” You chuckle not catching onto their schemes, “So how are we figuring it out then? What’s your big, genius plan?” 

The sarcastic way you’re carrying yourself makes Hyunjin snicker, leaning towards Christopher, “Oh if only she knew...” He shakes his head slightly before shaping up, to hide any suspicious acts from you, “Simple, you’re just drawing the name out of a hat. You know the deal though, you only get to pick once and that’s who you’re stuck with.”

“Yeah, I know the deal.” You sit up further waiting for them to bring the hat over, the liquid courage running through you making you feel really good about your odds. It was only a 1 in 8 chance that you’d end up picking Minho, you were most likely safe from your crush. Well the possibility of embarrassing yourself while alone with him anyways. Or so you thought until you managed to pull his name out of the hat.

“Well.....I guess I’m rooming with Minho tonight....”

"Alright I think that's enough for one night." Minho takes the glass from you before you can get it refilled yet again. You'd lost count three drinks ago, hoping you'd get passed out drunk instead of having to face him. Luck wasn't on your side this evening though as Minho still had his wits about him and he refused to let you do something dangerous to your health.

"But Minho, if I'm not drinking what am I going to do?" Your whine is only added to by the small subconscious pout adorning your drunk face.

"We've both had enough and are going to bed now. It's 4 fucking 37 in the morning and you know someone's gonna be waking is up too goddamn early hangover or not. So if you wanna drink something it'll be water on the way to bed." Minho insists moving to help your inebriated form up from your seat on the floor and towards his upstairs bedroom.

"You can use the bathroom, I put some clothes in their for you so you can sleep comfortably." Minho sits on th edge of his bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through seeming almost entirely disinterested as you wobble off to the bathroom. Not getting far though before you have to pull the door open with a blush, your shirt wedged half on with only one arm successfully out.

"M-Minho I got stuck, c-can you help me?" Your words held no room for any hidden implications, especially not when panicked tears started to well in your eyes.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I'm gonna help you and you'll be just fine." Minho coos trying to reassure you, not knowing your panic was partly due to having to face him like this. His warm hands gently in the way they helped untangle you from the shirt you'd somehow managed to get trapped in.

"There you go, all better. Now go get those warm clothes on and get in bed before the cold settles in too much." He insists gently wiping away the last of your tears before you returned to the bathroom.

Silence filled the space when you returned, saying nothing as you switched places with Minho. Sliding into the bed while he was in the bathroom. It wasn't like you'd never slept there before, staying with the boys frequently meant that you'd slept in all their beds at some point but never since your feelings for Minho had developed so much had you stayed in his. Never after you'd felt like you'd embarrassed yourself beyond repair in one evening either. Not realizing you were sniffling with a fresh batch of tears until Minho returned.

"Hey what's wrong rose? You've been upset all day. Please talk to me, we don't like when you're upset." Minho's brow furrows as he uses the paw of his sweater to gently wipe away the tears again.

"I-It's just so hard Minho. I don't know if I keep doing this." You feel exhausted from the alcohol, the excitement throughout the evening, and now an emotional breakdown too and yet you needed to get this off your chest or even that might not be enough to let you get rest tonight.

"What is? What's hard? What can't you do?" Minho asks feeling his heart bleed at your distress even if he was able to stay as calm as he was.

"L-Loving you...."

You had passed out nearly the moment those words had left your lips, but Minho couldn’t, not after your confession. It had been the last thing he’d seen coming after trying not to look desperate to you all day. Yet you’d confessed to him of all people and it weighed too heavily on his mind for the next two hours to even consider getting any sleep. Only getting maybe two hours in before an excited Jeongin bound in to try and wake you both up so everyone could come downstairs for Christmas. Though Minho ensured he never got to you before he shoved him out with hushing sound. Slipping down behind him to grab some water, coffee, and pain meds for when you’d wake up. Telling the boys you’d had a rough night, probably drank too much, and should be left alone to sleep as long as you needed. Not expecting you to already be shifting awake when he returned to the room. 

“Hey, you can sleep more if you want. It’s alright.” Minho gently brushes the hair out of your face as your eyes slowly blink open, leaning into the warmth of his touch without realizing, “I brought you meds and coffee if you’re felling hungover.”

You accept his help to sit up and take the meds, willing your fuzzy mind to clear enough to recall what happened the night before, “Minho...d-did I do anything last night? I-I can’t remember.”

Minho froze debating how he should answer that, he wanted to be honest with you, but after seeing how upset you were the night before he didn’t want to embarrass you at all, “W-Well, umm....”

“I-I said something didn’t I?” You could read his face for once, the calm demeanor gone and it telling you something had happened. The way his eyes widened at your question was enough to confirm what you thought as panic bubbled up and made your throat feel tight, “W-Whatever I said I didn’t-”

Minho cut you off by pressing his lips to yours quickly, feeling his own panic, “P-Please don’t say that you didn’t mean it. I think I would die if I lost the hope that you actually loved me back.”

The panic stopped almost instantly, feeling it dissipate as you processed his words, “L-Love you back?....Y-You mean you love me too? B-But you were acting like I was such a bother yesterday.”

Minho sits on the bed, pulling you into his arms before you could cry again, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I-I just didn’t want to look desperate when I couldn’t think of a reason for you to love me too.” 

“You’re an idiot, I was literally like so obvious.” You whine softly and he chuckles though his focus seems to shift as his gaze falls to your lips, “You can kiss me again you know....a-after all we both just confessed so it would make sense to...”

Minho’s eyes flick back up to yours as a smirk forms on his face, but he makes no smart comment as he gives in to what both of you are wanting. Leaning in to kiss you again, less panicked this time as his lips softly meld with yours. Though the both of you were pouring too much emotion into it for it to become anything less than desperate. Now that you had each other you needed that more than air itself, it remaining sweet despite the way you both chased after each other as if afraid this would all disappear if you separated for any real stretch of time.  You feel the faintest trail as Minho’s hands move from holding you against his chest to cradling your head as he lays you back onto the bed. 

“If you want to take things slower then just say so. I-I just don’t want to let you go.” Minho’s voice comes out so light you wonder how you hear it over the beating of your own heart, especially with how it races when his lips press a fleeting trail down your jaw between his words. 

“Y-You don’t ever have to slow down Minho, I’ve wanted this.....wanted you for too long to do that now.” You insist with a low moan as his lips press a little firmer against a sweet spot on your neck.

Minho hums against your skin too caught up in you to care about words when he could show you how he felt better anyways. His hands gripping at your sides, thumbs rubbing soft circles as if he’s afraid he’ll break you by being too firm. So you decide to make a larger move, reaching to grip the hem of his sweater and pull it off him, letting your hands and eyes roam his newly exposed skin. The feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips heating you up inside, the flame of desire flaring up faster than you would have thought possible if the person before you had been anyone other than Minho. Minho’s hands gripping yours before looking up at you for permission, hesitating even as you nod.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?” Minho’s fingers peak under the hem to rub gently at your skin beneath it.

“Well if I am then I guess you’ll just have to warm me up.” Your words seem to light the same fire in Minho as he doesn’t hesitate a second longer to his sweater off you. Hands running over your stomach to squeeze your breasts through the bra, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Guess I will.” Minho speaks against your lips, tone deepening as he lowers again moving to rid you of your bra as his lips trail towards your chest. You nipples pebbling slightly from the frigid air and his advances, but noticing the unpleasant chill that runs through you he presses against you more, letting his warmth radiate onto you. His warm mouth closing around your one nipple as his hand toys with and warms the other, switching between them with a new path of kisses to make sure they get equal attention.  Until he gets impatient to show his affections elsewhere and his mouth lowers while adding soft nips between kisses to reach the hem of the sweatpants he gave you to wear. His fingers nimble as they work on the tie, though he doesn’t do more than that until he has permission from you to pull them down and leave you in only your panties.

“Oh the thoughts I had while helping you get untangled from your shirt last night my flower, and to think now a few of them are becoming reality.” Minho places a kiss to your hip, as his hands gently spread your legs, loving the way he’s able to fluster you so easily, “I’ve been dying for a taste and you’re not making it any easier for me. May I?” 

The way he drags his thumb over the wet patch of your panties makes it hard to respond when you’re moaning and focused on that surge of pleasure, but the thought of getting something more urges you to form words, “Y-Yes please, I’ve been wanting to feel your mouth.”

��All you had to do was ask precious.” Minho gently blows against the wet patch making you squirm before kissing your thigh and slipping off your panties and lowering himself between your legs, placing the gentlest of kisses to your clit. The way you whine impatiently makes him chuckle against your core only making you squirm, his thumbs rubbing softly against your plush thighs as he grips them firmly to keep them open instead of impeding his work. He has no intent on tormenting you with teasing, not this morning anyways, but he still wants to savor the moment. The way he licks through your folds slow yet firm enough to spark delicious waves of pleasure through you, enough so that you can’t complain too much about his pace. Minho’s tongue and lips working everywhere to get every last drop of you that he can, while also focusing on your reactions to find what makes you feel the best. Knowing that his own patience will wear thin soon enough and he wants to know how to throw you over that sweet edge with more intensity than you thought possible, wanting to make all of you feel as amazing as his heart did upon hearing your confession. 

“M-Minho please, I want to feel all of you.” Desperation bleeds into your words and actions as you squirm against his grip, hips trying to roll against his mouth and it has his eyes darkening with a new surge of lust. Nearly giving into you pleas, but you’re his first priority and it has him pulling away slightly making you whimper.

“Shh pretty girl, shh.” Minho coos softly, grip loosening as he runs his hands over your thighs and hips trying to get you to relax some, “Calm down, don’t get so worked up. I’ll give you what you want, I promise. You just need to calm down so that I can get you ready for me. We’ve waited a long time I know, but you can be good and wait just a little longer can’t you?”

This time a simple nod isn’t enough for him as he’s a little firmer with you in this moment, pinching your thigh lightly as he demands your words, “Y-Yes sir, I can be good for you.”

Minho has to take a deep, shuttering breath when he hears the word sir fall from your lips so perfectly, now was not the time to lose control, not when he wanted to show you every emotion he’d had trapped inside for so long. Not when he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. Yet, it does have him snap a little as he dives between your legs again with more purpose. Lips suckling and kissing your clit like his survival depended on it, eyes locked on your face as he feels your fingers weave into his hair. The soft tug you give has him moaning against your clit, only adding to that pleasure as he eases a finger in, though it’s not long before he’s able to add another. Curling them with each thrust in search of the spot that would have you trembling against him, thriving off the pleasure he’d able to feed you right now, nothing else in the world mattering more than your cries for him and the way you lose yourself to the sensations. He knows he’s found that spot, when you’re clenching around him, practically sucking his fingers in, thighs shaking as your edge hovers so close and yet just barely out of reach. 

“Minho, please I’m close. Please make me cum or give me your cock, I-I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Your pleas sound magical to Minho, it being enough for him to give you what you want, speeding up his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit as he brings it between his lips again. Willing to throw your over the edge for the first time, so that he can have you losing his own patience as your nails drag lightly over his shoulders. The was you fall apart beneath him is like a work of art, the most beautiful Minho has ever seen as he slips his fingers from your spasming core to gently lick over you and ride you through the pleasure until you come back to him. Kissing you briefly before licking his fingers clean while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re sweeter than I ever could have imagined my flower.” Minho hums in approval, his smirk almost showing more in his eyes than on his lips. You’re quick to respond though not wanting him to drag it out any longer.

“I bet we’d taste sweeter together, but there’s only one way to find that out now isn’t there?” You purr back as your fingers work to untie his sweatpants, gripping both them and his undergarments to impatiently push both down at once. Freeing his beautiful, hardened length to you finally. Not giving him to to ask for your permission before you rub his tip through your folds, leg locking around his waist to urge his hips closer. Your actions seem to be enough as he places his hands on either side of you, slowly pushing in and leaning in as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

“You were awfully loud earlier flower, if you don’t quiet down then all the boys will know what we’ve been up to. Do you want that?” Minho’s question is somewhat serious, but it also holds a teasing to it as he’s proud of the fact that he can make you feel good enough to be so loud. You getting him back by rolling your hips against him and earning a groan from him. Hands slipping around his neck to tug him down and tease his lips with your own.

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” Your words are almost daring and they have him crashing his lips messily against yours as his own hips start to move against you. The patience between you both is gone as he finds a quick pace and yet he’s not manhandling or overly rough in his treatment, the erotic scene still one of passionate lovers. Baring their emotions to each other in the most desperate of ways despite not being able to handle a slow pace any longer. It being everything you could have asked for and more, right now you didn’t need the soft, slow lovemaking. You need this the desperate lovemaking, the kind that showed that Minho had been longing for you just as much as you’d been longing for him. The kind that showed that you were his now and that he would show you that in every way possible for as long as you would ask it of him. Where every move he made was to find what made you feel best, because you were what he most cared for in this world and where it was so much better than he could have imagined that he wasn’t sure if he could hold off. Though he was intent on your pleasure coming first as he angled himself to perfectly hit the spots he found brought you the most pleasure with each drag of his cock, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit as his other hand tangled into your hair to keep your lips pressed against his. Taking in all of your moans as your pleasure explodes once more, the feeling of you cumming on his cock enough to send him spiraling into his own high as he moans into your mouth in response. Slowing his thrusts as he rides you both through your highs. Hands gently tracing shapes over your heated flesh, finding you glowing in the aftermath of your climax.

“Come on my flower, I’ll help you shower before we join the others.” Minho kisses your forehead softly before scooping you up to take you to the bathroom. Getting you in the steaming shower as quickly as he can so that you won’t have to face the cold while bare for too long and so that you two can be quick enough to be able to get some food in before the others ate everything. Not that he wouldn’t cook you up a good breakfast if it came down to it. Willing to shower you in all affections imaginable after what you both had just done. Though before long Minho had you both cleaned up and in warm fresh clothes, going down the stairs to join the others.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?” Jisung questions Minho slyly as if they hadn’t all heard what you two had been up to earlier. Minho knew what he meant, but still didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah well I took a shower, so I put on something else.” Minho shrugs pulling out a seat for you, before taking his own so you two could eat breakfast as well.

“Oh did Y/N shower too? Her hair is all damp still.” Jisung innocently inquires taking a bite of his pancake trying to hide his smug expression. Minho gently moving your damp hair away from your bare skin so that it wouldn’t get too chilled.

“Well then you obviously know the answer.” Minho rolls his eyes adding his portion of whipped cream and other sweet toppings to your plate instead of his own.

“Hm I just find that interesting considering we only heard one shower running.” Jisung smirks at you both as the others snicker and chuckle, teasing you all through breakfast while exchanging knowing looks. 

The teasing had died down some later as you all gathered around to exchange gifts. Feeling your heart stutter as you hold Minho’s in your hands, the man seeming flustered as you go to open it. Finding a small necklace inside one that looked like a lifeline with a heart at the end, flipping it over to find his initials on the back besides yours. 

“So if things had been different this would have been when I confessed.” He admits in a soft whisper into your ear,  a blush adorning his cheeks so beautifully as you laugh softly.

“It’s alright I liked the way things turned out much better anyways.” Minho admits before the guys pretend to gag and whine at all the pda they were witnessing.

“Alright enough of the mushy stuff, you have to open mine next.” Hyunjin dramatically insists shoving his gift in front of you, a pretty envelope sitting on top and beckoning you to open the card first. Your attention immediately drawn to a special little note at the bottom...

PS. Minho’s name was the only one in that hat.

“Well guess I ruined your little plan huh?” You tease, flustering along with him as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek in front of everyone.

[rare-blog-enteries]

Beauty and Hatred sitting in a tree / K I S S I N G

Date: 4 September 2022

My partner in literature @pagesandproses

Sometimes I wonder if I drink moonlight. True love is often described as intoxicating. And I often find myself inebriated afterwards...as I am right now, perhaps that is why I find myself overwhelmed and yet somewhere deep down….very very very deep down, a little happy.

Thanks for all the encouragement in your previous email. I can’t begin to tell you how comforting it was.

I find myself being full of hate today. I doubt the reasons for it will be comfortable for you to read. I’d rather not burden anyone with it. However, I do not wish for that to be reflected in this email. So, here are random things I find beautiful. I will express the strength of my anger and hate through beauty. So here’s me channelling my inner Van Gogh.

As Ali Smith wrote once,’It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four.’ A simple line but it made me emotional. Perhaps it is just the emotions and hormones in me. Perhaps it is the moonlight. Perhaps I am mad. Perhaps it is just a beautiful line.

I was walking today to a really beautiful and somewhat wild park. It is very close to our hostel so we often walk there before dinner to either idle around (as we did today) or walk as fast as we can and call it ‘exercise’. While walking towards the park, I saw the sky and the brightness. I love when the street lights are not the usual white kind. When they shine that deep cadmium yellow glow into the concrete streets…oof. It just overwhelms me. It is one of those subtle moments of admiration; admiration of the world, of the concept of beauty, of the realisation that maybe humanity has not fucked everything up. So insignificant, but honestly these were the exact thoughts swirling in my brain as I walked to the playground.

Van gogh. People say that his work reflects the beauty in pain. He was hurt and yet he beautified life. He reflected the world he saw in his depressed state. I would beg to differ. I read that he was not allowed to enter his studio when he had his depressive/self-harm episodes because he’d try to consume the paint, which in those times contained toxic metals. So, he could only create art when he was trying to recover. He does not reflect pain, he reflects the desperation to get better; to regain the right to find peace in art, which was stolen everytime he got worse and to recover enough to fight the world that stood against him in every step. I find that beautiful.

And the horizon. I also love when the sky is deep blue and the horizon is just like nah man, I feel pink today. It reminds me of when I first read about Persephone on Tumblr, badass queen of the underworld and the pretty goddess of flowers. The range! This is how I calm myself down when I find myself contradicting my thoughts. If the sky, vast, immaculate and powerful can choose to be so unique and express so much at once then perhaps I will be okay too. I'm only me. Nothing more. So if the sky gets away with it then so can I. Now I just have to wait for someone to find my shades as pretty as I find the sky to be.

Sometimes I am materialistic, sometimes I wish to run away with nothing but strength to survive. And that’s okay.

I’ll be okay.

Perhaps.

Your messed up weirdo

Misty

[catb-fics]

So I got this as a request today but I’d already written it (great minds think alike!) It’s an old fic but I re-wrote part of it. It’s pretty dirty so don’t read it that’s not your thing! But if it is... enjoy! 

Then There Were Three (Van and Bondy) 

Warnings: loads of smut / Word Count: 4.4k

You all tumble out of the taxi and into the hotel, laughing and rowdy.

"Oh my god Y/N, I can't believe how drunk I am!" Your friend Ellie’s very loud in her drunken state and she’s finding it hard to walk straight. Her boyfriend Bob’s supporting her as she stumbles along.

"Come on Ellie, let's go back to our room," Bob urges her.

"No way it's party time!" She giggles.

Bob doesn’t look too happy but carries on steering her along the corridor and past their room to Johnny and Van's suite. You can’t help but giggle along with Ellie. You’ve never seen her this drunk before and to be honest you’re pretty inebriated yourself.

You’ve been seeing Johnny for a while now. You met in a bar in Newcastle, and the attraction was instant. You’d both been drunk enough to let that attraction lead you back to his house that very same night where you’d ignited a passion that still hadn't cooled months later. He had an insatiable sexual appetite and an overwhelming curiosity for trying new and daring things that you didn't think you’d ever get used to.

Johnny and Van had obviously arrived back from the club before you as the door of the suite’s flung open by Johnny as soon as you knock.

Ellie stumbles in and crashes straight on to the sofa in a giggling heap, much to Johnny's amusement. Bob's reaction is the complete opposite. He immediately goes to her and helps her into a sitting position.

"Come on, lets go back. You're completely wasted Ell."

"Bob stop being so serious! Let your hair down for once!" You giggle.

Johnny joins in. "Come on man, she's got a point! Drink?"

As if on cue Van appears with a tray of shot glasses and sets them down on the table. "Come on Bob, tonight's been class. We gotta carry on!"

Ellie immediately lunges forward and grabs a glass before throwing her head back as she downs the contents. Bob looks on exasperated, but then picks up a glass and follows suit. You all start cheering and finally Bob seems to relax a bit. Van puts some music on and the party gets wild pretty quickly as the shots are knocked back.

Johnny keeps trying to steal you away to his room at every opportunity but you manage to escape his grasp, enjoying the company of your friends too much. There’s plenty of time for that later.

"You're fucking driving me crazy tonight, come on Y/N," he says as he corners you on the way back from the toilet.

He pushes you up forcefully against the wall but you manage to slip away, teasing him. "Good things come to those who wait!" You call behind you, looking back with a sexy smile as you make your way back to the party.

The buzz from the alcohol is strong now. You close your eyes and start to sway to the music and the beat thuds in your head. You open your eyes to see Johnny standing across the room watching you hungrily and fix him with a steady gaze as you swing your hips slowly in time to the music and lift your hands up in the air.

As you turn slightly you become aware that Van is also looking up at you... not just looking but staring. He’s sitting on the sofa and he can’t take his eyes off you and he doesn’t seem to care that you’ve noticed. You immediately feel your heartbeat quicken as you glance around. Bob and Ellie are dancing together wrapped around each other, completely absorbed.

Despite being with Johnny, you’ve always had a little attraction to his friend Van. It’s never been an issue, it’s just one of those things. He’s a good looking guy and you can’t help but appreciate that fact.

Spurred on by the feel of both Johnny and Van's eyes on you and the drinks you’ve consumed your inhibitions slip away. You close your eyes and tip your head back, running your hands down your body as you dance. As you open your eyes again you notice that Johnny has joined Van on the sofa. You wonder if he's noticed how intently Van’s also watching you. Knowing him he'd probably get a kick out of it.

Just then you feel small hands around your waist. You turn your head and Ellie’s there, pressing into you from behind and grinding her hips. You both laugh and you carry on as you lean back into her, moving your hips to match hers. Johnny and Van watch on whilst Bob sits on the sofa looking somewhat uncomfortable. This makes you and Ellie giggle.

"Come on Bob," Ellie purrs. "Come join us!"

After a while, Johnny gets up and heads over to the bar area, coming back holding a bottle and a few shot glasses.

"Let's play a game!" He announces.

Ellie starts to jump up and down, clapping her hands, squealing with delight. Everyone looks at Johnny expectantly as he set the drinks and glasses down on the table.

"Everyone does a forfeit or drinks a shot!"

Bob stands up. "Ellie I don't think you should have any more, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Ellie looks at him and then steps forward, defiant but laughing. Bob frowns.

"Well I guess I'd better do my forfeit then!"  She giggles.

Johnny has a mischievous grin on his face as he speaks. "Ellie, why don't you give Y/N a kiss?"

You and Ellie look at each other and laugh, and all of a sudden she’s there in front of you, grabbing your face firmly between both hands and pulling you closer.

"Ellie..." You hear Bob call but you both ignore him.

You lean into the kiss and Ellie's soft lips met yours, your tongues running over each other sensually. You close your eyes and kiss her passionately. Silence falls over the room until Ellie pulls away, giggling.

"Y/N you're such a good kisser!" She exclaims, slurring her words.

You glance around and your eyes fall on Van.

You’ve never seen him so quiet. He’s sat back in the chair, head slightly reclined, his piercing blue-green eyes fixed on you both. A little thrill runs through you and you quickly look away.

"Ellie we're going!" Bob’s suddenly next to you and grabs Ellie round the waist. She falters and her legs give way. She probably would have collapsed into a heap on the floor if Bob hadn't been there to hold her up.

"Thanks guys, I told you she'd had enough to drink earlier!" Bob speaks in a stern tone.

Johnny holds his hands up. "Sorry mate, just having a bit of fun."

Bob starts to lead Ellie away and she can hardly put one foot in front of the other.

"I don't feel so good," she whines.

“Come on, I've got you." Bob reassures her.

As Bob practically carries Ellie out of the room, Van gets up and shuts the door.

"Then there were three..." he says, looking from Johnny to you.

Johnny’s chuckling. “Shit, I feel bad now."

"No you don't, you git!" You laugh playfully.

"Hey Y/N, don't get cheeky with me, it's your turn for a forfeit!" He smiles and you roll your eyes dramatically.

What crazy shit does he have in mind for you? You stand looking at him defiantly with your hands on your hips. Johnny looks from you to Van and back again.

"Now you gotta kiss Van," he says.

Your stomach drops like you’re on a rollercoaster and you look at him with your mouth agape, heart pumping hard. You daren't look at Van.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Why not? You've kissed everyone else tonight!" Johnny’s smiling, enjoying this.

You shake your head as you step towards the table to pour a drink, and that's when you hear Van speak and it stops you in your tracks.

"I don't mind, you know."

You slowly turn towards Van and he steps towards you. Is this some sort of test? You glance at Johnny and he just smiles, a sexy little knowing smile that makes you squirm inside. What is he playing at?

Your heart’s hammering so hard you think it might burst out of your chest as Van comes to a stop right in front of you. Your eyes flick to Johnny and then back to Van. You lick your lips nervously, almost wishing you could bolt for the door, but you can’t back down now.

Van stands there close enough to touch, looking at you with an intensity that makes your head swim. His gaze goes to your lips and then back to your eyes as he slowly leans in to you. You swallow deeply and take a sharp breath as your lips meet.

You start to kiss and it’s slow and sensual and it makes your heart race. His tongue moves gently against yours and you feel yourself melting into the kiss. He’s not rough and urgent like Johnny but still insistent. After a moment he senses you start to pull away, but presses his lips harder against yours. You resist and he lets you go, stepping back with a little smile on his face.

You’re not sure how to react, you look between Van and Johnny with a nervous little laugh. You’re just hoping that Johnny can’t tell how much the kiss with Van turned you on.

"I... errr... gotta go to the toilet!" You blurt out, and you whirl around, pushing past Johnny, not wanting him to see the flush that’s risen to your cheeks.

Johnny still has that smirk on his face and you feel yourself bristle a little. This is just like him to put you out of your comfort zone. He loves to push the boundaries.

You close the door firmly when you get into the toilet and pace up and down, trying to get rid of some of the nervous energy that courses through your body, quietly cursing to yourself.

You replay the kiss in your mind and realise that your hands are trembling. This is ridiculous, it wasn't even a proper kiss, it was just a stupid dare. You take a few deep breaths and try to calm yourself. You’ve got to act completely normal when you go back out. The whole evening you’ve all been laughing and having fun and you need to just go out there and carry on like you’re not shaken up.

As you make your way back to the living area you can hear hushed voices and Johnny and Van look up as you step into the room. Everything falls suddenly silent so you force a little smile and speak, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"So... what are you two plotting?"

Johnny and Van don’t speak but exchange a look that instantly sets you on edge. You really don’t want another drink but feel awkward with nothing to do so you cross over to the table and pick up a glass. Your mind’s starting to buzz with all sorts of crazy thoughts you probably shouldn’t be thinking.

"Actually, I think I might just go to bed...” you announce, placing the glass back down.

Johnny steps over to you in a flash. “But the party's only just getting started," he says, slipping a strong arm around your waist, turning you around to face him.

One of his hands goes to the back of your head and he steps even closer, forcing you to move back until you feel the drinks counter hit your back and you can’t go any further. He leans down to kiss you, his lips mashing against yours fiercely. The suddenness of his action takes your breath away, but all you can think of is the fact that Van’s still standing there, and you pull away awkwardly.

A quick glance across the room confirms that Van is indeed still there. Surely he'll get the hint soon and go to bed?

You feel Johnny's long fingers wind through your hair as he leans down to kiss you again, and now he’s pressing his body right up to yours.

“Johnny... not now,” you murmur, pushing him back.

You’re aware of a presence right next to you and you’re shocked to find that Van has now made his way over and he’s standing just a foot away. He can’t take his eyes off you and you look at Johnny uneasily, slightly perturbed by the strange atmosphere that’s now fallen on the room.

Johnny reaches out a hand to your face and tilts your chin up so your eyes meet his and he speaks quietly. "Y/N do you trust me?"

At that moment you’re not sure you know the answer to that, so you say nothing and just look up at him. Your whole body feels wired with nerves. You see him glance at Van then, and they exchange a look which confirms what you’ve been thinking. Your heart immediately starts pounding.

Before you have a chance to react, you feel a hand slip around your waist. "Come here Y/N," Van says softly, and you feel him pulling you to him.

You hesitate, looking up at Johnny questioningly. “It’s okay,” he says, releasing his grip on you, urging you to go to Van.

“We're only gonna do this if you're okay with it," you hear Van say.

Two sets of eyes are on you now, and you look between your boyfriend and his friend. Van’s watching you carefully, cautious even, whilst Johnny’s eyes are dark and swirling with an unmistakable hunger.

“I... I don’t know,” you say, your voice coming out shaky.

“Y/N you know I'd never do anything to hurt you,” Johnny says softly. “Just go with it.”

Surely this is the stuff that fantasies are made of? You’re just not sure that you can let yourself go. And how will you all feel in the morning?

"Can I kiss you again?" Van says quietly.

You want him to, god you want it so bad, and something snaps inside you, your inhibitions slipping away. You take a deep breath.

“Yes...”

Van wastes no time in reaching for you, and he leans into you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss is deep and passionate, and you want to surrender yourself, but your mind is still whirring, wondering what Johnny is doing.

You don’t have to wonder for long. You suddenly feel his body pressing into you from behind, his hands going to your shoulder to push your hair aside.

Every nerve in your body is electrified, and when you feel Johnny’s lips brush your neck, something ignites inside you. He doesn’t let up, kissing and sucking at your skin, concentrating on that spot just behind your ear which he knows drives you crazy. A shiver runs through you and you moan softly into Van’s mouth, breaking away from the kiss.

You feel embarrassed by how obviously turned on you are, but Van just smiles at you. Then he glances down, his hands going to the buttons on your top. He starts to slowly undo them one by one, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You okay?” He whispers, and you just nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

As he opens the last button you feel Johnny’s hands again as he pulls your top back over your shoulders. It falls on to the floor and then you feel him unclasping your bra. Pretty soon you feel your bra slip down your arms and then you’re standing there naked from the waist up.

You feel so vulnerable yet so desired all at once as Johnny’s hands wrap around you from behind, cupping your breasts. He gently tugs on your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and it feels so good. Van watches on, his lips slightly parted, his breathing sounding shaky as his hands trail down to the fastenings on your jeans.

"Do you think you can handle us both then Y/N?" Johnny whispers into your ear, before his lips brush your neck again.

The way he says it sends a white hot flare through your body, but you’re also suddenly hit with the enormity of what’s about to happen.

"I don't know if we should be doing this Johnny," you say cautiously.

Van’s already unbuttoned your jeans, and he crouches down to start easing them over your hips but he stops when he hears your words, looking up at you.

Johnny’s voice comes from behind. “Come on baby... we’ll make you feel good. Isn’t that right Van?”

He returns to kiss your neck, his hands kneading your breasts. You look down at Van.

“Uh-huh,” he says, and you can feel your resolve weakening as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss just below your navel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really good...”

Despite your hesitation your mind’s already made up, and you reach down to continue pushing your jeans down your legs, kicking them off. When you look around at Johnny he’s smiling at you, his jeans already off and his shirt half unbuttoned. He knew there was no way you were going to resist.

He steps over, a hand on your cheek, and brings his face close to yours. “You won’t regret this,” he whispers as he kisses you again.

Whilst he’s kissing you he takes a hold of your hand, and then he starts to pull you across the room to the sofa, urging you to sit down. You do, and Johnny takes the seat beside you.

Van’s now just in his underwear and you take in his lean frame as he walks over and kneels down on the floor in front of you, his cool eyes locked on yours. You feel like your insides have turned to jelly, a combination of nervous anticipation and arousal. You swallow deeply, trying to hold it together.

“Just relax Y/N,” Johnny says, inching closer to you.

Relaxation is the furthest thing from your mind as Van’s hands go to your knees and he gently pushes your thighs apart. Then his fingers hook under the waistband of your lacy panties and you lift your body slightly to allow him to slide them down your legs.

Johnny reaches out and tilts your face to his, kissing you deeply. You try and concentrate on the kiss, but you can feel Van’s touch travelling up your inner thighs. As you feel his fingers connect with the sensitive flesh between your legs you have to pull away from Johnny, gasping at the sensation.

"Oh you like that do ya?" Johnny breathes, as his lips press against your neck. “You dirty girl..."

You feel Van start to explore between your legs. He expertly caresses you with his long fingers, achingly slowly inching one inside you and then another, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your clit until you’re squirming in your seat. Those rumours about him being good with his hands have definitely been proven right.

Your breathing’s coming in gasps now as Johnny's lips trail down to your breasts and he circles a nipple with his tongue before taking it into his mouth and gently sucking it. All the time he caresses your other breast with his other hand, your nipples stiff and sensitive to his touch.

Your body’s already starting to tremble from the barrage of sensations you’re feeling, and when you feel Van’s tongue replace his fingers your whole body convulses with the sensation and you can’t control the sounds of pure pleasure that escape you. His tongue relentlessly circles the bud of your clit, whilst his fingers pump inside you, swiftly bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

“Fuck...” you moan, glancing down to see the sight before you of these two guys satisfying you. It’s like watching your own personal porno and you’re the star.

The pleasure’s almost too much to bear and you writhe on the sofa, arching your back and tipping your head back, losing yourself to the exquisite sensations.

Soon enough you feel a huge pressure building in your core and you know that you’ve reached the point of no return. You bury your hands in Van's hair, tugging it at the roots, unable to control yourself. Your whole body goes into spasm as you experience an orgasm so intense you cry out. Your limbs are still trembling as Van pulls away a moment later with a self-satisfied little smirk on his face, licking his lips.

You hardly have time to catch your breath before Johnny reaches for your hand, pulling you on to your feet. "Come on, let's take this into the bedroom."

Your heart’s pumping with anticipation and nerves. Looking between Johnny and Van the hunger in their eyes is apparent and you’re suddenly a little apprehensive about the prospect of pleasuring these two guys who are gazing upon your naked form like they've just hunted down their prey.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit, and Johnny places his hands under your chin, raising your face up to him.

“Don’t be nervous Y/N, we’re gonna look after you, okay?”

He leads you by the hand over to the bed and climbs on, urging you to follow him. You kneel before him and he kisses you passionately, running his hands over your breasts and then trailing one hand between your legs, revelling in the sticky wetness he feels there.

"Mmm... you naughty girl," he says, his voice husky. “Van got you so wet.”

You feel your cheeks blazing with arousal and shame, glancing over at Van who’s looking at you with a sexy little smile on his face.

Johnny chuckles at your reaction. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed about how turned on you are baby. I like it.”

You watch as he reaches down to the waistband of his boxers, sliding them slowly down his hips, causing his erection to spring free.

“Come on Y/N... I have something for you,” he murmurs, grasping his hard cock.

You reach out, gripping his girth, slowly sliding your hand up and down his length, watching his face contort with pleasure as you do so. Then you lean forward on all fours, lowering your head, your lips brushing the head of his cock before you slowly start to move your tongue in a circular motion around the tip. A passionate sigh falls from his lips as he winds a handful of your hair around his fist. He starts to move his hips forward, desperate for you to take him further into your mouth.

You feel the bed dip behind you with Van's weight as he climbs on, his hands going to your hips and then reaching around to caress the wetness between your thighs, the sensitivity from your recent climax sending shudders through your body.

You try to concentrate on Johnny, taking his full length into your mouth whilst grasping his shaft, slowly, teasingly running your lips up and down, delighting in the way his breaths became deeper and more ragged, his hips bucking forward.

To your surprise after a moment Johnny pulls away and one hand goes under your chin as he raises your head up. His eyes are hooded and his lips are pulled into a devilish smile.

“I’d love to watch Van fucking you whilst your lips are around my cock. What d’ya say Y/N? Bet you’d like that huh?”

A dim part of your mind is telling you it’s wrong to be admitting to your boyfriend how much you want another man, but you’re all past that stage now. Your body’s practically on fire and the thought is such a turn on you hastily agree, seeing Johnny’s eyes cloud with a hungry kind of desire.

Van presses his hips against you, the head of his erection insistently pushing between your legs, sliding against your slick skin. You open your legs wider for him and push back on to him and he guides himself inside you.

“How’s that feel Y/N?” You hear Johnny say, and you pull away from him to answer just as Van thrusts himself deeply inside you. Your resulting gasps of pleasure give him all the answer he needs.

“Fuck... that’s so good,” you hear Van murmur from behind you.

The sensation of his thrusts make you gasp. He quickly finds his rhythm, and the penetration is so deep in this position you can’t contain yourself from crying out from the sheer intensity and pleasure of it.

“She likes it hard,” you hear Johnny say, his voice low and gritty.

Van grasps your hips tightly, picking up the pace, bucking his hips as he pounds into you, the sounds of flesh on flesh connecting filling the room. You grasp on to the bed sheets to steady yourself as he slams into you.

You return to the task of pleasuring Johnny, knowing he’s close by his ragged gasps and the way he’s jerking his hips. You grasp the base of his cock firmly, pumping your hand up and down, then taking him into your mouth as far as you can. You can almost feel yourself gagging as his hips jolt forward.

He groans loudly and his whole body tenses as he reaches his climax and his hot cum fills your mouth. You swallow everything he gives you just as you feel Van's thrusts becoming faster and more urgent, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly it will surely leave marks. With a guttural groan he pounds into you one final time, finding his release and spilling in to you.

You all collapse, spent on to the bed, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat, riding the high of the moment, the realisation of what you’ve just done searing your mind.

You look across at Johnny, who’s smiling at you with a kind of awe-struck expression. "You've no idea how incredible you are Y/N. Come on, come 'ere."

You move into Johnny's open arms and nuzzle into his side, turning away from Van. Your gut clenches. How are you going to face Van in the morning? Surely this is just going to make things intensely awkward between you all?

You expect Van to leave the room straight away, but to your surprise you feel his arm snake around your waist and he moves close enough so that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. He nestles into you and Johnny doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

"Mmm... that was amazing Y/N," Van whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder in a soft kiss.

And so you all lie there, locked together until sleep finally claims you.

[cruelangelstheses]

the whirlwind girl

fandom: six of crows rating: T characters: inej, nina words: 2.1k additional tags: modern au with magic, first meetings, sexual harassment, could be read as platonic or romantic description: when a drunk man hits on inej at a bar, a stranger comes to her rescue. a/n: HIIII i wrote this for the @sixofcrowszine which has now been shipped so i can post!!! i don’t have much to say except that this book absolutely enraptured me and i love nina and inej and their interactions with each other so !! girls <3 inspired by that prompt that’s like “you were being hit on at a bar so i pretended to be your partner to get them to go away”

read it on ao3

—

Inej isn’t sure why she’s even here.

She’s never been a fan of clubs or bars or similar establishments, especially not at night—too loud, bursting full with people whose inhibitions are hindered by alcohol. Besides, she’s just finished performing, and while the roar of a crowd cheering for her is much different from a bunch of random drunks, it still counts as being around people, and it drains her just the same. She prefers to spend her evenings curled up with a book or hanging out with a couple of close friends, not out late partying.

The whole reason she even came into the Crow Club in the first place is because she knows someone who works here, a funny and good-natured—if reckless—young man named Jesper, who spends about the same amount of time gambling during his off-hours as he does bartending during his shifts. Unfortunately for Inej, it turns out that Jesper, for once in his life, actually isn’t here tonight, even though he’s always here on Saturday nights. According to the current bartender, a slightly older man that Inej doesn’t recognize, he’s on a date, of all things, with a boy named Wylan. Perhaps she’ll text him about it later and ask how it went.

She’s happy for him, of course, but this also means that she has no business being at the Crow Club, so now she’s sitting awkwardly at the bar with a virgin pina colada in hand. She rarely drinks alcohol; she always needs to feel sharp, like the edge of a fresh blade. She knows she could just pay and leave, but it feels weird; she just got here. Maybe she’ll sit and people-watch for another ten or fifteen minutes, then slip out.

As this thought crosses her mind, Inej watches as a stocky, sweaty-looking man, already clearly inebriated, enters the casino...and immediately plops down onto the empty barstool beside her.

Inej takes a sip of her drink and stares down into the glass, pretending to be incredibly interested in its contents, but it does nothing to stop the man from leaning over and saying, “Saw your performance.” His breath smells of cheap whiskey, and Inej has to stop herself from wrinkling her nose.

“Did you, now?” she says without looking at him. Inej works the same job she’s always worked: she performs with her parents as a small troupe of traveling acrobats. Despite their occupation being somewhat unconventional in this day and age—circuses and such just don’t get as much traction as they used to—they manage fairly well. Besides, Inej lives for the thrill of the high wire.

“I did,” the man replies. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him grinning like a wild dog. “Impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” Inej drums her fingernails nervously against the glass and takes another sip. She can feel her butterfly knife up against her hip, but using it might get her kicked out of the Crow Club—which wouldn’t be a huge loss, really, except that she’d hardly ever get to see Jesper. She already doesn’t see him very often since she travels so much. Or maybe pulling a knife on a guy wouldn’t make a difference here; it’s far from the nicest place in Ketterdam, and Ketterdam is far from the nicest city in Kerch.

Unexpectedly, the man slings an arm around Inej’s shoulders. “What do you say to showing me a few more tricks, hmm?”

This is why Inej doesn’t like bars.

“Um.” She clears her throat, squirming slightly. “No, thank you. Uh, my parents wouldn’t be pleased.”

The man licks his lips. His eyes gleam with bad intentions. “Who says your parents have to know, huh?”

Before Inej can say or do anything else, a brown-haired whirlwind of a girl she’s never seen before marches up to them and says in Kerch, “Hey! Hands off my girlfriend!”

Inej can feel her face heating up. Either this girl has the wrong person, or she knows exactly what she’s doing.

The man narrows his eyes in confusion and reluctantly pulls his arm away from Inej. The girl, pale and curvaceous with bright green eyes, puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head in disbelief. “Honestly. I leave for five minutes to go to the bathroom and come back to find that someone thinks he can just put his hands all over her. I mean, have some damn respect!” At that, she points an accusatory finger at the man.

Alright. It’s definitely the latter.

“I, uh, didn’t realize she was taken,” he says as he looks the girl up and down. “But hey,” he adds with a sly grin, “the more the merrier, right?”

The girl groans. “Classic,” she mutters under her breath. Putting a hand on the man’s upper arm, she leans in and says, quiet but firm, “We’re not interested.”

The man’s eyelids start to droop. Then, a second later, he passes out face-first onto the counter. A few people turn to look in their direction, and the girl feigns concern, gesturing helplessly to the man. “I think he had too much to drink,” she says, which is probably true, to be fair. One of the bouncers sighs and wanders over to grab him.

Inej watches them in silence. It’s not until the bouncer and the unconscious man are completely out of earshot that she turns to the girl that rescued her and says, not unkindly, “You’re a Heartrender.”

The girl hops up onto the barstool previously inhabited by the drunk man. “That I am,” she says quietly, so as not to be heard by the wrong set of ears. Suddenly she’s speaking in perfect Suli instead of Kerch, perhaps to make Inej more comfortable. “But more importantly, I’m the girl who just saved your ass.” She shrugs. “I thought maybe I could get him to leave you alone without having to use my power, but then he got creepier, so I just kind of said ‘fuck it’ and lowered his heart rate enough to make him pass out.”

Inej laughs a little at that. “I bet that’s useful,” she replies.

“Oh, yeah,” the girl agrees, “but I’m also persecuted for it, so...you win some, you lose some, I guess.” She says it casually, but Inej can hear the bitterness behind it.

Inej isn’t a Grisha, but she is Suli, and she knows well the feeling of persecution. “I understand,” she says softly. “And...thank you.” She could’ve handled it—at least, that’s what she tells herself—but she appreciates the gesture, more than she can properly express.

“It’s nothing,” the girl replies, but the faint pink in her cheeks tells a different story. “I have a lot of experience dealing with men like that. I figured I might as well help you out.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Not that I don’t think you could’ve handled it yourself, but…”

Inej shakes her head in understanding. “No, I get it,” she says. “I’m good with a knife, but I didn’t want to use it unless I felt like I had to.”

The girl’s eyes gleam with interest at that. “Nice. Oh!” she says, looking as though she just remembered something important. “I just realized I never even introduced myself. I’m Nina. You’re Inej, right? Inej Ghafa? I know you from your performances. I’ve seen some videos of you and your family online.”

“Really?” Inej says. For some reason, it still surprises her whenever people tell her that they know her from the internet. She didn’t think her family was that popular.

“Of course,” Nina replies. “You guys are really phenomenal.”

Before Inej can come up with an appropriate response to the compliment, she feels her phone buzzing in her pocket. Pulling it out, she chuckles at the name displayed: Mama. “Speaking of my family,” she says to Nina. “Let’s see if I can even hear her over all this Saints-forsaken noise.”

Nina crosses her fingers in support as Inej answers the phone and puts it up to her ear. “Hello?”

On the other end, she can just faintly hear her mother asking her where she is.

“I’m at the Crow Club, Mama,” she says. “I was looking for Jesper, but he’s not here, so I’m coming back to the room now.”

Seemingly satisfied with that response, her mother wishes her safety on the walk back to the hotel and hangs up.

“Sorry,” she says to Nina, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “I should probably be going. I was planning on leaving soon anyway when that guy came over.”

“That’s okay,” Nina says, hopping off the barstool. “I was thinking of heading out soon, too.”

Inej sets some kruge down on the counter for the bartender, then follows Nina out the door and into the cool night air.

“Hey,” Nina says as they stand outside the club, watching cars go by. “Would you want to—I don’t know—keep in touch?” She blushes as she says it, which doesn’t seem standard for her. “I know we didn’t talk for long, but I’m not from Kerch, so I don’t have many friends here, and you seem like a really cool person. I know you travel a lot, but…” She trails off and shrugs.

There’s still that part of Inej that warns her to exercise caution, that just because Nina helped her once doesn’t mean she’s “safe” yet. Deep down, though, Inej can feel the goodness in her. She saw a stranger in trouble and immediately leapt to her defense, even though it could’ve ended badly, even though she could’ve exposed herself as a Grisha in a potentially hostile environment. The least Inej can do is allow herself to trust her, just a little, just enough.

“That would be nice,” Inej says, pulling her phone back out. “I can give you my phone number, and you can give me yours.”

Nina’s face lights up, and Inej knows that this is the right decision. “Great!”

They exchange phones and plug their names and numbers into each other’s contact lists. When Inej gets her phone back, she sees that Nina’s surname is Zenik. It flows nicely, like a stream unobstructed by rocks or logs: Nina Zenik. Nina Zenik.

“Hmm.” Nina taps her chin thoughtfully. “I was going to offer to walk you back to wherever you’re staying, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m mothering you or think you can’t handle yourself. But it’s also a late night in Ketterdam, and that’s dangerous for anyone, let alone a young woman walking by herself. Me as well as you.”

Inej would be lying if she said she didn’t feel at least a twinge of anxiety walking the streets of Ketterdam alone at night. Staring down at the new number in her contacts, an idea presents itself to her.

“We could talk on the phone as we walk back to our places,” she says. “That way you can make sure that I’m safe, and I can make sure that you’re safe. Then, if something were to happen to one of us, the other one would know.”

A flash of what looks like relief crosses Nina’s face before she quickly covers it up. “Good idea.”

Nina’s apartment is, of course, in the opposite direction of Inej’s hotel, so they go their separate ways until they’re out of each others’ earshot, and then Inej calls Nina.

“Wow, I haven’t heard from you in forever,” Nina says.

Inej laughs. “I know. Such an agonizingly long thirty seconds.”

It takes Inej about fifteen minutes to walk to the hotel, during which she learns that the reason Nina is in Ketterdam is because she’s studying abroad for a semester, and that she’s currently attending Os Alta University to be a translator. She tells Inej funny college stories, and Inej tells her crazy stories about her travels in return. Strangely enough, Nina’s voice actually grounds her rather than distracts her. It keeps her mind in the moment so that she never has a chance to get lost in her own head. She doesn’t usually let her mind drift when she’s out and about in a large city, but with Nina, the odds are even lower. It’s comforting. Her voice is a guiding light.

Nina arrives at her apartment first, but she stays on the line with Inej, who reaches the hotel about five minutes later. Standing outside the front doors, Inej promises to keep in touch with the whirlwind girl who bounced into her life so suddenly less than an hour ago. When they finally hang up, her chest feels light.

[ailec-12]

Prompt: AU, bored and exploring Malfoy Manor at a social function, young Sirius Black finds an old diary belonging to T.M. Riddle.

Thanks so much for this prompt, Anon! To be honest, at first I had no idea what to do with it, but it would seem Tom’s diary possessed me as well, because once I started, I couldn’t stop. I’ve enjoyed writing teen Sirius a lot, so I hope you’ll also like it.

Shout-out to @mariagvogel for making this one shot better with her comments. It can also be read on AO3.

I.

Sirius hated them all —every fucking member of his family. Nothing could really top his hatred for his mother, who insisted on dragging him to those pure-blood parties no matter how much her eldest son embarrassed her. He was wandering around, sneering at the portraits that lined up the walls of the Malfoy mansion.

Those events were always supremely boring, but Sirius had never felt so utterly alone. Regulus was socialising with their cousins like the good Black son he was. Yet, the only cousin that really mattered, Andromeda, was not present and no one talked about her. Her face still decorated the Black family tapestry, but Sirius did not think it would last long. It was a very odd feeling. When Andromeda talked about cutting ties with her family, they used to laugh about going out in style. He had not seen his cousin in months, though, and, if she had concocted any plans with her Muggle-born boyfriend, she had not breathed a single word about it to Sirius.

The dark corridor he was crossing at the moment threatened to be as dull as the guests downstairs. At least he had managed to slip unnoticed from the party. He could not have shown his distaste as freely there. A somewhat distant crack startled him out of his thoughts. He froze on the spot. That must be Dobby. Although Sirius could not say he liked the house-elf —who was always too overexcited—, he pitied anyone who had to live under the thumb of a prat like Lucius Malfoy. Dobby was also far nicer than Kreacher. Even so, if he saw Sirius snooping around, he would be forced to tell his masters. Sirius would rather avoid angering his mother so soon when there was still a long evening ahead of them.

Thinking on his feet, he walked quickly to the end of the corridor, where a door hid the stairs to the attic. Andromeda and Cissy had discovered that one dragging a very young Sirius with them. He could no longer remember the exact reason, but they had been hiding. It felt like a very far memory.

Sirius closed the door carefully behind him and waited until he heard the second crack that meant Dobby had left. The party seemed not to exist in the absolute stillness of the stairs and Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. Glancing up, he decided to head for the attic. It was a good hiding place if nothing else.

The room looked dirtier and more abandoned than Sirius remembered. It actually reminded him of their attic at home, full of useless and forgotten pure-blood memorabilia. He stepped around the worn-out furniture, dodging the odd-shaped items scattered in some parts. He could not help thinking that, if the rest of his friends were with him, poking around Malfoy’s stuff would have sounded much more exciting. Alone, however, Sirius did not truly feel like exploring.

Looking round in order to find at least something to distract him from the fact that there was no one to share his findings with, his eyes fell on a small bookcase. The dust made his eyes itch when he got closer and most books did not even have a title on the spine. He gazed at them blankly for a moment longer, trying to decide whether picking them up was worth the effort. His interest was suddenly piqued when he saw a small rectangular item wrapped in fading brown fabric. That time, he took it with no hesitation, revealing a black leather book. It was rather thin and the year on the cover —1942— let him know it was not a recently purchased item. As he opened it, he was disappointed to find there was nothing on the blank pages except for a name on top of the first one: T. M. Riddle.

Sirius let it fall, huffing. An empty diary whose owner did not even have the right surname for the house. He did not really care if it had been someone who had married into the family or if some Malfoy had stolen it. Somehow, Sirius was not able to picture someone staying for a sleepover and leaving their diary behind.

Bored, he sat down on the floor, near the diary. He could already see the others’ faces when he returned downstairs having ruined his new, shiny robes. The mere thought brought a smirk to his face and lifted his spirits lightly. He picked the diary back up. Perhaps no one would ever see it, but Sirius wanted to leave his mark in case someone else found the old thing.

He searched through the drawers and found a couple of broken quills, but no ink. He cursed out loud, remembering the Muggle drawing kit that Moony had gifted him last Christmas. He would carry a pen everywhere if he was not certain his mother would enjoy burning it while Sirius was still carrying it.

Nevertheless, he found a small piece of charcoal and did not hesitate to open the diary at the first page. In big capital letters, just under the name, he wrote, FUCK PURE-BLOODS —SB. He had to admit it looked lamer than it had sounded in his head, so he was trying to come up with another epithet when the words faded away. Blinking, he stared down at the yellowish pages. If it was a means of communication like the two-way mirror he used with Prongs, he might be screwed.

The diary answered right away.

Interesting choice of words to write on someone else’s diary. And who might you be?

Sirius looked at the words for a few seconds. It had been quite a prompt answer for an object that had seemed abandoned just a moment ago.

I’m not telling you my name, he decided to write at last. He was not that much of an idiot.

As you wish. Mine is Tom.

Again, the reply was quick. Sirius bit his lip, rolling the charcoal between his fingers.

Are you friends with the Malfoys?

I might be, came Tom’s enigmatic answer. They must not have taken great care of my diary if you have got your hands on it, though.

The calligraphy was elegant, although not as flowery as Sirius’s. For all his faults, the Malfoys were not as exclusive as the Blacks. Tom’s elusive comments sparked the boy’s imagination and he was already picturing Riddle as the offspring of a marriage between a Malfoy and someone of not such a high standing.

Focusing back on the pages, which had returned to their original state, he decided to try his luck.

Do you write to them often?

I can’t say I do.

Sirius could almost hear the playful tone behind those words.

What would you do if I took you with me?

Write to you, what else?

Sirius’s smirk grew bigger as he closed the diary and threw away the charcoal.

 II.

In the end, getting away from the gathering had indeed been worth it. His parents had not been able to do much in public, since they knew sending him home would actually have been a reward. By the time they had got back, both of them had been too inebriated to punish him properly. Sirius had got away with just his hurt pride at having had to apologise to the Malfoys plus a quick stinging hex before being sent to bed. Still, his leg hurt like hell from the surprisingly well-aimed spell.

He was lying on his bed, groaning into his pillow and with absolutely no intention of sleeping. He would like to contact James through the mirror —he did not think anyone would hear him despite the absolute silence—, but he did not want to come across as needy. He could wait until tomorrow to whine and tell his friends all his woes.

Turning around, he sat up and examined his leg. He concluded it would be better not to risk asking Kreacher for a pain potion, since it would lead to his mother hearing about it. In a couple of hours, it would no longer sting. Making what felt like an enormous effort, he stood up and started disrobing. It was only then that he remembered Tom. Still half dressed, he hurried to get ink and quill and got comfortable in his bed. It was pretty late, so he told himself he might have to wait until the morning for an answer.

Are you there?

Of course.

Sirius smiled at the immediate reply.

I —don’t— regret to inform you that you are no longer with the Malfoys.

His grin grew bigger as he felt clever. He would keep talking to Tom if it was going to help him forget about his misery for a while.

You sound like more interesting company anyway. I take it that you had fun and the event is over?

Sirius scoffed loudly.

I don’t think a single one in that bloody bunch of old snobs know what having fun is like.

You may be right, but why would you want fun when you already have power?

Reading those words gave him chills and sobered him up. Perhaps it was because Tom’s phrasing urged him to agree at first. He frowned and put down the diary to physically distance himself from that feeling. Almost right away, though, he picked it up again.

Do you believe that blood supremacy crap?

He felt something akin to disappointment and had to rein in the impulse to throw a cruder accusation.

What I believe does not matter. It is a fact they have power, is it not?

Sirius liked that answer even less and he felt his frown deepen. He stared as the ink faded, considering what he should retort. Apparently, Tom found his words sooner.

You benefit from that power, don’t you, S?

An inexplicable, overwhelming anger rose in the boy’s throat and he was scribbling furiously before he was aware of it.

Fuck you. My name is Sirius.

He slammed the diary shut and threw it in his trunk.

 III.

I’m a fucking tosser.

It was the first thing he wrote in two weeks and the black letters were blurry.

Do tell.

Tom’s response came at once as usual, but it felt oddly impersonal. It was just what Sirius needed, because the last thing he wanted was a friendly ear. He was determined to avoid thinking about the next letter he would have to write to Prongs.

I was going to spend half the summer at a friend’s, but I crossed my mother and ruined everything. I’m not going anywhere now.

A little splash smeared the ink before it disappeared completely. He wiped his eyes furiously while he waited for Tom to say something.

Oh, boo-hoo. Why would you act out if you needed her permission?

Didn’t plan on it, you twat. Just happened. You’d also scream at her if you’d met her, he added before a reply could come.

I think not. I’ve been told I’m a great actor.

Pretentious prick, Sirius shot back. He was feeling calmer, though, and not truly annoyed.

Tom offered no reaction to that, but Sirius did not want to finish their conversation so soon. It was a very welcome distraction from the pain and humiliation that usually followed an argument with his mother.

I don’t know how I’m to survive an entire summer locked up in this house.

Have you tried to escape?

I’m only 14. The Ministry will find me as soon as I try to do magic.

Of course, living as a Muggle is out of question.

Sirius frowned, not liking one bit the mockery he could feel behind the words.

It is when I have neither Muggle clothes nor Muggle money, he retorted.

And your friend? Wouldn’t he take you in?

James would, he was certain of it. However, that would require detailing exactly how bad things were at home. It was not worth it, Sirius told himself as he had a thousand times before. It was only three more years until he could do magic and then no one, not even his mother, could stop him —after all, his fourteenth birthday was just a few months away.

My family would not allow it, he wrote instead.

Are you important or something?

Again that derisive feeling. Sirius could not explain why he felt the other’s intentions so distinctly.

Or something, he agreed noncommittally. He was about to add something else when a knock on his door startled him.

Swallowing with difficulty, he reminded himself that only one person in their household would knock before entering. Not that his dear brother waited for an answer. Sirius had barely had time to close the diary when the door opened. At least, Regulus was not in the habit of barging in.

“What do you want?” Sirius snapped right away, feeling anger consuming everything within him once again.

Any tentativeness disappeared from his brother’s demeanour and his young face hardened. He closed the door after coming in, but did not step closer.

“Don’t take it out on me. I did nothing.”

“Yeah, I think that might be the problem. You never do anything. The perfect son,” snarled Sirius, in a well-rehearsed course of action.

“What d’you expect to get when you insult the whole family? Couldn’t you just go along with it for once and say what she wants to hear?”

Regulus was frustrated, but his controlled manner paled in comparison to the ire running through his older brother, who jumped off the chair, not caring about the noise.

“I’ll never stand by while she badmouths my friends,” he said, barely restraining from shouting. “But of course you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. You’d need to have some friends for that.”

The jab hit Regulus as hard as Sirius had intended and his pain was plainly visible on his face. He refused to regret having caused it.

“I just came to see if you were all right, you imbecile.”

Regulus practically spat the words before turning around and taking hold of the doorknob.

“Hurry up and move along, then. I’m fine.”

Regulus opened the door and stared back one last time. His mouth was a hard line and his eyes glistened. He looked too old for his age.

“You’re a liar.”

 IV.

Have you ever been trapped with no option to escape?

It was the middle of the night of a perfectly ordinary day, but Sirius could not sleep. Luckily, it seemed that neither could Tom.

Most people have at one point or another, came the answer, swift and vague as ever.

His friends were taking too long to reply to his letters and Prongs had forgotten the two-way mirror at home when he had packed for his holidays. Talking to Tom felt just as good, though.

More letters appeared in the centre of the page while he was lost in thought.

What matters is your ability to break free when the time is right.

 V.

What is ailing you this time? I can tell you didn’t steal an enchanted diary to complain about your house-elf’s cooking.

Their correspondence was getting more familiar and Tom did not hesitate to cut his ramblings short. Sirius decided not to beat around the bush, either.

Do you come from a pure-blood family?

I have old blood running through my veins, yes.

Sirius had never felt so grateful for Tom’s pretentious nature. He had a feeling the other would understand.

They burnt my cousin Andromeda’s face off the family tapestry. She has married a Muggle-born, so they say she’s tarnished our blood.

And you fear to suffer the same fate?

I’d fear to stay in this house forever, but

He hesitated. Sometimes, he felt as if he were offering up too much information, although nothing he had said so far was truly a secret.

she is my favourite cousin.

The words faded away slowly, as if the diary were absorbing Sirius’s strong feelings behind them, too.

I think she’s forgotten me, he wrote in a rush, feeling extremely self-conscious.

That time, Tom seemed to take an eternity to answer.

Pure-bloods are good at holding power, but their short-sightedness will be the death of them.

The words took Sirius aback and he did not think about his next response.

I thought you fancied that blood crap.

I told you. What I may believe or feel is not important. Ignoring the talent of those who do not fit the ideal perfectly will hardly do us any favours.

Sirius blinked, uneasy at how reasonable Tom sounded. He needed to think, so he wrote goodbye and returned the diary to its safe place. After a while, he realised he could contact Andromeda once he was back at school.

 VI.

Sirius skimmed through Prongs’s last letter. He still needed to get back to Moony and Wormtail as well. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake off the feeling that his friends were far too predictable. James told him all about his brilliant family holidays, whereas Remus was as bored and lonely as Sirius. And he really could not bring himself to care about Peter’s latest crush.

On top of his apathy, he was worn out all the time. The bright side of it was that he was usually too tired to pick a fight with his parents. He spent most of his time locked in his bedroom, listening to Muggle music or just staring up at the dark ceiling —or writing to Tom. Sirius could not consider him a friend since the bloke had not revealed much information about himself. Yet, during their exchanges, Sirius did not feel quite so sad or angry, just sort of entertained.

There was only a week and a half until the beginning of the new school year. The rest of the Marauders would not be surprised if Sirius told them he had been too lazy to reply to their last batch of letters. Thus, he picked up the diary, willing to forget about the world for a while.

 VII.

You didn’t write yesterday.

Sirius felt a pang of culpability upon seeing the message. In fact, he had felt guilty ever since school had started. Normally, he waited until his friends had gone to sleep to take out the diary and write on it, sheltered by his drawn drapes. At first, he had looked forward to that nightly encounter, even if it made him feel like he was lying to his friends. During the day, Moony and Prongs were set on finding out what was wrong with him. Nothing Sirius told them stopped their nagging. He could admit he was bloody irritable around everyone those days, but it did not truly warrant their insistence. At least with Tom he had not needed to worry about reining in his temper so as to avoid worried looks.

Nevertheless, eventually, even Moony had let the matter of his bad mood drop. It had led to a more relaxed atmosphere in their friend group and, for the first time since their return, the previous night Sirius had gone to bed knackered and happy and, especially not feeling like he needed to seek out someone else’s company. Frankly, he had not thought Tom would care, but now the guilt rose back up and it was not because he was hiding something from his friends.

I was busy.

It was a lame excuse, but Sirius told himself he did not need to explain his reasons to a perfect stranger.

Hanging out with Hagrid again?

Distaste dripped from the ink of every one of those words.

No, planning a prank for a greasy git. He won’t know what hit him. Sirius’s smirk vanished before it fully formed. He frowned, still thinking about Tom’s comment. What have you got against Hagrid, anyway? He is all right.

That is because you do not know what he is capable of.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the condescending reply. He had known Hagrid for over three years and, while the man had his quirks, he was one of the nicest people Sirius had ever met.

Another sentence appeared as the first one was absorbed by the page.

Want me to show you?

He read the question a few times, trying to understand what it could possibly mean. Tom had never implied they could send anything other than messages through the diary.

“Can’t you– What are you doing?”

It was barely a whisper, but he had already jumped when Moony drew the curtains back and so, he ended up spilling ink all over himself and the diary. His wand was knocked off as well, falling to the floor with its tip still lit up. Sirius barely spared a glance at his friend as he attempted to get away from the mess.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus apologised right away. Turning around for a moment, he retrieved his own wand from his bedside table. “I’ll clean it up.”

With a circular movement, he managed to summon the ink and get it back into the bottle. The diary was intact, not a black trace on it, although Sirius suspected not all the ink had been collected by Moony’s magic.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, because his friend was looking at him with soft eyes full of uncertainty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just couldn’t sleep and saw the light from your wand.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep, either.” Sirius huffed, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. “Sit down, for Merlin’s sake. Unlike others, I don’t bite.”

He received a brief, albeit quite powerful glare as expected, which in return brought a grin to his face as he closed the diary and put it in a drawer for the time being.

“Was that… a diary?”

Moony’s incredulity was obvious, so Sirius forced himself to let out a dismissive snort.

“Just brainstorming our next pranks. Prongs and I still have to take revenge on that Seventh Year Ravenclaw prick for laughing at us when Snivellus and Evans dumped us in the lake.”

“To be fair—”

“I don’t want to be fair, Moony. I want to laugh at Mr Brainy.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but a long yawn interrupted whatever he was going to add. Right on cue, Sirius also yawned.

“I think I’ll go back to bed now. You should try to get some sleep, too.”

“I will,” promised Sirius, smiling fondly at his always responsible friend.

He drew the drapes and snuggled up under the blankets, having forgotten all about Tom and Hagrid.

 VIII.

Guess who is not going home for Christmas?

Sirius was feeling light as a feather and needed to share his enthusiasm.

Did you get your face burnt off the family tree as well?

Not yet, he replied, beaming in the semi-darkness. His penmanship was messier than usual, because his brain was going too fast for his hand to keep up. I’m going to spend the break with Prongs. His parents have invited me to go with them to ski. The entire hols! he added, trying to convey his utter delight, for he felt like exploding every time he thought about the letter he had just received.

My mother will be furious, he kept on, not waiting for an answer. She will have to explain her disgraceful heir has once again chosen blood traitors over the family.

You do realise that, by cutting ties with them, you are only making things harder for yourself, don’t you?

As if I cared. I’m not going to put up with their pompous arses one minute longer than I need to.

Well, perhaps there is something better that you can do at school if you stay.

“What?” Sirius almost yelled, turning it into a whisper at the last moment.

I’m not staying, he wrote quickly.

Why did Tom feel the need to sour his mood like that? He had said he was not upset by the lack of daily updates on Sirius’s part, but he may have lied.

You never let me show you that memory about Hagrid. I could show you things about Hogwarts, places no other person knows about but me.

Sirius felt his hair stand on end. No one should sound so alluring through a written message. Without another thought, he slammed the diary shut and pushed it off his lap. He was suddenly afraid of how much he had longed to accept Tom’s offer.

As if a veil had just been lifted, he realised the diary was an object taken from a family with close links to dark magic and even darker social circles. He had been tired all summer and his bad temper had persisted after getting away from his family. He had only started to feel better once he had stopped writing to Tom every day.

He nearly tossed the diary out of the window, but he stopped when he took it in his hands. Surely, he was overreacting. He had been talking to Tom for months and, even though the other gave him the creeps from time to time, he had felt no dark influences trying to control him. Prongs always said he was paranoid about everything that had to do with dark magic and he reluctantly had to admit his friend may be right.

Tom must be even lonelier than he was to keep him company after all that time, for Sirius would not describe his life as fascinating. He was happier than he had ever been at Hogwarts, certainly, but Tom had put up with his continuous complaints about his family the entire summer. Perhaps it was only fair that he felt ignored since school had begun, because Sirius had indeed been writing less and less frequently as days passed. He felt like a terrible friend —even if they were not such—, so he picked up the quill again, dipped it in the ink and wrote,

Why do you like talking with me?

I thought you were braver. I thought you’d dare uncover Hogwarts’ deepest secrets.

The ink faded away slowly as Sirius found himself unable to tear his gaze away. New words appeared before he could think of an answer.

Let me show you, insisted Tom. It all started when

Sirius slammed the diary shut for the second time that day, although on that occasion his decision was fuelled by blind rage. The urge to know was still there, whispering in his ear that he should continue reading, continue writing. However, another feeling flooded him and he distinguished the sting of something else besides his hurt pride. He was under no delusions that they were friends, but he had hoped —believed— that the other’s interest meant he shared his feeling of comfortable attachment. Sirius had enjoyed being able to say anything without fear of being judged or pitied, but right then, he only felt manipulated.

Truthfully, he had very much longed to know the answer when he had asked why. Instead, Tom had insisted on talking about his own damn secrets and mysteries. In fact, Tom had elegantly sidestepped every personal question and had always sounded more invested in reading about Sirius’s troubles than any good news he brought up.

The hurt cleared his thoughts in the most painful way possible. At that very moment, he could not care less whether he was indeed paranoid or losing his mind. He had itched to know whatever Tom had been about to tell, but curiosity had played no role in it. The pull had been far less innocent than that and, once he could recognise it, he realised it had been there for a while. However, he had never expected that darkness would feel so sweet and intoxicating —so inoffensive.

Damn, he truly was a bloody idiot.

 IX.

Sirius had bravely fought the temptation to write on the diary again to curse its very existence and, so far, he had won. Still, he had buried the blasted thing at the bottom of his trunk and only taken it out on their last day before the holidays. He was currently waiting for his brother outside the Great Hall, while the students who had already finished their dinner passed by while animatedly chatting about their upcoming plans.

At last, he saw the familiar pale face and hurried towards the small group of Slytherins.

“Hey, Regulus!”

His brother glared at him, but murmured something to his companions and they promptly left towards the dungeons. Sirius could not help frowning at their backs —if the tables had been turned and it was him asking to be alone with a Slytherin, he would have expected a little resistance from his friends. Focusing his attention back on the younger boy, he saw the scowl was still very much present.

“What do you want?”

Sirius swallowed the urge to snap back, irked by Regulus’s defensiveness.

“I’m not going back home these hols, so I need you to make sure this gets back to the Malfoys.”

He handed out the diary, wrapped in the brown fabric, but his brother made no move to take it. Instead, he asked,

“You aren’t coming home?”

All of a sudden, Sirius felt his mouth dry at the vulnerability clearly present in the question.

“Um, I’m… I’m not.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that bad, though, is it? Mother will be in a foul mood when she finds out, sure, but I won’t be there to aggravate you all every day.”

His light tone was weak and did not get a reaction from Regulus beyond a renewed glower.

“So what, you want me to deliver one of your funny pranks to Malfoy now that he no longer attends Hogwarts?”

“Don’t be daft, I’d never let you take the blame and steal my spotlight.” Regulus refused to say anything and so, a tense silence ensued. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed they had drawn the attention of some students. He pushed the diary against his brother’s crossed arms. “It’s something I took from them at the beginning of the summer. I’m not interested in it anymore.”

Finally, Regulus took it and started to unwrap it. Sirius hurried to still his hands. Physical contact between the brothers had become rare nowadays, but neither seemed to realise.

“Nuh-uh. Everyone’s always going on and on about how you’re so much smarter than I am, so show a bit of brains. It’s one of those diaries you can’t stop writing on. Took me a bit to figure it out.”

It was not all the truth, but he did not know what the diary was exactly and hoped it was enough to deter Regulus from giving in to his own curiosity.

His brother was still looking back at him with plenty of mistrust in his clear eyes, but he would not keep an item like that —Sirius was sure of it.

“You can give it to Cousin Cissy,” he joked, breaking the silence once more. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have a reason to call on the Malfoys and insult the white sheep of the family at the same time.”

He wanted to add something else, either wish Regulus good luck or happy Christmas. In the end, the right words never came to him and his brother walked away after uttering a curt, ‘Goodbye, Sirius.’

 X.

It turned out that getting rid of that diary was the best decision he had made in a while. James’s parents had also invited Remus and Peter to their winter house for a week —carefully chosen by the boys so that Moony would not have to deal with any furry problems.

Not even Walburga’s Howler managed to shatter his happiness. It had arrived one morning, while they were all having breakfast. Sirius had prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole when he had seen Euphemia’s and Fleamont’s faces as they heard the usual string of slurs and threats —fortunately, Prongs was used to those Howlers by then. For a very long moment, Sirius had also feared what they would think of him after learning he was a thief.

In fact, he had barely dared look up when an ominous silence had returned to their table. However, it had soon been broken by a new string of voices, only that time there was a mix of indignation and reassurance and it was all in his favour. Sirius’s eyes had been suspiciously wet when his friend had clapped him on the back and he had had to talk the adults out of seeing Walburga Black before they went back to school.

Even if he did not manage to find an excuse to stay at Hogwarts during the next break, he would not have to face her in months. It was a very freeing, hopeful thought. He knew that his little stunt would bring other, more serious consequences eventually, but he was not very worried about whatever hell his mother had promised. Hell could not scare him when he already knew what it was like to live in it.

[theangriestpea]

The Killing Type | One

Summary: Just when Lavender thought things were going great with Sweet Pea, a new girl comes back to turn to turn their entire relationship upside down. Now they have to navigate a world of drug dealers, rival gangs, and co-parenting. Sequel to Mercy Killing. <ao3> <masterlist> 

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Sweet Pea x OC // eventual Jughead Jones x OC

Warnings: referenced teen pregnancy, referenced sexual assault, cheating/lying, PTSD  

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: I cannot believe I wrote this is such a short amount of time, omg. As stated on the final chapter of Mercy Killing, this is a sequel to both Mercy Killing and @the-gargoyle-queen​‘s fic Young Gods. The timelines for both are a little screwed up to make them converge. We begin this series at the end of sophomore year with no time between Mercy Killing chapter 16 and Chapter 1 of The Killing Type, and one year after Young Gods. Try not to focus too much on the lack of continuity for the sake of future plot. I think Lily is a bit OOC in this chapter....I made her into an uber bitch and she's not.

Chapter One - A Mercy Killing 

Lavender stared at Jughead, not at all understanding what he meant by forgiving Sweet Pea. What had he done this time? Of course the two fought more often than not over petty things but they made up hours, sometimes minutes later. It was just their dynamic. “Who is she?” She pressed as he looked at his buzzing phone again.

“Lily is Sweet Pea’s ex but I think he should really be the one to tell you all of it.” He said, his anxiety starting to show with his tone of voice. Lav made a face that he couldn't quite tell what it meant. “Listen, just try to get his side of things before exploding on him, okay?”

She stiffened, not liking his accusation of her tendency to react dramatically to any inconvenience no matter how minor. “Why did no one tell me about her? All this time and I’ve literally never even heard her name before. I don’t understand what the big deal is!” Her voice started to edge on the side of frantic as panic began to flood through her. Who was this girl and why did no one mention her?

Jughead sighed. “It’s complicated, Lav. Sweet Pea told us not to mention her around him. We all agreed that it would be better for you and him if you just didn’t know what went down between them.”

“So, everyone collectively decided that I, Sweet Pea’s girlfriend, didn’t need to know about someone who was obviously very important to him? Why is he hiding her from me, does he still have feelings for her or something?” She asked, her tone turning accusatory. Jughead put his hands up to try and calm her down, but instead she stood. “Whatever, Jug. I’m going home. Have fun talking to your new best friend.”

“She’s not-!” Before he could finish she had slammed the door behind her. Jughead sighed and sunk down into the old couch. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Lavender made a bee-line for her trailer as fast as her short legs would carry her. She was fuming at the thought that everyone kept some big secret from her, and worse of all she was dying to know what it was. She sent a quick text to Sweet Pea, demanding he come over to “come clean” when he was done with his job. Sweet Pea, being ever the oblivious asshole, had no idea what he needed to come clean about but figured the purple haired girl would fill him in when he got there.

Hours later, once Sweet Pea was done running bike parts to Centerville, he walked into the Rhodes trailer having no idea what shit storm was about to be thrown at him.

First of all, he found his girlfriend curled up on the couch in a state of drunkenness that he hadn’t seen her in in many months. Immediately he thought something had happened, she had a PTSD episode or someone made threats. In an instant he was by her side, her thin shoulders in his hands to get her to look at him.

���Who is she?” Lav slurred, eyes red from crying. Every worst case scenario had gone through her head. Was he cheating on her? Did he have some other life that she had no clue about and he was keeping it from her? How could this girl that she knew nothing about cause her so much grief?

Sweet Pea’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Who is who?” He asked, having no inkling of what in the world she was talking about. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Lily Owens.” Lav spat hotly, “Who is she?!” Her voice began to raise with notes of hysteria. She was so worked up and heartbroken and she had no idea why.

His blood ran cold as he stared at her. He had hoped that he could have approached the subject of his ex eventually, when the time was right. But Lavender was so god damn sensitive that he didn’t think that time would ever come. The insecurity she felt after the attack by the Ghoulies was so great that sometimes he felt trapped in that even talking to a girl she didn’t know had her upset.

They had a long talk about it once and she agreed to get it handled in therapy. And she did get better but there were times when he knew she just couldn’t help it. They had broken her so thoroughly that it was going to take time. He sighed softly, trying not to show how aggravated he was. “She’s my ex, Shanna. I was going to wait to tell you this but...She’s coming back to town in a few days and she needs a place to stay...with our daughter.”

“Your what?” Lav asked, somehow finding the fact that he had a child with another woman was way worse than him cheating on her. “You had a kid and never thought to tell me?!” Fresh tears came to her eyes and quickly fell down her face that was flushed pink from inebriation. “Don’t you think that was something I’d need to know?”

He flinched, feeling the hurt roll off of her in waves. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d overreact!”

“Overreact?!” She yelled, her voice finally raising. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You kept a whole ass family secret from me, Sweet Pea! Get out. Just get OUT.”

His eyes narrowed as he stood, releasing his grip from her. “You always do this! You always fly off of the goddamn handle over every little thing. So I have a daughter, so what? I’ve never even met her! Lily ran off pregnant and had her without me there, so yeah I don’t bring it up because I’d rather not think about being a dad at sixteen! You’re not the only fucked up person in this relationship!”

She stared at him with stunned silence and he knew he had gone too far, as he always did. Sweet Pea just huffed angrily before turning and leaving in a manner exactly as she had from the Jones trailer earlier that day.

The next two days, Lavender spoke to no one. Not Jughead, Not Fangs, and especially not Sweet Pea. He hadn’t even bothered to text or to call as she was always the one to give in first. Still, the fact that he wasn’t even trying to patch things up between them only served to hurt her more.

Fangs had left her small apologetic presents at her doorstep. Flowers, snack cakes, chocolate, even a bottle of her favorite rum. While she accepted the gifts, she still refused to speak to him. His messages were all left on read.

Jughead and Toni had both sent only one apology text, while both seemed pretty heartfelt, they were also denied any kind of answer from her. It was only after an hour and a half long intense therapy session did she decide to try and make up with all of them. Her therapist had helped her realize that Sweet Pea was put in a difficult position from the start of their relationship with her trauma and intense insecurity. In the end, she concluded that he wasn’t purposefully trying to hurt her. He was trying to save her. It just ended up blowing up in his face.

She had picked up a carton of Marlboros for him and was walking up to his trailer. She didn’t notice whether or not his bike was on the side of the house, and dismissed the beaten up car parked on the street as a neighbor’s. It could have easily been someone else’s. Or maybe his dad was finally out of rehab?

Knowing that he was possibly still upset with her, she chose not to use her key to walk in. Instead she knocked on the door in her usual fashion and waited, cigarettes in hand. What she didn’t expect (but totally should have) was for a teenage girl to open the door.

She was shorter than Lav by about an inch, brunette, and absolutely stunning. Lavender's heart fell into her stomach. “O-Oh,” She stuttered, “I thought-”

“He’s not home.” The girl said in a somewhat flat tone. She had learned all about the person in front of her from Jughead. He filled her in on all of Sweet Pea’s doings while she was gone. “But you can come in and wait for him. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The door opened wider and Lavender looked inside, noticing that now the trailer was littered with baby clothes, toys, and assorted things necessary to take care of a child. The scene made it all too clear to Lavender that Lily, who she assumed opened the door, was now living with Sweet Pea. Suddenly she was breaking all over again and the progress she made in therapy was virtually gone.

“I should go.” Lavender mumbled, unsure of where she fell in this new hierarchy. “Can you just tell him that I came by? I need to talk to him.”

“You’re Lavender, right?” Lily asked and she nodded in response. “I’m Lily. I think we should talk. Come in, it’ll be easier than standing out here. Daisy is asleep so don’t worry about her.”

Lav did not at all feel comfortable talking to her, but the backfiring of a nearby car put her so on edge that she had no choice but to hide inside. She felt idiotic by being set off at a time like this. The intense need to hide somewhere where she felt safe overrode her discomfort with the situation at hand.

Lily seemed to have some knowledge of what was going through the other girl’s head. She noticed her jump and frantically check her surroundings at the loud sound. Jughead and mentioned her PTSD and that Lily should tread carefully for the time being. After knowing what happened with the Ghoulies, Lily ultimately felt pity for Lavender and not contempt...Though if she were completely honest, there was a little of that too.

It was clear to Lily that Lavender was very disoriented by the sudden amount of baby things around the living room, as well as an open suitcase that had all of Lily’s belongings in them.

The current girlfriend sat down on the chair that Sweet Pea fell asleep in way too often and sunk down into the cushions as if she were trying to disappear from sight. Lily took a seat on the couch, wondering if the awkwardness was going to go away any time soon.

“So you live here?” Lav finally asked, nearly flinching under the look Lily gave her. The question seemed much too obvious, of course she was living here. She had nowhere else to go.

“Yes.” Lily said, her voice a little more curt than she initially intended. “We needed a place to stay since my mom stayed in Toledo. Sweet Pea said it was okay. Is there a problem with that?”

“No! Not at all.” Lavender said quickly, wishing she had turned and ran when she had the chance. “Sweet Pea just didn’t tell me…”

Lily huffed, of course he didn’t. “We need to talk about that.” Of course, she still had residual feelings for the serpent. He was the father of her child. And the way he had ended things were so messed up. Plus he had said when she came back they could start all over. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen now.

“I get that you’re his girlfriend now. I mean, I never expected him to pick a Northsider over…” She stopped, seeing the hurt expression on Lavender’s face brought on a wave of guilt. “You really had no idea about me, did you?”

“No…” Lav said, her voice so soft that Lily almost didn’t hear it. “We never talked about past relationships. Look, I really need to go. Can you just give these to him for me?” She asked, motioning towards the carton of cigarettes in her lap.

“When did you start dating?” She asked, her tone serious.

“Three months ago but we hooked up the July before that….” Lav admitted, not wanting to withhold anything.

“July?” Lily asked and Lav sensed the anger in her voice. “I knew he was cheating on me. I knew it.” She hissed under her breath, not meaning for Lav to actually hear her.

Pain ripped through Lavender’s chest. He had still been in a relationship with Lily that night? She felt like she was going to throw up. She abruptly stood. “I-I’m sorry, I…” She didn’t know what she could say to make any of this better.

“I’m not blaming you.” Lily quickly said after a small sigh. “You didn’t know….How could you have known that I was about to give birth to his daughter? Of course he’s so fucking selfish he didn’t even say anything about it to either of us.”

Lav was holding back tears to the best of her ability. The thought of being the other woman, even for just one night, made her want to lock herself up and drink herself into oblivion. Really she only stayed away from the unhealthy coping mechanism when Sweet Pea was around. Right now, it didn’t seem as if he’d have time to be around for very long. He had a baby to take care of.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized again, really just having no idea how to handle this situation. She backed towards the door, reaching for the handle when it swung open. Sweet Pea was there, looking as tired as ever. A confused look crossed his face when he saw the tears threatening to fall from Lavender’s eyes.

“Shanna?” He asked, not knowing what Lily had done to make her upset...if she had done anything. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize but.” She was too upset to be angry at anyone other than herself. “I need to go home. I got you some cigarettes...here.” She shoved them into his hands before nimbly squeezing past him and running off.

Sweet Pea looked down at the carton before looking up at Lily. “What did you do ?” He asked, his voice threatening to raise.

“You slept with her before you broke up with me.” Lily said, her voice low but angry. “You didn’t end things until August. You said, you said we could start over if I came back, Sweet Pea. You promised me that we would try for Daisy.”

He felt utterly lost. He had loved Lily so much but her leaving had him feeling so alone that he needed something . His dad had started his first stint in rehab and had been in and out since. He was so completely alone with no one to hold at night. Initially he had felt terrible about it but the guilt went away because in the end she had left him when she said she never would.

“You left, Lily. What did you expect?” He asked, his voice icy. “You abandoned me like everyone else did. How did you think I could continue to love you after that?” Her hand reared back and slapped him hard across the face, the sound bouncing off the walls of the trailer. And deep down he knew that he deserved nothing less.

Lavender returned to her trailer, attempting to put herself back together. She had truly wanted to work things out with Sweet Pea and didn’t have the strength to curse him to hell when she saw him. And the look on his face when he saw her. Past his confusion was definite regret. The softness of his eyes made her want nothing more than to be held by him. She wasn’t sure if that was ever going to happen now.

She eyed the bottle of rum on her kitchen counter and she knew that she should resist it’s calls. Did she really want to wake up with a hangover tomorrow? It seemed better than feeling heartbroken at his point.

As she reached for it, she heard a knock on her door. Lav let out a sigh of relief to have been stopped before she drowned herself yet again. She went to the door to see her boyfriend standing there, looking equal parts pissed off and broken down. His left cheek was bright red and starting to bruise and she knew that Lily must have hit him.

She said nothing as she opened the door for him and he walked in, hands clenched into fists. He was clearly agitated but not at her. That was evident enough in him not screaming at her when she opened the door. He saw the bottle of alcohol sitting out in the open and made a straight line to it.

Lav felt as if she were about to cry again, this time for him. Because like her, Sweet Pea also had a habit of hitting the bottle when he felt like the lowest of the low. Of course, she was still very much heart broken by his actions before but seeing him in pain was a whole new kind of ache. It was one that she found herself hating more.

“Wait,” She called out just as he grabbed the bottle by the neck. “Pea, can we talk first? I promise not to yell at you…” Her voice showed her weakness, but she didn’t really mind since he was the one hearing it.

Sweet Pea let out a tired sigh and nodded. He carried the bottle to the couch and sat down with a heavy thud, keeping the rum in hand as if in case of emergency. Lav gently sat down next to him, turned sideways on the seat to face him fully. “Can you just...explain to me what’s going on?”

“I fucked up.” Sweet Pea said, scowling at himself, “again.”

She knew his biggest fear right now was her leaving him. While she thought she had abandonment issues, his own were far worse. “Just tell me what happened.” She said, her voice gentle to show that her being upset wasn’t as important as what was going on with him currently.

“I loved her, you know? I didn’t mean for her to get pregnant.” Sweet Pea said, his voice extremely quiet. He very rarely opened up like this. And him doing it sober was a first. “Then she left. She left like everyone else leaves. And you’re probably going to leave too because I always mess everything up. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend or baby daddy or whatever. I’m just a teenager. I just don’t know.”

Lav put a hand on his leg, moving closer to him as a few stray tears escaped her eyes. “I’m not leaving you. I just want to know everything. That’s it. I’m sorry I blew up on you the other day. I should have let you have a chance to explain. It seems that I don’t know how to be a good girlfriend either…”

He let out another sigh as he set the bottle down on the table in front of him and pulled her into his arms. He hated for anyone to see him like this, but he hated being alone even more.

He buried his face into her blonde roots and just breathed in the scent of her vanilla shampoo. Lav nuzzled her face into his chest, listening to him breathe. "I told her I'd try, Shanna. Before you. Before everything. I promised her."

Lavender squeezed her eyes shut, having no idea why she was going to say what she was about to. "If you have to," she couldn't even say it. "I understand, Sweet Pea. It's okay. I'll be okay."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he appreciated her willingness all the same. "Can I stay here tonight? One last time?"

She couldn't stop the silent tears from coming and in truth she didn't want to. "Of course, Pea. One last time."

The next morning, Lavender awoke to find herself alone in her bed. The spot where Sweet Pea had slept the night before was still warm. She sighed softly, not having the emotional energy to even cry over the loss of their intimate relationship. Could they even function as friends? They weren’t friends before they started dating, so how could she expect them to be after? She had no idea what she was going to do without him by her side almost every night. Perhaps it was time to talk to Fangs again.

She called him over after attempting to shower the sadness off of her. She put on clean underwear and lounge-wear as she waited for him to come over. Fangs came crashing through the door like a puppy who had missed his owner, grinning at her and quickly making his way to the couch.

He stopped grinning when he saw the forlorn expression on her face. “What’s wrong, babe?” He asked, taking her hands into his.

“We broke up last night.” She muttered. “Because he...he promised Lily before we were together that they could start over when she returned.”

Fangs was frowning. While he loved both Lily and Sweet Pea, he had long since come to the conclusion that they were much better as friends and not as lovers. But, he also knew that Sweet Pea intended to keep any promise he had made if he could. And though he could tell his friend was visibly upset, he was surprised to not find her crying and drinking. Despite it being only ten AM.

“I wish I had told you, Lavie.” He said in a quiet voice, pulling her into his chest to try and soothe the heart he knew to be aching in her chest. “I’m so sorry. You deserved to know. I just thought...you were doing so well…”

“It’s okay, Fangs.” She mumbled, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. “You had made a promise too. I just...I just don’t know where to go from here. I mean, I thought that I might...you know…”

He pulled her away, looking over her flushing face. “That you might love him?”

She groaned, “please don’t say it out loud. It sounds so stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He bit back, almost angrily. “It’s not stupid at all. Come on, let’s go to the quarry. It’s finally warm enough to swim!”

Lavender froze. She had many plaguing thoughts about wearing a bathing suit in front of others. While all her wounds had healed perfectly well, she still had long, thick bands of scar tissue across her thighs and stomach, with a few smaller ones on her chest. Sweet Pea was so far the only one she had let see them since she was able to shower alone and clothe herself. The thought of anyone else possibly seeing them made her sick to her stomach.

“I don’t feel like getting wet, I just took a shower.” She lied, hoping he wouldn’t call her on it. Unfortunately today was not a day that Fangs was feeling particularly intuitive.

He cocked his head to the side, “but you love to swim. It’ll cheer you up!”

“I don’t have a bathing suit that fits.” She lied again, hoping that maybe he’d either catch the hint or drop it. “My boobs got bigger over the winter and mine are all too small now.”

His eyes looked at her chest as if to examine it. If it were anyone else, she’d be offended, however it was him so she knew it was not meant to be explicitly lewd. “They look about the same to me. You can always wear a bra or something instead.”

Lavender wanted to hit him upside the head for being so dense. She knew he wasn't purposefully being obtuse but it was still grating her nerves. “Fangs. I don’t want to go swimming.” Her voice was a little more firm now in an attempt to get through to him.

A puppy-dog look crossed his face as he pouted at her. “But...Lavie...it’ll be fun…You can wear some of my trunks if you want?”

She let out a sigh of defeat, “alright. Bring me some with a drawstring so I can tie them tight otherwise they’ll just fall right off.” His pout was replaced with a broad smile as he all but cheered with success.

Fangs left but was back five minutes later with a pair of black swim trunks for her. He happily handed them over as she went into her room to change. She put on a purple bikini, which still fit perfectly fine, before putting on his pants. She then put on an old form-fitting T-shirt that kept all of her scar tissue covered.

As she looked herself over in the mirror, she frowned. She looked utterly ridiculous but it was better than exposing the truth. She didn’t want anyone to be reminded of that day back in early January.

She finally came out of the bedroom to see Fangs packing a bag of snacks and a cooler of beer for them. “Jones and Topaz are meeting us there. I hope that’s okay.” He said, his back turned to her.

“That’s fine…” Lav mumbled awkwardly. She had already forgiven them as well, and hoped that they’d help her forget about her ruined love life.

They made it to the quarry, the sun shining high above them. Toni and Jughead were on the small beach, clad in their swim gear already. They both gave Lavender strange looks at her attire. “My, uh...bikini doesn’t fit anymore.” She said, but the only one to catch the lie this time was Toni who gave her a worried look.

“Lily will be here in a few with Daisy.” Jughead said as he typed a message onto his phone. A panicked look crossed Lavender’s face.

“Jughead...why would you do that?” She asked as Toni elbowed him in the ribs. He looked up, appearing like a deer in headlights. It hadn’t really occurred to him how awkward it might be for her. Really he just wanted to hang out with her, having missed her all these months. It had almost been a full year since he’d seen her last.

Toni sighed, obviously aggravated by his lack of thought. “Lily is cool, Lavie. Don’t worry about her.”

Lavender tried not to think about their only interaction. Lily had called her a Northsider, reminiscent of Sweet Pea back before they were dating. It was an insult that she hated. She couldn’t help that she had grown up mostly on the Northside or that she didn’t dress like a typical Serpent. She enjoyed soft colors a bit too much and flannel looked terrible on her.

“Okay.” Lav forced herself to say as she plucked a can of beer out of the cooler Fangs had brought. “I guess meeting Sweet Pea’s daughter would be kind of cool.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fangs said cheerfully as he stripped off his shirt. “Let’s go!”

He attempted to pull her into the water. “Fangs! I’m trying to drink, I’ll join you in a minute!” She pleaded with him, trying her best not to spill any PBR in the process.

“Oh fine, you have five minutes so you better chug it or I’m throwing you in.” He let her go, shaking his head before him and Toni raced to the water.

Jughead was quiet. “You broke up with him.” He said, his voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear. “So he could be with Lily….”

“Yea.” Lav replied as she took a gulp from the can.

"I know why you're wearing that ridiculous get-up, Lavie." He mumbled to her. "You don't have to hide it from us. I'm sure they're barely noticeable."

She frowned, refusing to look at him. "I didn't want to come at all. This was a compromise with Fangs. He was too dumb to figure it out."

Jughead grabbed a beer for himself and sat down, motioning her to join him. She sat down next to him on the makeshift log bench. "Figures. At least his heart is in the right place."

They watched Toni and Fangs splash one another. "How are you holding up, really?" He finally asked.

She opened her mouth to answer when she saw Sweet Pea, Lily, and Daisy approaching, she quickly shut it. "Don't worry about it." She said, throwing her head back to finish off the beer in her hand.

Jughead frowned, wanting her to open up but also knowing that she wouldn't now. Who knows if she ever would. He knew that the progress she had made was about to backslide thanks to her and Sweet Pea no longer being together. Despite the rocky beginning, they truly were good for one another.

He wanted to say something encouraging, but failed at the sight of Lily. This did not go unnoticed by Lavender who was sure to bring it up later.

Sweet Pea wouldn’t look at her. He was carrying Daisy, who at nine months looked exactly like him. Lavender wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stand the sight. Her chest was so heavy that she was worried that she’d sink when she got into the water. If she got into the water.

Lily gave her a strange look. “Are those Fangs’?” She asked, nodding her head towards the trunks Lav was wearing. It wasn’t mean spirited, rather just honest curiosity.

“Yea. My bikini is too small so I asked to borrow his shorts.” Lavender said, her tone even and not bearing any ill will. The atmosphere surrounding them was completely uncomfortable and Lav had no idea what to say.

“Jug, can I talk to her alone for a minute?” Lily asked, her voice gentle and there was a small smile on  her face. Jughead nodded and stood, patting Lav on the back briefly before walking closer to the shoreline.

Sweet Pea glanced at the two of them, wanting to listen to whatever Lily had to say but also knowing she’d probably yell at him if he did. He begrudgingly moved towards the water with his very excited little girl.

Lily waited until both boys were out of earshot. She turned and looked at Lavender who was toeing the dirt with the tip of her shoe. “Thank you.” Lily said, her voice genuine. “You didn’t have to break up with him.”

Lavender couldn’t help the hurt sigh that left her, “Yes I did. He made a promise and I wanted him to keep it.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to because I’m not taking him back.” Lily said. She wasn't hostile but there was anger hidden somewhere in her tone. Lavender mistook it to be directed towards her when it was truthfully towards Sweet Pea. “He cheated on me. And to be honest, I can’t be sure that he won’t do it again.”

“You left him.” Lavender said back, jumping to his defense. “What did you expect?”

Lily’s gaze hardened. “I expected some common decency from the man who told me he loved me. What I didn’t expect is for him to stick his dick in someone else just because things between us got hard. All he had to do was talk to me. He could have broken it off first before pursuing other people.”

Lavender was sitting rigidly on the log, daring to look up at Lily. Her hazel eyes encapturing a mixture of rage and pain. But Lily wasn’t done. “I’m sorry for what the Ghoulies did to you, I am. But he can’t fix you. And it’s not fair to put that responsibility on him either. He needs to be a father to Daisy right now. That’s what’s important.”

She was speechless, unable to come up with anything to say in return. While Lily had a valid point, it hurt tremendously to hear it. Lavender stood and Lily backed up to give her space. “This was a mistake.” She said, obviously talking about coming to the quarry. She took a few steps before stopping and turning back towards Lily. “And for the record. You don’t know a single thing about me. So maybe you should stop assuming the type of relationship I had with Sweet Pea. That’s between us. Not you.”

She turned back, grabbing Fang’s keys from his pile of things and leaving. The only one to notice her departure was Sweet Pea, who failed to mask the pained expression on his face at the sight of her go.

-----------

Tag List: @the-gargoyle-queen​, @alexa-playafricabytoto​ If you want to continue to be tagged in the sequel, just let me know!

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[sunmisgirl]

Rose-Colored Boy

For 🍇 anon: may i also request the full scenario of the exo reaction to fighting with their s/o, but with baekhyun?! :)

Couple: Baekhyun x female reader

Genre: Angst (don’t worry; this one has a happy ending)

Length: 2k

Warning: brief mention of drinking

Nina’s Note: This scenario developed from an EXO reaction I wrote previously. Thanks to Seohyun who gave me an idea for the storyline and helped proofread it.

The expression “opposites attract” applies perfectly to your relationship with Baekhyun. Others describe him as a very playful and energetic person whereas you’re more introverted and selective with who you speak to. 

You met Baekhyun through mutual friends and went on a few dates not expecting much in the beginning. However, his charm, humor, and carefree personality sealed the deal. 

You’ve been dating for approximately two years but live in separate places refusing to succumb to friends’ pressures about moving in together. He respects your space and acknowledges that you value privacy and it takes time for you to open up about things. Usually you gravitate to each other like magnets despite your differences, but things are a bit tense lately.

You tend to take things very seriously meanwhile he has an easygoing approach towards life, always acting carefree and being the life of the party. Whenever you try to explain things from your perspective, he tells you to liven up and not take life so seriously before carrying on in his own little world. 

Some days you become so frustrated and wonder if Baekhyun is the right person for you. He fails to act serious in the relationship and brushes everything off with no cares whatsoever. 

Relationships consist of trial and errors and it seems you reached the ultimate test. A mutual friend invites you to a small gathering that ends up becoming a full blown house party. These gatherings usually aren't your scene but you attend them because of Baekhyun. He changes the atmosphere of any party the second he walks through the door.

People naturally gravitate to his energy and he welcomes everyone that speaks to him. After a few hours you grow restless and tap Baekhyun on the shoulder but he's completely immersed in a story Chanyeol is passionately reenacting in the living room.

“Baek, let's call it a night,” you suggest but the music drowns out your voice. He furrows his eyebrows and leans closer to hear you better. “I'm feeling a bit tired. Can we go home now?”

He begins responding but gets dragged by Sehun to play a round of beer pong. He calls out, “Five more minutes!” before following the small crowd to the other end of the house.

Those requested 'five more minutes' quickly changes into an hour and you're stuck sitting on the couch with a can of soda watching Baekhyun land another ball into the overflowing cups. The crowd cheers loudly while Sehun sulks about losing another round.

Yixing passes by noticing the evident frustration on your face. “Are you not pleased with the party? Where's Baek?” he jokes lightly and nudges your shoulder. “He's having the time of his life. Just another day in paradise,” you remark bitterly glaring at Baekhyun across the floor. 

His eyes meet yours and he grimaces immediately remembering the promise he made an hour ago. He bids everyone farewell and rushes over to you apologizing for the wait. Yixing briefly greets Baekhyun and waves to you before mingling with a few other partygoers.

You exit the house with a sour expression etched on your face and Baekhyun follows behind with a slight stumble. He is somewhat inebriated which automatically designates you the driver for the night. 

It’s frustrating that he completely ignores you while spending time with friends and then rambles during the car ride barely giving you time to speak what’s on your mind. This night is one of many reasons why you argue with each other.

Baekhyun thinks everything is about him and only him. The fact you feel ignored and unable to speak to him encourages you to bottle up your emotions. 

You become more reluctant to share any good news with him and he catches onto this rather quickly. He easily notices the disinterest in your eyes whenever he rambles about his day or shares stories. 

Whenever he cracks jokes you only respond with a tight-lipped smile or half-hearted laugh. He feels like he’s losing you day by day. His best friend. 

Baekhyun assumes you’re acting cold towards him because he hasn’t spent much time with you. Therefore, he sends a text one day instructing you to get dressed by 7 pm for a night out. Curiosity about his intentions outweigh the hesitation in your mind as you rummage the closet for something to wear that evening. 

Once he picks you up in his Audi, he remains silent the entire drive refusing to reveal the surprise regardless of your constant pleas. Your questions are answered once he arrives at the restaurant where you had your first date.

Baekhyun happily escorts you into the restaurant and pulls out the chair waiting for you to sit at the reserved table. It's completely unexpected and such a sweet gesture. Conversation flows easily between you two and you smile for the first time in weeks. It seems like everything is finally starting to go back to normal.

However, he eventually falls back into the same pattern of making everything about him. You take a deep breath and try to hide the disappointment on your face during the meal. 

Baekhyun instantly notices your cold behavior that evening when you reply curtly and tries persuading you to share what’s on your mind. No matter how many questions he asks during dinner, you stay solid as a rock and pretend to have a headache to end the night faster.

He tries prying a response out of you one last time before dropping you off at your place. “It’s my job as your boyfriend to make sure you never frown. Come on, what’s troubling you?” he asks sincerely, briefly looking over at you on the passenger side. 

“Can’t we just enjoy a silent ride? You’re always trying to psychoanalyze me. Maybe I need some peace and quiet instead of your voice droning on the whole night,” you retort and shift your body to rest against the interior of the car door. Deep breathing nor a simple meditation technique can relax you right now. The one person you thought you can’t live without is causing so much strife. 

“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes,” he mumbles to himself and parks in your neighborhood. “Get out of the car.” You blink a few times shocked by his sudden change of mood and peek out the window, noticing your apartment building is further down the road. 

“Why are you kicking me out?” you question and unbuckle the seat belt. He pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing, “I don’t have time for this right now. I try everything to make you happy and all you do is push me further away.” 

You scoff in frustration and reply, “Hate to break it to you but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Baekhyun. A relationship is about two people, not one. Lately you ignore me and never take anything seriously. You see everything through rose-colored glasses. Not all of us can be happy-go-lucky!”  

“I already told you to get out!” he yells and hits the steering wheel in frustration. You exit the vehicle rolling your eyes and exclaim, “Do what you always do, Baek. Run from confrontation. That’s what you’re best at anyways!” 

He drives off the second you slam the passenger door and doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror to find you still standing on the curb. You watch Baekhyun zoom down the street until his car lights fade into the night. 

Tears form in your eyes as you walk to the apartment building down the street clearly embarrassed by the turn of events. You never imagined the relationship would reach this point. After turning off your phone for the night, you take a quick shower and change into comfortable pajamas before dozing off still upset.  

Baekhyun tries to erase the last 20 minutes from his memory by increasing the music’s volume on his car radio. His hands unconsciously grip the steering wheel clearly agitated about the state of your relationship. 

When did everything change between us? 

Once he reaches his place, he swipes to your contact on his phone ready to call you but realizes you probably want nothing to do with him tonight. Baekhyun tries to sleep but can’t get you off his mind so he gets dressed and drives to your place. He makes sure not to startle you when he enters the apartment with a spare key and settles on the couch in your living room to sleep for a few hours. 

You expect to forget everything that happened last night by the morning. However, Baekhyun’s words still resonate as you emerge from bed and shuffle to the kitchen to brew some coffee. 

You notice a slumped figure lying on the couch and quickly realize it’s the last person you want to see right now. You consider hurling a pillow directly at his sleepy face but decide to be the bigger person and wake him gently. Baekhyun stirs from his slumber and rubs his eyes before peering up at you. 

“When did you get in here?” you inquire looking at him dressed in last night’s attire. “A bit past two a.m. I have a spare key, remember?” He rises from the couch and runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Did you come back for round two?” you huff and turn to enter the kitchen busying yourself with making breakfast. He silently follows you and casts his eyes to the floor. 

“I want to apologize for last night and the past few weeks. It kills me that I left you alone like that last night. You deserve so much love and recognition. I admit I’ve been emotionally absent in the relationship but I’ll work on it. You’re such an important part of my life; I can’t bear to lose you now.”

He stays quiet awaiting your answer but you continue ignoring him and rummage the drawer for utensils. Baekhyun idles by the kitchen counter wondering if this is how the relationship will end. You completely shutting down and walking out of his life forever. 

He sighs looking around the apartment one last time before fishing out the spare key from his pocket and placing it on the coffee table. He then approaches the front door and turns the knob but you stop him from leaving. 

“Wait.”

He faces you with a crestfallen expression but hope still gleams in his eyes. You slowly move closer to Baekhyun and utter, “I must apologize too. I’m not exactly innocent either. I should try opening up more in general instead of shunning you. Since the start of this relationship, you’ve always supported my decisions and respected my space. You’re not psychic; you can’t possibly know everything that’s going on in my mind.”

You anxiously play with the hem of your pajama shirt waiting for him to say something. Anything. He nods upon hearing your words and meets you halfway before wrapping his arms around you. 

“The universe can try breaking us apart but I’ll just hold on tighter,” Baekhyun says aloud. You hum in agreement becoming slightly emotional at the thought of losing him. Losing two years worth of memories. 

“Maybe we should listen to our friends and move in together,” he whispers in your ear and holds you tighter. “Baby steps, Byun. Many, many baby steps,” you respond while pulling away from the embrace.

“Go brush your teeth. You have morning breath,” he teases while scrunching his nose and releasing his grip on your waist. You lightly shove him out the way with a smile and walk to the bathroom relieved that the relationship survived the ultimate test.

Life is difficult as it is. If we all take a step back and see things from each other’s perspective, amazing things can and will happen.

[bearfeathers]

92, “Scoot over a little bit, please.”

Wound up combining this white "Quit touching me, your feet are cold" because the opportunity presented itself lol Plus I love an excuse for sick!fic and @lywinis and I had toyed with this idea for a little.

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

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

Aziraphale is tired.

This in itself is worrisome enough; as an immortal, celestial being he typically has very little need for sleep. Nor does he care for it all that much. But on top of this, he finds he's developed, well... a tickle in the back of his throat. He only notices after several attempts to clear his throat had turned into a cough. A loud one at that.

But he doesn't get sick. Angels don't get sick, that's one of the perks of being immortal. Of course, they can be inebriated and the like, but they have the choice of immediately sobering up, unlike humans. Essentially, the moment they chose not to be something, it was so.

Yet it seems he's growing ill and unable to rid himself of it.

He tried miracling it away but something just wasn't working. For a moment he wondered if perhaps his ability to perform miracles had been cut off by Heaven, but a quick snap of his fingers doused all the lights in the shop and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Not that, then. So what was different? What had changed since he'd first been sent to Earth that could account for this kind of development?

"...oh dear," Aziraphale murmurs to his empty shop. "Could it be...?"

He'd been discorporated. And while he'd gotten a new body, it had come from Adam, not from Heaven. Is it possible that the boy could have made him more human than he was intended to be? If this weren't a standard-issue vessel, so to speak, did that leave him vulnerable to something like a cold?

"What a headache," he sighs.

Speaking of which, he's developing one very rapidly, he finds. He needs to come up with a solution to this problem—likely needs to get in contact with his, ahem, godson—but perhaps... perhaps he'll just lie down first. Just for a moment.

***

Typically when they hadn't seen each other for days or weeks or years, Crowley didn't think much of it. They both had their own business to attend to and it wasn't unusual that they wouldn't cross paths for some time. But now that he and the angel were on Hell and Heaven's respective naughty lists, days of radio silence from Aziraphale had him worried.

After failing to catch him on the phone after several attempts, Crowley had decided something wasn't right. Aziraphale always answered his calls, if he were able to do so. Especially these days.

The CLOSED sign does little to stop him, as a quick snap of his fingers grants him access to the shop, the door swinging shut behind him. The shop is dark, the blinds drawn and the lamps doused. It's... odd. The shop is nearly always alight, whether open or not, as Aziraphale can usually be found perched at his desk in study or otherwise straightening his collection according to whatever mad system he had.

"Aziraphale?"

The demon's cautious call had emerged in a far quieter voice than he had intended and he can’t help but be annoyed by that fact. It’s not as though he’s afraid or anything. And if he’s trying to find the angel, it makes no sense to keep his voice down. 

“Angel, are you in here?” he calls, louder this time.

Again he receives no answer. He decides to snoop around, just to be sure, striking off in the direction of the Principality’s desk where it sat on the east end of the shop. He finds the desk neat and tidy, but unfortunately empty. He finds the same of several shelves of books and the back room. Which really only left the angel’s flat to be explored.

Crowley has never been in Aziraphale’s flat. Not because he thought the angel wouldn’t offer to let him inside if he wished, but rather that most of their time together was easily spent in the shop’s backroom, with nothing pushing them to go any further. It feels just the slightest bit of an invasion of privacy to enter without Aziraphale’s express consent, but he supposes he can be forgiven if it’s for the sake of checking the resident’s well-being.

The flat is tidily kept, if on the smaller side (compared to Crowley’s in any case). Despite the angel’s often indulgent nature, he still remained humble in some regards, his living space apparently being one of them. It’s small but comfortable, the worn-looking sofa and softly ticking grandfather clock just some of the touches that made the space truly feel like Aziraphale’s. The color scheme seems to match that of Aziraphale’s dress; all soft shades of tans and blues and tartan patterned. There’s a faint scent of apples and cinnamon in the air and the notion tickles him somewhat. But he’s not here to look around.

“Aziraphale?” he calls once more.

This time he does get an answer, just not one he’d been expecting. A cough. A rather loud, long, rattling sort of cough from a nearby room. Now that is definitely not right. Curious and feeling a different sort of concern replace the kind he’d arrived with, Crowley pushes onward, down the hall and to the one occupied bedroom. He can see at once that the bed is occupied, the covers pulled up over whoever is lying in it. Aziraphale, he hopes.

“Didn’t you hear me calling for you?” Crowley asks, striding forward.

The second he’s reached the foot of the bed, it’s plain to see that the angel hadn’t. He’s curled up beneath the duvet, shivering despite it and breathing in a soft wheeze occasionally punctuated by a rough cough that seems to rock his entire vessel. He looks... sick. But that can’t be right. They don’t get sick.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley tries again, crouching down.

He feels compelled to reach out, to assure himself that he’s seeing what he’s seeing. His fingers are met by a radiating heat when they touch the angel’s forehead and he’s sweating as though he’s been sat in a sauna for the past hour. But the moment Crowley’s hand is on his head, a great, shuddering sigh leaves him, as though even the slight difference in temperature the demon’s skin provides is a welcome relief.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, pushing his hand back through sweat-damp curls. “Can you hear me?”

The Principality certainly makes an effort at answering him. He does manage to open his eyes on the third or fourth attempt, his typically vibrant blue-hazel looking too bright with fever. He blinks sluggishly, staring at Crowley as though he isn’t quite sure he’s seeing him.

“Crowley?”

Even his voice is rough, sounding as though it had been dragged over sandpaper before reaching Crowley’s ears.

“Yeah,” Crowley says. “You haven’t been answering my calls. What’s going on here angel?”

“Sick,” Aziraphale says, clearing his throat. This rapidly dissolves into another bout of coughing and Crowley finds himself tempted to try and hold him down before he dislodges himself from his bed. The angel wheezes heavily for several seconds before tacking on, “...I think.”

“I think we can do away with 'I think'," Crowley agrees. "Hold on, have you fixed up in a moment."

Crowley snaps his fingers... and is perplexed when nothing changes. He frowns and tries again, only to be met with the same results. He snaps and snaps and snaps, as though trying to bring a flame to a stubborn lighter, but nothing comes of it. A sudden feeling of anxiety begins to gnaw at him and he snaps his fingers at the angel's nightstand, relieved when the basin and flannel he'd been expecting appeared.

"Thought the same thing," Aziraphale snuffles.

"What in the Hell is going on with you?" Crowley asks, dipping the flannel into the basin and ringing it out once it was sufficiently wet.

"I think... perhaps when Adam separated myself and... and Madame Tracy," Aziraphale begins to explain, his words punctuated by barking coughs. "He may have fashioned my new vessel... to be a bit too... too human."

Oh. Well, that would do it then. Adam certainly wouldn't have known that a standard-issue body from Heaven or Hell came with all of these immunities built-in. It would definitely explain the angel's current state. 

"Doesn't explain why we can't miracle it away," Crowley points out, folding the flannel neatly in his hands.

"Antichrist at Armageddon," Aziraphale says by way of an explanation.

"...meaning that something done at the peak of his power trumps our abilities, is what you're saying," Crowley infers.

Aziraphale merely nods in response, the brief exchange seeming to cost him energy he didn't have. Crowley places the damp cloth over his forehead, feeling a flutter in his stomach at the soft sigh he receives in return. The angel's eyes have drifted shut once more, though Crowley's certain he's still partially cognizant for the time being.

"Have you taken anything?" Crowley wonders.

"Mm," Aziraphale hums, the noise sounding odd as it battles against his congestion to emerge.

"How long ago?" Crowley asks.

"...wrote it down..."

Crowley finds a slip of paper on the nightstand beside a bottle of paracetamol and some kind of over the counter cold medicine. It read "Tuesday - 2:45 pm." Crowley clucks his tongue and shakes out an appropriate dose from each bottle, miracling a glass of water into hand.

"Right, well that was yesterday so I think it's safe to say you're due," the demon declares. "Up."

He watches the angel unsteadily prop himself up on his elbows, shaking like a newborn foal as Crowley hands him the medication and the glass of water. Aziraphale makes a face—either from the taste or pain of swallowing, but likely both—as he takes them, but does so all the same. 

"Why didn't you bloody call me?" Crowley wants to know.

"I don't need to bother you with... with this," Aziraphale sniffles, settling back down. "I'm not dying."

"How would you know?" Crowley points out. "Not like you've ever been sick before."

Aziraphale's eyes widen in alarm. "...you don't actually think..."

"Well, no," Crowley admits. "But I'm trying to make a point here. What's the sense in handling it alone? And doing an awful job, actually, since you can't even keep yourself properly medicated."

"...I suppose you're right," Aziraphale admits.

"Right," Crowley says, as though that's decided something. "Scoot over a bit."

Undoubtedly Aziraphale means to ask him what he's doing, but as it stands, all that emerges from him is a confused sounding "Bwuh?" Crowley snaps his fingers, his clothing replaced by a pair of black silk pajamas.

"I said budge up," Crowley tells him. "Consider me your Nanny for the foreseeable future."

"...always liked your Nanny..." Aziraphale mumbles as he makes room for the demon.

Crowley can't help but smirk. "I'll bet you did."

It says something that the angel doesn't seem to have the energy to get flustered by that comment the way he usually would. He simply makes room for Crowley before curling up on his side and trying to drift off again. Crowley lies on his side facing him, requiring very little effort to get Aziraphale tucked close to his side, his head pressed to the demon's chest. He breathes out another of those soft, comforted sighs as Crowley pets his head, fingers passing through white-gold curls with a fondness reserved only for him.

...until the moment is broken by a startled yelp from Aziraphale.

"Quit touching me, your feet are cold," the Principality sniffles miserably.

"Well it's cold out in case you hadn't noticed," Crowley informs him. "Calm down, it's not going to kill you."

Aziraphale mumbles something to the contrary but doesn't offer much push back other than this. In short order, Crowley finds himself with his arms full of a slumbering angel. It's an unusual position to be in, being that Aziraphale rarely sleeps and that they hadn't exactly progressed this far yet... but not a bad one. Admittedly Crowley was hoping to get into the angel's bed when he was of sound enough mind to invite him, but this isn't a situation either of them could have accounted for. He's in no rush to hurry their relationship along, perfectly content to move at whatever pace suits them both—so hopefully, the angel won't be too upset to find a demon in his bed once his head clears.

Although he'd made light of it earlier, Crowley is rather worried. It may be something as simple as a cold, but the fact that Aziraphale has it at all is troubling. As soon as he's well, Crowley plans to meet with their godson to see about straightening this all out. For now, he lies and waits and watches the angel sleep hours away.

It isn't as though neither of them has suffered worse than a cold, but that doesn't mean Crowley has to enjoy watching Aziraphale cough and wheeze and burn hotter than coal, pressed against his side and fidgeting through fever dreams. He passes his fingers over the angel's temples, willing away whatever unpleasant images that have pulled his sleeping countenance into such a troubled frown. He hears a quiet whimper; a barely-there noise that almost sounds like his name as Aziraphale winds his fist in the demon's pajama top.

Another brush of his fingers softens Aziraphale's expression into something more at ease, chasing away whatever it is that seemed to have troubled him so. Crowley can't help but wonder what it is. What kind of nightmares does an angel have? More importantly: what kind of nightmares does this one have? He's not sure that Aziraphale would tell him if he asked.

"...Crowley?"

The scratchy sound of the angel's voice catches him off guard; he hadn't realized he'd woken.

"Hm?"

"You're here?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Staying...?"

"Only if you want me to, angel."

"Please..."

"Alright."

So he does.

***

The next time Aziraphale wakes (that he can recall, in any case) he's feeling markedly better than he had previously. His cough still lingers, but it doesn't seem to rock him from head to toe as it had before. Breathing has grown significantly easier and he no longer feels as though his head's been stuffed with cotton.

As he slowly comes to, he realizes that he's not alone. There's a brief spike of anxiety that shoots through him before the memories trickle back to him, keeping him from bolting upright. That's right. Crowley had come. Glancing up, he finds the demon to be snoring softly, apparently the combination of a bed and body warmth too enticing for him not to take a nap. 

Crowley had taken care of him. From what little he recalls, he knows that much. He hadn't needed to, Aziraphale certainly would've lived, but he'd opted to anyway. Aziraphale has seen Crowley sleeping before, as the demon is rather fond of it, but he can't say he's ever seen Crowley look quite this relaxed before. Despite sharing a bed with a counterpart who must have been insufferable to listen to sneeze and cough and hack for hours on end, Crowley seems entirely at peace.

Aziraphale can't help but take a moment to admire him in this state, this sort of soft glow you wouldn't find anywhere other than a bed. They hadn't shared one yet but it feels... good. Right. It feels comfortable in a way Aziraphale frankly hadn't expected. And for a moment, any aches and pains he's feeling, any self-consciousness or worry all faded into the background. Aziraphale is not the best of angels, nor is he treated as such, but looking up into the slumbering face of his partner he wouldn't hesitate to say he is blessed. He is rich in ways other angels could not understand, nor could he explain to them.

And at the end of the day, having a cold is not quite so terrible after all. If it comes with perks like this, it's something he could certainly learn to live with.

[junkyardlynx]

You like scary stories? Good. I’ve got one. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, or whatever. Who fucking knows. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t just one shared fever dream between seven stupid kids. Except the part where the dream was real. Has to be real now that I think about it. Anyway. I’m rambling. About all I can do, right now. Haha. How sad. 

The year was 1998.

Good year.

Goldeneye came out in 1997, so it was really the year 0001 AG to me and my friends. We fucking loved Goldeneye.

I was seventeen and I lived alone in a small town in northwest Indiana. It’s farm country’s farm country. I’d been orphaned and bounced around since I was ten, but being nearly eighteen and relatively well-behaved was reason enough for the state to turn me loose with my inheritance. Quitters. You could stand at one edge of the town and spit to the other end. We had one bar, an elementary school, a post office, a vet, and a corner store. It sucked, but it was cheap and somewhat near the only living family I still had. I lived just above the post office and vet, which was probably the only really neat part of town, so I guess I had something going for me. Add a shitty 1988 Ford Probe bought at cost from a frustrated dealership into the mix and I was up street.  

My uncle Mike lived alone too, a forty minute drive away out by the county line road. He had a pretty nice farm house to himself after my aunt Sherry filed for divorce due to her own extramarital affair. I guess when you’re surrounded by woods on all sides and the only things to keep you company are a host of chickens, a couple turkeys, a goat, a dog, and a...fucking peacock, you kinda get antsy for some excitement. I suppose a two story barn and a grain silo aren’t exciting enough. Anyway. They hadn’t taken me in after my parents died because they had their own problems and I understood. Couldn’t force a kid on someone who wasn’t going to take proper care of it.

Mike was headed into the city for the weekend to shack up with this girl he was into. He did this from time to time, too awkward to ask her to move in with him and too shy to accept her offer, so they just had their trysts. Wasn’t really my business. He called me after I got home on Friday from classes and immediately launched into his request.

“Hey killer, I’m going to see Mary this weekend. Can ya hold down the fort for me? Just feed the animals once a day and don’t let Garfield eat anything dumb.”

“Uh, sure.” 

Garfield was the goat’s name.

I watched him eat the license plate off “Uncle” Van’s...van, once. His name was Van, he was a friend of Mike’s aaaaaand he owned a van. I guess life works like that sometimes, predictable and all. Anyway, Garfield would eat literally fucking anything near his big dumb idiot mouth, like most goats. 

“And uh, I think there’s a bunch of beer in the fridge that’s gonna go bad. Could you do me a favor and get rid of it, bud?”

I could hear the wink through the receiver. I grinned as I pinned the receiver between my shoulder and ear, rummaging around through the cupboards to find my little book of phone numbers.

“Oh yeah, sure thing. Wouldn’t want to have bad beer hanging around in the fridge.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. It better all be gone when I get back. Love ya, kid.”

“Love you too, man. Have a good weekend.”

With an audible click, the other line hung up and I was already dialing people’s numbers. Robert was first, as he was my best and most radically tight brother-man. 

“What’s up, Dingus Kong?” 

Ever since he was twelve, he had the voice of a full-time, carton-a-day smoker. I was honestly a little jealous.

“There’s a beer leak at my uncle’s and we have to plug it up. Call Louis and Alex and make their dumb asses come out. You know the address?”

“Hell yeah, dude. Can I invite Jay?”

“What do I look like, a cop? Of course you can. Saves me the trouble.”

“Cool, later dickless.”

“Peace.”

It wasn’t long until I’d roped Robert, Louis and Jay into things, along with Alex, Laura and June. Alex and Louis had been dating forever and were pretty much attached at the hip, while I had a thing for June. A very quiet, subdued thing, because I operated under the assumption that no one was ever interested and that any thought to the contrary was pointless and asking for trouble. 

We met up at my uncle’s house around 9. They’d pitched in and brought a shit ton of snacks but no one brought any actual food, so our diet that night was going to consist of...Natty Light, snack cakes and chips, pretty much. High school kids eat worse on a daily basis, so no one really cared. I remember being shocked at just how packed the fridge was with shitty Natty Light. Good thing I had good friends.

It was a pretty relaxed atmosphere - Louis and Alex were touchy in the corner of the living room, already a couple beers deep. Robert, Laura and Jay were playing Goldeneye on the Nintendo 64 in the den. They had a penalty game where you had to drink when you died and if you were that fucking prick that picked Oddjob, you both had to take a drink at the start of the round and two when you died. It was fair, believe me. Fuck people who pick Oddjob. 

That pretty much just left June and I. We relaxed in the kitchen, shooting the shit and laughing at each other’s bad jokes. Sometimes we’d look out over the kitchen counter and down into the den / living room - the farm house’s design was always kind of odd to me, but I liked it. The whole house was a one story with a basement. You could come in through the glass sliding door and be right in the living room / den area, then turn right and go up four or five stairs to reach the bedrooms and the turnoff into the kitchen / office area where the front door was. The kitchen had a very open structure, with the sink looking down on the den, and you kinda felt like a commander if sat there and just watched everyone. So I did.

“Hey, Charles?” 

“What’s up?” 

I turned back towards June, taking another sip from that honestly kinda shitty beer in my hand. Ah, the taste of youth - cheap alcohol obtained through immoral or subversive means, like a really cool uncle.

“We should go out to the barn.”

“Why the hell and fuck not?” 

I put on some bravado, but honestly, my uncle’s farm creeped me out. I’d stayed here for the summer once and I swore I could hear things swaying in time with the tall grass as the sun started to die. An animal would go missing every now and then, but my uncle always shrugged it off as coyotes. Never really felt like coyotes, but who was I to disagree when he was the one that lived here all the time?

“Hey, everyone! We’re going outside, time to get up in the hayloft and be stupid.”

I heard a chorus of replies and the click-whrrr of a tube television being powered off, followed by a rowdy collection of feet stomping up carpeted steps. Everyone poured into the kitchen, grabbing things like twinkies and cold hot dogs and new beers. It wasn’t long before we took the party outside, flicking the floodlights on the house on for comfort as much as visibility. We ambled as a drunken mass, slowly making our way towards the faded red barn. 

I have no idea why the barn was so fucking huge, given that less then ten animals lived there. The space was equipped for a sizable amount of large livestock like cows and horses, but all that it held was a collection of idiot birds with too much love and not enough sense. A ladder leading up to the hayloft poked through a square, and we began our inebriated ascent. 

It wasn’t long before we settled into a circle, talking about nothing in particular on the warm wooden floor of the loft. June had taken a seat next to me, so of course, I overthought absolutely everything before determining there was no way she was into me because why would she be? She was way too cool and cute. It was obvious. 

Somehow, we got onto the topic of scary stories. Spooky scary skeleton time. I made up some dumb thing about a cannibal cult in the woods, but it wasn’t very thought out, so everyone gave me shit. Robert just thrust his beer into the air and yelled “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, IT’S ALIENS”, which got a laugh out of all of us. It finally came around to June, who began to tell us about La Llarona, a crying ghost lady in Mexican folklore. 

It was actually pretty spooky until you realized June was like, four foot fucking eight with the voice of an adorable church mouse, and then you were unable to take it seriously. 

We swapped a few more before silence descended on us, slow and natural. The workman’s lamps that I’d lit with a long trigger lighter burned, casting shadows along the walls and illuminating our faces. I smiled as I realized June’s head had come to rest on my right shoulder, feeling not unlike someone blessed by the attention of a regal crow.

“Dude. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry, Illberto.” 

I waved him off with my left hand before looking around. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my hands on it. Honestly speaking, it was kinda like someone had some bodacious body odor going on and tried to cover it up with some sort of perfume. I took as...well, as discreet a sniff as possible, trying to see if it was one of us. 

I don’t think it was, because the more I smelled it, the more I realized it smelled less like body odor and more like that strange stench of death. Sickly sweet, putrefaction rendering the body of something no longer alive into components for bacteria to consume. I kinda wrote it off as dead mice somewhere since I was an idiot at 17. (I still am an idiot, but I was a bigger idiot. Harder head. More impressively stupid. Anyway.) The smell was bothering me though, so I gently pushed June’s head off my shoulder and stood up.

“Since Mr. Crunch and Munch wants some food, I’m gonna run back to the house and grab some chow and booze. Anyone want anything in particular?”

No one really had an idea of what they wanted, so the group just started chanting “FOOD AND BOOZE, FOOD AND BOOZE, FOOD AND BOOZE” at me. I laughed and nodded, giving a sort of half-wave to June who just smiled at me the whole time as I went to climb down the ladder.

Too bad the ladder was gone.

I groaned in annoyance, turning around to address everyone.

“Very cool, who fucked with the ladder?”

“What are you talking about, brother-man?”

Louis piped up, head resting on top of Alex’s. I gestured dramatically at the square hole in the floor, then pantomimed the act of climbing the ladder.

“There was a ladder here. It’s gone now.”

“It probably fell, Charlie.” 

There went Laura, being the voice of reason. I shrugged in assent. Stop making sense, god damn it.

“I’ll just pull a Spidey-boy and jump down. It’s like, ten feet.” 

Something in my head kept telling me that people can die from slipping and falling on ice, but I ignored it. I just had to brace myself, land on my feet and not hit my brain cage. Really simple. 

I walked back over to the hole in the hayloft, sitting down and scooching to the edge. That fucking smell punched me right in the nose once again, pungent and sweet. I almost stop then, but I don’t really wanna look like a goon in front of June. Uh, June and everyone else, that is.

So I stuck my foot down into the oddly deep darkness of the barn below. 

Something wet and hot smacked against it, nearly wrapping around my exposed ankle.

I yelped perhaps the most pathetic sound known to man and physically extricated myself from the hole by leaping up and jumping back. Everyone laughed of course.

“What’s up, penis pump?”

Fuck off, Robert.

“Either the turkeys have really long and slimy necks now, or something down there just grabbed my fucking ankle.”

“Very funny, Charles.” Alex fixed me with a stare, assuming I was taking the piss out of everybody. Holy fuck, I wished I was.

“I’m serious, you assholes.” I’d thrust my right leg out, showing everyone my ankle and foot. A reddish brown goop clung to it, thick and viscous. The smell was emanating from it, and everyone seemed to have taken notice to it. Unless they started retching for a different reason, like my ankle being particularly abhorrent.

“Brother-man, dude, what the fuck is that?”

You’re asking me, Louie Louie?

“Yeah, that’s a negative Ghost Rider, I have no idea. I’m gonna chill up here for a bit, if someone else feels like Rambo, they can go down.” 

I took off my button up and used it to wipe the goo off of my ankle, but the smell seemed to have set in. I noticed a burning sensation on my skin that increased in intensity as I wiped, but it soon faded to a dull throbbing, becoming the least of my worries. In that time, Louis got up to check out the hole.

 He returned to where Alex was, face pale and stiff. 

That’s when we heard it.

“veerrrryfufufufu-”

The sound stopped, then started again. Almost like someone starting a sputtering car engine.

“Verrrrry cocococococo-cokkkkkkkkkhhssssh. Wshooo fufufufufuf. Wshoooo fufufufuckt wishlatter?” 

You ever have someone come up to you and say “hey, we need to talk” and you feel your stomach drop out of your body and onto the floor? 

Yeah, that. That’s the feeling I felt, but way worse. After all, someone wanted to know who fucked with the ladder. Someone who couldn’t string together two words if they wanted to, and they desperately wanted to.

We’d all crammed ourselves into the back of the hayloft, the seven of us together. Oppressive darkness clung to the places not illuminated by the lamps, and the long lighter lay a good ten feet away from us. No one moved to get it. We heard it again and again, some twisted mockery of a voice continually asking who fucked with the ladder. Then it asked again, in my voice.

“Very cool. Who fucked with the ladder?”

Everyone’s eyes were on me, and I shook my head wordlessly as it asked again, perfectly, matching my rhythm and cadence and tone. 

“Hey, if this is a joke because you thought the Goosebumps books were high literature, we’re gonna string you up by your earlobes dude.”

“Fuck off. It’s not. You think I got bored and recorded me fucking around before you all got here? With the tape recorder I don’t fucking own?”

I was hostile.

We were all on edge.

“I don’t know, were you man?”

“Don’t start with me, Robert.”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re a lazy piece of shit. I know you wouldn’t do this.”

“I swear to god.”

The tension was almost lifted until we heard that wet smacking again, like someone slapping a steak on pavement. It was hilarious until you realized it was probably either something dead being slammed around, or some part of the mysterious thing’s anatomy. The smacking persisted as it mercifully ceased it’s questioning, realizing it’s bait wasn’t working. Slowly, the wet squelching of flesh against concrete grew quiet and far away and the stench that pervaded the air began to thin.

I appraised everyone and jerked my head back at the hole in the hayloft.

“Okay. Okay. We’re gonna drop down and run to the house.”

“Is there any better option you have that isn’t ‘jump down and say hi to the crazy stinky murder rapist’ below us?”

“Not really, Alex. Sorry.”

“Alex and I can stay up here,” Louis offered, but she looked at him with her mouth agape.

“Are you dumb, Louis? I’m not staying in that barn alone with this thing. No, really, are you an idiot?”

I looked at Louis with a kind of knowing glance, knowing he was just trying to help out and allay her fears. Couldn’t really blame her, though.

“He’s just looking out for what you want to do. Anyway, we should all go. I’ll go down first and keep a look out while everyone comes down. C’mon.”

I honestly don’t know where I found the balls of steel I was now equipped with, but I was thankful. I think it was just this overwhelming sense of “we have to go now or something bad is going to happen.” Without giving anyone a chance to reply, I broke away from our little heard and took a running start at the hole, leaping down it before my rational mind could catch up.

I let my legs hit and then tucked myself into a roll to rob the fall of it’s momentum, coming up unscathed. I glanced around, greeted by deadly...nothing. Just silence. It wasn’t until I looked at the ground that I noticed it was covered in a thick layer of that reddish-brown goop, and it stunk horribly. I started to gag but I had the sense to bite it down. No point in putting more disgusting fluids on the floor.

“Jump down! C’mon!”

I shouted up and June practically leapt into my arms, so I caught her and set her down, giving her a tender smile. She was all of four foot eight and ninety pounds, so it wasn’t really a feat of athleticism. Of course, Robert came next, and my knees buckled as his six foot frame met mine with that peculiar rapport we had. 

“No smile for me?”

“I swear, dude.”

I swore a lot, apparently.

The rest followed in suit until eight of us stood in the barn, devoid of animals as it was.  I hoped they’d just run off or sought shelter, but another part of me said that wasn’t the case. I exhaled roughly and looked at our group before nodding.

“Okay, we gotta run. I don’t know when that thing’s coming back, but I can already smell that weird stink getting stronger. I think we’ll be safe in the house since we can look the doors and call the cops.”

“Wait, cops? Dude, we’re doing a little thing called underage drinking.”

Thank you for stating the obvious, Louis.

“Oh, yeah! Way better to get murdered and eaten. You’re right.”

“Point taken.” 

We all murmured our assent before taking one last look around. The lamps burned, slowly dimming as their fuel began to run out. I think we left the lighter up there. Not that it mattered, I guess. I reached out and took June’s petite hand, tugging her gently towards the house.

“Let’s go.”

We began to do an awkward sort of power walk, too scared to run and draw it’s attention but not intent on going any slower than we had to. Our group of seven began to cut across the field, towards the shining lights of the farmhouse. 

A horrific wet SMACK from behind us broke that fragile discipline that kept us calm. A plaintive sort of gurgling howl, like a tiger braying it’s dying cry inside of a charnel pit spurred us on, and I roughly pulled on June’s hand. Her fingers slipped from mine for a moment, but her strong and lengthy fingers found mine, slick with what I assumed was sweat. I didn’t bother looking back as the warm porch lights flooded my vision. I let go of the hand I was holding and turned around to regard our group of eight, making sure everyone was there.

Wait.

Eight?

June, Robert, Louis, Alex, Laura, Jay, and myself. Seven. I glanced at my hand, realizing it was slick with that peculiar fluid. I kept the gorge rising in my throat down, somehow.

Swallowing both vomit and my fear, I began to inspect everyone before herding them inside, one by one. There wasn’t a face I didn’t recognize, but there was an extra person here. I got June, Alex, Robert, Laura and Louis into the house before I realized it. 

There were two Jays.

“Hey Jake, come inside.”

Jay kinda gave me a weird look, wondering if I was actually an idiot. The right Jay, anyway. The other one just slowly started to walk forward.

“Hey, I said Jake come inside man. Practice your manners dude.”

My stare was insistent on the real Jay’s, begging him to come in and not make a scene. He shrugged and stepped inside, and only a moment later I was behind him, slamming the sliding glass door so hard I thought I’d shatter. 

The Jay that wasn’t Jay pressed it’s face to the glass and that fetid liquid began to pour from it’s nose as it’s now-malformed hand began to tap lightly on the glass. What looked like clothes began to slough off in thick puddles of what looked to be flesh, pooling on the patio.

“Come inside. Hey. Manners. Come inside. Hey. Come inside.” 

Robert had noticed what was going on and yelled in what I’m sure he’d want me to report was a very manly and commanding shout. Basically, he screamed like a little bitch. Everyone else noticed and booked it up the sort little landing to the second tier of the house, not willing to look at what was happening anymore.

I couldn’t look away. It gently tapped at the glass,  as a second figure approached from the darkness, eventually pressing it’s face to the glass.

My face.

I watched my own face melt away into nothing, forming a featureless expanse of skin with two unseeing and empty eye sockets. The me that wasn’t me tapped politely on the glass like a door-to-door salesman, asking to be let in.

That sure wasn’t fucking happening. In a haze, I waddled backwards, reaching for the phone that sat on the coffee table by the sofa in this 70′s decor mess of a living room.

It wasn’t there. The cord lay neatly on the table, but the entire phone was gone. It looked deliberate, which means that...well, it meant that my uncle took it with him.

Something clicked in my mind, but I buried it as I pedaled backwards slowly, approaching the display cabinet that held my grandmother’s prized compound bow. I heard from my uncle that she’d been an avid hunter into her 90′s and only passed due to the ravages of...well, a car wreck. I was never more thankful to have a badass relative I’d never met than when I pulled that compound bow out of the display cabinet and nocked an arrow.

Never mind the fact that the last time I went bow hunting was when I was like, twelve.

I stared down the two creatures, still begging to be let in in my voice. My hands trembled even as I began to draw back the heavy string. God damn, grandma, how strong were you? What the hell. 

I strafed up the steps, muscles in my arms screaming for release, but I told myself that they couldn’t come in unless they were invited. It was just a glass door, and these things weren’t dumb, apparently. I don’t know what they were. I’d met strange things in the woods around the house, but never anything like this. Obviously. The surreality of it all made it seem absurd to even question what they were. 

It wasn’t until I reached the kitchen with everyone else that I could slowly release the tension and lower the bow, though I kept the arrow nocked and ready. I gave everyone in the kitchen a wary nod as they huddled together, staying deathly quiet. Looking over the kitchen counter and down into the den, I could see one still tapping on the glass. The other was gone.

A soft knock at the door by the office let us know where the other had wandered off to. It repeated a broken string of words in my voice, asking to be let in, saying it was very cool. It’d be humorous if it wasn’t fucking terrifying. 

Wordlessly, I huddled everyone back into the hallway and lead them to my uncle’s room, unlocking it with the key I had. It was the furthest bedroom away from everything else and had a clear line of sight to the hallway, so if they somehow broke their self-imposed rules, I could at least take a steady shot. The door creaked open and the bedroom lay before us as I flipped on the light.

My uncle’s room was surprisingly sparse and barren. No personal effects remained and you could tell where the furniture had been moved in a hurry, like someone was looking for something. It gave the feeling of someone that wasn’t coming back, and the discontent in my heart grew. 

“Yeah, think he’s been moving stuff over to his girlfriend’s place.” 

I said to no one in particular, placating questions before they could come out. A barren mattress lay on a box spring in the corner.

“Let’s stay in here tonight. It’s not gonna be comfortable, but a couple of people can take the bed and the rest of us can take the floor. I’ll keep watch.”

“Charles...”

Robert sounded concerned for once. I laughed. I glanced back and his face soured before he smiled.

“Nevermind, you’re still a penis pump.”

Everyone, still slightly drunk and nervous, began to occupy their own space in the empty room. I sat against the open doorframe, bow laying on my lap, trained down the hallway. Minutes slipped into hours, and everyone began to pass into a light sleep.

Everyone except me.

The sight of the flesh sloughing off their mutable frames was burned into my mind. Not much sleep to be found after that.

Throughout the night, I heard taps all around the house, like a diligent inspector checking for termites in wood. If I strained my sleepless ears, I could hear my own voice rattling through the walls. The deathly sweet stench of the barn had returned, permeating my brain and setting up residence there. 

Once or twice, I thought I heard tapping and murmuring at the single window in my uncle’s bedroom, but surely that wasn’t possible. It was a good eight feet of the ground, as the room sat on the second “tier” of the house. I dozed for a moment and the tapping seemed to grow more and more furious, so I shook myself awake. I began to dig the bowstring into my finger, rubbing it up and down, fraying my own skin until it bled. 

I felt like I was going to go insane. 

A few long hours later and the sun began to rise, banishing the tapping noise with it and the scent after that. I rose, looking around at the sleeping faces of my friends, relieved. I looked around the empty room once more and went to close my eyes before I realized there was reddish goop smeared on the window of my uncle’s bedroom. 

I’d been watched, all night.

All of us had. 

How many had there been?

Enough to replace us?

Did it matter?

Adrenaline flooding my exhausted body, I crept around the house and checked every window, every door. They were all smeared with handprints, fingerprints, imprints of faces traced in that corpse-goo. My stomach roiled heavily, the beer and junk food of the night before threatening to come up.

We were supposed to be a sacrifice, weren’t we?

The copious amounts of beer. The lack of a phone. My uncle’s personal effects all gone from his room. I suppose the rest, even grandma’s bow, was replaceable to him. Including me.

I woke everyone up and told them we should leave. No one fought it, considering we’d survived the night by listening to me. It was a sort of hollow and empty accolade, but I’d take it. 

As Robert and June piled in my Ford Probe outside, I snuck a peek at the barn. Dark red stains and the remnants of feathers, fur and flesh stained the outside of it’s semi-dilapidated structure, as if the animals had been killed by being thrown at the walls in anger. I swallowed dryly, realizing what those wet thuds and smacks had been. 

We spent the rest of the weekend together, all seven of us. One night at Robert’s, the rest of the day at June’s. I tried several times to contact my uncle, but his girlfriend’s landline was disconnected and his emergency cell phone wasn’t picking up. 

Abandoned twice by the family that wouldn’t even take me in, I guess. 

I never found out what those things were. My uncle’s house was marked as abandoned and reclaimed by the bank, eventually being sold at auction for dirt cheap. I didn’t care. I’d stayed away from the forested areas and anywhere approaching natural, and even took to a vegetarian diet for a few months. 

Eventually the memory faded, and years later I had almost forgotten about it. Life went on, and I remained in that cozy little apartment above the vet’s office and the post office. 

Until tonight. 

When I smelled something sticky-sweet, like what the insides of a pitcher plant must be.

Where something tapped at the door to my apartment, begging to be let in. 

Where my own voice begged me to be let in.