#it's after midnight so my brain is turning into a pumpkin so sorry if this got mushy and nonsensical but

[whiskeyswifty]

What’s your favorite thing about folklore?

oh my god what a question. I'm just gonna riff off the dome here because if i try to go at this in any kind of organized way, i'll write a deranged thesis paper. (this is about the album proper, sorry to the lakes. too bad she never released it and we'll never know what it sounded like)

Gut reaction to this question is just how complete it is. It's an idea and concept, a writing prompt if you will, compiled neatly and cohesively in a way that's the perfect digestible length for it's form (music/an album) and also all killer, no filler. All the vignettes are not a "story" (save for the love triangle which i largely ignore because it's shoehorned) but come off like an anthology; that is to say that they're a series of emotional vignettes across a range of life experiences, but explored through the motifs and styles of one writer. I cannot jump around with folklore, i must press play on the 1, which has never happened before with a taylor album. It has no skips, every single one flowing smoothly but efficiently with the ebb and flow pacing of a babbling brook. (i do skip mad woman occasionally cuz its not what i wanna hear at the moment or epiphany cuz it's too heavy and too soon to go back to that mental place, but they're both excellent and fit perfectly within the album when i'm casually listening)

The sound is also just so perfectly aligned with my tastes. I contain multitudes, but unfortunately one of those is being a sad indie white girl lol. I love soft rubber bridge guitars, and whining violins and piano and minimal but expertly layered textures. atmospheric ones that carry the mood and the fill the space like fog but let you feel close to the artist, as i've said once before, as if she were sitting next to you and talking directly to you. There's a lushness to live instruments played softly and as pieces of a whole, and it makes any additions from a moog softened and supplementary. It just, for me anyway, really helps to hear the tactile nature of the instruments and mistakes and the breaths and the pedals on the piano and all the rest. it's the perfect mix of what i love musically from that genre, akin to Sujfan or Lucy/Phoebe or imogen heap or the xx or lana at times. even as way back and like dashboard, which shows my age a bit. you know the vibes. And i love how jack leaned into his more orchestral side, which he doesn't often do with taylor, still to this day. august in particular is just outstanding and he's great at stuff like that and i wish they would do more like that together!

I think its the PERFECT use of her voice. it's not blasphemous to say of all her artistic talents, she does not have a voice that can stack up against her peers vocally. But, as i've also said a million times before so sorry to bring it up again, she has a very emotive voice when it comes to the tiniest and most nuanced of emotions. maybe because she's less focused on vocal runs or hitting notes, but this album has her voice really shine. it's textured and rough and soft and smooth at the same time, fully bringing you whatever raw emotion is on the page. its the voice of a scribbled journal entry if that makes sense, off the cuff, unpracticed (even though i'm sure it is), and so intimate. you can hear her smile and hear when her throat is thick, it's just a showcase of her voice like nothing else. the pared down sound really lets all those tiny moments rise to the surface.

visually, i mean what can i say. her second best album cover ever. Fully removing herself from the center of it, diminishing herself with the trees for scale. Trees that have existed before her and will outlive her, as if to say this, the act of making art and ultimately the art itself, is so much bigger than me. my life and my problems. but everything is bigger than me, and it's important to not lose sight of that. which, if you were an adult at that time, particularly of a similar age to her at least, you commiserate with that sentiment. the black and white isn't actually black, but more of a warm gray, which i also love. i also know it was mainly out of necessity, but embracing how dressed down and simple her styling was. wrinkled dresses and limp, unruly hair. really suited the look of someone who's going to spin you a tale. NO TEXT TOO LIKE YEAHHHHHHHH god it's perfect and so well designed.

rapid fire now, lets see. i love that peace was done in one take, and you can tell, in a good way! and it's her HEARTBEAT???? i'm a sucker for that, no matter how played out that trick is, and imo it's justified because they disguise it with a dissonant tone of sorts. i love the PERFECT knee jerk answer opening of "i'm doing good" and then proceeding to delve into some of her darkest emotions she'd explored thus far (and in some ways since). i love that illicit affairs is missing it's final chorus, a song that is structurally unfinished and just peters out, the way doomed affairs always do. the way she never mentions the location or even the event, but the soundscape and the lyrics of my tears ricochet paint a perfectly clear church and funeral in your mind!! i love the word ricochet and i love how easy it is to spew it with vitriol. as corny as it is in the context of the rest of this more subtle album lyrically, i love the swiftian turn in the bridge of tlgad like.... damnit it's always so delicious. that harmonica in betty is just like a glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer night, it's SO bright and fun and puts a smile on my face every time!

But all that to say I think my favorite thing is seven. seven is a perfect song. her best song. the best version of a taylor swift song. a song so emotionally poignant and transcendent it wins over, however begrudgingly, even the biggest haters of her and indie music as it pokes at that one spot that will always be soft, and it's blank space's spiritual successor and therefore foil in that way. incredible feat to use the motif of your childhood self and not come off trite, like most other attempts by other artists can be. the most opaque she's ever been lyrically, which is a huge risk to take. small in scale but massive in it's implications and intentions. a song where the meaning and gravity exist in your reaction to it and not the song itself. perfect art. an opus of a song on an opus of an album.

[milla984]

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don���t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…” 

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

[thiswasinevitableid]

77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

------------------------------------------------

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

---------------------------------------------------

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

-------------------------------------

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

--------------------------------

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

---------------------------------------------

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

----------------------------------------

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”

[hippohead]

Happy New Year

Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Rating: General Audiences Words: 2071 Summery: This is a Halloween fic. I promise.

Read it on AO3

- - - - -

The thing about being Rachel Berry’s best friend is, it’s a learned skill.  

And Kurt had put in the work. He had looked past the diva-esque antics and the obnoxious Broadway tunnel-vision and the steamrolling, and underneath he had found the Rachel that he loved. The Rachel who would bring him a cup of tea when she knew he was feeling down; the Rachel who pushed Kurt more than he wanted her to but knew he needed it; the Rachel who was kindness and cared – a lot. And it was worth it, for the most part, to have learnt the skill and to have let her into so many parts of himself.

Except for when it wasn’t.

“You’re being pushy,” he warns, and he knows his tone is sharp enough that it would stop most people. Rachel isn’t most people.

“Kurt,” she says just as sternly, swinging around the doorframe of the bathroom so that she can look at him while she continues her delusional lecture, “I just think it’s time that you admitted it.”

He adjusts his cat ears because they’re already giving him a headache. He knows he should have thought of a more original costume idea but time means nothing when he’s juggling NYADA and exams and showcases and auditions and the diner and friends and- god, he’s exhausted just thinking about it all. If all he could pull together for tonight was a pair of black jeans, a tight black long-sleeve, and a pair of cat ears – well, he thinks that’s quite reasonable considering. “There’s nothing to admit.”

Rachel steps out of the bathroom fully now, her makeup finished and her bob wig firmly in place. “How do I look?”

Kurt breathes a small sigh of relief at the change in topic, finally. “You look like the perfect Fanny Brice.” And she does, but the snarky part of him wants to note that she also could have been a bit more original with her outfit. Rachel dressing as Fanny for a costume party? Groundbreaking.

She walks past him, almost dancing, and sings, “That’s because I am the perfect Fanny Brice.”

Kurt sips at the cider that some of Rachel’s older friends from NYADA had left at the loft after their last party and waits for her to come back from her bedroom. By the time she does – a small purse looking like it’s stuffed with emergency night-out supplies slung over her shoulder – he's already feeling a light buzz twirling through his bones. “What time are the others getting here?”  

Rachel checks her phone, “Any minute now.” And then, because she’s the worst and unrelenting and incapable of letting anything go, she says, “I think you should tell Blaine that you have feelings for him tonight.”

“Oh my god, Rachel. I do not have feelings for Blaine.”

It’s the easiest lie when he’s saying it to Rachel, because it usually gets her off his back for a little while. There’s something complicated about the lie when he tries to convince himself. And it’s a lie he’d never say in front of Blaine, because saying it in front of Blaine means removing the maybe in their friendship. It would be Kurt clarifying boundaries he doesn’t want and making a possibility disappear that he always wants there.

And so he doesn’t know who he’s pissed off – karma or fate or the stars or whoever it is that controls the strings and the moments and time – because Blaine, Sam and Mercedes have pulled the door open to the loft just in time to catch his last sentence.

His back is to them but he heard the slide, and he glares at a very guilty, meek-looking Rachel. She bites her lips as if that’s an apology and then clears her throat, “Hey, guys!”

“Hey!”  

Kurt turns around at Mercedes’ voice, and her eyes are big and wild and trying to communicate things with him that he doesn’t have the ability to decipher right now. She’s dressed as Christina from the Candyman music video, and she’s pulling it off effortlessly. He wants to tell her that but the air feels too weird to speak into. Sam is dressed as some Star Wars character he doesn’t know the name of and Blaine-

“Are you... a pumpkin?”

There’s an odd look on Blaine’s face and Kurt can’t figure it out. He lifts his eyes once he realises that Kurt’s question is obviously directed at him - the only one dressed as a pumpkin - and nods, “Yeah. I am.”

Well, it’s good to know that Blaine can be dressed as a pumpkin and still look adorable. It’s desperately unfair, really. Almost as unfair as the fact that Blaine just heard him rather decisively utter the words, I do not have feelings for Blaine.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence that’s settled over everyone. “Should we get going? We’re already going to be late getting to Elliott’s.”

It’s enough to remind everyone that they’re close friends and long past the point of standing in awkward silences, so they bundle up in coats and make their way towards the subway station.  

Rachel finds a moment to whisper a quiet, “Sorry,” in his ear once they're on the train. He wants to question her about it – if he was telling her the truth, then there would be no need for an apology. Blaine hearing him say those words wouldn’t be an issue. He wishes she’d just believe him, for once, but then he glances over at Blaine laughing at an impression Sam is doing, a smile growing on his face despite himself, and he realises how transparent he is.

Why doesn’t Blaine?

- - - - -

Kurt is definitely avoiding him.  

He’s actually a little impressed. Elliott’s place is on the smaller side, so there’s not a lot of places for Kurt to be where Blaine isn’t. Yet he’s somehow managing to pick the perfect moment to slip to the bathroom, or to claim he needs a little air, or to gesture wildly at his empty cup as he starts to weave his way to the drinks.  

“What’s up with Hummel?”  

It’s Santana. She’s dressed as Xena Warrior Princess and he’d questioned her about it when they’d arrived – it didn’t seem like her kind of thing, or too stereotypical for her to buy into. She’d set him with an unimpressed stare and said, “It’s Lucy Lawless wandering around with her wife and beating up mediocre men. What about that isn’t my thing?” And, well, fair enough.

“I don’t know,” but he does know. “I think I’ll go see if he’s okay.”

Santana just shrugs, as if her initial question was as far as her concern was going to go, and Blaine starts to move through all of the capes and bright colours and masks. There’s a part of him that doesn’t really want to find him. That means saying things like It’s okay that you don’t have feelings for me and Just your friendship is enough and Let’s just forget about it. The reality is that he wants more than a friendship, but he doesn't know how to risk the friendship to get to somewhere else. And this, this is why he thought they had an unspoken agreement to never clarify what was happening. Because at least if they were living in a limbo that felt sort of hopeful and perfect, the door was closed but not locked.  

Tonight, Kurt had keys and he used them.  

He finds him in the kitchen by himself, nursing a gin and tonic. “Kurt?”

“Oh.” He looks a little scattered and – weary? “Blaine. Hi.”

It sort of hurts, the way he says that, like he wishes Blaine wasn’t there or looking for him or near him. Kurt’s never sounded like that before. “Can we- can we talk about before?”

He sees the panic move through Kurt’s eyes and almost backtracks, but he can’t do this; can’t exist in the world with things being awkward between them. And he can’t even really understand why they’re awkward. There’s so much unpacking to do about that, but for now he just wants to reassure Kurt.  

“Okay.”

It’s a small reply but it’s enough for Blaine. “I don’t really know why things have been a little weird, but I just want to- I don’t know, I guess. Figure out if we’re okay.”  

“I lied.”

He’s suddenly very aware of his heart and that it’s in his chest, beating, faster than usual. “What do you mean?”

“I lied to Rachel.”  

There’s some sort of plea in his rushed words, like he wants Blaine to hurry up and understand and put him out of his misery. So Blaine tries to hurry up and understand and - "Oh.”  

“Yeah, oh.” Kurt deflates a little and looks down into his drink, “I’m sorry I’m being weird and all over the place. I’ve been trying so hard to be careful with our friendship, and now I’ve just ruined it.” And then, because Blaine still hasn’t said anything and the silence is stretching out in a suffocating way, Kurt says, “Gin makes me sad.”

“I’d be lying, too,” because he’s finally remembered how to speak.  

Kurt squints at him, “What do you-”

“If I said I didn’t have feelings for you.”

It takes a moment, but the smile spreads onto Kurt’s face and it’s delicious and adorable and they’re both just standing in the kitchen, looking goofy and happy and risking it all.  

“That’s a very stupid and roundabout way of saying- well, I really like you, Kurt.”

Kurt puts his glass down but doesn’t make a move towards Blaine just yet. “I really like you, too. Like, a lot.”  

Blaine hums and lets that soak past his ridiculous pumpkin costume – he’s still not entirely convinced that orange is his colour despite Sam’s constant reassurances that it is – and into his skin, bones, being. He decides to be the one to close the gap a bit, moving towards Kurt and enjoying how heavy the air is, how he almost has to wade through it.  

“Can I kiss you at midnight?” he asks.

Kurt giggles and it’s silly and Blaine wants to hear it again, and again, and again. “It’s Halloween, Blaine.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, not really sure why Kurt’s clarifying that. They’re both in costumes and there are fake cobwebs covering every surface – of course it’s Halloween. He starts to fiddle with Kurt’s cat ears, “It is.”

“Kissing at midnight is a New Year's Eve tradition.”

“Oh?” and he knows that somewhere in his brain, but he feels like he deserves to be forgiven for forgetting the specific details of which tradition belongs to which holiday because Kurt is very, very close to him and his eyes are sparkling and all he wants to do is kiss him. And so he does, or tries to-

“Wait!”  

Blaine pauses, confusion riddling his eyes because were they not on the same page? But Kurt doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps them in their tight spot together and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Blaine can’t really see it and he tries to ask what Kurt is doing, but he just gets nicely shushed.  

And then, triumphantly, Kurt holds his phone up to show Blaine what he was waiting for – the clock in the corner of the screen clicks over to 12:00 and Blaine gets it. Now he kisses him. It starts off sweet and he tastes like Halloween candy. He’s already addicted to the sugar and he starts to lick along his bottom lip. Kurt gasps a little, opening his mouth for Blaine, and that’s when their bodies shift, too. Kurt’s back is pushing into the bench and he’s trying to worry about whether or not he’s hurting him, but Kurt is somehow getting his hands under the pumpkin’s fabric and sliding at the skin on the small of his back. He’s struggling to find that compassion now when all that matters is kissing Kurt, Kurt's back be damned.

And then suddenly he’s not kissing Kurt.  

Because Kurt has pulled away to drag in a breath and there’s an impossible grin on his face and a depth in his eyes that wasn’t there before and it means more, more, more. “Happy New Year, Blaine.”

“Happy New Year, Kurt,” he repeats. And then he laughs because he thinks they’ve just made their own holiday tradition, “Happy Halloween.”

[sunnysidevans]

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫 - 𝑨.𝑩

Summary: A friend of yours invites you to a party, after a crappy work week what happens when this party actually makes up for it?

Warnings: fluff, angst , implied smut (18+) , 

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader 

A/N: I thought this was going to spookier not gonna lie but feels fitting for the first day of fall being the other day so enjoy this, More spooky fics coming I promise!

FIRST PERSON POINT OF VIEW

  The temperature outside had finally dropped below 70 and there was a cool breeze blowing through your window with the pumpkin candle you picked up lit. It was finally October, which means halloween parties. You loved everything about halloween, mainly the mystery behind everyone’s costumes. (Y/F/N)  had told you about the masquerade party in which her work was hosted to get into the halloween spirit,which had you a bit skeptical at first but what is the harm in a little fun? “(Y/N), what if you meet a cute hot masked stranger or something? You obviously need a little action in your life” said your friend, you scoffed “excuse me?! I do not! I’m perfectly okay!” you replied as she started to laugh “no no you really need to get laid and I mean this in the best friend way okay, c’mon you can get all sexy” she smiled even though you couldn’t see it but you felt it through her voice and smiled to yourself and sighed “fine”. After agreeing to go to the masquerade party you spent the remainder of your night online shopping for the perfect dress to compliment your beautiful (Y/S/C) along with your mask because the whole point is to stay anonymous for this part of the party. 

  You found your perfect dress after hours of hunting and had it placed in your cart and ready for purchase the next day. You managed to make it up in time after your night of hunting for work and made it out the door with 5 minutes to spare. You almost had the perfect day, almost, as you were making the turn into the parking lot some jerk rear ended you! You don’t like to judge but you knew that may have to let the nails out. “Dude!” you yelled climbing out of your drivers side, adjusting your skirt, looking at the man who climbed out of his car, looking at the end of yours. “I am so sorry” he pushed his hair back looking at the black paint he left on your silver bumper shaking his head grabbing his wallet quickly, which you shook your head “you do not need to do that” you stopped him as he handed you a card, you furrowed your eyebrows “what is this?” you asked looking at it “Andrew Barber - Attorney ” written on it with a phone number “call me with the bill okay? I’ll fix it, it was my fault anyway I really do apologize” he sighed adjusting his jacket as he shoved his wallet back in his suit pants. You nodded looking at him smiling softly, he seemed stressed just by the bags under his eyes “are you okay?” you asked as he sighed heavily again “you are a complete stranger it's okay, just call me with damages okay…” he trailed off waiting for your name “oh! (Y/N)” you replied smiling at him climbing in your car and finally making it to work with many many minutes to not spare. 

  Friday night approached fast. You had treated yourself to a spa day before the night had fallen, mani pedi along with your beautiful dress. Of course you should’ve worried about fixing your car and not some stupid masquered party but after the week you had, you needed this party. You settled for simple makeup as mainly the only part of your face being seen would me mainly your lips. You opted for a simple mask as well as you hoped it would be off by midnight rolled around. Once your hair and makeup were finished it was settled, and damn did you look good. (Y/F/N)  had sent a ride for you, beneficial of course. You climbed in the beautiful range rover as the gentlemen held the door open, as you nodded in thank you and he helped you inside with your dress. You watched as the city passed by you, watching the lights of the beautiful city of Newton. You finally arrived at the beautiful hotel the party was being hosted at and climbed out at the help of your gentleman driver of course as you looked around for your friend. “(Y/N!)” you turned at the name of your name as (Y/F/N) stood at the doors waving you over with her boyfriend beside her. “Hi!” you waved to the two of them as you approached smiling widely sliding your mask on your face looking around “this is so big woah” you chuckled as a chuckled sounded beside you from Mike, your friends boyfriend “that's what she said” as you two laughed you headed inside and got ready for the night and hopefully morning ahead. 

  The party kicked off to such an amazing start, you didn’t leave (Y/F/N)’s sight the first few hours of the party. You couldn’t tell if any of these men were gorgeous under the mask but some were drop dead gorgeous. “Alone tonight?” you heard beside you as you were getting a cup of punch ( cheesy but fitting ), you turned to the voice and smiled at the gentlemen beside you, he wore an all black suit and a simple white mask. “I was” you giggled tilting your head as you pushed your hair off your shoulder watching him smile, his smile was beautiful. “Well how about we change that?” he grinned holding his hand out to you “shall we?” he motioned to the song change over the speakers as you nodded taking his hand and leaving your punch long gone and forgotten. You rested your hands on his shoulders as he laid his on your waist in the most polite way possible and swayed to the music listening to his soft humming. “You know, these things never interest me” he whispered as you nodded “yeah? And what made you come to this one?” you replied as he sighed softly “life, I needed a life and what better than a company party” he shrugged, smiling down at you, He was comforting, kind and held you with such tenderness you really couldn’t believe it, maybe you did find a gentlemen at a masquerade party. 

  After your dance you excused yourself to use the restroom to freshen up, you needed to catch yourself, were you falling for a stranger? You had finished in the restroom and made it a few steps before someone grabbed your arm and had you against the wall, you let out a muffled scream as you looked up to see the beautiful man you had danced with hovering over you smiling at you. “I’m sorry did I scare you?” he whispered, his breath fanned over your face as you took a deep breath smiling up at him “I mean yes” you giggled smiling watching him smile and cup your chin looking him up and down biting your lip as he groaned softly “no” he whispered pulling your lip out of your teeth with his thumb “They’re too pretty” he whispered back smiling watching you whispering again “can i kiss you?” You smiled before nodding cupping the back of his neck, kissing him slowly and softly as you stood on your tippy toes. He panted after you both finally broke apart for air, smiling before whispering “let's get out of here, you and me” 

 The next morning was a bit of a blur for you as you had multiple glasses of punch in which you thought wasn't spiked but in true party fashion was indeed spiked. You groaned as you rolled over in your bed when you realized, the bed was heavier and the sheets felt stranger, almost super wrinkled. You rubbed your eyes, throwing your arms over your head before stretching and groaning again, turning to see a man laying in your bed. At first alarmed, you looked around the room and everything clicked. The handsome guy you took home last night was naked sleeping in your bed, not which you were complaining because you definitely remember correctly how gorgeous he was. You watched him stir and then everything in your brain clicked, you slept with the guy who was supposed to fix your car. You giggled in which he groaned and mumbled “shhh too early” and rolled over to face you more as you smiled adjusting the piece of hair out of his face smiling “fine fine sorry sorry” you smiled, how did you sleep with someone so gorgeous? 

Monday morning rolled around for you and unfortunately you wished it hadn’t as you still were fighting off the weekend you had. After Andy woke up in your bed you did help him home and he did realize who you were and with a few laughs a phone number was evenly exchanged and ended up in your message inbox all weekend. As you arrived to work monday you were greeted with a vase of your favorite flowers and a small note. As you took the note you smiled: 

“Have a good day, oh by the way I’m still waiting for the damages bill for that car of yours. Call me xo Andy” you smiled and set the note down taking your phone from your purse and quickly typed out a message to the attorney “I mean I do know a good attorney if i needed one you know” 

You didn’t know where this could go, but you're glad you decided to dance with that masked stranger.

A/N: if you read this far, I hope you enjoyed! and  happy spooky season 

[lostinmirkwood]

Gendrya Kinktober Day 15- Costumes

Find on AO3 here.

Lommy had been begging them to come out for Halloween for weeks. He had promised to cover their entrance to the club if they made an appearance, in costume, and stayed for at least one drink. Hot Pie said he would bake them his famous bourbon apple cake the next weekend if they came out and stopped Lommy from whining about it. Arya agreed for the delicious cake, promising that she and Gendry would be there costumes and all.

So here he was, standing in their kitchen waiting for Arya to finish getting ready. He was wearing his work clothes from the day with the addition of his reading glasses and had styled his hair. Arya had laughed when he’d told her his uni Halloween standard but went along with it, even giving him a Superman shirt to wear under his button-up. He could hear her clattering around their bathroom and half-jokingly shouted, “Fifteen more minutes and I legally don’t have to go!”

“Liar!” came her reply, “it’s not like you’ll turn into a pumpkin at midnight! Besides,” he could hear her coming down the hall, “I’m done. Just need to grab a few things from my bag.”

She turned into the kitchen and Gendry’s heart stopped as he took her in. She was wearing a navy jumpsuit that hugged her lithe body and sturdy boots that gave her an extra inch of height. Her hair was braided into a crown around her head with a red and white polka-dot kerchief tied into a headband. Her lips though, her lips were painted a sinful, shining red. Gendry caught her around her waist as she went to step past him and pulled her to him. He dipped to kiss her, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he did. She gave a soft noise, hands briefly clenching at his shirt before she managed to step back with a grin and went to dig through her purse.

Pulling a few items out and placing them in her pockets Arya moved towards the door, before pausing and looking over her shoulder with a wink. “By the way Gendry,” she purred, “this lipstick is no-smudge but you know what they say,” she flexed her arm, lips stretching into a mischievous grin, posing for a moment like the classic poster her costume was modeled on, “we can do it!”

Gendry managed to unscramble his brain enough to check his phone, “Okay Rosie, our ride is here. I want to get this over with and come back to test that claim.”

---

The club was loud and crowded, costumed people in every direction. A Robin in a short green skirt was grinding on a Batman while two girls in tiny black outfits with cat ears were taking a selfie nearby. A tall woman in a tight red dress and a flaming crown eyed him appreciatively before Arya grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bar where a man dressed as a vampire with red and white hair was ordering a drink in a strange accent. He could see their friends waving at them nearby. Lommy and Hot Pie were dressed as Robin Hood and Friar Tuck respectively, holding three plastic cups between them that were smoking from the liberal use of dry ice by the bar. As they approached Lommy thrust a non-smoking plastic cup into his hand. Gendry gave the cup a glance before wrinkling his nose, saying, “It has whipped cream on it.”

“It’s pumpkin beer, be festive and drink it Clark Kent,” Lommy rolled his eyes. Gendry eyed it suspiciously before taking a sip. The whipped cream was weird but the beer wasn’t terrible. Arya had flagged down a passing waitress and was taking a lurid green test tube shot off the rack on her tray. As she finished it Lommy handed her one of their smoking cups and the group moved towards a table recently abandoned by a group of girls all dressed as Batman villains.

Arya let him finish his beer before dragging him out onto the dance floor. The pounding beat echoed in his chest as he pulled her in close to him, hands settling on her hips as they ground and swayed together. The flashing lights caught in her silver eyes when she’d tip her head to the side to look up at him, dark lips parted slightly. Her sensual movements against him encouraged his hands to wander a bit as they danced, the anonymity of the crowd spurring him on. One crept up the inside of her thigh briefly as the other caressed a breast before sweeping down her toned stomach to grasp her hip tightly. Arya pushed herself against him harder as they moved, grinding her arse against his growing hardness. She turned in his arms after a few minutes and tugged his face down towards hers. Whatever she was planning to say was lost for a moment as one of Gendry’s hands dropped to give her arse a squeeze and tug her up against him, grinding his erection against her waist while his mouth briefly plundered hers as they continued to sway to the music. Arya managed to disengage long enough to grab his hand and began tugging him towards a side hallway, eyes darkening rapidly.

They stumbled into the alleyway kissing frantically. The music from the club could still be heard faintly through the brick as Arya shoved Gendry against the wall, up on her toes to reach him as her hands fisted into his shirt. His hands kept moving from her shoulders to her hips, warm through the thin fabric of her costume before one settled tight on her waist and the other found its way into her loose curls and grasping her hair at the base of her neck. He tilted her head slightly to move his mouth from her red lips down her neck, nipping at her skin and feeling her pulse race as she panted into the cool night air.

Her hands loosened on his shirt, smoothing over his shoulders and down his arms to reach for his belt. Shaking fingers fumbled at his belt for a moment before releasing it, working at his button and fly next to give herself room to slide her hand into his boxers. Her small hand grasped his straining erection, giving it a slow stroke in opposition to their frantic movements moments earlier. Gendry growled into her neck at this. Her jumpsuit made it impossible for him to get at any intimate part of her without completely baring her to anyone who might step out the side door of the club. Arya’s painted grin up at him at his noise told him she knew that and he was at her mercy. She began to kneel when Gendry grabbed her shoulders and spun her to the brick wall, bracing his forearm above her, muttering, “I don’t want anyone to see you Arry. That’s for me alone.”

Arya’s heart raced at his possessive tone before moving back to her knees. Her fingers found their way under his shirt as she looked up at him before scoring her nails down his stomach and snagging on the elastic of his boxers. With a quick grin she snapped the waistband against his skin before tugging them down far enough to release his leaden cock. She rested one hand on his thigh, nails pricking slightly through his pants as her other hand stroked him a few times. Gendry groaned, dropping his head to his arm and running his free hand through her hair as she slowly began to lick and suck the tip of his cock. Her warm mouth was heaven around him , the contrast with the cool night causing him to shiver lightly. As she began to work him deeper into her mouth his hand in her hair tightened, not directing her movements but because he knew she enjoyed the sensation. Arya’s hand tightened around the base of his cock, using the slick she left behind to help work him over, stroking and sucking. She glanced up to see him staring down, eyes dark with arousal as he watched her kneeling before him.

The sight of her gazing up at him, those sinful red lips stretched around his cock, caused his hips to stutter, thrusting into her mouth before he could stop himself. “Sorry,” he gasped. Arya’s eyes squeezed in a smile before taking him as far as she could, enjoying his noises and the slight pump of his hips, the tip of him bumping the back of her throat. He growled, his grip in her hair tightened further as he began to hold her head still, beginning to fuck into her mouth. Arya moaned around his cock, hand still stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, the vibrations spurring him on, bringing him near the edge, his balls tightening and electricity tingling up and down his spine in time with their movements. “Gods Arry,” he muttered, “you’re so fucking perfect. I’m close sweetheart, you’re so good for me. Can I come down your throat, love?”

Arya nodded as best she could, humming her assent with her mouth full. His blown pupils and rutting hips were making her squeeze her thighs together, her knickers soaked with her own arousal. It was rare she could get Gendry like this, without the immediate option to reciprocate. He’d be insatiable the moment they got behind a locked door. A few more thrusts then his grip on her hair became nearly painful as he held her in place growling quietly, his cock deep in her throat. His legs were shaking as she felt his cum shoot down her throat while she swallowed around him, hand on his shaft milking every drop she could from him. As he finished his hand in her hair softened and he began to gently stroke her head. She drew back and let his softening cock fall from her lips, both hands running up and down his shaking thighs.

Glancing up at him she grinned and wiped her shining mouth, her still-painted lips swollen and perfect. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to slow his breathing, the sight of her below him not helping to calm him down. When he felt her begin to move he reached down to help her to her feet, holding her close to steady her before dropping his head to her shoulder and groaning. “You’ll be the death of me, woman,” he mumbled into the fabric of her jumpsuit.

She smiled, “But what a way to go.”

She began to tuck him back into his pants, fondling him slightly more than necessary to enjoy the punched out sound he made before squirming away from her hands and fixing himself up. He tucked her into his side as they moved towards the side door they’d stumbled out of earlier. Gendry leaned down to press a kiss to her temple and whispered into her hair, “Just wait till we get home, I'm going to smudge that lipstick.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 252: Suplex of Feels

Previously on BnHA: Deku, Kacchan, and Shouto visited Todobrook Heights one time, just the one!!, so of course it just so happened to also be the one time that Natsuo got straight up kidnapped by a villain for no reason because THAT’S JUST HOW LIFE GOES. Thankfully for Natsuo, the Terror Trio had kind of a Cinderella thing going on where if they didn’t beat a villain before Endeavor by midnight, their character development would turn back into a pumpkin, and I’m not really sure I stuck the landing on that metaphor but anyway! So Shouto used Flashfire to roast the villain alive, Deku used Blackwhip to save some hapless civilians who got caught in the crossfire of everything, and Kacchan used his cool fast explosions which don’t have a new name yet because he’s focused on more important things to rocket over and save Natsuo from becoming roadkill. And then Endeavor gave him and Natsuo a BIG OL’ HUG and my heart went, oh.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi grabs a handful of raw, squishy feels out of a bucket and just full on slaps me across the face with them. Endeavor has a moment of agonizing, excruciating vulnerability and apologizes to Natsuo for everything -- like, everything -- and says Natsuo doesn’t have to forgive him, and that in fact he doesn’t want him to forgive him, and that he just wants to atone for everything he’s done. And just, I can’t even describe the scene, but it’s just perfect down to the last detail, and exactly what I wanted. And meanwhile Deku, Shouto, and Kacchan stand there watching, and then Kacchan has a fucking epiphany and FINALLY DECIDES ON A HERO NAME!!, and I completely lose my goddamn mind, only to then be brought down to the lowest of lows when he immediately says that he’s not going to reveal it yet because THERE’S SOMEONE ELSE HE HAS TO TELL FIRST. So once I’m done sighing, we cut to later and Endeavor is all “Fuyumi I’m gonna buy a house for you guys so you can all live a happy life with your mom and never see me again,” and yeah. You guys I am in shambles.

hey everyone, whoever is doing Mangastream’s thumbnails every week deserves a raise though

especially since they’re not actually getting paid for it at all lol. their resolve to find the most ridiculous Kacchan expression every week and slap it on their home page is 100% a labor of love. AND IT SHOWS

lol and here I was half-worried the chapter would pick up after all the dust had settled, and we’d miss out on this glorious scene of Kacchan acting like he’s the goddamn wicked witch of the west and the sprinklers just turned on. anyways, I know what I’m thankful for this holiday

HAHAHAHAHA

I’D LIKE TO TAKE A MINUTE AND THANK ALL OF OUR SPONSORS AND OUR GREAT CREW WHO MADE THIS ALL POSSIBLE. SHOUT OUT TO ENDING, YOU’RE THE REAL MVP. BIG “HEY WHAT’S UP” TO TOUYA, WHO STRAIGHT UP DIED JUST SO ENDEAVOR COULD HAVE ANGST AT A CRITICAL MOMENT AND FORCE KACCHAN TO BE THE ONE TO SAVE NATSUO INSTEAD. AND A HUGE FUCKING “YOU THE MAN, BRO” TO THAT MORON SPEEDING BLINDLY IN THE TAXI CAB WHILE ON HIS PHONE AND NOT PAYING THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF ATTENTION TO THE ROAD IN FRONT OF HIM! WITHOUT YOUR RECKLESS DISREGARD FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY AND THAT OF OTHERS, THIS NEVER COULD HAVE HAPPENED. OH GOD, THEY’RE PLAYING THE MUSIC NOW, I GOTTA HURRY UP... AH... I’M SO GRATEFUL TO ALL MIGHT, GIVER OF SO MANY LEGENDARY HERO HUGS, AND TO SLIDIN’ GO, YES REALLY SLIDIN’ GO, WHO ESTABLISHED THIS GAG BACK IN CHAPTER 219. YOU BOTH WALKED SO ENDEAVOR COULD RUN. AND LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, TO HORIKOSHI KOUHEI, WHO IS ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DETERMINED TO HAVE EVERY PRO HERO IN THE COUNTRY HUG KACCHAN BEFORE THE SERIES IS OVER. YOUR TIRELESS EFFORTS ARE THE REASON I GET OUT OF BED EVERY MORNING. GOD BLESS YOU ALL AND GOOD NIGHT

anyway

sorry Kacchan this is just your life now. you’re just stuck here. by the way, Endeavor really is just an absolute MOUNTAIN of a man, though?? like, a whole, absolute unit. like remember a few chapters ago when I was joking about how he was eight feet tall? well Natsuo is 5’11” according to the wiki, and you can tell by looking at him that he is a solidly built guy. like, he eats his fucking Wheaties. and Endeavor is still able to FULLY WRAP HIS ARMS AROUND both him and Katsuki together WITH ROOM TO SPARE and just. ?????? WHAT EVEN IS THIS MAN good grief

anyway poor Natsu looks close to passing out though so maybe you fucking should let them go Endeav

SDLFKJSDLFKH

1) seriously though look at how big his hands are jesus christ is he even a human!?!?

and 2)!! the amount of sheer detail which was put into this panel, with the facial expressions and the shading and all, only for Katsuki to open his big fucking mouth with ABSOLUTELY NO REGARD! like, this could have been one of the most heartrending panels in the entire series. but instead it’s forever immortalized with Bakugou fucking Katsuki and his brutal fucking speech bubble interjecting with the most vicious insult his angry toddler brain could think of. this panel has the same energy as Deku receiving a heartfelt thank you letter from a child whose life he saved only to unfold it and read that iconic opening line, “SORRY FOR PUNCHING YOU IN THE BALLS LOL”

oh my

boy took matters into his own hands. after Enji just STRAIGHT UP IGNORED HIS PLEAS lmao. this entire chapter is a gift, and we’re only on the second page. also that katakana there is all “SUPON”, which I don’t know what that means, but I have to tell you that to me this felt more like a “ZWOOP.” but that’s just how I personally read it

eyyyyy and there’s our half-naked lukewarm boi

and look, I’m not advocating for Shouto to actually be walking around half naked, because this is a children’s manga and Shouto is just a baby, and that kind of thing is obviously inappropriate unless you’re [checks notes] one of his female classmates, who just like Shouto are also only teenagers, but it’s okay for them because they have boobs. hey wait

but anyway, I will say that I appreciate that his uniform really did burn off just as you would expect, and that he used his ice quirk to preserve his modesty lol. quick thinking on his part

meanwhile all the people Deku rescued are stumbling out of their cars nauseously and thanking him. I like how all of the other traffic on this highway has apparently just come to a halt now. I wonder if the Endeavormobile also came equipped with some traffic cones and road flares that launched out of the trunk along with the costumes

oh hey a BakuDeku interaction, don’t mind me, I’m just... [folds hands on desk and leans forward]

someone please tell me what he actually called Deku here because I’m dying to know. anyways whatever it was, “dumb-ku” is a great translation. it’s just the right amount of stupid and immature, and I love how Deku just fucking answers to it anyway like shrug, whatever

also love how the first thing Katsuki asks is whether anyone is hurt. swear to god this kid makes me love him more with each passing week

fond sigh

okay guys, I’m getting more and more excited here now, and let me explain why. it’s because Katsuki, despite having achieved (as Deku points out) a complete and perfect victory here, is very obviously agitated and angry still. and I think the reason for that is because even though he’s achieved the goal Endeavor set out for them, he still hasn’t achieved what he wanted from this internship. the other two have! Deku accomplished his goal of gaining more control over Blackwhip, and Shouto is now well on his way to mastering Flashfire. but Katsuki specifically came here with the intent of discovering something intangible that he couldn’t put a name to. and even though he’s gotten stronger just like the others, he still hasn’t achieved what he set out to do yet, and I think he’s getting frustrated by it. and the reason I’m so excited is because I think we’re inching closer and closer to seeing that finally get resolved. ahhhhhhh

(ETA: THIS CHAPTER IS THE MONKEY’S PAW WISH OF CHAPTERS.)

anyway I’ll shut up now and read. here’s Katsuki bragging to Endeavor, and Endeavor doing his best All Might impression what the fuck

that line could have come straight out of All Might’s mouth and it would have sounded 100% natural. well everyone, we did it. we fucking broke Endeavor. I hope you’re happy. lol what the fuck is happening what is this

DFKLSLDGHK

I fucking see those wobbly speech bubbles Endeavor, are you crying, because -- !! holy shit this chapter is taking my emotions all over the place

lol Kacchan’s pissed off that Endeavor isn’t more pissed off about being shown up by some punk kids

Deku’s eyes. this chapter. I just

ohhhhhhhhhhhh shit here we go

for everyone out there who was worried that Natsu would just forgive Endeavor outright after the events of this chapter, I think we’ve arrived at the part where your fears are assuaged. I pretty much expected this was how it would go down, because for all the criticism he’s been getting week after week, Horikoshi has been writing the Todorokis realistically and consistently throughout this entire arc, and this was the natural conclusion based on what we’ve seen up till now. Natsuo won’t just forgive Endeavor just like that, because why would he? and Endeavor just has to deal with it. and it’s all very sad and painfully real

SON OF A BITCH

the fucking words “I’m sorry” really just came out of his mouth at last, holy shit. this is the first time, right? as far as I can recall, anyway. oh shit

oh shit

my fucking jaw. just dropped. just. fuck me, I wasn’t ready for this. sure Enji, just go ahead and pour your heart out. lord

imagine if his voice actor goes all out in this scene like Katsuki’s did in episode 61. holy shit, I never thought the thing that destroyed me would be a sad confession in a fucking shounen manga by the character I used to despise. life is funny

ohhhhhhhhhh

[awkward glance around the fandom] soooo. how’s everybody doing? aheh. [coughs]

oh shiiiiiiIIIIItttt

oh look at that, Endeavor didn’t actually murder his child, who could have predicted that. but maybe I’ll just shut up now though since I’m not here to start any shit

and the pain train to feels junction just keeps on chugging. fuck

YOU SEE!! BRUTAL!! RUTHLESS!! SO REALISTIC IT HURTS. Endeavor is genuinely sorry, but it’s all coming way too late to be of any use! and Natsuo is so pained because he honestly probably would like nothing more than to be able to forgive his dad, and for them to all just be a happy, normal, loving family again, but he can’t. because they’re not. and apologies can’t erase the past, or make up for it. there is no way to change what happened. Touya’s still dead, and the scars from all those years of neglect and abuse are still fucking there, and they’re not just going to go away, even if Enji is remorseful. Enji becoming a good man now doesn’t make up for all the years that he wasn’t! he can’t just undo it! and that’s the tragedy of it!! you feel so bad for the man -- or at least, I do -- but at the same time, part of the atonement process is to accept the consequences of everything he did!

and also, for everyone saying he hasn’t faced any actual consequences yet -- one person in particular sent me a very detailed and thoughtful ask, which I apologize for not responding to yet -- I say this with all due respect: there. look. there are your consequences, right there. everything he will never have. everything he can’t salvage. the pain of knowing he was the cause of all this. the pain of seeing the misery in his son’s eyes and knowing he can’t fix it, and knowing the hurt he’s caused to the ones he loved most. that is karma. that’s a fucking punishment. that’s an agony beyond any physical torture that anyone could ever possibly dream up. his punishment is that after all these years, he finally gets to feel all of the suffering he’s inflicted on them, and he’d do anything to take it back now, but he can’t. that’s it! and we all fucking hate it, and no one is happy! and it’s not fucking fair! haha! but that’s how it fucking is, though. and I swear to god, I keep saying it, but it’s some of the most brutally realistic shit I’ve ever seen in a fucking manga. fuck

anyways, I need to stop monologuing or else I’m never going to finish this fucking chapter, but rest assured my soul is being ripped the fuck apart. hmm

:’)

(ETA: note the conspicuous lack of a Kacchan reaction panel directly after the “I’m never gonna forgive you” panel. everyone else gets one. but not him. in fact, there are no more reaction panels of him until this speech ends, and then we get one zoomed far away where we can’t really see his face. but I’m sure that’s all just a coincidence and means absolutely nothing! oh baby. what a chapter.)

:’)))))))

by the way, quick shoutout to that person in the taxi giving them the Rock Lee Eyes and having just no idea what the fuck is going on sob. thanks to you for keeping me from breaking into full on sobs here. I’m holding it together for you, random deer-in-headlights citizen

[INHALES!!!]

that’s it. I don’t. fuck. anyways. I ranted about all my feelings already, so just. ... you all get it by this point, right?

oh Kacchan. penny for your thoughts. I’m almost done with that essay I keep rewriting. you have a lot to think about right now huh

and Shouto. oh Shouto. safe to say this is a side of his father he’s never seen nor imagined he would see before

YOU GUYS THIS IS SO FUCKING IMPORTANT THOUGH, SHIT

[GRABS THIS PANEL AND FRANTICALLY WAVES IT ALL OVER THE BNHA TAG] I’M!!! JUST!!! SAYING!!! THOUGH!!!!!!!

oh, we’re still going? SURE WHY THE FUCK NOT

WHATEVER HORIKOSHI!!! JUST KEEP COMING AT ME, THEN!! GO AHEAD AND FINISH ME OFF WITH A FUCKING SUPLEX OF FEELS!! YOU SON OF A BITCH

and now Ending’s freaking the fuck out and screaming for Endeavor to stop. lol it’s like the villain version of Can’t Ya See-Kun. Endeavor you jackhole, this isn’t on brand! CUT IT OUT

forget it, Jake. it’s Character Development

now the police are arriving and Deku’s like THANK GOODNESS because the awkwardness was about to go critical here. meanwhile, pay no attention to how Katsuki is staring at him despite having no real reason to be in this panel!

[sidles up next to Kacchan] so hey fella. did any of that hit a nerve, perchance. did it open any metaphorical eyes. dust off any momentous revelations that you’ve been valiantly trying to keep shelved in your mental basement. have the SEEDS of your PERSONAL GROWTH been CULTIVATED. are the JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES of NOT BEING A DICK knocking at your inner door!?

anyway so now we’re cutting to Endeavor talking with the authorities while Chauffeur Armstrong tells him he needs to watch his back

friendly reminder that a bearded hermit flew around town on a glass hoverchair singing a song about Endeavor bringing darkness to the world or some shit not too long ago. that’s still a thing! better watch it Enji

HOLY FUCKARONI

(ETA: shoutout to that “neither does the light” line because that’s some straight up Harry Potter quotable bullshit and I love it and Endeavor’s character development continues to slay me that is all.)

FUCKING!!! CHRIST!!! OH GOD!!! OH JESUS!!!!

HMGGHHHHAAAA SOMEONE HELP ME OH MY GOD I’M SHAKING, AHHHHHHH

(ETA: listen you guys, in all of my “!!!!” I didn’t stop to appreciate all of the other things about this scene. but Shouto has changed into his hero costume which is a great little detail that I love because he obviously didn’t feel like standing around freezing his butt off and being oggled by the crowd. and then we have Natsu coming over to thank them all for saving his life, which is great, and he’s such a sweetheart. and then Deku actually saying “Bakugou” for probably the first and only time in his life lmao. and then, finally, his fucking face when he realizes Kacchan has finally chosen a hero name. he’s fucking ecstatic. he can’t wait!! anyway so Deku is me.)

NO BUT I’M FULLY SERIOUS YOU GUYS, I’M TREMBLING LIKE A FUCKING LEAF, IT’S PROBABLY THE CAFFEINE IN ME BUT STILL, OH MY GOD, I’M PARALYZED, I CAN’T SCROLL DOWN, MY HEART IS POUNDING, MY LIFE IS ABOUT TO BE FOREVER CHANGED, OH FUCKSTICKS, OH SHIT

NOOOOOOOOOOO

FUCK MY FUCKING -- WHERE IS HAWKS!!?!? WHERE IS HE!?!? I SWEAR TO GOD IF THAT FUCKING MAGPIE DOESN’T SWOOP DOWN RIGHT THE FUCK NOW WITH JEANIST IN TOW ALL “HAHA IT WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING” I’M GOING TO --

(ETA: but lmao at the fact that Shouto was all “okay, so you’re not going to tell him, but what about me, your Best Friend?” like he really heard “DROP DEAD ASSHOLE” and thought “well, that was Midoriya though, LET ME TAKE A STAB AT IT.” this is the most earnest child in the universe and this OT3 continues to bring me boundless joy.)

FUCK

LISTEN YOU KNOW I LOVE THAT TODODRAMA, BUT YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT TO ME!! I’M A HUMAN BEING!! IF YOU CUT ME I BLEED!! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS. I’M GOING TO STRAIGHT UP CRY ALL OVER AGAIN YOU HEARTLESS PIECE OF SHIT

looool

“and his friends.” you hear that, Kacchan. now COME BACK OUT HERE AND TELL US YOUR HERO NAME RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN!!!

Endeavor you better save this chapter. I’m counting on you dog

oh. oh shit

hahaha. well fuck

first of all, look at Mr. “la dee dah I’m just going to build my family a new house on a whim because I’m so fucking rich” over here, like, damn, Endeavor. and second of all my heart is just a bludgeoned hemorrhaging mass of feels at this point and I’m not even going to try to salvage it. and third of all, this is exactly the type of resolution I wanted, pain and all, and I’m so goddamn satisfied with it it’s almost ridiculous. because the man fucking gets it. for everyone who continues to doubt Endeavor’s intentions, look no fucking further than this. this isn’t a narcissist trying to gaslight his victims and get back in his family’s good graces and make it all about him yet again. this is a man who understands that the best thing for his family right now is for them to be allowed to piece their lives back together without him. and so he’s enabling them to do that, and voluntarily stepping out of the picture while still providing for them. and damn but I respect that so much. fuck yeah, Enji. this was the right thing to do. it doesn’t make up for all the mistakes you’ve made, because nothing can do that. but you’re a better man now, and this right here is exactly the type of thing people mean when they say actions speak louder than words. so, respect

and that’s it! we’ve officially experienced all of the human emotions in this chapter! oh and also that’s it, as in the chapter is done. so yeah. well that sure was a whirlwind now wasn’t it

[heli0s-writes]

Pet Names

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: The boys wonder why you don’t have any pet names for them. A/N: 2 of ?? Snapshots between you, Steve, and Bucky. In the same canon as Mystery of Love– check it out first :) 

They have so many for you: Angel, darling, sweetheart, kitten, honey. All tender and easily passing over their lips any chance they get. Some were more creative: doll-baby, honeybunny, pumpkin, cherub. Some of them would stoke fires in your cheeks just at the sound of their silly syllables rolling off your lovers’ tongues.

Once during a quiet dinner at the compound, Bucky asked, “Can you hand me the salt, peach?” And you had taken a moment to wonder what kind of entrée a salt-peach even was before realizing he paused in between the two sounds.

You were the peach. He wanted the salt.

“How come you don’t have any pet names for us?” Bucky ventures now, as you lie you head in Steve’s lap. The three of you are lounging about and ready for bed, nestled in the excessively large mattress in Steve’s room. Well, it’s the shared room for all three of you, you suppose, even if it formerly belonged to only Steve. You call the other room Bucky’s room, but that’s not quite accurate either. It’s been transformed into something resembling more like an office. You spend most of your time there on your computer while Steve reads or draws Bucky as he watches T.V.

“For you?” You murmur as Steve twirls a strand of your hair over his pointer.

“Yeah, honey. I’ve wondered that, too.”

Bucky flips on his stomach and army-crawls until he’s comfortably nestled against the side of your body, hand reaching under your shirt. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and props his head up on his other palm. The metal one is harmless, resting on your sternum with a tap with his finger here and there, but not devilish like it can be.

You have a reason, and it’s a pretty good one. But the look in their eyes seem a little hurt that you have no affectionate titles to call them. “Can I tell you tomorrow?” you ask, stifling a yawn being your hand. “It’s so late.”

“C’mon babe.” Bucky whines, but Steve nudges him with a pitched-up knee and he relents, rolling his eyes and his body away. You hide a smile as you sit up and head toward the restroom, pulling your toothbrush from the seashell print container.

“Honey?” You call from the counter casually, “We’re out of toothpaste- mind getting me some?”

Two pairs of feet patter forward in a hurry before both broad-shouldered men knock into each other at the doorway, eager to respond. “Woah, Buck!” Steve is alarmed as Bucky nudges past him.

“Got it!” Bucky grins widely, supplying you with the tube he’s pulled from the high cabinet. There’s pure delight in his eyes when you take it from him, even as Steve fixes his narrowed gaze on the back of Bucky’s head and then slowly to your nonchalant humming in the mirror. What are you up to? He’s asking. But you pretend like you don’t see him.

After washing your face, you lie down in the middle tonight and kiss them both on the cheek before pulling the cover up until its edge reaches your chin. It’s dark now, with the white-noise machine droning on in the background—a steady current of buzzing.

“You were talkin’ to me, weren’t ya?” Bucky asks.

“Mhm,” You say. “Goodnight, handsome.”

“Goodnight.” They both reply.

“She was talkin’ to me.” Bucky grumbles.

“No, she wasn’t.” Steve spits back.

It’s like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you swear. In the middle, your shoulders tremor with laughter and Steve tugs the nightstand lamp back to life. “Huh, I see now.” He accuses with a playful smile, turning so that he hovers over you. You press your face into Bucky’s arm and cling onto him like a lifesaver. “I see what you’re doing, you little minx.”

“What’m I doin?” Your voice comes out muffled by Bucky’s skin, who now stirs too.

“Oh.” Bucky catches onto Steve’s train of thought. They’ve both discovered your plot too early. You had hoped to enjoy at least a few more morning hours with this kind of play. “You’re mean.”

Steve presses his nose into your neck, breathing in the scent of your lightly perfumed face wash and the sweat that threatens to accumulate from his scrutiny. His large hand comes and wraps around your elbow, prying you loose. Bucky is there immediately, other hand pressing you down until you’re on your back, sinister glint in his eyes. “You know what, babydoll?” He asks—even though the question isn’t a question at all.

“Maybe we’ll play a game with you,” he mutters, pinning your left wrist to the pillow. Steve does the same to your right one, and a scream is about to wrench itself from your throat because you can’t stand to be tickled. Steve watches Buck eagerly, a smirk tugging up his cheek.

Bucky licks a stripe from your neck to your ear and you squeal at the sensation. There’s just being tickled, and then there’s the dread and panic of being tickled that somehow tricks your brain into feeling it even before it happens. Your toes curl so hard the entire arch of both your feet cramp.

“Stevie, think of somethin’ you’d like to be called by.” Bucky suggests, “As for me, kitten... How about...” You see him plotting. You see him digging down into the filthiest pit of his brain and yanking out something so utterly mortifying that you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Big boy.”

You peek up at him and your feet relax. That’s not so bad. It’s kind of cute. But then he says it again, with a slow, meaningful inflection. Big boy.

You frown. “No way.”

“You wanna get tickled, honey?” Steve asks.

“Steve!”

“Not Steve,” He replies flippantly, “Let’s start with sir.”

You sputter, “What is this? A FetLife meetup?”

They raise their eyebrows and you shake your head, better to not introduce them to that, you think. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?” Steve asks.

And then, for the first time in a long time, you suddenly regret choosing to sleep in the middle because your men are holding your wrists down and pressing their bodies against you. Steve buries his mouth into your neck, bites on the lobe of your ear. Bucky rubs the hardening length of his cock against your thigh, hooking his leg over both of yours and grinding painfully slow.

Your mouth grazes Bucky’s in a tremulous kiss, gasping when he bites on your bottom lip—just enough to shock. His tongue flicks out to lick yours, then trails up to catch your top lip before he descends again, starting the process over—never staying still enough for your lips to actually meet.

Steve lovingly pulls your hair from your neck, away from your collar and kisses your nape, murmuring into your skin. The vibrations travel all over your body, blooming goosebumps down your arms and back. “Bucky!” You whine.

“Whossat?” Another sloppy half-kiss rubs against your tongue.

“Ugh!” You rasp when Steve’s hand finds its way between your legs and yanks against your underwear, pulling the crotch of your panties tight into a knot. He tugs and tugs, and it rubs against your clit. “Oh God! I can’t believe---”

“Mhm.” They goad you on, Bucky’s hand joins Steve, one pulling the fabric forward, the other backward. Your poor little panties are going to--

The shrieking of fibers ripping apart make both of them pause. “Oops. Sorry baby.”

You shriek for real, this time, swatting their hands away. “These were my favorite!”

“Well, you made us do it.” Bucky replies.

“Oh, this is some gaslighting horseshit!” You are beyond impatient, temper flared on by the simple fact that they tore your favorite pair of underwear— but really, honestly, more because they are such jerks when they merge on the same mission to drive you crazy. And because Bucky wants you to call him Big Boy.

“You talkin’ to me, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

“Or me, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, unreasonably annoying. “Maybe…” He pretends to ponder, tapping his pointer against his lip slick with your saliva before his eyes fall upon your face. “I know. No more pet names for you, if there aren’t any for us…”

Before your top explodes and you might break your hands punching them both in the face at the same time, your phone trills out a familiar tri-tone ring, looping again and again. Thor’s face flashes on the screen. Bucky and Steve send each other a look as well as you when you pick it up and inspect it. It’s nearly midnight; none of you know why Thor is calling.

“Hello?” You venture. He doesn’t respond, only greeting you with rustling and muffled speech. So, you try again.

“Hello? Thor?”

Then, his resonant voice claps on the other line like a thundercloud-- clear as a crystal blue day. “Ah! I didn’t mean to bother you!” He laughs, “Must be quite late where you are, isn’t it?”

“Uh… where are you?” You ask in return. “I’m about ready for bed.”

“I suppose I’ve done what they categorize as a booty call.”

“No! No, Thor!” You stammer when Bucky sits up and rounds in on you with a glower, emphatically mouthing the word booty call.

“Not a booty call. A butt-dial. Not a booty call!” You hold your hand up to repel Bucky and repeat it again for good measure. The Asgardian god on the other end only laughs. A deep, bellowing echo from his chest, as he always sounds.

“Ah-ha. You’re absolutely right. Well, I best let you get to bed, before your lovers come for me.”

You giggle. “Good idea. Have fun wherever you are!”

“Goodnight, dear.”

“G’night, Your Highness.” The title makes him chuckle softly before he hangs up. And you do too, tucking the phone back under your pillow and sighing softly. “Just a butt-dial.” You smile, reassuring the two flanking you with their severe blue eyes.

“Dear?” Steve asks.

“Your Highness?” Bucky adds.

You throw your head back onto the pillow. Christ, not this. Anything but this. It’s fine and dandy when they tease and harass you in good humor. But when it becomes something soured with jealousy—they’re the worst. They become two gods, ram-rod straight monoliths, smoldering with vengeance.

You close your eyes and accept your fate, body already shuddering with anticipated fear.

“Oh no…” Bucky warns.

“Oh, fuck no.” Steve hisses.

The second shriek they pull from you when all twenty fingers descend on your sides echoes throughout the compound.

[aka-indulgence]

Nighttime Surprise

Not exactly a ‘usual’ stress-relief, but also.. yes? Not in the usual sense, though I may have self projected. Maybe. Something I wrote that wouldn’t strain my one month unused writing muscles... And enjoy it too

Summary: You don’t know what your relationship with (HT!)Sans is. Just that it’s close and intimate... And it’s going to get much more so when you suddenly find the guy in front of your shoebox apartment door.

It was night. You were tired. And having a heavy case of the tension headaches.

You were feeling thoroughly like a piece of garbage. You hadn’t done anything today.

You had called in sick, when you were thinking to do so many of those “adult responsibility things”. Like going to the bank before your work started, and going to to the party after the work that your colleague was having. It wasn’t a party really- just that friends had invited to go drinking at a bar. You weren’t that big of a drinker- maybe just drinking on celebratory nights or when you were invited, never looking for it on your own.

But when you woke up to feel that grogginess in your eyes, the chills and slight shivers when you shifted around in your bed, the tenderness of your muscles and the fact you felt too hot when you had the blanket over you, but started getting more chills when you took it off- You’re sure if you didn’t get proper rest, you’d get a fever, and you didn’t want that.

Forcing yourself to work won’t solve anything.

You sighed as you watched the clock tick, getting past midnight.

You groaned.

Why… Were you… Still awake?

You may have heard enough medical advice to tell you about things. You’re supposed to rest so you’d feel better the next day. But… Throughout the day, while you were just lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you thought how much more productive you could be.

But instead, you just sat there. Every time you moved, you felt like gravity had gotten twice more stronger than it should be. You had so many things you could do.

You were also a side reporter. More freelancing than an official one really. Occassionally writing up something in day to day that was worth mentioning to the public, whether it was something interesting that the average person don’t know but might get interested in- to more serious things like when an accident had happened near you.

You never had a schedule, you weren't obliged to keep writing for them every day- but you could send in a piece of your work to be published by them.

Other than that, you had actual snail-mail letters sent to you from family members that you should get to. They take time to deliver, and doing it faster, the better it’d be for them as well. Sure, you’ve all gotten smartphones and could use a messaging program, but there was something special about sending real, tangible things they could touch that needed thought before it gets sent off.

…

And you didn’t do any of that.

Or… Not exactly.

You did try something. You did try writing a report on the amazing ‘job’ a 65 year old man was doing just down the street that everyone undermines- cleaning up leaf litter and just downright litter every day on the road, without getting paid. You did try thinking of things to reply to your cousin who lived seas away from you.

… But everything you did, just seemed not as good as you thought it’d be.

So you groaned, thinking you’re just going to do it another day. But all this… waiting has gotten you stressed.

You know you shouldn’t dwell but… You just tossed and turned in bed, like some kind of annoying purgatory of wanting to do something and can’t, and getting stressed when you don’t do something and just stay lying awake, trying your best to. Fall. Asleep.

“Oh, I didn’t even take a long nap for god’s sake…” You say to yourself, putting a dramatic hand on your forehead.

On top of everything, you were so bored!

You didn’t want to look at your phone, because you worry it’s just going to keep you up. But now you’re just staring at the wall, the ceiling, back to the other wall… And your mind had gotten so numb that you’ve resorted to making weird convulsion-like movement in your bed.

You make a particularly loud groan afterwards, sounding thoroughly miserable. You didn;t do work, didn’t socialize, and even more… You didn’t actually rest, and now your brain seems to be against you in trying to make you sleep.

Just as you attempt to close your eyes again, lying on the bed with a pissed-off look to your face, you suddenly hear three, slow knocks on your door.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

… You almost screamed a ghastly scream at that, if you weren’t actually just choking yourself so you don’t make the noise.

What the hell was THAT?!

You stand up from your bed, slowly opening the door without the lock that was in front of your front apartment door- Why didn’t these have locks too, what’s the point?!- And leaning in the peephole, praying that you don’t see an eyeball peering back at you.

…

It wasn’t an eye. It was an eye socket. With an eye light inside of it. Red and big, and casting a dim light on the peephole.

“… Sans?!” You almost shout when you realize who he is. Any other human would probably shriek at the mere sight of him in the dramatic darkness of the apartment hallway. What ‘with those skeletal features that most grandparents described death, the creepy’eyelight, and the hole in his skull.’

… Someone had actually said that to you when you were out with him once.

That person had quickly gained a nosebleed from your fist.

You swung open the door to him, the soft look on his face, his smile non-present. Neutral, his eyelight dilated as he took the sight of you that was… Pretty unsightly even to yourself.

“… angel hair?” His face fell a bit at the sight of you.

“Um… Hi, Sans.” You siad simply. “Uh… Didn’t expect you to come so late tonight.”

“… you didn’t come today.”

You know he was talking about work.

You don’t quite sure know about the relationship you had with Sans, just that it was more… Intimate than what you’d call ‘friends’. Nothing explicitly romantic yet, but… Sans doesn’t talk much to people outside of his brother, and you. He doesn’t work with you, but you’d met him in a little restaurant near the building. He worked in a vegetarian restaurant his brother built- you started making small talk to him, and the rest is pretty much history.

You don’t quite know at what point you clicked with him- it just happened gradually, everyday he was talking more and more with you, as you had started going to the restaurant solely to meet him and he started to take closer steps to you… Going to your house, inviting you to his, laughing together on the sofa…

Never making a move on each other.

Just that you know… You both really, really cared about each other. Like right now.

“Sorry… I didn’t tell you.” You frown, yet again slapping yourself mentally, forgetting to tell your really close friend who brought you to work and home, hung out extensively in the your home, and had no problem giving physical affections… That may or may not last longer than they’re supposed to.

“I got sick.. Maybe.”

You didn’t have to explain much more.

He had walked in silently into your apartment flat which wasn’t anything impressive- he always gave it a disapproving stare at the walls around you. Basically only having two rooms minus the entrance ‘room’- bedroom/kitchen, and bathroom.

He had picked you up, closing the door gently before locking it, walking back to your bedroom, plopping you in your bed.

“tell me what you need, pumpkin.” He said as he opened the cabinets, turning out the small light in the ‘kitchen’ area.

“Sans…” You tried to protest.

“you’re hungry.”

… Quickly ending in failure.

You’d let him make you a simple corn soup, worried about the state of your stomach, knowing it might be sensitive. He had sat you up in your bed, helped feed you, giving encouraging waves whenever you went still for a few seconds, the sleepiness seeming to come when he was near you.

Sans being a cook, had made the corn stock soup you had tucked away in your drawer into something restaurant level. The longer you ate the more lively you felt, and as he put the small bowl away in the sink, washing quietly to himself without a word to you… You felt more comfortable just lying on the side with the soft yellow light in the corner of your room, with silent dishwashing in the other corner, than being in the dark with no sound.

The sight of him just wringing his hands and drying them in the tower… Made you smile, thinking how he had come all this way to take care of you the moment you told him you were kind of sick.

After going to the bathroom to collect warm water in a rubber bottle, he came back, placed the water bottle on top of your stomach, and…

He climbed into the bed, arms curling around you, legs wrapped around your lower half. He pressed his skull to the side of your face… A sound similar to the rev of a truck engine slowly but surely getting heard from his ribcage.

… Was that…

Purring?

Well- arguing whether Sans was actually just a big cat or just a monster skeleton- wasn’t the only thing that had made you as stiff as a board, eyes wide.

… This.. Has never happened before.

Sure, you’ve held hands, hugged him, real tight too- but Sans had never just climbed onto your bed, laid in it with you and snuggled close to you. Not that you could remember, at least.

It made your heart beat fast, and you wondered if you were feeling hot because of the warmth that was just radiating off of his body, or… You’re just really, really flushed.

Must be both.

Sans looks completely relaxed while he held you like either a big teddy bear or a body pillow… And you just couldn’t do that. Your heart wouldn’t let that, as well as your tired groginess being pushed to the back of your mind at the closeness.

“… Sans?”

“mmm…?”

Oh GOD his voice sounded really husky right now.

“…” This shouldn’t be an appropriate time but- if anything happens, you’ll just blame it on  your non-existent fever. “What are you doing?”

“snuggling you in your bed.” He says simply, as if it was the easiest question he’s ever heard that needed answering. “why?”

“… That’s what I wanted to ask you.” You say meekly… Slowly turning your body to him so you could hug him back, to which he gratefully taken a snugger hold on you. It wasn’t very comfortable with thick bones under your spine right? Not because… You wanted to get closer to the skeleton, no…

“… what do you mean?” He asks, and you see that red eyelight, looking down at you. You’ve never seen it so dilated before.

“… Uh… You came here, made me soup, helped me eat the soup, and now you’re in my bed, h-holding me like this…” Was that the ‘fever’ or your embarrassment making your cheeks burn? “… Why did you come all this way?”

Sans go silent for awhile, as he seems to be thinking.

“… a sweet little human who is gentle and kind to me, hadn’t come to get her lunch of the day… no news, asked her work, told me she called sick. didn’t get a text from her, i got worried. i don’t like not knowing what’s wrong with my little honeypot.” As his gaze seem to fall on you again, you note how fuzzy and soft they were… Radiating adoration at your face.

“when i see the exhaustion just radiating off of her… i can’t just leave her be…. gotta… gotta take care of the ones i love.” He gives you a smile, small and genuine.

“you look like you didn’t sleep.”

“… I didn’t. I couldn’t.” You quickly added, as he shushed you, petting your hair.

“you have me with you. if you need anything, just tell me. i’ll be here, sugar lump.”

… He really did just come in the middle of the night, worried how you were doing despite the fact you didn’t text him… Probably because he was contemplating whether to come to your apartment or not, since you didn’t tell him anything. It’s getting better day by day, but you know how afraid Sans could be at… Losing someone. Making them run away and fear him.

You guess you being sick just overridden all that, now with him openly purring and tucking your head under his chin, curling around you some more.

…

Your relationship just got all the more closer…

And the blooming warmth on your chest, the happy noises he was making the closer he felt he was to you, and the smile on both of yours and his faces told you it was just going to get better from now on.

[unexpectedcronchiness]

CINDERELLA AU I WROTE FROM THE GROUP CHAT PART SOMETHING

WARNING: mentions of abuse yall its now on ao3 so if youd rather read it there go ahead https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003439 

It wasn't Remus's fault he was a werewolf. If anything it was the blasted moon's fault, for taking the sanity of his mind once a month to fulfill its own personal desires. it wasn't his fault his parents and sisters didn't like him. Well most of the time. He would be lying if he said he hadn't egged them on every now and then but not often, not often enough for this.

Remus gingerly rubbed his arm,one of the many areas whipped and beaten tender and raw frequently. It would have been nice to think that his loving family were smart enough to not have left marks, but alas, they weren't. Not that it mattered. He'd had marks since his first moon, when he was six. 

The marks were just one other thing that showed how he was a monster, less than human but close enough to know how much he wanted to be one. His eyes, that reflected light like a wolf, his canine teeth, just a bit larger than normal, enough to be unsettling, and his ears, that could hear the slightest of sounds outside of the full moon.

His ears he didn't mind so much, they were nice and offered him his only friends, the animals near their manor, but they were still unnatural. Speaking of his friends he heard a familiar scatter and quickly made sure the door to the attic, his room, was locked. 

Peter, as the rat had told him his name was, scurried into the room. Peter on the outside seemed like a rat in every sense of the word until you talked to him. It seemed he was the opposite of Remus in a sense, a human with just a taste of being something less than, to know to avoid it.

ya got any of that good cheese the rat squeaked. Remus rolled his eyes, Peter also had a very one tracked mind.

"sorry friend, no meals for me for a while" he stated matter of factly. Peter groaned as well as a rat could groan.

What did you do this time? You know you shouldn't egg them on.

"Why, little ol me?" Remus mock gasped, "I would never." then he laughed "Well I would and do, but not this time. This time it was because I forgot to clean the chicken coop a third time, silly me."

Peter looked stern

 you could leave, tear them apart, you're a werewolf for merlins sake, you have magic, wandless magic most wizards would kill for it.

"you forget" Remus added bitterly "Most werewolves kill for it. Or well jealousy of it. doing wandless magic would be like waving a sign saying "hello, I'm a werewolf, incredibly dangerous and unstable, grab your pitchforks and torches, please, go ahead and kill me. Besides it's not like I can have my wand, its locked up remember." This much was true, his wand had been locked up since he had first been bitten. Peter squeaked in indignation, he didn't like when Remus spoke so casually about such things or used his wry sarcastic voice like such.

Remus would have continued if it weren't for the thudding of someone coming up the ladder to the attic. Peter started squeaking in fright.

"Shhh, Peter, be quiet, hide." Remus hissed, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. 

The trapdoor swung open and his father, Lyall Lupin, stepped in in disgust.

"You'll be getting a reprieve, lucky you." Remus tried not to perk up at this, knowing that the rest of the story was yet to come.

"The black family is holding a ball for their sons 19th birthday and we are invited. We, of course, means not you." Remus resisted scoffing, naturally.

The Lupins were high society and therefore high enough to be invited to many gatherings, occasions, balls, parties and such, even by the Black Family. To be honest, the black family mostly gained its respect and wealth from fear and other unsavory going ons.

still, he couldn't help the pang of remorse of knowing that he could never go to one, much less the blacks. He had heard that Sirius black, the heir to the blacks title, was a sight to behold.

Even with successfully having kept his emotions in check, one look of misery flying across his face was enough for punishment.

"crucio '' Lyall whispered, barely audible. but Remus's ears could hear it, Remus could recognize the hatred that would flare in his father's eyes, and the way his lips moved, and his arm raised ever so slightly. He would have known what was coming even without being a werewolf.

Remus didn't scream. 

For the first 3 seconds at least. a new record, a small part of his brain laughed.

Finally after years, the pain ended and Remus was on all fours, choking up blood, and clawing at the floorboards.

Crucio was not a favorite in the Lupin household but it was used when deemed necessary, or ya know, when someone was just angry or stressed enough.

"Remember your place, monster. You do not, have not, and will not ever deserve to feel emotions. Emotions are for humans" Lyall sneered and then spat at Remus.

and with that he left, crying out a list of chores and a "We'll be back at 3 in the morning, have them completed by then."

Remus didn't dare nod. He sat in silence before he remembered that Peter was still in the room.

"Oh shit, Peter are you ok? SHit I'm so sorry you had to see that." While Remus had screamed whilst being taught his lesson, he had not cried. He frequently chalked that up to simply having no more tears left to cry, or that monsters simply didn't cry but as he saw Peter shaking in fear under his bed covers, his heart broke. 

"Peter, shh, shh, hey, im ok, see im ok, everything's alright"

I should be comforting you! The cruciatus is illegal!

"so is a werewolf living unregistered."

thats different

"How so, please enlighten me between using a spell that makes you a monster and being a monster." Remus snapped. 

Peter paused, then tried to keep his voice even.

Remus, you can't believe him, you are not a monster in any way shape or form, please tell me you don't believe him

"Oh really Peter, would a human be able to smell the fear on you, because I do, you're afraid Peter, afraid of me, afraid of the monster I am."

I am afraid for you, huge difference Peter retorted as calmly as he could muster. Remus sighed.

"I know, you're right, im sorry Peter. its- its been a long day, I think im going to take a walk"

don't be too long, its a full moon tonight.

"how could I ever forget" Remus said with a smile, and with that he left.

------------

Remus took a walk around the grounds, and finally collapsed on a stone bench by the moonflowers. ugh fucking moon flowers, he hated them. they only bloomed at night and only the magical ones bloomed on full moons.

Draping his arms and head across the bench as he knelt in the grass Remus sighed, trying to steady his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. but then the pace changed, the rhythm uneven, interrupted by hiccups, some breaths shallow, others unbearably deep like it was the first breath of air he'd ever had. Oh, he was crying, Remus realized. apparently he was still human enough to cry. Then he looked at the moon, steadily rising in the night sky and cried even harder.

"-i wish,I fucking wish" he hiccuped. "that I could just be fucking normal for one goddamn night, get dressed up even. Hell maybe I could go to the fucking black party." He mocked a posh voice "Wouldn't that be a ball" and he was laughing as he cried. He heard a rustle behind him, felt the shadow being cast on him and looked up.

A stag, a rather large one at that. That was odd, something about him reminded him of Peter.

it's dangerous to wish upon moonlight, hadn't you heard

"I think I've apparently preemptively paid my price, thanks for the concern." then Remus was looking at the stag oddly, he was different in the same way Peter was.

"besides," Remus continued conversationally, "I hear that werewolves come out on full moons, nasty things those werewolves are, can't trust them. You better run along before you get mauled."

you only change at midnight, I think im fine 

this shocked Remus, he did not expect the stag to know he was a werewolf and was hoping for him to run along and let him continue being dramatic in the moonlight.

so about those wishes, what would you do for them 

Remus could tell when someone was trying to change the topic, so he obliged.

"what would you do if you were in my situation?" Remus asked, not willing to play the stags games.

i would kill, hurt, take my revenge, my justice, take what's mine, my rights

"you and I are not very alike then, I don't think I ever could do that." This seemed to please the stag as it's upper lip curled just a bit. 

 please, call me James 

and with that Remus felt the tingle of magic under his skin, yet it wasn't in a bad way like normal. Not understanding what was happening, but embracing the feeling, Remus shut his eyes, stood and let whatever the apparently magical deer wanted to happen, happen. Was it odd to say that he trusted this deer as much as Peter?

when Remus opened his eyes, he was wearing a white suit with blue and gold accents and he was standing in something hard, but not uncomfortable. He looked down. Fucking moonstone shoes. what the fuck. how were they not a) heavy as all get out b) uncomfortable as all get out and c) why there weren't literally any other material that wasn't moonstones.

"look while I appreciate being told I need fashion help,I don't think i-"

I'm not finished, the stag, James, said amused. then he turned around to a pumpkin in the garden.

Suddenly the pumpkin was growing, then it was paling in color, and then it was hollow, and then there were craters and oh shit, James , a deer, James the deer, had a fucked up sense of humor turning a pumpkin into a moon carriage that glowed in the other moons moonlight. Moon moon moon moon moon. Remus thought to himself in disgust. Remus just wished he understood what the punchline was.

"again, while I appreciate being told I need better wheels I still don't-" James laughed, or neighed, or whatever it was that stags did. 

you're very impatient and then there was a rustle again, this time smaller

James turned around, not angry, not amused, but like something he had rather wished not to believe had made sense.

and look, now we have our mighty steed!  James whipped his head around, and Remus cried out, recognizing Peter. Peter squeaked in fear and turned to run but was too slow. at an uneven pace his body began growing and shifting until he was a "mighty steed" as James put it

"Peter, are you ok, can you hear me?" the horse, Peter, nodded. James looked shocked, well as shocked as stag could look Remus supposed

you call him Peter?

"yes,I call you James and I call him Peter, there are these things called names you see, they're very funny" Remus retorted, angry that his friend had been turned into a horse

"Look mr.I would murder someone stag,I don't appreciate my friend being turned into a horse and would rather you tell me what's going on or turn him back this instant." James grinned,

for a smart one you can be stupid. I thought it was obvious, you have to arrive at the black mansion in style of course. 

Remus gaped, no he couldn't do this, what if he was caught by his family, what if he hurt someone, what if he-

as he started to voice these complaints to James he was cut off

you've got one shot at normal, maybe even turning your life around, will you take it? 

Remus didn't know if he could bear tasting normalcy and then having it ripped away from him but he couldn't bear it either way so he nodded.

good, because otherwise all this transfiguration would've gone to waste.

"transfiguration- wait- how do you , can you-"

well would you look at the time, the party's about to start, hop on lets get going, no time to dawdle and James nudged Remus into the carriage where Peter had hooked himself up begrudgingly. 

"wait why are you doing this, what are you?"

who knows, maybe I'm your fairy godmother or something, did you ever think of that hmm, and frankly,I don't care. 

and with that, James was gone.

----------

Sirius sighed. He would have much preferred a quiet celebration with his best mates Peter and James but sure, why not, throw a lavish party, thank you.

Still it's not like he could complain, he liked dancing, he liked people, sometimes, and he liked meeting young men. Sirius knew part of the reason why his mother was hosting this party, so he could find a nice wealthy respectable lady, get hitched, get her prego and create another bundle of tiny blacks.

Not like that would ever happen if men kept looking the way they did,  and that didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon so he got ready for the ball.

An hour of prep later, freshly showered and clothed in a black suit with red and gold accents, standing in front of the mirror Sirius was wondering if he should even go to this party in his honor. He could just bail, it's not like he didn't already know all of the men going and that they were all pretty damn straight. and boring, can't forget boring. He could just grab James and Peter, get some firewhiskey and waste the night away, yeah that sounded nice.

Speaking of James and Peter, he was beginning to get worried. Peter had been pretty flighty as of late saying shit like he was seeing his "werewolf friend named Remus that was being abused" honestly, Peter should have outgrown imaginary friends, but that seemed rude to say so Sirius went along with it. He was beginning to grow rather concerned as Peter's description of his, Remus's, abuse was growing rather vivid, and very violent. James on the other hand, well they were attached at the hip. while the blacks and potters didn't necessarily historically get along very well, that had never stopped James and Sirius. maybe he was out prancing in his animagus form? He had been doing that a lot too lately as well. Or maybe he was trying to woo lily, who knew?

finally, James showed up, a half hour before the party started covered in leaves and looking magically exhausted muttering something about "a moon, a giant moon, damn im so fucking good" and laughing to himself. 

"Oi James, fucking finally? Where have you been? does this mean we're skipping" James swayed a little in place and Sirius immediately fetched him some water. At the word skipping James straightened up, trying to keep a calm face.

"No no no, it's your 19th birthday. I think you should go, I have a feeling this one'll be special."

that was odd. James and Sirius both knew that his birthday often turned into a shit show as they both grew bored with the company and the whole thing in general and decided to plan a monstrous prank. not something "special." giving up trying to understand the inner workings of James's mind Sirius sighed and said simply 

"i have a green suit that will go nicely with your eyes in my closet, get the leaves out of your hair, try to make yourself presentable and I'll go get it" James grinned that classic James grin and saluted

did not mean to hit send yet whoops

"yessir" and began fussing with his hair trying to get leaves and sticks out.  Sirius rummaged around in his closet, still worrying about Peter. when he voiced this to James, James merely grinned wider and said "I think he's hanging out with his werewolf friend"

"On my birthday?" Sirius whined James laughed and said simply

"as much as it tries to, the world does not revolve around you."

Sirius sighed dramatically once more, looked at the time, and got ready to go greet his arriving guests

-------------

Remus's family was wealthy, he knew that much, but what he did not know was that his wealth was inconsequential in comparison to the blacks.

 a mass of black brick, gargoyles and buttresses that was the black mansion spread across the horizon as the steady line of extravagant carriages grew nearer.

Remus swallowed his nerves and adjusted his hair and after what seemed like ages they arrived. Remus tentatively walked the steps, not trying to feel self conscious as he was walking alone, while everyone else was in groups of around 3 or more.

"name sir?" Oh shit, Remus forgot about this part, the overly dramatic "hey let's announce your whole presence so your abusive family knows you disobeyed them and shit" part. panicking, Remus said baldar io. baldar after one of the arabic words for moon and io after jupiter's moon. shit. he just named himself moon moon. 

"SIR BALDAR IO" the man cried out, and more than a few heads turned, at this unfamiliar name. 

Remus shrunk under the attention and decided he would make his way over to the buffet as gracefully as possible when the large double doors at the end of the room flung open. Out walked a woman and three men, all with jet black hair. Remus would have assumed that they were all related if it weren't for the jet green eyes of one of them, while the others had a stark grey. 

Remus couldn't help it, he was a little amused, and a little disappointed. The infamous blacks were rather ordinary looking, the younger one, that Remus assumed must be Sirius, had short black hair and a hollow gaze. and Then all of them shifted, and Remus's eyes widened as a hush filled the room.

"the young Sirius black!" the woman, his mother, announced. Sirius black was more than Remus could have ever imagined beauty to look like.

his hair was long and black, obviously, but it curled at odd romantic angles, his jawline looked like it was sharp enough to kill, but would settle for helping give gentle kisses instead, his eyes lacked the piercing violent ferocity that the other 3 blacks had, but looked as though it's own ferocity was nothing to be mocked.

Remus openly gaped, and even heard a couple of chuckles around him as people noticed. 

the man, Sirius black looked bored yet intrigued by the whole thing, like he was waiting for something special to happen but was disappointed it hadn't happened yet.

Remus had to leave he had to get out, shit how could he even be in the same room as this man without combusting he would never know as he turned to leave, Remus realised he was gathered in the middle of the dance floor with everyone else and the music began to swell.

shit shit shit shit shit.

"I can't help to notice you're looking a little lost." without turning around Remus chuckled

"you would have noticed correctly then"

"So what brings you to the dance floor if not to dance?"

"I was-" Remus turned around and silently gasped, Sirius black was standing in front of him, smirking.

"well then, shall we show them all up and dance absolutely divinely, badar io?"

"I-I'm afraid I wouldn't be doing much showing up as I have no clue what this is,"

"Well you see, this is called a waltz, Shostakovich Waltz No 2 to be precise." Remus rolled his eyes at sirus's teasing.

"Believe it or not I can recognize shostakovich when I hear it, I mean, I do not know how to dance to it. this one looks very specific." Sirius's face broke out into a full fledged grin as he said

"No better time to learn than the present, and I happen to be an excellent partner."

"And a modest one too" Remus said dryly as he awkwardly shuffled, not knowing what to do with his limbs

Sirius noticed and took pity on Remus as he gently grabbed Remus's wrists, and guided the left hand to his shoulder, the right enclosed in his own and then sirus's hand was on his waist, unconsciously circling the fabric there with his thumb. Remus's breath hitched. He was in for a long night.

--------

this one, this one was funny, he was interesting, bloody gorgeous, and best of all, as gay as Sirius was. He had recalled hearing the unfamiliar name "badar io" and was immediately intrigued, but also confused when James laughed like this was the funniest thing since his first prank.

James, taking mercy on Sirius's confused and desperate expression, happened to point out the young rugged looking man that was confused on the dance floor.

And so Sirius had walked up to him, smirking, laying on the Sirius style charm, and then he didn't know how to dance which Sirius really shouldn't have found as endearing as he did, and then, one itsy bitsy final test, Sirius put his hand on badars waist, circling it, very consciously mind you, with his thumb and did a victory dance in his head as badar's breathe hitched.

he was at least a little gay alright.

So the night went and Sirius had only eyes for badar, and it seemed badar only had eyes for him, but more so than in the "hey it's Sirius black, how cool is that" way. like Sirius was his own person, interesting and attractive, and Sirius could've drowned in that look the entire night.

Instead he settled for flirting and far too personal questions. He had never really had the time or patience for small talk and this man was obviously his soulmate.

Sirius had had no belief in soulmates whatsoever until he laid eyes on badar. and his beliefs were only confirmed as he had begun to relax, get into the flow of the music, crack wry and witty jokes, and eventually flirt back.

Sirius had held no belief in true love either, or love at first sight, but as he was quickly learning, he needed to open his mind more. 

"favorite color" Sirius asked, dead serious. ha, serious he thought, the pun never failing to amuse him. badar laughed, a sound Sirius thought might possibly be his favorite in the whole wide world.

"You go from, biggest fear, greatest insecurities, what are some of the morals you live by, do you believe in second chances to what's your favorite color?" badar laughed again. "you seem to enjoy doing things backwards. it's silver. What about you?" Sirius stared intently into badars eyes and his answer had changed from the usual red or maroon to a brilliant gold, just like badars own irises

"gold"

"ah yes like your suit which is not at all gaudy in any way shape or form"

"Oi ill have you know this suit is top of the line thankyouverymuch."

"I'll have you know that top of the line can be gaudy, thankyouverymuch"

Sirius laughed for what felt like the millionth time that night.

"do you want to get out of here," he asked?

badar coughed

"ar-are you propositioning me????"

"what- OH- oh no no no, shit, no,Ithought we could go into the garden, give you a break, check out the lights and talk some more maybe?"

"oh, ok, that sounds lovely. but ill have you know I'm not accepting because im tired, im accepting because you look tired and  Iobviously have far to much stamina for you"

Sirius laughed again, but truth be told, he wanted to see how much stamina badar really had, he wanted to-

coughing and adjusting himself, he led badar out to the back gardens.

--------------

The blacks had certainly not spared any expense when it came to floriculture, the garden was decked out in strongylodon macrobotrys, chocolate cosmos, dendrophylax lindenii, shenzen nongke orchids and-

Remus laughed, moonflowers, but only magical ones. only ones that bloomed on full moons,

It was odd, hearing Sirius laugh and pay attention to him like he was the most interesting person in the world.

It was odd, hearing himself be referred to as badar.

it was odd, he rather liked badar, it was like an alter ego, a persona, except it felt real. With a start, Remus realized that was because he was simply being his genuine self.

it was odd, seeing the usually confident Sirius black shyly not make eye contact as his soft hands intertwined with Remus's.

It was odd, feeling his own arm move over to run his fingers through Sirius's soft hair.

it was odd, being close enough to count his eyelashes, to feel his breath on his lips, to see every detail of his eyes-

it was odd feeling soft lips pressed against his own for the very first time

it was odd as he relaxed into Sirius's arms, as his eyes fluttered shut, as the tingling drifted from his stomach all the way to his finger tips. 

It was odd trusting a person so completely and fully as he did Sirius, and have them not even know his real name.

His moment of bliss was interrupted as he heard an ominous dong of the giant clock in the garden.

Shit shit shit fuck shit fuck dammit fuck

Remus didn't know how he would handle going back, knowing the tenderness he was missing, the soft hands against his own, something kind and loving that was in the world, but he knew he must. 

He pulled away frantic and said

"thank you, thank you so, so much- b- but-I really have to go." Sirius looked crestfallen at this but reached out and grabbed Remus's arm before he could fully flee.

"will I see you again" that set off the waterworks for Remus

"No, I don't think you will." The clock rang out again. and pulled Sirius in for one final chaste kiss. and then without knowing what he was doing he cried out "Remus Lupin!"

And he left, stumbling down the stairs of the garden that led into the forest, the one that connected with his own, leaving a moonstone shoe behind.

--------

when Remus woke up approximately an hour later (the moons were shorter when he was happy) He could remember feeling his paws pound against the forest floor. He could remember smelling home, he could remember only barely ripping out his own skin. Then he woke up, in a different kind of agony, like grieving a loss. Then he remembered the list of chores that had been left for him, that had barely seemed possible when he had an extra 3-5 hours to complete them. groaning he got to work.

Peter showed up, and was only mad at Remus for a little bit before he began trying to clean in his own little way.

finally after centuries, though it had only been two hours, Remus finished and, he tucked away his other moonstone shoe, (that for some reason had not transfigured back) and he fell into his bed and right before he fell asleep he could hear a door downstairs open, and the voices of his family walking in.

----------

Sirius was absolutely miserable it was three in the morning and he had gotten incredibly drunk with James and Peter immediately after badar had left. he didn't know why badar had left, why he cried out Remus Lupin, why he had kissed him so sweetly just to say he'd never see him again.

Sirius threw a pillow against the wall, feeling the impact of the sobering potion he had taken, and rubbed the moonstone shoe, the only thing that was reminding him that badar wasn't in fact a hallucination or a dream.

"James, he was just so perfect-Ijust-IthinkIlove him James,I Love him James and i'll never see him again, did you know there was never a badar io in our little town? He gave a fake name James!"

"what about the other name he gave, have you looked into it."

"What do you mean, other name- OH MERLIN ITS A NAME" A glimmer of hope shone in Sirius's eyes as he ran to the library where he knew there was a magic record of all legal documentation of families in their town. Was it illegal? yeah, but Sirius couldn't think about the morality of that right now, he was in love.

"Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin, Lupin Remus, Lupin Remus, Lupin Lupin Lupin ahA!" he cried out after flipping through pages, finally finding the Lupin line. "Remus, Remus, Remus" wait, that wasn't right, that couldn't be-

Remus Lupin, declared dead at age six, cause unknown signed- signed the entire Lupin family, what was going on, he looked down and saw a little photo and a sharp intake of breath could be heard behind him and honestly he did the same.

"James it-it says he's dead- but- but he felt- felt so- so- so- real" tears began to well in Sirius's eyes "How can he be dead?" but James wasn't paying attention, he was staring at the paper muttering 

"they're worse than I thought I can't believe they would do that,I Can't believe-"

"James what's going on?" Sirius asked, his voice small.

"I guess you deserve to know,-"

James continued " what happens on a full moon?"

"What do you mean what happens on a full moon, James the hell?"

"What happens on a full moon at midnight" something clicked in Sirius's mind though he wasn't quite sure what yet.

"Werewolves but James what-"

"What would a wealthy, respectable family do if they had a son bitten by a werewolf at age six but couldn't kill him?"

"I Mean maybe fake his death and keep him hidden but don't see-HOLY SHIT" James nodded gravely.

"Those bastards, how could they do that to him!!!?!?"

"Before you decide to go charging in, you need to think, you're still the heir to the black family, think of something crazy, ridiculous and plausible that could get you safely into the Lupin household."

"Jamesy my boy, do you even know who you're talking to?" Sirius said with a mischievous grin

------

Sirius woke to the sound of giggling and his sisters running downstairs. 

It was 11 in the morning, they had let the monster sleep him, how nice. He must have done a good job last night at cleaning. Gingerly he climbed down the ladder and stopped one of his sisters, Drizella. 

"Drizella, what's going on? Remus queried. Drizella sniffed

"If you must know, Sirius black has announced he's looking for his true love, and whoever fits the shoe that was left behind by her!"

"Who's ‘her’?"

"Apparently he danced with one maiden and one maiden alone the entire night and she had to leave at midnight but didn't give him a real name and as he ran off, she left behind a moonstone shoe!"

A maiden now, was he? Remus chuckled in his mind and headed back to his room.

As he sat down, he pulled out the moonstone shoe and held it softly against his chest as a reminder of-

Suddenly he heard an outraged squeak to his left and saw his father standing in the trapdoor of the attic, looking royally pissed off, and then he saw the door shut, heard the key lock, all before he could get there

And then he was pounding on the door, splinters in his fists scrapes on his palms and then he heard "he's coming by today, your prince charming, and he will marry one of my daughters and you'll never, ever see him again."

Remus cried out and buried his face in his hands unsure of what to do.

 This time hours went by, and Remus was sure they were hours because he counted every last second. Then he heard a scritching noise under his bed so he looked and out shot Peter, looking concerned as he could be

what'd you do this time to be trapped in here Peter squeaked, horrified.

"I wooed the ever charming Sirius black and that was a no no"

Peter sputtered nonstop, starting and restarting sentences, when at that moment something crashed into Remus's room from the window. 

"What the-" Remus began but was cut off by the new black haired green eyed arrivals

 "Ok so Sirius is down stairs getting ready to slip the shoe on your sisters, he would rather only try you but we didn't count on you being locked up here" wait, was that.... James?

a voice behind them piped up.

"We could try to explode the trapdoor!" Pete added- wait Peter? Remus whipped around and groaned Peter was not a rat, well not at the moment, but he was still Peter. Remus could smell him, could hear the intonations in his voice.

"Animaguses,I Should have bloody known"

James just grinned that classic James grin and continued. "you better hurry,Ithink you're father's gonna try to fight the magic that Sirius placed on the shoe."

"what magic, why would he need magic."

"well, he kind of said... thathewouldmarrywhoevertheshoefit, because they would obviously be the one he danced with all night, and then-" James trailed off, thinking of words.

"-he knew that people would "be dying to get their paws on him maritally," his quote, not mine and so he placed a spell that the shoe would only fit the person it last belonged to but there are ways to overcome a spell and you're fathers attempting them right now also a sacred oath may or may not be involved in the whole 'ill marry whoever the shoe fits' thing."

"if the shoe fits, wear it" Remus muttered under his breath and then louder continued "Okey dokey so we don't have time to unpack all that but first- why this whole finding the feet of my 'princess' thing? if he really wanted to see me couldn't he have just, i don't know, broken down doors to find me or something."

"Always the romantic, Remus" Peter rolled his eyes.

"well, see, he's the heir to the black title, and well as much as he would love to abandon it all, he thinks he has a chance to use all that wealth and influence for good." Remus vaguely remembered Sirius implying something of the sort last night so he nodded, and James continued "so he couldn't just waltz in peoples houses being like 'ayo, are yalls Remus Lupin, lets get funky if you are' and such so thus, the extravagant plan was hatched." Remus laughed, that was just so like Sirius to do that it was ridiculous. 

then at that moment a scream could be heard downstairs. shit

The three of them paled and Sirius and Peter ran over to the trap door, having a heated conversation back and forth about "what could we do" "uh levicorpus" "thats an ankle levitation charm, idiot." "Well maybe it would have levitated the ankle of the trap door and we could have gotten out." Peter hissed back, but Remus was barely paying attention to them.

He was instead, looking out the broken window James had crashed in on. realizing what must be done, Remus stepped on the window sill, and jumped.

To be honest, Remus had never tried to jump from 3 stories before but he could do 2, so what was one entire story difference? A lot apparently as he landed on his ankle with a thud, there was only so much a non moon werewolf could do.

Not letting it deter him and ignoring the confused cries from James and Sirius, Remus ran around to the front door.

when he finally arrived he could hear muffled sobs from Anastasia and his father's cold, uncaring voice. Not wasting another second Remus flung open the door, rage in his face. 

Remus gasped as he entered the room, seeing the pile of blood at Anastasia's feet, seeing Drizellas shocked expression that she was next, seeing his father's frigid and determined expression, and his mother's sickly face that looked like she was regretting many things. Lyall had cut off her toes to fit the shoe. The bastard. 

tired, ageless rage filled Remus and he was about to make good use of his werewolf wandless magic but stopped when he saw Sirius's confused, terrified, and admittedly freaked out face about the whole toe thing turn into one of relief and unmitigated joy. That stopped Remus cold in his tracks.

No, he'd made it this far in life with being a werewolf without killing anyone,no, he'd made it this far in life without being a monster and he wasn't about to change that now. Remus waved his hand and Drizella gasped as Anastasia's toes stitched themselves to her foot. Then he pointed his index finger at lyall.

His father was flung against the wall, pinned by an invisible  force. Remus stepped forward coldly. He thought of everything he felt for Peter, Sirius, and even James, the meddling bastard. He thought of how it felt to be in Sirius's arms, how it felt to have them taken away and any lingering doubts disappeared.

"I am more human than you will ever be" Remus hissed and with that he dropped him, leaving him gasping for air.

Sirius recognized his cue and got on one knee, presenting the no longer blood covered shoe, thanks to a quick cleaning charm. 

"hey Remus, sorry about all this."

"it's dramatic and gaudy and undeniably you,I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sirius grinned at this, and said "you know,I don't think you should ever consider a future in fortune telling, you said I would never see you again, and look where we are."

Remus's voice cracked "you have no idea how glad I am I was wrong." he whispered.

Sirius gestured to the shoe and Remus's scratched up bare feet, "may i" he asked nervously.

Remus slipped his foot into the shoe cautiously and then there was bright blinding light emerging from the shoe and then all at once it stopped.

Remus was standing in the suit he had been wearing the night before and so was Sirius.

Unable to help it, he flung into Sirius's open arms, needing to reacquaint himself with the feeling. 

tenderly, Sirius tipped Remus's chin up 

"hi" was all Sirius said, but this time it was Remus who closed the gap.

"hello, my names Remus, soon to be black I think at this point" Sirius beamed at this and said 

"Remus black, I think I rather like that, well at least a lot more than moon moon" he teased, Remus laughed 

"I panicked ok?"

"and so your instinct was just 'moons'? I'll have to keep that in mind in case I ever spring anything on you. 'hey babe can you do the dishes' 'uh hi my names esmeray ophelia'"

"ah, resorted to the dishwasher,I take it my fortune telling career did not go so well."

"Nope, i'm afraid it didn't, but it's so nice that you have an incredibly wealthy boyfriend/fiance/husband thing, how nice is that."

"Yes I am eternally grateful for my sugar daddy, my glucose guardian, my carbohydrate caretaker, my sucrose sweetheart-" Sirius laughed, and put his hands up in defeat

"you win, you win" 

and Remus thought of all that he had gained in a matter of a day, his humanity, the love of his life, friends that were actually human (that part was rather weird and he was still reeling) and an escape from his family.

"Yes I rather think I did" and closed the distance once more

[fishball-and-sweet-potato]

Zero O'Clock - BirdCop Celebration + GIF Challenge (MLQC AU)

I just wanna join. I actually want to post this fic at ARMY day (9th of July), but here it is anyway!

Pairing : Leah Hong (MC) x Gavin Bai

Warning : triggering events (containing insecurity and anxiety)

Disclaimer : Leah is MC in this AU. In this AU, there is no Evol.

Genre : fluff

Words : 1,542

NB : this fic is also inspired from this song

“Leah, you should go home now. You just left the hospital yesterday, your body still needs time to be fully recovered,” Anna slowly shaked my body, waking me up.

Leah corrected her posture, “yeah, I know I should. But I don’t want to become a burden for all of you, and especially that’s because I’m in charge of this company now. I just feel like I’m the one that should be my fellow workers’ strength, and I failed you all, even my father…” unbeknownst to her, her eyes felt hot. Leah wanted to continue but her brain couldn’t process her emotions right now.

“No, you’re not. And believe me, we all have made mistakes when that talk show was supposed to be aired live. But still, we managed to do it well at last thanks to the content and technical errors,” Willow tried to assure her. Three days ago, Leah had a chance to interview Mrs. Peng, the owner of a well-known bak kut teh* shop named Seventh Heaven. The topic was about business’ survival strategies for small and medium enterprises amidst the economic crisis. Suddenly, her stomach felt painful and she couldn’t suppress it despite all her efforts, until she fainted. The first thing she thought when she gained my consciousness was, she was such an unprofessional disgrace for this show.

“I want to see the editing process for a while,” Leah replied, still refusing to do nothing.

“Boss, we can also lend you a shoulder. I’ll send it straight to you when it’s finished. Okay?” Kiki patted her shoulder.

Before Leah nodded in defeat, Minor continued, “Boss, I’m sorry for the shift of topic, but Gavin said to me that he will come to your house around 10 pm.”

She yawned, “why didn’t he tell me directly?”

Minor rolled his eyes, but suddenly he had a flustered look on his face, “eh, sorry, he already contacted you several times, but no answer from you.”

Leah checked my phone, it had no power. “Oh God, why am I so stupid? Gavin is definitely angry with me now,” she said resenting herself. The fact that she had done this earlier consumed all her sanity. She immediately turned on her phone, and her eyes almost popped out from their sockets seeing the amount of missed calls. The fact that this day was July 28th made her more shocked. “Okay, I gotta go now,” she said after her friends kept telling me the editing was almost finished.

Leah went to Seventh Heaven. Amidst the crowd, she could still hear the voice she knew really well greeted her first, “Leah, are you feeling better?”

“Mrs. Peng!” Leah slightly raised her voice and fastened her pace towards the middle-aged woman. “Yeah, I’m healthy now! I’m… I’m sorry…” suddenly the scene flashed her mind, her body felt heavy.

“You don’t need to. Let’s go inside,” Mrs. Peng replied, dragging her into the shop.

“I think the technical errors are made up…” Leah couldn’t help but loathed everything around her.

Mrs. Peng patted her, “we can’t prevent unexpected things from happening. Instead, the only thing we could do is to find ways so it would be meaningful.”

While Leah was digesting her words, Gavin’s smile entered her thought and erased her anxiety, “I want to buy two portions of pork tenderloin soup, one portion of fish soup, and one braised pork belly. All takeaways, please.”

“For who?” Mrs. Peng giggled. “Let me guess, your policeman friend…”

Leah blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment with all her might, “uh, Gavin, tomorrow is his birthday.”

Not long after, a waitress handed her orders. Leah waved goodbye at Mrs. Peng. Her home was quite far from her company and the shop, so she had to take a bus ride. She was listening to her favourite song, not realizing that she dozed off.

You know those days

Those days where you're sad for no reason

And it looks like everyone else except you is busy and fierce

Those days where your body is heavy

My feet won't set off, though it seems like I'm already too late

I'm hateful of the whole world

Yeah, here and there are click-clacking speed bumps

My heart grows crumpled and my words lessen

Why the hell? I ran so hard

Oh why to me

A bell sound gave her consciousness back. Finance Street Halt, Leah could read the sign clearly and hear the sound of the broadcaster telling the passengers to pay when they intended to leave the bus repeatedly. She hurriedly ran to my home, opened her phone. She just realized that she hadn’t replied to Gavin's messages. Without a second thought, she spammed him her apology. Not seeing any signs of his reply, she attempted to sleep because she was really beaten up. The only thing that kept her awake was the clock, reminding her of her faults and it was already 10.30 pm. She continued listening to the song, so she could relieve her stomach pain and irregular, fast-paced heartbeat.

Come home and lie in bed

Dizzy night, looking at the clock

Thinking if it was my fault?

Soon it will be midnight

When her mind was about to drift off, the bell rang. “Coming,” Leah said, running to the door. The first thing she saw after opening the door made her heart want to leap, but getting crumpled instead. Gavin was in his casual clothes, but with a solemn look on his face. “Gavin, you’re late. Come in,” she said, inviting him to enter her home. He only followed her without uttering any single word.

After both of them sat, he started speaking, “I’m sorry for not telling you, I just finished my work. Leah, have you eaten?”

Leah shook her head, “actually, I bought food from Seventh Heaven. Mrs. Peng is really generous despite all my mistakes.”

Seeing her held back her tears, Gavin approached her, then she felt a pair of warm arms encircled her. “You have done your best, Leah.”

“I’m just a nuisance,” she said coldly. “And yeah, the audience wasn’t really impressed because the airing time was rescheduled. That makes me think that I should get lost forever. And I even forget to return your calls...”

A pair of amber eyes pierced through her soul’s window, his hand patted her head gently, “I’m hateful of the world too. But, about the last thing, that makes me dead worried. Have I done something wrong? Because all I got is my own echo.”

Somehow, she finally managed to let out a laugh, “Minor told me that too. No, actually I’m just dumb. I forgot to charge my phone.”

Gavin sighed, a small but sincere smile curved from his mouth. “I’m here to accompany you tonight.”

Thanks to him, Leah felt much better. “Let’s eat now. I’ve been waiting for you so we can start making our tummy happy!” She was beyond glad because he loved the bak kut teh.

After the dinner was finished, she held his hand while guiding him to her bedroom. Gavin always gave her warmth despite his cold exterior. “Listen to this song with me, it really helps me cope with the present situation.”

Gavin was confused when he put one side of my earphones, “what song?” 

God, how Leah wished she could cuddle him. She showed him the English translation in order to make him understand the meaning better. He was a bit sulky that she liked the boy group that sang it a bit too much, but he tried hard to hide it by cuddling her tight.

It won't be something like that

Will something be different?

But this day will be over

When the minute and second hands overlap

The world holds its breath for a little while

Zero o’clock

Her reminder popped up. It was already July 29th, zero o’clock. They kept listening to the song.

(Ooh-ooh) And you're gonna be happy

(Ooh-ooh) And you're gonna be happy

Like that snow that just settled down

Let's breathe, like the first time

(Ooh-ooh) And you're gonna be happy

(Ooh-ooh) And you're gonna be happy

Turn this all around

When everything is new, zero o'clock

Leah paused the song, pulled herself from his cuddle, “happy birthday, Potato. I hope at this new year of your life, you’ll be happier and healthier.”

Gavin cuddled her again, “thank you so much, my Pumpkin. My wish is the same for you. I hope I’ll be the one who makes you get the happiness you deserve.”

She blushed, how could he be so smooth at times. He laughed at my reddened face. “Why are you laughing? Let us pray,” she said to divert her embarrassment.

They were holding hands, silently pouring all their wishes.

Put my hands together to pray

It'll be better, for me

Hoping that tomorrow I'll laugh more, for me

When this song ends

May a new song begin

Hoping that I'll be a little happier, yeah

Gavin caressed her hair after he saw her yawned. “Sleepy?”

“Yeah, finally. But I’m joyful because it’s the tranquility that makes me sleepy, not the usual tiredness,” Leah snuggled closer to him.

“Sweet dreams for us, then,” he closed his eyes, hugging her in their sleep.

*bak kut teh : a pork ribs / meat soup dish with salted vegetables (this is how it looks like)

This is the GIF :))

[notsoharsh]

The Scholarly Adventures of Brain Girl and Blood Dude || Morgan & Harsh

TIMING: Mid July LOCATION: The Scribe HQ PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @notsoharsh SUMMARY: Morgan and Harsh take a little field trip to read a lot of dusty old books. 

Thanks to her super-strength, Morgan was able to pull more books for Harsh’s soul problem than she ever could have on her own. She lead him down the dusty shelves with the glee of a suburbanite at the fancy grocery store, plucking everything that seemed remotely tied to the subject at hand. “This place is pretty amazing, right? I mean just look at everything you can accomplish with some collective organization and, well, deep pockets, probably,” she said, smiling. “We’re casting a wide net, but, obviously, indexes are going to be our friend, so if you can’t find any of our keywords inside, just move it into a nope pile. I went ahead and put it on a flashcard.” She turned and passed him one. “I hope you don’t mind my getting a little excited. I get it, why you might not be, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gravity of the situation. I think I just really miss having a reason to come back here.” And something concrete, even tangible, to hope for. 

So this was the Scribe HQ. Harsh hadn’t really thought about the place before, but somehow he had expected it to be harder to get into. Not like he was about to complain about that. He trailed after Morgan, eyes scanning the shelves. “It’s really… something.” He should probably be impressed, but with each title, he had to fight to keep his eyes from glazing over. There was so much. How were they ever going to find anything in here? He took the flashcard with a little nod. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was kinda surprised you were so up for this. And I get that. There’s… a lot in here. Did you come here a lot for witchy stuff?” He grabbed one of the books Morgan had selected, blowing the dust from the ancient cover before opening it and squinting at the writing. “This one looks like it’s just philosophy, ‘what does it mean to be ensouled’. I’m guessing there’s not really a section here with a bunch of how-to guides?”

Morgan continued to look, climbing onto stacks of books on the ground to reach higher ones. “Nope, just my curse. It went back over a hundred years deep so I had to trace back all these obnoxious second and third hand accounts to all the terrible things that happened to my ancestors trying to get down to the source. My mom had a lot of faults, but enforcing a well rounded magic education wasn’t one of them.” She balanced on the tips of her toes to get another book, On the Metaphysical Material of Human Essence, and jumped back down, grimacing only a little when she landed off and had to knock her ankle back into place. “Magic is complicated, Harsh,” she said. “In a good way! Say your magical heart’s desire is the number 20. You can get there by ten times two, or five times four, or fifteen plus five, or nineteen plus one. Lots of roads can get you to twenty. Also, witches are, historically, protective of their grimoires. And some spells are too sacred or too dangerous to really want to pass down, you know? Ooh, seriously, check the index of that philosophical one, though. There might be some reference to some, I don’t know, random Romanian death cult that was known to help vampires restore their souls. That would give us a lead to follow up on.” She moved on to the next shelf before popping her head around the corner again. “I’m kidding about the death cult, by the way. I don’t know if that’s a real thing. But it would be pretty cool if it was, right?”

“Shit. Y’know, as long as I’ve been dealing with this stuff, the whole ‘ancient curse’ thing is still kinda wild. I guess I need to expand my horizons a little more,” Harsh said, watching her scramble about. He should probably offer to help, but… she seemed pretty content. Even he could understand needing a project. That was a lot of numbers, but it sort of made sense. Kind of. “I’ve picked up on the protective thing. That coven weren’t the first ones I tried to go to. A bunch of them would’ve rather staked me than let me see any of their dusty old books. Yeah, got it.” He flicked through the book, finding the index number before scanning the pages again. “I’m not seeing Romanian death cults, but there’s some Latin stuff in here. Well, I think it’s Latin, but all I know is audio, video, disco, so we’re gonna need some translating if that’s actually gonna help much.” He chuckled as he set the book down and grabbed another. “Hey, trust me, death cults are very real. They throw some banging parties, but you never wanna stay too late. There was this one I ran into in Spain, and--well, that’s kind of a long story, but they would’ve been very into you. They were all about the brain eating stuff.” Trailing after her, he scanned the top rows of the shelves. “How about that one,” he said, pointing at an especially thick, black covered book. “Looks like it’s got little skulls on it, that’s gotta be good.” 

“Well a hundred years and change isn’t ancient-ancient,” Morgan admitted, still pleased to have impressed a vampire as old as Harsh. “But brain eating death cults? That’s kinda hot. Scary, but I’m okay with side hustling as a cult maiden. But the not staying too late, is that because after midnight is when they start to get actually all murder-y?” She laughed goodnaturedly at his suggestion about the skulls on the book. “You know, I have started coming around to the idea of skull iconography being a good omen, but this could just as well be about fun curses or potions.” She tried to climb up for it, but her short arms weren’t quite up to the task. She gave Harsh a sheepish look. “Maybe you could, uh--? And then we can start unpacking what we’ve bothered before we start looking again? I think thirty books makes for a solid beginning.”

“The ones I ran into always treated their zombies pretty well. One of them even made this cool throne for them, it was pretty badass. But yeah, usually they start the murdering right after Cinderella turns into a pumpkin. You get extra drinks if you bring someone to add to the murder pile.” Harsh decided to leave out just how many extra drinks he had managed to earn. Morgan was strangely cool with the soulless thing, but adding a couple dozen murders to that might push things a little too far. He snorted. “You don’t want to spider monkey your way up there? Yeah, I’ve got it,” he said. It was a little out of reach, even for him, but getting a leg up on one of the lower shelves was enough to grab it. The book was weirdly heavy. Maybe that meant it was extra full of magic or something. Hopping down from the shelf, he brushed the dust from the cover. “Yeah, seems like a good place to start. Which ones look the most ritual-y?” 

Morgan pouted as she reached for another, closer book. “I want a throne.Can it be made of bones? My girlfriend has a huge thing for bones. We’d look pretty together on a bone throne.” And for ceremonial purposes, maybe with the right amount of discretion and care with, well, offering selection, it might even be a halfway decent time. She smirked at the thought, wondering what kind of coronets death cults might make for their zombies. She laughed at Harsh’s joke and carried their haul to the nearest desk. The books tumbled from her stack and spread themselves over the surface. “Well, here’s the thing: a ritual with full instructions and ingredients is an endgame, a big ol’ golden goose. But, you know, this might start off with something a little more broad, a little more sketchy. We don’t want to turn our nose away from death cults or norwegian summoning stones or...whatever. Because some weird reference might lead us to the golden egg. And the actual golden egg might be buried in some other archive. And then, because we followed the breadcrumbs, we’ll find it in that other archive faster, and...sorry, I’m mixing way too many metaphors, huh? Anyways, I can start on the books on this end of the table, and you can start on the ones on that end? You read fast, yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure making it out of bones is required actually,” Harsh said, with a thoughtful nod. Honestly, it was a little surprising that White Crest didn’t have any death cults, at least as far as he knew. They didn’t tend to be very public. Attention moving to the books, he grabbed a few and pulled them close, scanning the titles. There were some promising ones in there at least. “Right, it would be boring if it was that easy anyway. This kinda thing seems like it needs a lot of bits and pieces before it goes together. The coven said something about ‘proving myself’ so if you see anything like that, just, I don’t know, highlight it or something. I read pretty quick, yeah.” He flicked through the pages of the first book, an older one laden with dust. The cover might have been green at one point. “Don’t think there’s any eggs in this one. It does have a spell for cooking them though. I think this one’s more basic rituals than the big one we’re after. It does have a little thing about summoning, but mostly just bats and rats and stuff. Any luck over there?”

Morgan was running her finger down the index of the volume in front of her, picking out anything that looked remotely undead or soul related and flipping to the corresponding pages. There were a few technical magic terms that stuck out that she wanted to look at as well before she wrote off the reference as a dead end for this volume. She reached for another and started the process all over again. “Not yet, although, you know, lots of fun stuff about necromancy. And vampire cults, although I guess you already know whatever you want to about that stuff.” She balanced the next one precariously on her lap and started flipping back and forth, one section after the other. “This one looks like it has lots of serious lore, though. We’re talking old myths, druidic shit, some stuff I...can’t actually read. Do you know this language?” She passed the book over to Harsh, finger hovering over the photograph of some runes. 

“I guess necromancy is sort of near what we’re looking for,” Harsh said a little dubiously. Honestly, he didn’t know nearly enough about magic to be sure. It seemed to make sense though. They both had to do with souls and restoring them. Or something. “Vampire cults can be kind of cool, but most of them are pretty anti-soul, so I don’t know if they would be super helpful.” He reached for the book, brow furrowing as he scanned the runes. “Sort of. It looks like Sanskrit, just a little off. I wonder if it’s like some ancient dead version.” His fingers trailed over the letters as he muttered to himself, working to muddle through the meaning. “I think it’s talking about a ritual. It’s a lot of sorta spiritual stuff, but… I think some of it sounds pretty legit. Some of the words are kind of weird, but I think it’s saying there are three, uh, three pieces you need to retrieve a soul. And then there’s some words I don’t know, this one just means really, really old. What about the other bits, the druidic stuff?” he asked, passing the book back as he moved closer to read over Morgan’s shoulder. 

“You never know. Maybe understanding more about how you get rid of them could help us understand how to get one to come back.” Morgan said. Harsh couldn’t afford to turn down any possibility, and neither could she, if she wanted to be good for more than just cheerleading. But as Harsh looked over the text and translated, Morgan started to wonder if the search would be so hard after all. “That...that might just be what we’re looking for! Look, this sigil here, means spirit, but it’s sort of a vague all encompassing sort of an idea, it could me soul, intuition, intention, but when you look at these wrapped around it, you get a soul’s last regret. And when you look at its placement in the circle, it's on a material vector, an ingredient. But it’s also in the center, where you do the conjuring for what you want to accomplish. And in that place it’s also joined by this little squiggly? It signifies a joining, of two planes or two pieces, you see it sometimes in certain kinds of alchemy circles and binding magic.” Her face cracked wide into a smile. Harsh, it’s a spell to bind a soul to a body! It’s real!” Morgan shot up from her chair, almost toppling the book to the floor. “Harsh, your cure is real! I mean, I’m going to need to do more work to figure out the other ingredients, and we need to follow up on that Sanskrit, because that might be important, and who even knows how we’re going to even get some of these things once we know what they are, but still!” She jumped on her toes to give him as strong a hug as her arms could manage. “It’s possible. And that’s what matters most right now, right?”

“That’s a good point, actually. I sort of always thought of them as being two really different things, but… I’m not really an expert on any of this. I should’ve done way more research ages ago.” Harsh had thought as much before, several times… and then done basically nothing. He’d had two hundred years to learn this and he had thrown all that time away. Oh well, he was doing it now. That had to count for something. He nodded vaguely as Morgan went on, doing his best to follow along. It was a little beyond him, but the pieces he could parse were encouraging enough to make a grin slowly spread across his face. “Holy shit--Morgan, you’re amazing!” Meeting her halfway, he locked his arms around her with enough force to lift her off the ground, spinning the both of them in a circle. “You figure out what we need and I’ll get it,” he said as he set her down, still grinning widely. “Whatever we need, just leave it to me.” 

[literarydumpinggrounds]

Secret’s Out: Part 4/?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 3,004

Warnings: Fluff, implied violence, minor language, and maybe some angst if you squint?

Notes: Dreadfully sorry about how long this part has taken me! I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t seem to get the concept out into words. I’ve picked and picked and rewritten and edited until my brain is mush, but it’s time to get it out, even if I’m not entirely pleased with it. As always, enjoy! :)

Draco had been wandering aimlessly around the shop for longer than he’d like to admit, valiantly trying to avoid the group he had accompanied for as long as possible when he spotted you through the window. You wore a deep virescent turtleneck that tucked into the trousers under your house robes, and bulky woolen socks that stuck out from your boots as you trudged through the fresh powder on the street. He admired the look of absentminded appreciation settled over your features as you happily followed along with your friends, but only for a moment before he continued browsing the display he’d been approaching. He allowed his fingers to ghost over the vibrant sugar quills as the bell at the door rang faintly into the crowded room, barely loud enough to be heard over the incessant chatter of the third years that crowded the shelves. 

He couldn’t help the tension that resided in his muscles, accumulating a dull ache that he’d rapidly grown accustomed to over the last few months, as his mind wandered to all of the tasks that were forcefully bestowed upon him. 

Dread owned his conscious mind, pushing against the confines of his carcass like an invisible gale. It was like his stomach was perpetually locked tight, requesting that nothing went in or out. His face set like rigor mortis, teeth locked together like a vice. He was a prisoner in his own body, and a slave to his troubled mind. 

He glanced up to the rest of the room as someone near him released a howl of laughter, his eyes settling on you in pleasant surprise. You observed the invading flurry for a moment before turning your gaze onto him, almost as if you’d felt the presence of his thieving stare. 

As your eyes met, he felt his heart leap in his chest and his stomach lurch at the tickle of nerves, a smile cracking through the hardened exterior of his previous expression. You swaggered over to him with a disarming confidence that sent a rush of brief panic through his chest, his pulse accelerating considerably despite his apparent calm.

“Funny, I never took you for a sugar quill kind of guy.” you held him in place with mischievous eyes, your fingers tracing over the display as if you hadn’t seen it a hundred times. You were an angel. 

Draco couldn’t help but admire your ability to keep him guessing; from picking fights in front of the entire school and radiating effortless confidence one minute, to making the perfect potion and blushing humbly the next. He hadn’t been able to get you off of his mind, even among all the darkness he’d witnessed, among all the horrible things he had done, his mind always seemed to wander back to you. 

Chuckling softly, genuinely amused by your choice of conversation, he requested your thoughts on what kind of guy you took him for. Your reply sent a swarm of butterflies through his gut, preventing him from holding eye contact as a slight blush heated his cheeks. Busted. 

“In that case, I should probably tell you; I prefer daisies.”

Calling this feeling a crush was infantile, something invented by older individuals with an interest in belittling young love. Draco hated it. He didn't have some school-boy crush, his feelings for you had developed with a passion hotter than a thousand suns. You were the only thing that truly mattered. You were constantly on his mind, burning every inch like a fire seed blossoming; you were light, everything he had been missing, and he craved your presence with an intensity that he could hardly bear. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

ㅡ

The entirety of your day after you’d agreed to meet Draco had led you to be consumed in thought. Conjuring every possible scenario that could unfold that evening, both positive and negative, then ran through them again as Vixen rattled on about her demands as your future maid of honor. The unknown was both daunting and exhilarating, and you’d needed reassurance on your appearance nearly three times before you began your journey from the Slytherin Dormitories to the Astronomy Tower. 

It seemed that every floor you ascended only added to your nerves, making it increasingly difficult to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Mr. Filch’s nocturnal reconnoiter was always over by eleven, allowing him ample time to spend with his dreadful feline companion before they turned in for the night. You slithered through the dark hallways effortlessly, despite the impairment of sight due to the torches fizzling out in their holds, having memorized them through your years of wandering about the castle. As your nerves clawed around in your gut, you reminded yourself of the words your mother had assured you with before your journey back to Hogwarts that year. 

When one simply chooses to be brave instead of allowing themselves to be the puppet of fear, everything will change for the better. 

The papers had headlined dreadful occurrences for months, and warned of the dangers that the world was to face upon Voldemort’s arrival. His followers at every corner, emerging from their sulfuric shadows to terrorize the masses, fulfilling whatever horrific demands he gave them without an ounce of remorse. The mere mention of them nauseated you with the overwhelming hatred for the malicious toxicity that poisoned their minds, the cancerous sludge that Voldemort inflicted into whatever vessel he touched. You were prepared for the worst, even despite the frigid burn of fear that rippled through your body at the thought of what could become of your lives. You were prepared to see him, and anyone who trailed in his shadow, diminish in an almighty hellfire. 

You hoped that a miracle would unfold, some unworldly intervention that would allow you to truly begin your life before the darkness had a chance to take it from you. You longed for something to lose. 

Outside the start of the winter season was beginning the annual breach from the autumnal hold, the ground littered with what had fallen from the afternoon sky as thousands of tiny snow kisses, each so delicate that they’d cease to exist at the touch of your hand. You ascended the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower, calming yourself with a deep breath as you made note of the sensations you were experiencing. The outside air invaded the warmth of the castle through the open space, enveloping you in an icy vice that sent a shock wave of goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and the enigmatic electricity of adrenaline spread outward from your chest. You favored this time of the day over all. The night promised a beautiful serenity, and presented its infinite wisdomㅡ ageless stories of your ancestors ㅡthrough the aligning stars that littered the velvet black skies. 

You could hear Draco’s footsteps before you saw him, but your amusement melted into surprise as you observed the room.

The torches were lit around the room, providing a romantic glow to the worn stone, and lush blankets woven from cotton strands the hue of petals adorned the wooden floor beside the south-facing window; acting as a resting place to gaze over the Black Lake. Draco looked sick with nerves before he’d noticed your arrival, but quickly brightened as you stepped off of the last step and into the room. 

“Should we be up here?” you inquired gently, curious eyes looking around the room as you made your way towards him. “Won’t the astronomy courses begin at midnight?” 

You watched him smile then, a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet that you felt warmth rush through you. 

“Professor Sinistra only holds classes on Wednesday.” 

He seemed relieved to see you, his shoulders visibly relaxing in your presence. The both of you sat in an unsure silence for an agonizing moment before he spoke out, your mutual gaze breaking so he could motion towards the blankets. He discreetly wiped his palms over his coat pockets as he let out a heavy breath, silently offering you a seat on the blankets. “I wasn’t sure what you preferred, but I brought a few bits for you, if you’d fancy them..” 

You joined him among the cozy nest, nestling into the warm embrace of the fabric, trying to ignore how close he was. 

“Sounds amazing.”

ㅡ

Hours had passed, and it was well into the night when you’d realized how close the both of you had migrated, the heat radiating off of you both within the blankets. You talked about anything and everything, devouring bandofee tarts and pumpkin juice together until you couldn’t imagine stomaching another bite, and now the both of you sat shoulder to shoulder in a comfortable silence as you stargazed. Suddenly, you lifted your hand to point towards the velvety black sky. 

“Do you see that string of stars there?” you murmured inquisitively, glancing over to see Draco’s features scrunched up in focus, eyes straining to find exactly what you were talking about. Chuckling softly, you guided him by his chin, a soft smile ghosting over your features as you watched him nod in acknowledgement. 

“It’s my favorite..” you state confidently. 

“Draco the Dragonㅡ” he cut you off with a snort, which you protested with a playful swat to his arm. “I’m serious, you twit! It’s Latin.” 

“It’s a circumpolar constellation, meaning it’s out all night long every night of the year.” your gaze returned to the constellation fondly, oblivious to his eyes wandering over to watch you as you spoke. “During the summer, Rastaban and Eltanin give him flashing eyes.”

You looked over to Draco to find that his warm gaze had fallen to your lips, dusting a rosy hue over the apples of your cheeks.

“In muggle mythology it’s said to represent Ladon, the dragon that guarded a tree in the gardens of the Hesperides that grew golden apples.” 

His eyes held an indescribable warmth, so fond that you thought you would melt at the end of them. “It suits you, don’t you think?”

He simply hummed in response, earning an inquisitive glance from you. Staring for a moment longer, the both of you withered in the pressurized silence as something between you grew, blossomed. 

“I really like you, Y/N.” he disclosed gently, his gaze hesitant and warm as if he feared that you would run. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for weeks, and being with you today..” 

He trailed off, his gaze softening as he looked over your face, a nervous smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think I could keep to myself if I tried. Whatever this feeling is, if— if you feel it too, I’d fancy giving us a chance.”

A brilliant smile overpowered your features as a fiery warmth burst through your chest, compelling you to surge forward and kiss him. 

After what seemed like a small eternity, you pulled away from him, but only a few inches; your bottom lip taken hostage by your teeth as you observed the bliss on his features melting into delighted realization. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the oceanic orbs that haunted your memory as he smiled. 

“Is that a yes, darling?” he teased breathlessly as he looked over your features, trying to remember every detail in that proximity. 

“That depends, Malfoy.. Will you share your golden apples?” 

ㅡ

Your fate would have been written in different ink had you not met each other in the Astronomy Tower that night, a different decision would have left you without the other at your side, neither one complete. From that night on you were inseparable, hardly ever seen without the other by your side; told each other virtually everything, never a secret among you, or so it seemed. 

The world had become a broken heart, and all the money in existence could never mend it. It was nearly biblical. Problems that once seemed to loom as monstrous as Goliath, paled in the presence of your newfound stone of love, and any good heart could wield its power as David. Love was the only solution to healing the demolition sprouting all over the world, and you felt rejuvenated, empowered even in the presence of love. 

However, despite the radiant glow of young love being omnipresent in your life, everything had begun unraveling around you at an alarming pace. 

It had been nearly two months since you and Draco had made things official, and the Wizarding World was deteriorating before your eyes, crumbling like granules of sand at your fingertips. Hogwarts had surrounded the campus with an enchanted protective barrier, Mr. Ollivander had gone missing along with every wand in his shop, and Death Eaters were said to be after Harry Potter at the Dark Lord’s command. He was a menace as far as you were concerned, and you’d frankly grown tired of hearing his name being praised from the heights as if he were an impenetrable warlock made of gold. As long as he was running about the castle, nobody would ever really be safe at Hogwarts, that you were sure.

Yet, none of these occurrences had truly petrified you until the news of Katie Bell spread like wildfire through the halls. 

Katie Bell had been cursed on her way back from Hogsmeade. The stories varied in detail due to the verbal transference, but what remained consistent was that Katie had been propelled nearly fifteen feet in the air in the presence of the Golden Trio after touching an opalescent necklace that she was instructed to deliver to the Headmaster himself, and that she can’t recall exactly who told her to do so. 

The attempt on Dumbledore's life, as if it weren’t chilling enough, was sure to be just the beginning of death and endangerment at Hogwarts. So consequently, all trips outside of the schoolㅡ especially to Hogsmeade ㅡwere strictly forbidden until notified otherwise in efforts to maintain security. It was once this news began to spread that Draco started pulling back into himself, seeming to get lost in his head more and more as Katie neared her admittance back into her classes from recovering, and speaking to you less and less. 

You’d allowed him his space, as much as you could stand, until the day Katie returned.

ㅡ 

The Great Hall was filled with a motley cacophony of conversation and laughter when Draco had come through the doors. He was later than usual, but from his exhausted appearance you hoped that it was due to oversleeping, and not another visit with his mother. As he started towards your place at the table he seemed to be distracted by something at the other end of the Hall that halted his movement, his entire face draining of its color. 

With a furrowed brow you followed his wide-eyed gaze to find Katie Bell, who was staring back at him inquisitively over Harry Potter’s shoulder. Whatever was troubling Draco was now becoming a bigger concern, your mind swirling to connect the possible scenarios in which Katie Bell, an elder Gryffindor, had anything to do with your boyfriend. 

You watched discreetly for a moment as Harry seemed to notice her detachment from his conversation, heart beginning to hammer in your chest as his peridot irises caught stormy seas, the tension pressing down until you gently stood from the table. 

You knew Draco quite well, better than anyone ever had, and it made it all the more unsettling to see him so openly displaying his anxiety. Usually, his fear ripped viciously through veins, but never made it far enough to influence the stoic expression he’d practiced so well. His complexion remained pale and matte, his eyes as steady as if he were leisurely window shopping; only exposing himself to those who were well informed on his behavior, who knew him well enough to catch the telltale tics.

However, he was showing pure opposition to his usual mannerisms, his eyes wild and face uncharacteristically glistening with sweat. 

What could possibly be going through his head? 

An all too familiar look of determination crossed Potter’s face as he caught sight of Draco, and before you could even properly find your footing, he had hurried out of the doors with Potter on his heels; and despite your better judgement, you burst out of the doors to chase the both of them. 

You shoved through the crowded halls, desperately trying to keep up until they turned down a quiet corridor. 

The sound of crashes and bangs echoed viciously, forcing your walk into a run towards the bathrooms, mind racing as you thought of their rivalry. You were tired of the secrets and the lack of communication and the inability to ask for help. He was going to tell you what's been going on if it killed him. However, all your thoughts crashed to a halt as you burst through the back entryway to the boys bathrooms, and saw Draco laying among the wreckage and water, bleeding inconsolably. 

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn’t process all the questions you’d suddenly formulated as you rushed to his side, soaking your robes and trousers as you kneeled. Shakily your hands hovered over the invading crimson of his shirt, his hand gripping the edge of your robes as he whimpered helplessly, looking at you with a panic that broke your heart. 

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, lovely..” you sniffled, tears painting your cheeks as they mirrored his own. 

Too caught up in your panic, you hadn’t noticed Harry until he gasped, sending your attention to where he stood, pale and horrified, the bastard. 

Burning rage hissed through your body like a deadly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off of you like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed, engulfing your moralities at the sight of him. You’d never been so angry in your life. The world around you nearly drowned out as you snarled. 

“Potter?” 

ㅡ

@httpsavocados 

@that-weird-kid-charlie 

@emothrash  

@sinfulmango 

@theroyalbrownbarbie

[unfortunatelysirius]

╰☆☆ ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ 𝔾𝕀ℝ𝕃𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 ☆☆╮ [Sirius Black – Marauders Era] [Part 13]

Previous Installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12 ╰❂╮ prompt ╰❂╮ ☾ ¡Original! ☾ Y/N and Regulus make a pact, and Sirius begins to uncover the truth. ╰❂╮ author’s note ╰❂╮ so so sorry for the huge wait, but here i am, and this is short (not terribly short but still short) but believeeeee me, the next part will be soon and will be big~ hope you guys are doing fantastic :]]] ╰❂╮ warnings ╰❂╮ Angst, Swearing ╰❂╮ word count ╰❂╮ 1843 ╰❂╮ tag-list ╰❂╮ @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines  @random-quartz @ruefulposts @seabasstiantrash @starlightspidey @pinkettepoet @peppermintspecks @jiongyongguk

    “Regulus,” whispered Y/N, heart pounding erratically against her chest, “what is going on?”

         There was nothing—nothing but the look of disdain he wore as a mask, and the blue, tremoring veins pressed against the tightly-woven flesh of his fist, an alarming feature that did not whisk by unnoticed. Observing him, Y/N could read nothing but his obvious fatigue, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hair appeared uncombed. The wrinkled composition of his robes. The resemblance he bore to Severus Snape at that moment was unsettling, though Y/N could tell it was not something he wanted—not in the slightest—and that alone caused an ache of sympathy to shoot through Y/N’s heart—

         But observations aside, there was a reason she was called away from her obligations of sitting and dissecting pumpkin crumble to assist him as a conservational partner. The last part was certainly dubious. Of course, this was Regulus Black she was associating herself with; the boy was antisocial, and clever beyond a wit’s measure, and Y/N never saw him talking to anyone but a select few housemates and occasionally Sirius. The two of them weren’t friends. This had to be a serious matter, though the prejudiced part of Y/N wondered if his unsubtle request was a cruel joke, one he would allow Mulciber and Rosier and Goyle to perform on her.

         “You’ve been Obliviated,” said Regulus, finally, in such a tone—dripping in finality—that Y/N startled. “Do you remember anything?”

         Y/N pushed his words aside, her fear overruling rationality, the side which wanted to listen and understand what has caused everything to go so terribly wrong. She bit her lip, and frowned. “We shouldn’t be talking to each other—it could wind up getting you or me seriously hurt—“

         “That’s not what matters here, Y/N!” Y/N, in all her years at Hogwarts, never thought Regulus to be capable of raising his voice. This caused her to blink, and to internally shrink, previous fight slowly faltering, like a dying animal. “I know the stories. I know the rumors. And I know you’re being a pawn to a bigger player’s game.”

         Y/N’s frown deepened. “How did you know I was Obliviated? How do you know any of this?”

         “Not the point,” Regulus said dismissively, and then hissed, “Any proper potions brewer can manipulate the potion to perform a supplement of its actual effect. Take Veritaserum; with proper handling, and proper instruction, any person with a brain can tamper it to make everything out of your mouth a lie, not truth.

         “The same can be done to a love potion. You can tamper it, enchant it, to make whoever sips it temporarily smitten with the first person they see. But the strong brewers can use their words, make whoever you become smitten with whoever they want. And sometimes, they can mix it with other elements and ingredients, make it where you’re in a different mindset and following the heart of whoever it is. The last one’s easier. All you need is a lock of someone’s hair.”

         Y/N gasped, horrified to think everything was suddenly making sense, then thought back to that fatal outing she had with Sirius:

{…} “The stars do look rather beautiful tonight,” said Y/N, raising her canteen at Sirius. She was the first to take a sip.

Then, she mumbled something. It was a hollow, throated sound, filled with monotonous desperation. And Y/N’s entire mind clouded, replaced with the thoughts of someone foreign, the feelings as foreign to her as water was to fire, and thoughts appeared, all at once.

I wonder if Father will allow me to marry Lucius. He’s the only kind one of my suitors. Oh, but Alex! He may be young, but he has an adventurous soul, though it is rather limited. I remember the flowers he brought me on Valentine’s…

Her gaze was now clearing and her eyelids were thickening, raising higher and higher and higher—all until she looked like a madwoman, breaths falling from her mouth in uneven intervals. “Alex. Alex. Oh, Alex.”

Sirius looked horrified. He reached across the table and grabbed her hands into his, ignoring how she recoiled at his touch—ignoring the repulsion on her mouth. “Y/N,” he said softly. “Who is Alex?”

Y/N—Narcissa—snatched her hands away from him. “Oh, Alex,” she whimpered. “How could he bear to know that someone with the name Black has touched my hand, has branded me a blood-traitor? He will never ask for my hand in marriage now. Never, never, never.”

         Alex will never take the hand of a blood traitor. I am no blood-traitor. I am Narcissa Black, the only Black not crazy or a traitor, and Alex will take my hand in marriage.

         -

         “Oh my god,” said Y/N, no longer able to stand on her own two legs. She slowly slumped to the ground, bringing with her whatever dignity she had left.

         Regulus crouched down, bringing up a hand to lay on Y/N’s knee. It may have looked suggestive to any mere passerby, but Y/N knew it was empathetic comfort, nothing more. “I’ll need to help you get back your memories, Y/N,” the boy said lowly, quiet enough that they were the only two souls to hear it. “But we cannot do it here. Meet me in the Restricted Section tonight, at midnight.”

         Before Y/N could get a word out—specifically her affirmation for the idea---Regulus was standing and turning, leaving with a swish of his robes. It left Y/N with a rotten taste in her mouth, one that caused her to sink further into the ground, wishing she could be swallowed whole.

         -

         “Oh, Merlin,” Remus Lupin whispered, turning to look at Sirius after the four Marauders watched Regulus stride off and Y/N collapse. They’d heard most of everything, and the broken, remorseful expression on Sirius’s face was enough to make any living person’s chest ache. “Sirius…”

         But Sirius wasn’t looking. And he wasn’t listening. He had his eyes clenched shut, looking to be totally void of any sense for the modern day, as he pulled at his hair, angry, angry, angry, like the only one he now wanted to punch and kick was himself.

         Similarly, James wasn’t looking at either of them. And he held no attention for Peter, who was nervously looking at Remus, like he was the only one with any real sense. Instead, James was staring at Y/N. Watching her with this look of heart-churning realization, like his gut had wrenched itself inside-out. He’d been so angry at her, thinking she’d played some sick game with his best mate’s head, when in reality, they were all pawns to a bigger pawn’s game—just like Regulus had said.

         And Regulus. James knew it was shameful for the four of them—the Marauders, known for their wit and intelligence—to be so stupidly blind. To allow Y/N to be hurt, and to hunt for answers all by herself, while they patted their friend on the back, brooding over the betrayal of someone who did nothing but wear her heart on her sleeve, like a true Gryffindor.

         James was disappointed in himself. He should have known something was amiss, especially when Y/N came knocking on their door, desperate to reconcile. If she were truly ill-intentioned, she would not have come looking to apologize. She wouldn’t have seemed ready to cry when James had snapped at her, telling her to leave his best friend alone.

         It was all a bloody mess. One that James had no clue how to fix.

         One that Remus had no clue how to fix.

         One that Peter had no clue how to fix.

         One that Sirius had no clue how to fix.

-

         Y/N stood, onto shaky legs. She could feel her heart pounding, and her body aching, as though she’d been pummeled by the sky a thousand times over. And she could feel her heart hurting, more than it had ever hurt before, because this time it was due to fallen memories, dying from the absence it held of answers she needed, ones made complicated by the flourish of a fucking wand.

         She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to pound her fists into the dirt, yelling for a mercy that no one—not even Merlin himself—would grant.

         This situation was painful. So painful and so consequential that Y/N was looking to a stranger for guidance, a boy who she once thought washed with insensible, parental bullshit, now capable of compassion, and willing to help her, even though she was broken—broken beyond prepare.

         And here was the broken girl, walking slowly away from the place where she’d lost her dignity, heading to where she’d stay until it was time for answers, her dormitory, because she had nowhere else to go, and not a single soul to curve into for comfort.

         And even now, she was hallucinating the idea of Sirius, for he was standing in the next corridor, there with his friends, three blokes once dearly close to Y/N, before she’d lost them. And he seemed so real, too, because he was staring at her, with these round, bloodshot eyes, just staring, so terribly sad and heartbroken that Y/N just wanted to hug him.

         She ached to touch him again, to hold him dear and close—just as she dreamed and just as she now deluded herself into imagining. It was beautiful. And heart-wrenching.

         Something Y/N kept thinking, and yearning for, that she could hardly feel or return the hard, abrupt, and clumsy hug she suddenly received from Sirius Black himself.

         She was frozen. She was concerned. She questioned her own sanity because his arms felt so real, his hair felt so real, his tears felt so real. Was he real? Was this a ghost of the past? Was this a dream? Or would he get brutally ripped from her, leaving her in the essence of a nightmare?

         She was unsure. She was stuck. Until he murmured three words, against the base of her throat, words that brought air bubbles into her heart’s pitter-pattering beat, that had a hiccupping sob erupting from her mouth—

         “I’m so sorry.”

         And Y/N’s arms returned the hug, feverishly, like she might never hug again. Like he might disappear, and she’d be left with nothing. But he was physical flesh. He was physical bone. He was a beautiful canvas, one Y/N desperately sought to ruin, over and over again, until he was her flesh, until he was her bone.

         “I love you,” he sobbed into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

         And though Y/N wanted to pound at his chest and scream at him for shredding apart her heart and leaving her with nothing, she felt no other feeling than love, than wholeness, for her heart was no longer shredded. It had come back together into a puzzle of pieces meant only for one man, whose name was Sirius.

         He was here, living, breathing—and he still loved her. And that was all that mattered.

[amusementlark]

Funny All the Time

“Verity Thistlewine?” Angelina scoffed, trying to keep her tone light. “For him?” 

She sat in the Three Broomsticks with Alicia Spinnet and George Weasley, who had just passed along Fred’s reason for missing out on the small reunion. The younger twin looked embarrassed to say it, but his eyes seemed to twinkle nontheless. 

Angelina couldn’t scrounge up the same sense of humor. She hadn’t dated Fred Weasley in years, of course, but he’d been her close friend, and if not her...well... She felt that he should at least pursue someone really good!

George, on the other hand, shrugged. “She’s a hard worker, punctual.” He gave a small snigger. “I think he likes that she calls him ‘Mr. Weasley.’”

“Ugh!” Angelina screwed up her face and pushed George’s shoulder amiably. 

“Well,” he went on,” She calls me that, too, of course.” 

“That’s rank. Sod off!” 

Alicia giggled, watching them. “Is it weird being here without your twin, George?” she asked. 

His face slipped into something deadpan. “Believe it or not, oh fair one, we are not actually joined at the hip.”

“That’s hard to believe,” muttered Angelina, to Alicia’s delight. 

The evening passed with more banter, like it had in the old days in Gryffindor tower. Though she teased all of her friends, Angelina was loyal, and usually only spent her time with people she felt were worthy. It was truly refreshing to sit back with old school friends and be herself, instead of bearing silently with the company of more boring coworkers. But, as all good things came to an end, so did this. Alicia got to her feet first. “Sorry, dearies. I’ve got flowers to sell tomorrow, bright and early.” 

“Are Saturdays really popular days for florists?” George asked, smirking. 

“You wouldn’t believe,” Alicia returned, wide-eyed as though she barely believed it, herself. “All the men who forget birthdays and holidays, and all of the shcool dances and dates on Saturdays.” She let out a sigh. “Honking daffodils are among the most popular. I got o bed and dream of that noise.” 

“By the way, I ought to order more of those—” George started, pulling a checkbook from the breast pocket of his robes. The last few times she had seen the twins, they had been bedecked in fine, satiny things, usually rich plum or green colors. Though, if Angelina had to consider it, she thought that midnight blue suited George best, as he was wearing now. How strange to see him with money, after all these years... But Alicia waved his money away. 

“Fred already placed an order as of yesterday. I’ll be sure to save you loads.” Alicia bit back a yawn. “Night, all.” 

“Night,” they answered. George turned back to Angelina, who was watching Butterbeer swirl at the bottom of her bottle. “So,” he said, in a somewhat serious voice unique to George, “got a problem with Miss Thistlewine?” Desite the tone, his signature smirk played around his lips. Those eyes kept twinkling. She loved this idiot, she thought, barely aware of what her brain was saying. 

“No!” Angelina huffed, giving herself away utterly. George gave a bright laugh, and she said, “Alright, alright. It’s weird; I don’t have a thing for Fred anymore, but I think she’s just...she’s just so plain...” 

“Compared to you?” he said perceptively. He always read her like a book. 

Angelina pursed her lips, but the word burst forth anyway, “Yes! Merlin’s beard, it’s like getting turned down on a date for a wallflower bookworm.” 

“I’ll have you know, I’ve met a few charming bookworms,” George said in that serious tone. Angelina frowned at the way it had gone low and quiet. Despite herself, she liked the husky quality it had taken on.

“Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I think Hermione Granger is a lovely girl.” They both chuckled, tight sounds. 

“So, how can Fred have really turned you down, if he sent me here?” He asked conversationally, and Angelina stared at him as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. He continued, “I mean, it’s as though he’s here right now. He’s left his doppelganger.” 

“Stop that,” she said. She swigged the last of the Butterbeer. “You’re not a doppelganger.” 

“Just a joke!” George said, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No harm in it, Angie.” 

But she scowled back at him, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “You know you’re not just a replica of him, right?” 

“Cor, way to make it awkward,” George muttered, looking irritated now. 

Angelina stared at him, thinking how she couldn’t take it back now—the too-sincere question. “Sounds like I’ve touched on a nerve.” 

He waved it off. “If you don’t want to date me in his stead, Angelina, all you had to do was��”

“Wait,” Angelina snorted. “What?” 

“All you had to do was say so,” George finished, giving her an expectant smile.When she didn’t respond, still staring at him, he waved his hands as if expecting her to answer. “You know, because you’re unhappy to be here...and I’m Fred’s replacement.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Look it’s hard to always be funny—”

“Let’s go back to my place.”

Angelina tried not to let the shock take over her face. George certainly didn’t try; he was goggling, open-mouthed at her. It took him a second or two, and then he said lowly, “Angie, I’m not that kind of girl.” 

Just like that, the tension broke. Angelina burst out laughing, and George joined in. As they were sighing and catching their breath, Angelina reached into her purse for the sickles to pay, but George was already laying down a Galleon. Tom the barman grinned at him with those unnerving gums, and George got to his feet. Angie followed, and comfortably took his proffered arm. 

They made a funny pair: the Weasley with a good deal of pomp to his walk, and the stately, young Johnson woman marching at his side. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. She led him to her apartment, only three blocks from the bar. He turned to face her, as though about to say goodbye, but after she waved her wand at the enchantments, she turned and pulled him by the arm into the building behind her. She caught sight of George’s face as his cheeks turned scarlet. It was cute. She wanted to embarrass him even more. 

When they reached her apartment, she unbuttoned her pumpkin-orange cloak and tossed it onto the hanger. Underneath, her dress was like a lot of her clothes: designed to show her athletic shoulders and back. She was not disappointed when she heard him pause in removing his own cloak, and the quiet intake of breath. 

“Want something to eat?” she asked, moving further inside. 

George gave a nervous chuckle, tugging at his tie. “Please, Angie, you know not to give me room for innuendo.” 

Angelina leaned against her kitchen table. The small dining room was cramped, well-lit, full of posters for bands and teams, lots of scarves, and Quidditch boots by the door. “Pshh,” Angelina scoffed, waving her hand. “How could you tell me not to let you make jokes?” 

He took a few steps closer, and the smile was strangely empty on his face. His brown eyes were intense, focused. “Did you invite me up here for jokes?” 

Her breath caught. She’d meant to say something funny, or to be kind, to reassure him that he was as much her friend as Fred was, or that he was important and special. Whatever she’d meant, those last two descriptors were undeniable in the heat of her face, and the freckles that she counted on his. Up close, she could see teeth marks in his lower lip, and she tried to count the occasions when she had observed the nervous habit. 

“What was the question again?” she murmured. He smelled like firework smoke and candy. 

He was standing right in front of her, less than a foot away, practically between her legs. But he said, “I don’t think it matters.” 

Fred would’ve done it by now, Angelina thought to herself. But what made George different was that he stood back, analyzed, waited. 

She would cut down on the wait. 

Angelina reached up, cupped George’s face in her hands, and pulled him into a kiss. She felt his hands push her against her tabletop, and his tongue against her lip. Turned out he tasted sweet, too. 

When he started to pull away, she pushed forward, licked at his lips again, afraid he would end it. But even as he broke the kiss, his hands stayed at her back and pulled her close. When she looked into his face, she saw one of her favorite Weasley smirks looking back at her. 

“Wow, Georgie,” she murmured. 

“Wow, yourself.” He inclined his head against hers. “So what now?” 

“Now,” Angelina said slowly, “Mr. Gryffindor Beater, you show me what you can do with your club.” 

His laugh felt loud, but perfect in her small kitchen. “Oh you know what I can do with a club.” Perhaps out of habit, he ground against her like a punchline, apparently surprising himself, because he bit his lip, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. 

“Well, let’s see, then.” Angelina pushed against him gently and took his hand, leading him to the sofa. 

[jxpper]

Head to Head (If You Can Hear Me)

 Joyce comes head to head with her worst fears

This is part of the Skin to Skin series! (click below to catch up)

Read Series on AO3 Here

Posted Chapters ↓

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

wc:1932

rating: t

angst & romance

"And if you can hear me, I love you."

It was a fight. One of their rare but silly little arguments that left them both hot-headed and frustrated. Joyce couldn't remember what the fight was even about, all she knew was that Hopper stormed off to do what he usually did when he was pissed - drive around. Since he had quit drinking when Molly was born, he had been working on ways to channel his anger safely and driving seemed to be the winner. He'd cruise around for 15 minutes and come back with a whole new attitude.

Joyce had promised herself that when she and Hopper got together that she wouldn't allow them to fight around the kids like her and Lonnie. Hopper respected and agreed, so the back steps were usually where opinions aired.

It wasn't a serious fight, just a small argument but it always stung the same way. At least she knew Hopper would come back, Lonnie would take days to return and he usually smelled like a brewery and Astroglide when he finally did. So each time Hopper stormed off, Joyce just kept going about her day and expected him back for dinner. And he always was.

That was the only thing that was different this time. Even when the rare fights occurred, he always came back fifteen minutes later. Not a second earlier nor a second later. Joyce could feel guilt starting to swell in the bottom of her stomach when she set the dinner plates down at the table. Where was he? The kids were starting to get suspicious and she couldn't stall the questions much longer.

It had been thirty minutes now. Fifteen more than usual when he was expected to return. Joyce already had her apology and compromise mapped out in her head but Hopper was nowhere to be seen. Who knows, maybe he caught someone speeding while he was out and had to take care of it. At least that's what Joyce was telling herself to avoid the thoughts of 'Maybe he isn't coming back this time.' He always comes back.

Joyce fastened Molly into her high chair and just as she and the kids sat down at the table, a knock at the front door startled her. Finally, a sense of relief flooded into her stomach, carrying away the fear with it. "For the last time Hopper, this is your house. You don't have to kno-"  she stopped dead in her tracks as she opened the door to see a totally different face.

"Excuse me, ma'am is this the house of Chief Jim Hopper?" a tall man with piercing dark eyes stood in her doorway, clad in an Indiana State Trooper uniform. Joyce's heart must've quit right then and there because she could no longer breathe.

"Y-yes," she stumbled on her words. "I'm his wife. Is everything okay? Did he do something wrong?" a million scenarios rushed through Joyce's head while she convinced herself to breathe again. State trooper knocking on the Chief's door? That was never good news.

"Mom, who is it?" Joyce could hear Jane yell from the kitchen. "Just a minute sweetheart," she called back before turning to face the trooper again. "I'm sorry, what happened to Hopper?"

"Ma'am, there's been an accident. You'll need to come with us." His words went right over Joyce's head after 'accident'. 'Hopper was in an accident? That's why he wasn't home? Oh God, did I cause this? Is he alright? Is he alive?' A million thoughts ran through her head at a million miles per hour. She couldn't form the right words to say, she could only stand there with her mouth agape and speechless.

"Ma'am we really need to go." the Trooper tried to motion for her to move but she stood there, her feet stuck to the ground like she was sinking in quicksand. Why was this happening? What had happened? Was he hit by a drunk driver? Did he swing off the quarry? Was he distracted from the fight? Just as Joyce was about to follow the Trooper, Jonathan and Will peaked their heads around the corner from the kitchen to see who was at the door.

"Jonathan, watch your siblings. I'll be back in a little while." Joyce called out, fighting back the tears in her eyes as she shut the door behind her.

"What just happened?" Will asked, looking up at his brother. "I don't know but it looks like she was trying to catch the last chopper out of Saigon."

___

Joyce bit her nails anxiously the entire way to the hospital. The Troopers said they couldn't tell her what happened just yet, which only made her nerves chill colder. All she wanted to know was if he was alive but apparently they couldn't tell her that either. Rain poured down the tinted windows of the police vehicle, each droplet illuminating as they passed the street lights.

She remembered this feeling from before; pure dread as the ambulance had taken Will to the lab the night they burned the vines. She remembered the adrenaline coursing through her veins and the uncertainty in her mind. It was déjà vu at its finest.

It felt like an eternity before they finally arrived at the hospital, and by then a million Troopers couldn't have stopped her from running into the building. It felt like a drama movie. A woman running into a hospital in slow motion, a dreary blue filter on the film, and depressing piano music in the background.

Running through the ER, she saw a group of Troopers crowded by the nurse's station. Powell and Callahan stood up from the waiting room chairs when they saw Joyce arrive. The looks in their eyes made her heart sink lower and lower. There was suddenly no air left in the room and the walls were closing in on her.

"Joyce," Powell started before she interrupted him. "Where is he?"

"Joyce, let's sit down for a mi-"

"Where is he!"

Powell took a deep breath and looked at Callahan. "He's upstairs in the ICU, but Joyce-"

"Take me to see him. Right now," she demanded, tears finally breaking their painful hold and streaming down her face. She couldn't do this, not right now. Now was not the time for everybody to play 'let's get Joyce to calm down' because it wasn't happening.

__

He was alive. Sort of. It didn't look like it but the nurses reassured Joyce a hundred times that he was in fact alive. He had brain activity, which apparently is a good sign. She could barely comprehend how she got here, let alone what all the medical jargon was about. He was still unconscious but his heart was beating so that was about as good as it was going to get.

It was hard for her to hold his hand, he looked so bruised and battered and she didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. The police said that he hit a puddle and the tie rod snapped. She didn't know what that meant either but he hit a puddle and wrapped the blazer around a tree.

The guilt was overwhelming to her. Maybe he wouldn't have been in this situation if she had just agreed about whatever they were arguing about. He would've never went for a drive and he would've never ended up here. They tried to tell her it wasn't her fault but she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

"If you can hear me right now, I'm sorry," she whispered softly under the sound of a beeping monitor. "I'm sorry for being so stubborn, and I'm sorry for being difficult. I've seen the movies and they always say the same things but now I don't know what to say. I'm sorry for the things I've said, today and times before. I'm sorry that this happened to you and I'm sorry for not being the best wife I could be."

"If you can hear me, you need to get through this. You can't leave us behind, Hop. Jonathan, Will, Jane, and Molly love you too much for you to go right now. You've got too many proms and soccer games and field trips left with them. You've got too many game nights and homework assignments left to do with them. You've got too many Christmases and birthdays left to spend with them. You've got too many heartbreaks to avenge and tears left to dry. If you can't pull through this for me, do it for them."

"If you can hear me, I wish I had said things before that I didn't. I wish I had said 'I love you' to you in fourth grade when you kissed me on the monkey bars. I wish I had said yes to go to Snow Ball with you. I wish I had said 'drive carefully' to you on the mornings you left for work. I wish I had a chance to say goodbye when you left for Vietnam. I wish I had said yes to the camping trip you wanted to take last July. I wish I had said yes to every experience I could've spent with you."

"If you can hear me, I need you to know I still cherish every moment I've spent with you. I still laugh when I think about the time you threw me in the pool when I told you not to. I still smile when I think about the fairy lights we wrapped around the trees for our wedding; and how we sat under them at midnight. I still feel my heart pound when I remember the first kiss that we had shared after 20 years apart. I still chuckle when I think about the time we visited the pumpkin patch when we were fifteen and you stepped in a rotten pumpkin. I still cry when I think about the smile on your face when Molly was born. I still feel my heart melt when I remember how you would climb in Molly's crib when she couldn't sleep. I still love every waking moment I've spent by your side."

"If you can hear me, those are just a handful of the reasons why I need you to stay with me; with our kids. I still need you to hold me every night. I still need you to kiss me every morning with your awful morning breath. I still need you to miss the hamper when you throw your clothes on the floor. I still need to accidentally step on your shoes everytime I come in the door. I still need you to smile at me through the window when I'm at work. I still need you to sing Molly to sleep when she misses you at night. I still need you to talk to Will about his D&D campaigns like you understand any of it. I still need you to tell Jonathan how he will be top of his class at NYU. I still need you to pretend-threaten Mike everytime he puts his arm around Jane. I still need you, Hopper. We still need you."

"And if you can hear me, I love you."

Joyce leaned out of her chair and laid her head down on his knee. She wasn't sure how long she had laid there, crying against his body, but she didn't care. She needed him and nothing would ever change that.

Just as Joyce felt her eyes about to close with drowsiness, the body that was lying still under her twitched.

"Joyce?"