#nearly fucking fainted when i had this idea not even thirty minutes ago

[matchbet-allofthetime]

Imagine being close to Garak and a big celebration between all sorts of species— Cardassians included— is presented on the DS9, and you give him liberties with your outfit.

Be it a suit or a dress, he's eager as always to help you out, and between familiar, playful banter, he's delighted to find you're giving him almost full liberties with the outfit.

Imagine, too, his shock when you ask suddenly if he can make it appeal to a Cardassian's eye.

He's a little shocked, taken aback, but is happy to oblige nonetheless.

The days pass, you pick up your outfit, the celebration begins.

Now imagine how speechless he'd be to discover the Cardassian's eye you've wanted to catch is his own as he sees you flirting with him in that outfit he tailor made to your frame because he knows you like the back of his own hand.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Doing Me Right - Fred Weasley

Title: Doing Me Right Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW!! Dirty talk, semi-public sex, fingering, mentions of choking, unprotected sex, comments that def could be construed as a breeding kink bc im trash Summary: Fred knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on the girls, but when his girlfriend starts to sing a song about getting it on all night, all his concerns go away and all he can think about is 34+35. A/N: not requested, just the product of my own brain!! Inspired by 34+35 by Ariana Grande, all lyrics used are in italics. Feedback is always welcome!!

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“No way!”

Fred pauses with his hand hovering over the knob on his bedroom door at the sound of Hermione’s voice. Y/N, Ginny and Hermione had gone upstairs over an hour ago, but clearly they lied about going straight to bed. They obviously deemed whatever conversation they’re having unsuitable for the boys to hear and Fred can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. Unable to help himself, Fred inches down the hall closer to Ginny’s room, hoping to catch more of their conversation.

“Yes way!” Ginny responds with a giggle. “Harry is very talented on and off the Quidditch pitch, if you catch my drift.”

Fred grimaces as Y/N and Hermione burst out into laughter, and he makes a silent note to hit a few bludgers a bit harder than normal at Harry during their daily Quidditch game tomorrow. Fred settles on the floor outside of Ginny’s room, peering in through the slit in the nearly fully closed door and his breath catches in his throat when his eyes land on Y/N. She’s sitting cross legged on Ginny’s floor wearing a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts. They’ve been together for nearly five years, but the sight of Y/N never fails to make Fred’s heart race.

“Who would have thought, eh? Seems the chosen one isn’t as innocent as everyone thinks,” Y/N teases. Someone, Fred figures it’s Ginny, throws a pillow at her and Y/N dodges it with a laugh. “No need to be so feisty, Gin. You’re the one who brought it up!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ginny responds playfully. “I would have smothered you with that pillow, but we all know how much you enjoy that, don’t we, ‘Mione?”

Fred watches Y/N’s cheeks flush red and she picks up the pillow to hurl it at Hermione and Ginny, who are both laughing hysterically. Fred knows he should forget he ever heard any of this and go back to his room but listening to the girls talk so openly is addictive. Especially since one of the participants is his girlfriend.

“I’m never talking about my sex life with any of you ever again,” Y/N grumbles, flipping both Hermione and Ginny off.

“Why? Tired of bragging?” Hermione teases, and Fred can practically hear the grin on her face.

Y/N shrugs and Fred doesn’t miss the smug look on her features. “No need to be jealous, Hermione. It’s not my fault the Weasley brother I chose is a sex God. I’m sure with a few more years of practice Ron will nearly be as good as Fred.”

Fred can hear Ginny gag as his chest swells with pride. Of course he knows that he’s good in bed and Y/N reminds him just how great it is every time, but it’s different hearing her brag about it to her friends.

“You know the rule!” Ginny shrieks as another pillow comes flying at Y/N. “If you’re gonna talk about your sex life you’re not allowed to use their names! It ruins the whole conversation for me when I’m reminded that my two best friends are with two of my brothers.”

“Sorry, Ginny. I couldn’t resist,” Y/N apologizes.

All three of them are quite for a few moments, and just when Fred is about to sneak away to his room, Hermione makes a noise, and the faint music that was playing in the background turns up.

“Oo, I love this song!” He hears Hermione get up and then her hands come into view as she pulls Y/N up off of the floor. Fred’s eyes widen as he watches Y/N sway to the beat, singing to the lyrics of the song.

“So what you doing tonight?, better say, "Doing you right", watching movies but we ain't seeing a thing tonight,” Y/N sings along, her hips moving in time to the beat.

Fred’s mesmerized by the way Y/N’s hips move, and he can feel himself starting to get turned on from the words she’s singing alone. Despite the fact that they’re both adults and have been together for years, his Mum still insists that Y/N stay in Ginny’s room when they spend the night, so it’s been a few days of nothing but lustful glances and teasing touches between them, and the scene in front of him is making Fred crave more.

Y/N tilts her head back as she sings, and Fred picture himself sinking his teeth into the sensitive sink of her throat. “Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight, thirty-four, thirty-five. Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight, thirty-four, thirty-five.”

Fred watches the way Y/N’s mouth forms around the words, unable to stop himself from imagining them wrapping around his cock. He’d give anything to be with her all night long, and before he can stop himself Fred is reach down and squeezing his hardening cock through his pajama bottoms.

Y/N bends over, giving Fred the perfect view of her ass. She starts to move her hips again, and Fred has to bite down on his index finger to muffle the noise that rips from his throat. The shorts she’s wearing are far too short, so the bottom of her bum cheeks are visible as they bounce, and Fred can’t look away.

“Baby you might need a seat-belt when I ride it, I'ma leave it open like a door come inside it, even though I'm wifey, you can hit it like a side chick, don't need no side dick, no,” Y/N sings, and Fred starts to palm himself harder. It’s taking all of his willpower not to storm in there and drag Y/N into his room so they can do all of the dirty things she’s singing about.

“We started at midnight, got 'til the sunrise, done at the same time, but who's counting the time, when we got it for life?”

Fred watches Y/N move sensually as the song starts to end, in complete and utter awe that he’s going to spend his life with her. Not only does she have an amazing personality, but she’s beautiful and downright sexy. She can drive him crazy with just one look, and Fred knows he’ll never get tired of being with her.

Someone turns the music down as another song switches on and Y/N settles back on the floor, slightly out of breath. Her eyes pass over the door, and for a second Fred thinks she’s missed him, but then her attention refocuses on the opening in the door and their eyes lock. Fred holds his finger up to his mouth and winks at Y/N, before motioning for her to meet him in the bathroom down the hall.

Y/N swallows thickly as Fred disappears from outside Ginny’s door, refocusing her attention on her friends. She has no idea how long he’d been sitting there watching her, and the thought that he’d just witnessed her dancing instantly makes her wet. Once she’s sure Fred is gone, Y/N clears her throat and stands up.

“I’m gonna run to the loo. Brush my teeth and wash my face, all that jazz.” Y/N hopes her voice sounds casual, and she has to focus hard on walking away at a normal pace, even though her mind is telling her to run towards Fred. They’d been teasing each other on and off all day, and with the lustful look Fred had given her when their eyes met a few minutes ago Y/N can’t get to him fast enough.

“Fucking finally,” Fred groans when Y/N meets him in the bathroom. He slams the door shut behind her and presses her up against it, his hands landing on her hips. Fred kisses Y/N desperately, licking into her mouth almost immediately. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are?” Fred starts to trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck as he presses his erection into her stomach. “Got me so fucking hard just from watching you shake that sweet ass of yours.”

“Fred,” Y/N moans as his teeth dig into her collarbone. “You ah, you weren’t supposed to see that.” Fred’s hands have traveled up her shirt and are now cupping and massaging her breasts. “But I’m so fucking glad you did,” she gasps as Fred’s thumbs start to swirls around her nipples.

Fred kisses Y/N again, needing to feel her lips on his. Kissing her has to be one of Fred’s favorite things in the world, and over the past few days all he’s had to get by are a few random pecks here and there. “Such a little slut, Y/N. Singing about fucking me for anyone to hear. You just want everyone to know how good I fuck you, don’t you?”

Fred lifts Y/N up by her thighs and moves so he can place her down on the edge of the sink. He pulls her tank top off over her head before pushing her thighs apart to give him room to stand. One of his hands immediately moves to her breast, starting to massage it, while his head dips down at takes the nipple of her other breast into his mouth.

“Oh my fucking God, Fred,” Y/N moans as his tongue starts to flick at her nipple. Y/N lets out another noise as Fred’s free hand covers her mouth, pressing against it hard.

“Gotta be quiet, Y/N. Don’t want my family to hear how much of a desperate slut you are for me,” he teases before taking her other nipple into his mouth. He lets his teeth nibble at it, and the moan Y/N tries to let out goes right to his cock. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have you writhing on my cock,” he continues, as his mouth nibbles and sucks on her breasts. “Always fuck you so good, don’t I baby? You’re always begging for more when I’m done with you.” Fred’s hands start to play with Y/N’s breasts again so he can press hot kisses to her neck, just below her ear lobe. “You always come so hard on my cock, don’t you baby? I make you feel so good that you can’t help but brag to all of your friends, isn’t that right? Letting them know how hard your sex God boyfriend fucks you.”

Y/N face heats up at Fred’s words and she tries to moan as he presses his hand to her mouth harder. She’s absolutely dripping in her panties, and as much as she’s enjoying the teasing, her core is aching to be filled.

Fred lets one of his hands travel down Y/N’s torso towards the waistband of her sleep shorts. “Bet you’re pretty pussy is soaking wet for me. Probably so wet I could drink it like water,” he teases, referencing the song Y/N had just been singing along too. Fred moans as Y/N’s hands tangle in his hair and tug and he feels her tongue lick at his hand. “Something to say, darling?” He shoves his hand into her shorts and panties, just barely letting his index finger graze her clit.

Y/N tilts her head back and lets out a whine as Fred starts to tease her clit. She tugs on his hair once again, desperately trying to ask him for more. She can feel Fred smirk against her neck as he sucks a mark into it, and she tries to let out a groan in frustration.

“You always make such pretty noises when I rail you,” Fred praises, teasing her entrance with his index finger. “Always love making you scream my name.” He sinks his index finger all the way into Y/N’s heat, and the noise she tries to make sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you love having my hand wrapped around your mouth? Don’t you, my dirty girl?” When Y/N nods he smirks and pushes another finger into her heat. “Though you probably wish it was wrapped around your neck, don’t you?” Y/N’s hips have started to grind against his hand, and he starts to rub her clit as his fingers curl inside of her. “You fucking love it when I choke you, don’t you? Such a dirty whore. My dirty whore,” Fred growls.

Fred feels like he might burst out of his trousers if he keeps teasing Y/N like this, so he reluctantly steps away from her and takes his hand from her shorts so he can rid himself of his bottoms. It’s a bit hard with his hand still clasped over Y/N’s mouth, but he makes it work. Once he’s naked from the waist down, Fred wraps his hand around himself and starts to slowly stroke his cock. “Am I ‘up’ enough for you?” he teases. “I’m gonna take my hand off of your mouth, but I want you to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, okay?”

“Need you so fucking bad, Freddie,” Y/N pants as soon as he’s removed his hand. “Need you to fuck me like the dirty whore I am.” Y/N lifts her hips up, helping Fred to rip her shorts and panties from her body. As soon as she’s naked, Y/N grabs Fred’s shoulders and pulls him in, kissing him hard. “You heard what the song said, just give me them babies.”

Fred clasps his hand around Y/N’s mouth once again as he shoves hips forward, fucking into her wet heat until their hips are flush together. He can feel her trying to make noises against his hand, and he starts to move his hips, fucking her at a fast pace. “Can’t wait until we’re back at home,” he growls, leaning forward so he can whisper in her ear. Y/N’s legs have started to shake as they wind around Fred’s waist, and he shoves a hand in between them to rub at her clit. “Gonna fuck you all night long, my hand around your throat as you scream my name.”

Y/N starts to breathe harder as her orgasm approaches, her hips moving in tandem with Fred’s. The tip of his cock drags against her g-spot with each thrust, and the dirty things he’s whispering in her ear are quickly pushing her towards her climax.

“Gonna make you ride my face and then ride my cock,” Fred whispers, nibbling on her ear lobe. Y/N clenches around him and his hips stutter as he moans. “You like that idea, huh? Love having your pussy eaten, don’t you? My dirty whore.” Fred starts to thrust harder as he feels his orgasm start to build. “Gonna have to choke you for a bit on my cock too, yeah? I know how much you love to gag around me as I fuck your throat.”

Y/N reaches her peak then, her whole body shaking from pleasure as she cums around Fred’s cock. Her hips to continue to move with Fred as her walls convulse and twitch around him, wanting him to reach his orgasm as well.  

Fred rests his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder as his thrusts turn sloppy, his orgasm nearing. “So fucking tight for me, baby. Feels so fucking good around my cock. Gonna cum. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it baby? Wanted me to fuck you raw and pump you full of my seed, my little cum slut.” Y/N clenches around Fred one more time and it pushes him over the edge. He rolls his hips slowly to help him through his orgasm, his cock twitching as he releases deep inside Y/N.

“Fred,” Y/N whispers when his hand finally falls from her face again, before she pulls her face to hers. They kiss slowly as they both comes down from their highs, and Y/N whines against Fred’s mouth when he slowly pulls out of her. But a moan falls from her mouth as Fred slides two of his fingers back inside of her.

“Can’t let any of it leak out yet. Not if I’m gonna give you my babies,” he teases, pecking Y/N’s lips several times.

Y/N rolls her eyes, and pulls Fred closer, kissing him deeply. “Pretty sure the potion I’m on is gonna prevent that from happening no matter how long you keep your fingers inside of me.”

“A guy can dream, can’t he?” Fred asks playfully. He slowly pulls his fingers out of her and brings them up to Y/N’s mouth. Fred groans as she takes them into her mouth and sucks them clean, unable to look away. “This is our last night here, no matter what my mum says. We’re gonna be back in our bed tomorrow night so I can fuck you into the mattress.”

“Now who’s the desperate slut?” Y/N teases before kissing Fred again. She winces as he helps her off of the sink, before starting to collect her clothes. “Although I would much prefer a bed to the sink.”

They both get dresses quickly, not wanting to be gone for too much longer. Fred kisses Y/N deeply for a few moments before he lets her leave the bathroom, watching her hips sway as she walks away.

“Finally,” Ginny comments as Y/N reenters her bedroom. “You were gone for ages.”

Y/N can’t help the grin that takes over her face. “Sorry. I had to wait for Fr- I mean someone to finish doing me right. If you catch my drift.”

[mustyrosewater]

te amo.

javier peña x reader

request by @hxdxs​ :  hello! i was wondering if you could write smth where javier peña has a nightmare after him and the reader have a fight which results to them sleeping in separate rooms, she wakes up and comforts him no pressure (: 

warnings : fighting, mentions of violence, possibly unhealthy relationship

word count : 3k+ 

you knew what you were walking into when you finally decided to commit to a relationship with javier peña, you knew to expect the disappearing for days at a time without being able to contact with him because he was undercover, you knew that he was walking into a brand new dangerous situation every single day. 

but it didn't hurt any fucking less each time.  at first, you'd tried to tell yourself that you shouldn't be upset, once again telling yourself that it was you who chose this life, getting angry and possibly overreacting would just be hypocritical of you, it would have made you weak.  but as it began to happen again, and again  the last straw had been him coming home at three in the morning, after having been away for a week longer than he'd told you the undercover operation was going to last for. you'd spent hours in your shared apartment, anxiously waiting for a the phone call from the dea or an agent knocking on your door only to tell you that he'd been killed.  you'd spent the night sitting on the couch, clutching his shirt tightly just to smell whatever remnants of his cheap cologne that you hated with a passion was left over on them, suddenly missing it now more than ever.  when he'd finally come back, you'd fallen asleep on the couch, still holding the shirt tight to your chest with dried tears still lingering on your cheeks.  to say the least, waking up at three in the morning to the sound of somebody rustling around in the bathroom was enough to prompt you to slowly grab a knife from the kitchen drawer and slowly make your way to the bathroom. as if being on a streak of being an emotional wreck after what you believed to be the death of your boyfriend, now the universe was truly testing you by having somebody decide to rob you.  seeing the streak of white light poking through the crack in the bathroom door, you approached slowly, feeling your heart beating so loudly that it was thundering in your own ears.  finally swinging the door open, it hit the opposite wall with a harsh crash, only to be followed by you bursting in, knife in hand, cursing angrily in spanish.  only to be greeted by a wide eyed javi looking at you as if you'd gone crazy.  as your heart dropped and your eyes widened, you couldn't help letting out a cry of shock as you dropped the knife onto the tile floor with a sharp clang, unable to process the blade narrowly missing your foot.  reaching to grip onto the door frame in order to balance yourself as you felt your legs begin to go numb, javi sprung forward, reaching out and placing his hands under your shoulders for support.  as you finally got a closer look at him, you could see that his hair was messy as all hell, he definitely hadn't shaved for the past day or two and he absolutely stunk, and you once again found yourself wishing he'd actually been using that horrid cologne.   in that moment however, as grateful as you were that he was alive and wasn't in fact lying dead in a ditch in escobars backyard, the relief had faded away as quickly as it had flooded in, only to no sooner be replaced with a fiery surge of anger.  with no hesitation, you shoved him away from you, now able to stand up straight once more; looking up just in time to see his questioning look he posed your way.  "what the fuck javi!"  you hadn't meant for your voice to come out so hoarse, but the hours you'd spent audibly crying into his shirt had done a number on your throat, as well as the fact that you'd only woken up minutes ago.  he opened his mouth to speak, but you only answered by holding up your finger and continuing to speak. "a week. i don't hear from you for a week! i manage to convince myself you've been shot, and then you just waltz in at three am in the fucking morning and make me think you're a robber!" you can't help but laugh in between sentences, but the laugh is still traced with venom, all too reflective of the angry streak of words flooding out of your mouth. "i mean- what if i'd stabbed you?!" you spoke, gesturing to the knife now by your feet. you didn't even want to picture yourself stabbing javi, especially not after he nearly gave you a stroke due to finding out that he was still very much alive.  as you went to continue, it was now javi's turn to interrupt you, shaking his head as he placed his hands on his hips and stared back at you. you hadn't even stopped to think about how much of a crazy person you must have looked like in that moment, face puffy and red from crying, messy hair and pajama pants you'd been wearing for two days straight, all nicely topped off with a singlet shirt and robe he'd gotten you a few months back for your birthday.  "what the fuck was i supposed to do? i told you i was undercover!" his voice sounded so tired, it was painfully obvious to you how drained he was; but in that moment, the high emotional intensity was blurring all reason within you.  as you listened to him yell, you felt the lump in your throat forming; crossing your arms, you tried to keep yourself together.  "you could have sent me some kind of message, somebody to tell me you'd be gone for another week!" the two of you were no longer yelling at one another, this was screaming at one another. in a brief passing moment you thought about what the neighbours must have thought of you two, but you also just couldn't find yourself to care.  "you know i couldn't do that! i've told you several fucking times why i can't do that!" he turned away from you, taking a step back towards the basin. you could see his shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths, watching as he reached up to run a hand through his messy hair. "fuck!" you jumped as the tense silence between you two was broken by javi cursing loudly and kicking the small plastic garbage can beside the basin, sending it crashing against the wall loudly. that was when your bottom lip began to wobble and your vision became foggy. you could only reach up a shaky hand to cover your mouth as javi panted, hunched over the basin he was now resting his hands on.  "i thought you were dead javi.." in your effort to conceal that you were beginning to cry, you'd kept your voice quiet, yet i hadn't helped in the slightest; the wobble in your tone was too noticeable for anybody to be able to ignore, especially not javi; who turned to look at you, a few expression laced with regret having taken over his face.  you didn't want to look at him for a moment longer, you couldn't even if you did. so you turned around and walked out from the doorway of the bathroom, only now beginning to audibly weep into your hand.  you could head javi walking after you, only prompting you to walk to the spare room quicker. you just needed to be away from javi for awhile, even if you'd spent the past four weeks desperately wishing he was back.  "wait, just please hang on a minu-"  you can't hear the rest of javi's words before you've slammed the door in his face, turning the small lock over as quickly as your shaky hands allow you to. you turn around and put your back to the door, trying to ignore the fact that you can feel javi standing outside the door, you can hear his faint heavy breaths and the way he's softly cursing in spanish under his breath.  its a few more moment before you can hear his footsteps slowly getting softer and you know he's walked in your bedroom when you can hear the door slam shut, making you jump softly again.  thats the moment that you let yourself break down. your face scrunches up as you slide down the door until your sitting on the ground of the spare room, your knees up to your chest as you rest your palms on your forehead, trying your hardest not to make too much sound as you cry, feeling your shoulders shake as you do.  memories of all the friends who'd advised you not to commit to a relationship with javi over wine came flooding in, remembering the uneasy looks on all their faces the first time you'd shown up to a friends wedding together. the times you'd stayed at their houses because you just couldn't handle the way he acted when a case had set him off; the amount of times you'd told them that you stayed because he needed you as much as you needed him; ignoring the way they shook their heads.  it hurts so much when things get like this between you two, you don't often find yourself fighting, but this had so far been the worst of all; never had the two of you screamed at each other so loudly before.  it takes about thirty minutes of you sitting on the ground to realize that you should probably move to the small single bed in the corner of the room. you had moved the small bed into what was essentially javi's office about a year ago, mainly done for the purpose of giving steve a place to sleep when him and javi were working non stop, it was your idea, knowing that it would probably be easier seeing as him and steve always had to start so early.  remembering when they moved the bed in, you'd brought the two of them beers as they spent hours upon hours trying to put the stupid thing together.  a memory that used to make you laugh, only serving to making you cry harder as you sat down on the bed.  you could hear javi angrily pacing in the next room over, as well as the occasional bang of what you could assume was him knocking something over or throwing something.  as you laid down on the bed, you shut your eyes slowly, trying to pretend you couldn't hear him even if there was nothing but a paper thin wall separating the two rooms.  -- you couldn't tell what time it was when you finally woke up. you couldn't even remember when you'd fallen asleep. you looked towards the window to see a dim blue light poking out of the curtains, signalling to you that it must have been early in the morning, meaning you couldn't have been asleep for more than four hours.  at first, you reached out for javi, only for the events that occurred only a few hours ago to come flooding back in. the fighting, the screaming. it only replaced the lump in your throat as you sat up and rubbed your eyes.  as you began to wake up more, you wondered what had prompted you to wake up at such a random hour, especially when you'd been so worn out and tired when you actually went to sleep in the first place.  you were about to ponder the question for awhile longer, until you heart the soft grunts coming from you and javi's room. though muffled, you could clearly hear javi in quiet distress. its a sound that you wish wasn't as familiar to you as it was; the amount of times you'd been woken up by javi making those sounds fresh in your head, just as fresh as needing to calm him down from them. he was clearly having a nightmare.  and suddenly, it was as if all of those arguements, all of those snarky comments from your girlfriends and all the time you'd spent crying over javi had been flung out of the window and banished to the back of your mind; only leaving room for a sudden concern for javi. with no hesitation to be observed, you walked to the door and unlocked it, heading to the bedroom as the sounds of javi in sleepy distress became louder and louder.  carefully placing your hand flat on the wooden door, you hesitated, briefly taking a moment to prepare for javi still being upset, knowing that it could still very much be the case. pushing said concerns to the back of your mind once more, you push the door open slowly, still aware of the way in which its hinges tend to creak purely due to age and the fact that it was admittedly purely made; remembering the amount of times javi mentioned he was going to fix it himself but still never getting around to it. you spot his sleeping figure on the bed, though sleeping would certainly be a loose term for it. he's shaking and twitching every few moments, his eyes shut tightly. you aren't sure what it is he's dreaming about, much less if you even want to know; it was likely it wasn't something you'd be able to handle. you'd never asked for any details past what he told you about his job; occasionally he would mention things once or twice in passing, and you were simply content to leave it at that. the things that you'd seen on the television were enough to scare you into not asking for anything else past the information he was willing to give. yet in the same breath, the fact that only seeing things on tv was enough to make your skin crawl, you couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him to see it all up and close and personal, much less risk his life every day just by walking into the embassy. you knew what to expect when you committed to this relationship, yet you had found it so hard to think about what he was going through. after what felt like ten minutes of staring at the poor man, you walked forward and kneeled beside the bed, not wanting to put weight on the mattress so as to frighten him out of his sleep rather than calmly wake him. reaching up, you placed a hand on his cheek, ignoring the prickly feeling of his stubble due to having not shaved for nearly a week and ran your thumb back and fourth across his prickly skin. "javi... javi, baby.."  as you try to speak softly to snap him out of it, it seems to only make it worse as he jumps away from your touch; only resulting in a slight cringe forming on your face. the idea that you're only making it worse for him feels horrible, not even wanting to think about what he must be experiencing in whatever dream it is he's having. "please baby, wake up, its just a dream... i'm here."  continuing to stroke his cheek, you watch as he lets out a loud gasp and his eyes go flying open and he sits up, looking around frantically as if he was trying to find out where he was.  this is only one of many times you've had to do this, needing to wake him up softly and remind him that he was safe with you. it pained you to see him so shaken by a dream. you had to wonder how much more of this line of work he was going to be able to take. the more time you spent watching columbia slowly chip away at the man you loved, you tried to pretend that every time you watched him walk out of the door for work that you weren't worried it may have been his last. you tried to pretend that you weren't always noticing his dark circles and the way he'd grunt out in pain from the smallest movements.  being in the dea was slowly killing him and neither of you even wanted to admit it.  you know better than to ever try and convince him to quit, you've known him long enough to know how stubborn of a man he is; and that if you tried to tell him about the danger and how worried you were, it was only going to push him away in the end.  the times you'd had to help him into bed when he came home drunk, the times you'd needed to help him dress his stitches or watch him take of his shirt only to be met with a bullet scratch on his shoulder. while being in the dea was slowly killing javi, watching it happen was just as slowly killing you. reaching forward, you cup his cheeks and force him to look you in the eyes; ignoring the way that his hands grip tightly onto your wrists.  you've learnt to ignore things like this, it hurts when he grips your wrists so tightly, but you continue to tell yourself that he doesn't mean it; you know he doesn't mean it.  you chose to love a broken man, and with all broken things, you needed to be prepared for occasionally gaining a few cracks yourself.  the fear in his eyes is crystal clear, the way he looks at you as if he doesn't recognize you; its painful, but as his face shifts to one of a subtle recognition, you watch as he slowly sinks down from his fear and feel his grip on your wrists begin to relax bit by bit. stroking his cheeks, you smile softly and sit across from him on the bed, feeling his pulse thundering rapidly. "i'm right here javi, it's ok, your ok."  your whispers finally seem to be working as he shuts his eyes, making an obvious attempt to slow down his breathing. he leans forward, resting his forehead on your collar as you stroke his back slowly, letting him try to calm down from whatever violent nightmare he was being forced to endure.  you can feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you closer, practically leaning against you as he breathes in your scent, just another way of being able to ground himself back into reality.  in that one moment, every fight the two of you had ever had, the amount of time you'd spent crying over your worries, everything you've had to endure becomes worth it as you sit there in each others arms.  he finally leans back to look at you, letting one of his hands rest on the back of your head as he brings you in to lay a kiss on your forehead, shutting his eyes and taking another deep breath.  without saying anything, he leans back down to lay on the bed, pulling you with him so that you were laying your head on his chest; his arms remaining tightly wound around you with little to no intention of letting you go. just as you had no intention of leaving.  "im sorry.." you whispered out softly, beginning to draw invisible patterns on his bare chest with your finger tips. "i was just so fucking scared that i lost you.." you confessed, letting you voice crack as your vision became foggy. he didn't reply at first, but you felt his breathing tense. you didn't want to ask what it was that he was dreaming about, but based upon his reaction, you wondered whether or not that was the subject matter of his dream, losing you or losing himself. when he finally spoke, it was deep and croaky, just as his voice always was after it had been sleeping; a voice you'd heard whispering sweet nothings and pillow talk in the mornings; the voice that would softly tell you goodbye followed by a kiss on your forehead whenever javi would leave early in the mornings and you'd stay in bed.  "please don't cry, hermosa. please don't be sorry." by the sound of his voice you could tell that he felt bad, it wasn't hard to tell that the both of you were hurt over the argument; your high emotional intensity mixed with javi being worn out was a deadly mix that was bound to end badly. turning to look up at him, you rested your chin on his chest and sighed.  javi stared back at you, reaching up to fix the hair that had fallen in front of your face; allowing his hand to linger purely so he could cup your cheek. shutting your eyes, you leaned into his touch; now unable to stop a few tears from escaping and rolling down your cheeks only to be quickly wiped up by javi's thumb as if he couldn't bear to watch them fall. "te amo." he whispered, reaching for your hand and bringing the back of it to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the skin.  laying your head back down on his chest and shutting your eyes, you allowed yourself to begin drifting back to sleep, now finding such a task monumentally easier now that you were back in javi's arms. "i love you too."

[hollyxqx]

LOVER, LEAVER  //  JIMIN  //  04

↪ PAIRING: Reader/Park Jimin (initally reader/Jungkook) ↪ SUMMARY: There’s only so much cheating you can take from your boyfriend when he’s on tour before you take matters in to your own hands. ↪ WORD COUNT: 8.4k

↪ WARNINGS: mentions of addiction/drugs | smut w/ premature ejaculation lol | there’s a DUI (don’t yell at me these are the laws where i live) | angsty people being messy

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | FINAL

Namjoon has become a semi-permanent feature around the apartment lately. It's a good thing, even if at times there's an awkward passing of each other in the hallway or moments of slightly uncomfortable silence.

There's been no apologies exchanged between the two of you since whatever that was one month ago in Hyerin's living room. Not that you wanted to give one or particularly receive one, but you would settle for the stiff politeness you exchange for Hyerin's benefit.  He was meeting you halfway, effort equal to yours.

Not much else had changed in those thirty days, aside from your renewed contact with Jimin. It's tentative, hesitant, almost shy even like you don't know each other as well as you do but it's truly a welcome intrusion into your days. Perhaps Jimin's slowness is because he doesn't want to scare you away again.

The topic of Jungkook has yet to come up. You feel as if it's inevitable and dread it.

Jungkook is on your mind nearly daily, whether you like it or not. Since the night Hyerin had told you he was in one of the most inebriated states of his life he had barely been in contact with any one of his regular group of friends, occasionally you'd hear dribbles from Hyerin that he was okay but you were familiar with this pattern. You were worried. An underlying sense of doom twisted your insides whenever his face appeared in your thoughts.

You're not made of stone, even if you wish you were. Two years of affection don't vanish in the blink of an eye, and you always will want him to be happy. He might be telling his friends he's doing (and Hyerin quoted) fucking amazingly right now, but you know that's a lie he's telling himself.

When you see Hyerin for the first time that day you practically all but squeal with excitement, her tiny bump protrudes her slim figure now, nearly five months gone. It's been a few days since you'd last seen her in person and you swear she's grown already. She walks slowly into your shared place after staying with Namjoon for the last few days. He follows behind her.

The first thing you do is bombard her in the doorway, hands instantly going straight to her bump. "God y/n, you're obsessed." She laughs, playfully annoyed but her hand joins yours when there's a flutter as the baby rolls as you coo.

"I swear you've literally grown in the last 5 or whatever days." You tell her, marvelling at her stomach. It's the first time a close friend of yours has been with child and keeping up with her progress has been exciting.

"Well, all we mostly did was eat, didn't we?." She looks to Namjoon who nods silently. "That might be me growing, not baby."

They come inside and you make yourself scarce, disappearing to your own room to give them some space, and well, avoid Namjoon.

Lately much of your time has been spent looking for graduate work. It's unfulfilling and you've yet to find anything substantial but it keeps you occupied. You sit at your laptop and scroll endlessly. Eventually your eyes start to burn and water with the strain of staring at a bright screen to long, followed by an accompanying rumble of your stomach, which means it's definitely time for a break.

You open your bedroom door and listen for a few minutes. It's silent which means you'll likely be undisturbed. The faint sound of a television can be heard but you're sure it must be the one in Hyerin's room, so you head to the kitchen.

As you pass the living area you see Hyerin sleeping on the sofa, head resting on Namjoon's shoulder while his arm drapes lazily over her. You can only see the back of his head so you have no idea if he is awake or not. You don't hang around to find out.

The kitchen is pretty bare these days since your roommate has entered the nausea phase of her pregnancy and is still deciding what makes her sick and what doesn't. You settle for toast. It's not exciting but it's quick.

"Y/n?"

You look to the sound of your name, surprised to find Namjoon standing behind you. He looks as uncomfortable as you feel. "Hey..." You saw slowly. You sound awkward trying to pretend to be chill. "Um. Do you want some food?"

"No." He says. "Thanks."

The silence hangs like a lead weight. You silently scream at him just go away, neither of us wants this!

"I wanted to," He begins. Then coughs. You wait. His eyes look at anything but you when he tries again. "I wanted to apologise to you."

Oh. You're not sure if this is much better than the awkward silence. "That's alright, honestly." You dismiss.

"It isn't. I've been thinking a lot about what you said." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at his shoes. You feel like you're on a hidden camera show or something. You've never seen him act like this before. He's practically shy at this point. "About this baby not wanting me."

"Namjoon," You sigh. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, I was just upset and feeling protective about my friend."

"No, that's not what I mean." He shakes his head. "You did mean it. But it's okay, I fuckin' need to hear it."

You just stare silently at him.

"I mean, you could have said it a bit more kindly." He jokes, trying to relieve the tension. You offer him a small smile. "The sentiment was true, and I had never thought about it like that until you laid that truth bomb on me."

"Oh." You hear yourself say.

"I had a dad who didn't give a fuck about me, y'know?" He scratches the back of his neck and looks away. You could swear he was blushing. "Didn't want me and bailed on mom the second he could. If he were to come into my life now, I'd tell him to get lost. Hated that guy my whole life, yknow. I don't want a kid to feel that way about me, ever. Wasting their entire life resenting me." He takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thanks, I guess."

You guess your words were part of the impact on the recent change in his behaviour. You hadn't intended them to be but you're glad they did. The toast you were making pops and both you and Namjoon jump a little.

"You don't have to thank me." You leave the bread where it is. "I'm sorry I was so rude about it."

"I'm sorry I called you a bitch."

"I kind of was."

You both laugh a little.  Tension relieves slightly and the awkwardness isn't as palpable anymore.

"Things are going well," He states, referring to Hyerin. "I don't know what's going to happen with me and her, but I'll be here for that kid no matter what, which I guess is the important thing."

"This might sound insincere and I promise it isn't, but I think that's really honourable of you Namjoon."

He shrugs the compliment off, but looks a little happy nonetheless. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your food."

Just as he's about to leave you want to take advantage of the moment and ask about Jungkook. You call out to him and he freezes looking at you expectantly. You almost bottle it and lose your nerve. "Is...is Jungkook okay?"

His entire face changes, expression unreadable. "He's alive, if that's what you mean."

"That's not what I mean."

"Y/n," He lets out a long breath. "No. No he's not okay."

"Is there anything I can do?" God, you feel so guilty and so helpless.

"I don't think there's anything any of us can do right now." Namjoon says sadly. "You can't help someone who won't help themselves."

On that note, he leaves the room.

***

The latest job interview feels like it went well, but so did the last three. You don't pin any hope on it as you walk to the subway, portfolio under one arm, empty paper coffee cup in the other. It gets tossed in the bin at the station. You learned your lesson the first few times; don't get too excited. Although it's hard not to when you want something so badly and it feels within your grasp.

At this point you don't mind working for free, you still have your job at the restaurant. Some money for your hard earned degree wouldn't be unwelcome however.

You sit on the platform waiting for your train, feeling uncomfortable in your outfit. It's very corporate - heels, pencil skirt, blouse. Not very you at all but the interviews require it. According to the electronic information board your train will be here in 4 minutes. Your leg shakes impatiently.

You happen to turn your head at the exact moment Jimin steps on to the platform. His painting studio is nearby which you conveniently forgot, it makes sense for him to be here. You're the one on strange territory, not him. Still, it's a shock to the system. It's been three months since you've seen him in person. His hair is darker, the sandy blonde gone and he's a little leaner; but it's Jimin.

He spots you and slows down momentarily. He's as surprised as you are.

"Hey." He breathes when he reaches you.

"Hi." You smile.

He gestures to your portfolio with a nod of his head. "How'd it go?" Earlier you'd told him through text your plan for that day.

"We'll see." You say as you shrug. "I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it went well." He assures with a warm smile. You think he looks as good as ever. "Are you headed home?"

"Yeah." You say. "I can't wait to get out of these clothes. I'm done being secretary barbie for today."

Jimin laughs. "I kind of like it." You give him a sceptical look. "What?" He grins, shooting his best innocent glance. You shake your head. "Listen, y/n, do you want to grab a cup of coffee?"

"Now?"

He nods.

You have nothing better to do, so you agree.

***

It's not strange being with Jimin like this. Which is strange in itself. You anticipated some awkward tension after so many things were unsaid, uncertain and unclear but there was none. He was just Jimin. The same sweet, kind man you'd met two years ago, let into your bed and then proceeded to break his heart. You're not sure if he's selfless or just a glutton for punishment.

He tells you work is great, better than it's ever been which makes you happy. He's talented so it's not a shock but a welcome surprise. He's recently moved to a bigger apartment that he loves. He even thinks he's ready for a pet, although you're sure that last part is said slightly in jest.

You fill him in a little more on your life, texts exchanged you can only say so much. Jimin gets an update on Hyerin which makes him smile. You tell him about Namjoon -  the argument and subsequent apology. The only topic left is Jungkook. It feels like Jimin senses it too because a tension seems to form.

"So..." He says.

"So." You mimic.

He licks his lips. "How is everything...else? Are you still single?"

"Yes, I am." You almost want to laugh at the way he asks the question.

"Me too."

"Are you prying about Jungkook?" You tease.

"Kinda." He laughs. "I didn't know how to bring it up since we were having a good time."

"It's ok." You offer him an encouraging smile. "I haven't seen or heard from him. You?"

"Actually yeah." says Jimin. You raise a brow in surprise. That was unexpected. "A few texts here and there that are erratic to say the least. Sometimes he hates me, sometimes he's sorry. It's kind of worrying actually."

"Namjoon kind of alluded to the same sort of thing. He's worried too."

Jimin nods solemnly. "I always try to reply as best I can, just so if something - touch wood - bad, happens Jungkook knows that door of communication is still open. But he never really responds to me. Just texted more incoherent thoughts." He lets out a long sigh. "Even though we were both shitty friends to each other, I've known him too many years. I have to be there for him no matter what."

A few moments of contemplative silence pass. The coffee shop is rather quiet at the moment, the only other people in the small cafe is a teenager, nose buried in a laptop and a couple in the corner. The boy has shaggy black hair, and is holding onto his girl like she's a prized possession. Sadly, it reminds you of Jungkook during happier times, he always was a little possessive but in a charming way that made your heart swell when you saw him.

You're not entirely sure what to make of the information you've just received. At the very, very, very least, you're glad that Jimin is still there for his friend regardless.

"In spite of all that I'm glad we ran into each other today." You say as lightly as possible. It makes Jimin smile.

"I am also. I've wanted to ask you to meet up so many times but I knew you wanted space." He blushes a little. "I'm glad fate intervened."

"I think it was better this way, actually."

You finish your coffees and Jimin walks you home. His arm occasionally brushes against yours as you walk. When you reach your building the two of you pause in front of it. You wonder if he's going to kiss you and it makes your heart thud wildly. The jury's still out on whether you even want that or not.

"Thanks for walking me home."

"No problem."

He stares at you for a beat. "Can we do this again?"

"Coffee? Uh sure." You reply, slightly confused. He shakes his head.

"No. Or yeah, whatever you want. I just want to see you again. Maybe...like a date?" He gives you such a hopeful yet promising look that's so endearing it almost physically hurts. You open your mouth to reply and as if he anticipates that your about to refuse him he hurries out, "We can take it really slow. No pressure. Just spending time together."

"Alright," You agree, softening. "I'd like that."

Jimin leaves, looking as if he just won a prize of his own.

***

You smile as you remove your jacket and shoes at the front door, mind still entirely occupied with thoughts of Jimin. Your quickly brought back to earth by the voices of Namjoon and Hyerin. At first glance it doesn't appear as if they're arguing but one look at Hyerin's face and you can see something is most definitely up.

"Hey..." You begin cautiously, looking between them.

"Hi." Hyerin strains a smile. "I expected you much earlier. How'd it go?"

She means the interview. "Good I think." You look hesitantly at Namjoon. "I ended up bumping into Jimin, actually."

You wait for judgement to pass across his face but he remains stoically blank. Thank god.

"Oh," Hyerin seems surprised. "Ok."

"What's going on? There's a weird mood in here guys." You ask after a tense moment and silence.

"Jungkook." Namjoon answers with a sigh. You tense immediately.

"What's happened?" You ask, fearing the worst.

Namjoon shakes his head. "He keeps showing up to recording sessions drunk. Or worse. I'm worried."

You're worried too.

***

Inexplicably, the first official date with Jimin is a little awkward. Which is odd, because the accidental crossing of paths a week earlier wasn't in the slightest. Maybe it's because it's officially labelled as a date now, you don't know. Either way, you know he feels it too, stretched silences drawing on a little too long between you.

At the end of the night you allow him to kiss you. It's brief but familiar. You knew you missed the physical side of a romantic relationship but kissing him showed you just how much. As you lay in bed that night, the sensation of the kiss not entirely gone yet, you have to sternly remind yourself that you're taking it slow. You're too used to giving into your desires when you're around him.

The second date is far better, both of you overcome whatever hurdle caused the uncomfortableness in the first one. Jimin treats you to an over priced but amazing meal at a top end restaurant. It feels so grown up, you're not used to dates like this. Jungkook was the first real boyfriend you'd ever had, and his dating style was a lot more casual.

You never exactly had an official first date with Jungkook. Most of the time you spent together involved getting naked together in his apartment enough times that you became a couple. Sure, you went out together but it was mostly to parties or bars. That's just who he was and you accepted that.

The third date Jimin brings you to his art studio. It's an unusual setting for a date, but you go along with it when Jimin promises there's a surprise in store. His eyes twinkle and you can't help but feel a little excitement spark in you. It's an intimate, private piece of him to share with you and it feels special. Different.

His studio is where he does his creating. It's a reasonably large white space that's littered with paint splashes, tarp that protects most of the floor, and works in progress propped up on easels. Although Jimin looks out of place now dressed smartly in slacks and a button up shirt, you can completely imagine him hard at work in here.

"Stop being so coy," You whine impatiently and Jimin chuckles as he strides determinedly across the vast space. You watch, unsure what you're allowed to touch or not touch. "I like surprises but I'm too impatient for the suspense."

"Well, you're just going to have to deal with it." He informs you, before disappearing inside a door on the opposite side of the room.

You gaze around the room as you wait for him to return, absorbing all the visible artwork. There's a lot of rustling before the sound of a crash resonates and Jimin swears.

He truly is talented. No wonder he's been so successful as of late. Your eyes land on a particular work. It's a brightly coloured butterfly, except it's done in watercolour and he's allowed the rainbow paint to drip and run down the canvas. It's beautiful and you wonder why he hasn't sold it yet. An egotistical part of you speculates that it might be inspired by you, given the affectionate nickname he has for you.

When Jimin returns he's holding a canvas against his body but the painted side is facing away from you. You wonder what on earth he's up to.

"Sit." He instructs, pointing to the chrome stool at his desk. You give him a puzzled look but comply anyway. "Close your eyes."

"Jimin - "

"Shush. Now close your eyes."

You sigh and do as he asked, clasping your hands in your lap whilst simultaneously feeling a little ridiculous. There's some shuffling and scraping of metal on the floor and even with your eyes closed you can sense that he's switched some of the lights off. "What are you up to Jiminie?" You ponder aloud.

"You'll see."

You sense some movement behind you and you can tell Jimin is close to you. His hands rest on your shoulders as he leans down to whisper, hot breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. "Okay. Open your eyes butterfly."

You're met with an image that sucks the air out of your lungs. It's you. Jimin has painted you.

Except it's not you. Not regular, every day, flesh and blood you. Painting you is bold and vibrant, he's captured you in a way you've never viewed yourself. The image is clearly based on your face, except you appear more like some mythical fairy. There's flowers woven into your flowing hair that's much longer than yours, covering your naked chest. The only colours on the canvas are red and some pink.

"Jimin..." You begin, attempting to search for the right words that convey just how overwhelmed you feel. His eyes bore into you expectantly. "This is incredible. You're so talented! It's me right?"

He laughs. "Of course its you."

"You made me look beautiful, I almost didn't recognise myself." You admit, blushing. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Why did you paint this?"

"You've kind of been a muse to me for a while now." He confesses.

"A muse? Me?"

He nods. "Yeah...it's kind of embarrassing. Ever since the first time we met you've always been a source of inspiration. So thank you, I guess."

"Why me?" You blurt. "I'm just so ordinary, I wish I looked like this." You gesture to the canvas.

"It's more than just how you look, you know. You're beautiful, of course, but you're strong and tough yet still somehow soft enough to be kind, even when people don't deserve it. Not all strong people have that in them y/n but you do."

"I don't know what to say." You whisper, swivelling round to face him.

"That's why I chose the colours I did. Red for the passion and fire within you, and pink because you're sensitive and compassionate. I felt that it suited you."

"I don't deserve you, Park Jimin." You tell him as you pull him in for a kiss. "You might be the sweetest boy I've ever met."

"You do deserve me."

He kisses you fiercely, cupping your face with his hands. The angle is a bit uncomfortable as you're still sitting whilst he's standing but you don't care. The rush of affection you feel for him right now is the only thing on your mind.

"I love the painting." You breathe against his lips. "Thank you."

You separate, albeit reluctantly but he locks your hands together.  "This is my one creation I won't ever sell. I'm going to hang it somewhere, maybe my gallery so everyone can see it. I just needed the inspirations approval first." He smiles.

"You more than have it. I'm so lucky I have someone so talented in my life."

Standing now you lock arms around his neck and kiss him slower and deeper than before. Jimin's hand at the small of your back presses you flush against him. His hand slides lower and lower until he's giving the plump flesh of your ass a rough squeeze. It's too easy to get carried away and you badly want him to take you then and there.

He groans pulling away, biting your lip as he does so. "Taking it slow, yeah?" He asks breathlessly. "Does that mean no sex right away?"

"That's probably for the best..." You can't help but kiss him again. You remember how good it felt and it takes everything not to say fuck me against the wall. "There's time."

He presses his forehead against yours and smiles. "Whatever you want, butterfly."

***

Hyerin is at the point of her pregnancy now where her maternity leave has began and days are spent nesting and preparing for the upcoming baby. Preparations unfortunately (and sadly, for you) include her moving into Namjoon's apartment with him. This means two things. One; things are still on a good track for the couple and you're glad and two; you now need to find a roommate, short of getting a fabulously paying job within the next few days.

The painful silence on the employment front is enough to make you uneasy but you're always sure to wear a brave for your friend. She has enough to worry about, you think, and you know the decision to move out wasn't done lightly or with malice either. Hyerin even offered to help you find a new roommate but you waved her off. Read: enough to worry about.

You continue with the job search and fruitless interviews and plough forward, facing no other choice. On the last day Hyerin and you will be living together you both agree to go shopping together. She needs a few more items for the baby and you well, you need a distraction from life for a few hours.

Aimlessly you stroll around a mall that's a forty minute drive away, Hyerin's recommendation because she wanted somewhere with aircon since lately she's been uncomfortable almost all the time. Even though she complains multiple times about her size on the journey you still she thinks she looks great.

She shows you pictures of the newly decorated nursery and your heart warms. Hyerin doesn't have to verbalise it outright, you know she's extremely excited. When you enter a baby clothing store she's cooing and aw'ing over every tiny item and ends up buying more than she wanted to. She looks at you at the checkout and shrugs, as if to say oh well.

"How's Jimin...?" She asks coyly, peering at you out of the corner of her eye. You hold the door for the makeup store open for her and she waddles through. She's aware you've been seeing him, but neither of you have had much time to catch up on details.

"Good. Great." You can't help the smile that stretches your lips.

"You're happy." She informs you and you nod. "I wouldn't put you two together but now that i've seen you with him, it makes sense you know."

"I like him." You cock your head. A year ago you might agreed with her but the more time you spend with him the more you enjoy his company.

"I've never spent much time with him, but I trust your judgement. Would it be strange for the four of us to spend time together?" She hums, swatching a lipstick on the back of her palm, before frowning at the color.

Your stomach twists at the thought. "Maybe in ten years when everyone's forgotten what I've done." You joke. "Namjoon is Jungkook's bestfriend. I wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable."

"It's a shame you started like that."

"Nothing's official."

"Yet." She counters.

You offer a non-committal hum, still unsure if that is exactly the route you want to go down with Jimin. It's easy now, just to see where it goes and take things slowly.

Bored of shopping and after only buying one dress for yourself (that you weren't particularly excited about, but felt the urge to treat yourself regardless) the two of you make the mutual decision to grab a bite to eat. You're more than happy to let Hyerin choose the venue.

She scrolls lazily through her phone while you wait for the food to arrive. You have a text from Jimin sent forty five minutes earlier telling you to have a nice day and you smile at your phone, warmth radiating in your chest.

"Oh my God."

You look up at Hyerin's voice. She has a hand over her mouth and her eyes are wide as she stares at the screen. Instantly you know something is wrong. Fear immediately prickles at your skin, anticipating a problem with the baby.

"What?" Panic is at the edge of your voice. "What's wrong?"

She hesitates and it only serves to worry you further. "I hate that I am the one to show you this but..." Nothing more is said when she slides her phone across the table to you. Frowning you squint at the device, open to a webpage.

Jungkook has been arrested.

Time feels completely frozen as you scroll, reading as fast as your eyes will allow. Your heartbeat is thrumming, uncomfortable and loud in your ears as you try and absorb as much of the information as the article had written. In the middle of the page their was a tacky tabloid picture of him being roughly escorted by police, hands linked behind his back with cuffs. It's even more unfortunate that this was such a public affair.

You swear under your breath at the reason he's in this position, the glaring words taunting you. Drunk driving and disorderly behaviour.

"Are you ok y/n?" Hyerin asks cautiously.

"No." A hot tear splashes on her phone and you wipe it away quickly. "This is bad. It says he's in hospital. Right there at the bottom."

"What for?"

"Apparently he caused an accident and ended up injured. It doesn't give details."

You share a look across the table of fear mixed with worry. Silently you slide her phone back to her. You had anticipated something bad happening as a result of his drinking but not this. Jungkook was a public figure and it pained you to see him immortalised like this. It pained you to know he had taken his recklessness to a new level. It pained you that all of this was happening.

"Let's eat quickly and then go home. I'll call Namjoon and see if there's anything we can do." You friend tells you gently, knowing you well enough to know you won't be able to sit still for the rest of the day. Maybe there was nothing you could do but you could try.

***

"He asked for you."

You stare at Namjoon, astonished. Those were the last words you expected to leave his lips. Standing at your doorway, looking as worried as you felt he patiently waited for your reaction.

"He hates me." The first thought that enters your mind slips out before you can stop it. Namjoon shrugs.

"I'm just the messenger."

Everything about this feels like a bad idea. Your entire body tenses, as if on high alert. Jungkook wants to see you. He could have called you but he didn't, which makes you feel apprehensive. He wants a face to face, which to you, feels like a horrible scenario waiting to be played out. The last time you met in person did not go well.

"I'm on my way now, if you want to join me." Namjoon jingles his car keys at you for emphasis. The idea of not being entirely alone with Jungkook feels slightly more tolerable.

"Fine." You offer reluctantly. He spares you a few minutes to get ready and gather your things before the two of you head to the hospital together.

When you had phoned Jimin a few days prior to share the news it was no surprise to you that he was already aware. You wondered if he had been to visit Jungkook or had plans to, or if Jungkook even wanted that. You don't voice this aloud to Namjoon.

It's mostly quiet in the car and you stare out the window, hoping Namjoon doesn't feel uncomfortable. There's no tension between you anymore but you're not exactly best buds forever. He puts the radio on and you're thankful it eases the silence.

"What do you think about rehab?" You ask, still looking out the window. "For 'Kook. Do you think he needs it?" You clarify.

"I would love it if he went." Namjoon sighs, out of the corner of your eye he grips the wheel a little tighter. "Maybe this will be a wake-up call for him."

Hyerin had told you that Namjoon had been completely sober since they had agreed to try and be together for the sake of their unborn child. It had surprised you to an extent but Namjoon had never been as bad as Jungkook, never appeared as if anything was a problem (not infront of you anyway) and apparently he had no issue maintaining a sober life these days. Jungkook always did do everything better than everyone else.

Anticipation brings a slight tremble to your body as you trail behind Namjoon on your way to Jungkook's hospital suite. He agrees to go in first to tell Jungkook you're here. Your knee shakes when you sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the room.

Every second that passes as you wait feels achingly slow. The low voices of the two men rumble through the thin wall but you can't make out exactly what is being said. You're not sure if you want to. Maybe you could run, it's not too late.

The door clicks open and Namjoon gestures for you to go inside. He doesn't follow.

Jungkook lies in a white bed in the center of the room, propped up on a few large soft pillows. The first thing you think when your eyes land on him is that he doesn't look good. He's thinner and bruised from the accident. "Hi." You whisper for some reason. The room feels too quiet.

"Hey, come sit." He croaks hoarsely, gesturing to a chair next to the bed. His eyes follow you as you cross the room and you feel awkward.

You don't know where to start. "How are you?" It feels redundant but it's the best you've got.

"Battered n' bruised." He smiles but it's clearly forced. "Thanks for coming."

"I was surprised you asked for me. But I'm glad you're okay. Pictures of your car were online. It looked wrecked."

He shrugs. "It's worse than it looks. Modern cars are actually pretty safe. Just a few broken ribs but I'm golden."

Jungkook rubs tiredly at his face, stifling a yawn. There's a new tattoo on his hand. You wonder if there's more. "Don't take this the wrong way but I thought you would be in jail."

"I was injured so they took me here. I have a trial in a few weeks. Probably will just get a DUI." He explains. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this but I've wanted to for a long time. Thought you'd take pity on me and visit."

"It's not pity that brings me here. " You say quietly. He's staring at you so intently you can't meet his gaze for much longer and opt to stare at your lap. "I care."

Jungkook reaches for your hand. Confused, you go to take it but stop for a moment. There's undeniable injection sites in between the blue black ink of his tattoos. He's been shooting up. What you don't know exactly but you know taking anything intravenously means things are bad. You take his hand, albeit shakily. You say nothing about what you noticed.

"I'm in trouble baby." He says. You've never heard him sound so vulnerable before. Your heart positively aches in your chest. "I'm in so much trouble."

"What's going on with you Kook?" You press, squeezing his hand.

"I think I'm out of control." To your complete and utter despair he blinks away a few tears. "I could have killed someone just because I wanted to get fucked up."

"You've always liked to get drunk Kookie..." You say joylessly.

"I don't know when it went from getting drunk to have fun and this. It's not fun anymore."

"It was so stupid of you. So stupid." You sigh. "You are better than that."

"I want to be."

He's gripping your hand so tightly, so desperately you die a little inside. He's broken.  "You can get help, there's professionals who are trained to help people exactly like you. All you need to do is take it."

"I want to." He whispers.

"Do it." You are almost begging. "Just. Do. It."

"I'll get Hoseok to look into it for me. Take some time off and sort my head out." He offers you another smile but it's somber. You hope more than anything his words are genuine. Not much else is said between you, other than you offering whatever support and reinforcement you can give.

You hold his hand until you leave, kissing him on the forehead before you go.

***

Jimin strokes your hair absent-mindedly as you lay together in his bed. Your head rests on his chest as you scroll through your phone whilst he watches television. It's so sickeningly domestic, it surprises you how much you enjoy it. You find yourself googling rehab centre's in the area for Jungkook. It's not much but you want to help.

Something Jimin's watching makes him laugh and you peer up at him. "I love this show." He smiles when he notices you looking at him. "You should watch it with me."

"Yeah, in a minute." You mumble, going back to your device. You're composing a few links to send to Hoseok, even though as Jungkook's manager he is fully capable of doing it himself you just want to ensure Jungkook has the opportunity to consider all the options possible.

"What are you doing?" He asks. "It must be important to have captured your attention like this. Job searching?"

"No. I'm looking at rehab places for Jungkook."

"Oh." Jimin replies quietly. He understands why when you explain to him that you went to visit Jungkook. There's an arduous history that comes along with dating you, he knows that. In an ideal world, there wouldn't be but you think he likes you enough to put up with it. You hope. "That's nice of you."

"It's the least I can do. I'm giving Hoseok a list and then I'm all yours, babe. Hold on."

With a heavy sigh you put your phone on his nightstand and snuggle into him a little more. You hook one of your legs around his waist, as if you can't be close enough to him. His hand grips your thigh and holds it there. "Do you want to stay tonight?" He hums. Since you've rekindled things you've yet to actually spend the night together. Tonight you don't want to be alone.

"Please." You reply.

Sensing you might need it, Jimin swoops in for a kiss. Having not had sex yet every time you kiss lately it seems to get real dirty real fast. Neither of you show much self restriction now. It's almost too easy to slide over so you're lying on top of him, knees pressed into the mattress either side of his narrow hips. His hands grip your ass outside of your clothes, encouraging you to grind against him. It doesn't take him long to get hard from this.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if you're the last girl he's been intimate with. A possessive part of you hopes so but the thought goes as quickly as it comes.

Jimin has been so patient with you, so it's your turn to take the lead and let him know you're ready now. Breaking away from his lips you sit up, crossing your arms across your torso, pulling your shirt up and over you head. He watches you, dreamy and glassy-eyed as if he can't quite believe what's happening.

"You sure?" He breathes, eyes drinking in your newly exposed chest.

"Positive."

Resuming the kiss, his hands explore your body, feeling every inch of you. He quickly snaps your bra off and you help him slide it down your arms. You whine when his hands cup your breasts, thumbs grazing your nipples. You're extra sensitive there anyway but going a long time without being touched only heightens the sensations. Jimin keens at your reaction and grins against your lips.

"Mm, you like this." He whispers, tweaking one of the hardened buds. You only moan your agreement, rutting against him. Feeling how hard he is against you only makes your stomach lurch with arousal.

"Touch me Jimin, do anything you want. I've missed this." You tell him desperately, already feeling a little light headed.

"Fuck," He says wet mouth against your neck as his hands slide underneath the back of your leggings. "Take these off."

You roll on to your back and quickly wiggle the clothing down your hips while Jimin whips his own shirt off. He's on you in an instant, using his hips to push your legs apart. You're barely focusing on his sloppy kisses over your chest because you're too busy trying to get his pants off. He laughs at your failed attempt and his breath tickles.

"Get naked." You demand. "We've waited long enough."

The belt he's wearing slides through the loops on his pants and hits the floor with a thud. Briefly he stands to kick off his jeans and you can't help but ogle the outline of his hardness through the tight grey boxers slung low on his hips. Naked skin on skin makes you feel almost drunk when he's back in your arms. His body is warm and familiar and god, so soft you melt into him easily.

You're hot all over from his touch. His hands consume your body as if it's the first time he's every touched you and wants to explore everywhere.

The time for teasing can wait. You're already gripping his impossibly hard length underneath the material of his underwear, slowly stroking him up and down. He hisses at the contact.

"Do I need a condom?" Somehow there's still a rational part of his brain functioning right now, despite the handjob. Truth be told, you'd forgot that little detail.

"No, tested right after Jungkook."

"I'm still clean." Jimin assures you.

"Good."

He slides down the bed, ungracefully struggling out of his underwear. You bite back a laugh. He's adorable. "Can I eat you out first?" He pleads, already hovering dangerously close to your cunt. You agree eagerly. His beautiful mouth was always fantastic between your thighs.

Jimin's tongue drags through your wet lower lips from top to bottom and you shudder involuntarily. Lately you've been so busy you don't even remember the last time you'd masturbated so his touch is nearly overwhelming. It takes a few cursory experimental licks before he finds his rhythm again. You fist is hair keeping his head firmly in place so you can roll your hips against his face.

He pulls away so quickly you think somethings wrong. "Jimin - "

" - I need to be inside you, now. The friction of my cock against the bedsheets was already getting too much." He laughs, crawling over you. His cock slides against your dripping, now aching, pussy and you groan. "I haven't had sex since you." He whispers, face hovering over yours.

Your hands grip his shoulders while he glides into you. The stretch is a little much at first and he stills for a minute, watching your face for any reactions after seeing you wince. "Okay?" He murmurs, nosing your cheek and peppering a few kisses across your skin.

"Okay." You repeat. "Fuck me." You whisper running a thumb over his plush lip. You can't help but gaze at his face, eyes blown out. He's gorgeous in such a delicate yet sexy way. "Please."

He slowly begins to move his hips, in and out, in and out, in and out and your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. All you were thinking about was how perfect he feels. Your legs fall open a little wider and your back arches against the bed. "Yes, Jimin - right there - god."

His breath is hot against your skin from exertion. He feels so good, filling you up like this. The more he works his hips the better the stretch is. You claw at his ass, encouraging him to go harder.

"Oh, shit, shitshitshit." He moans loudly, driving into you forcefully. He stops for a moment and you look at him, expecting him to rearrange your position or maybe he wants something different. His eyes are tightly screwed shut and his head hangs, as if he's in pain.

"...Jimin?"

"I'm sorry."

You're lost. What is he sorry for? Then it dawns on you.

"Did you just - "

"Yeah."

He's embarrassed and he avoids your gaze. This has never happened to you before, you've heard the stories of guys coming too quickly but thankfully had never experienced it. Until now. You try not to look too upset at the loss of an orgasm tonight because you can already see how annoyed with himself Jimin is. "I'm sorry, it's been a while and you felt so good...and yeah. Fuck this is embarrassing."

His now softening cock slips out of you and you can feel the tell tale sign of his release being to leak out. "Hey," You pull him down to you, and reassuringly kiss him. These things happen. You hadn't expected to last long either. "It's okay. Don't worry about it, next time will be better."

"I wanted our next first time to be unbelievable." He shakes his head, burying it into the crook of your neck with a frustrated groan. "Let me at least make it up to you now."

He props himself up on his left elbow as his right hand makes it's way down your body, over your bellybutton and straight to your neglected center. Languidly circling your clit with the pads of his forefinger and index you sigh in pleasure. "Do you want my mouth, butterfly?" He licks your neck up to your jaw, kissing the side of your parted mouth.

"I've got your cum in me." You huff, feeling a little self conscious and well, gross. You can't imagine that will be an enjoyable experience for him.

"I don't care." He's already moving down your body before you can protest further. "Want to feel you cum on my face."

"Jimin." You whine, trying to close your legs.

"Shit, ok. Hold on." He tells you, jumping up from the bed and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom in all his naked glory. Puzzled, you can only watch and anticipate his next move. He returns with a washcloth and gently cleans you up.

"You are so freakin' cute sometimes." You grin, unable to quite comprehend his thoughtfulness. Your heart clenches. No guy has ever done anything like this before for you. Although it's not a major display of affection, or even a big deal really, the simple gesture reads; I want to take care of you.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He shrugs. When he's done he disposes of the cloth and before he can resume eating you out you grab at him, crashing your lips to his.

"I like you so much." You mumble against him.

"I like you too."

Jimin kisses you slowly for a few moments more, hands wandering down your ribs before gripping the flesh of your thighs. He spreads them once more, before shifting so he's in a more advantageous position. "Can I? Now?" He breathes. You nod.

When he licks into you, your eyes flutter shut and you allow yourself to just enjoy it. His thumbs rub circles on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. He keeps his eyes trained on you, reading your body language. "Ji-min," You breathe. "Want your fingers. Fuck me with them."

The bed creaks as he shifts to comply with your request. Two fingers slip inside you as you clench down, Jimin moans against your clit. Your hips start moving of their own according, rocking against his mouth. When you cum it's so intense you almost sit up completely as your muscles contract. His hands anchor you down.

"Oh my god." You exhale, panting.

"I'm hard again." He laughs. "So sexy." He murmurs, kissing all over the inside of your thighs.

"You wanna go again?"

"If you do."

When Jimin fucks you again he's spooning you from behind, a hand curled underneath your thigh to hold you open for him. He peers down and watches his cock disappear inside of you, moaning at how wet you are. This feels like heaven to you. You clutch his free hand and lock your fingers together.

He cums with a loud groan against the back of your neck. Sweet praises are whispered in your ear as he holds you tightly to him. "You're my favourite, butterfly."

You tenderly look at him over your shoulder. "You're my favourite too."

***

Spending time with Jimin makes you feel like you're floating with pure, unwavering happiness whenever you leave him. He's so sweet and generous - you feel safe with him. Jungkook might have destroyed your ability to trust easily but Jimin is unknowingly building it back up for you. It might be because it's not what he says, it's what he does, all to let you know he cares.

When you leave his place the next morning, full of the breakfast he's made you (with coffee; he remembers how you like it - milk and no sugar), you catch yourself smiling unconsciously several times. You'd feel ridiculous if you weren't so happy.

There's a few moments where you feel guilty for being so elated, worrying about Jungkook. You make a mental note to contact Hoseok in a few days to check in. Hopefully Jungkook is in rehab by then, or at the very minimum taking serious steps towards it.

Home feels empty without Hyerin now. You need to find a roommate, and soon, but the idea of replacing her isn't one you're ecstatic about. She suggested her friend Taehyung, the person you'd met once when he was roped into helping you move. He might be your only hope at this point.

Your phone chimes as you settle into you room. When Namjoon's name appears on your screen it brings a frown to your face, he texts you so infrequently it can only be bad news. Your heart begins to race as you swipe the message open.

from: namjoon jungkook's disappeared from the hospital. He was supposed to be discharged today and no one can reach him. I know you care about him still so i thought you'd want to know. Let me know if he calls you ok?

You swear loudly as you re-read the message. If you know Jungkook as well as you think you do him leaving the hospital without telling anyone was an escape. You appreciate Namjoon reaching out but you almost wish you didn't know that information. Jungkook is in trouble and there's nothing you can do.

MASTERLIST

[dailydianakko]

Diana vs. The Webcam

I’m back, and with another one-shot! This is kinda a gift for Mod Nightly! Also I do recall getting an ask about Diana struggling with technology, so I guess this fits? Kinda? Anyway, this is my longest fic yet, clocking in at around 2,600 words. A big thank you to R5H for helping me edit!

Diana booted up the old computer in her study.  While she waited for the old thing to finish starting up, she let her eyes roam over the old room. Had it not been for the perfectionist tendencies of Anna, Diana figured the whole study would’ve been covered in dust. Much of it was as she had left it. This room had been her hideaway last school break. Anna may have cleaned it, but the books had been meticulously put back in the same skewed positions as Diana had left them. The obvious overflow of the literature made Diana make a mental note to either find better space, or perhaps put the lesser used books back into the family library. Tapping the mouse in a staccato beat, her eyes ran from the bookshelves to the paintings on the wall. Diana wasn’t attached to the multiple portraits of fruits; perhaps she would replace them with more personal pictures soon. She doubted it though, this room stayed the same. She may claim it would be renovated, but in the end she found that she rather liked the room and its timeless charm. It would always look the way she expected it to be. Like grandmother’s study.

A chime interrupted her thoughts and her attention turned back to the screen. The blue glow caused her to squint and quickly turn on the desk lamp. It eased the strain on her eyes and allowed her to log into the old contraption. The keyboard was bulky and grey, making loud clacks as the password was hastily typed in. Now to hook up a “webcam” as Akko had called it. The stubborn brunette had refused to allow Diana to purchase her a crystal ball and instead had presented Diana with a box. Inside had been the “webcam”. Akko had demanded that Diana “Get her head out of the 1800s and learn how to be a modern witch”. Diana let out a huff as she recalled that particular spat. Although, she was planning on looking into modern technologies anyway. Just in case Croix tried something again that would put Akko at risk.

Diana cracked open the webcam box, and flipped foremost to the instruction manual. As she quickly skimmed through the pamphlet, small disgruntled noises fell from her lips. “What in Beatrice’s name is a MicroSD, and how does one insert it into a computer?” This may take longer than she originally thought. Diana snapped the hairtie she was wearing over her wrist and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. After rolling up her sleeves, she removed her wand from the holster she kept on her hip. Muttering a quick chant and performing the proper wand movements, she summoned a wispy green spirit. “Please tell Anna that I request some tea and refreshment to the southern study.” The tiny spirit saluted and Diana covered her mouth, lest she let out a giggle and draw the ire of the small fae. With a nod, Diana dismissed the spirit and watched it zip through the door.

Once the spirit had left, she turned back to the task at hand. She wanted to at least have some sort of an idea before Anna saw her in this miserable state of confusion. This was why crystal balls were superior to mundane tech; you didn’t have to add anything. All it required was the right sort of spell. Although, now that Diana had a proper moment to reflect, Akko would most definitely have a harder time conjuring the required spells. While the excitable witch had made progress in leaps and bounds, the magic that required more finesse still left the brunette floundering. If Akko was trying hard in the more magical aspect for Diana, Diana could try hard in the more mundane aspect for Akko. Diana figured she had at least forty minutes for proper snacks to be made and for the tea to boil. She wouldn’t confirm nor deny knowing that the snacks meant for this evening had disappeared rather early today after she had passed by the kitchens.

Thirty minutes later Diana was feeling rather frazzled. Small curses she would never be caught dead uttering were flying from her mouth at an astounding rate. Her hair was messy, her back ached from frustration, and nothing was going right. Anna was due in the room at any minute, and Diana would rather she uphold her current reputation as a level headed and intelligent witch. She counted her blessings that O’Neill wasn’t here, lest the obnoxious redhead never let Diana live down her inability to hook up a webcam, and saying ‘fuck’. It had been uttered at least twelve times now. 

“Fucking hell” 

Thirteen.

Sitting up and taking a breath, Diana tugged on one of her loose bangs. She was an intelligent witch. She could do this. She twirled the desk chair once and got comfortable. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the accursed instructions and gave them another look. As she was absorbed in sifting through the obscure text, a knock softly rang through the room in a pattern. One, two-two, one- one, one, two. “Come in, Anna,” Diana said as her eyes continued to scan the page. She absentmindedly waved her hand .

Her nursemaid glided into the room, tea tray in hand. It was piled with cucumber sandwiches, scones, and assorted tea cookies. An elegant teapot with a gilt rose design and matching teacup sat elegantly in the middle of the tray. Anna stood next to Diana and gave her a look of rebuke. The young heir was sprawled in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest, the other on the ground. Diana was using that leg to make tiny half revolutions as she slouched in the chair, one hand holding the instruction book, the other tugging her bangs. Anna cleared her throat, and Diana didn’t even flinch. Her hand flailed around, grabbed a sandwich. She began gnawing at it irately as she focused harder on the task at hand.

“Lady Cavendish.” Anna’s eyebrow raised and the frown lines on her face deepened. “Please refrain from such behavior.”  Diana froze mid bite into her sandwich. With a scramble of one moving for their life, she quickly straightened her posture. Smoothing her hair and practically tossing the sandwich back onto the tray, she faced Anna. The instruction manual fell abandoned at her feet. Diana would rather she not make a fool of herself trying to grab for it. Nine knows she had made a fool of herself already.

“Anna. Thank you for the refreshments. I ask that you forgive my behavior, I have been,” Diana glanced at the computer screen. It had gone back into sleep mode some time ago. “Rather occupied.”

“Of course, Diana. I only ask that you emulate the behavior of a lady when necessary. It would not do for you to show a sloppy side in front of those of a lower station.” Anna rested the tray on the desk and gently straightened Diana’s messy hair with a gentle hand. “Now, may I inquire what has you so distressed?”

Diana’s faced flushed as she glanced at the fallen manual. She cleared her throat in an attempt to buy some time to formulate an answer. “I wish to add a webcam to my computer, but much of this does not make as much sense as I wish it would.” Diana kicked the evil pamphlet gently. Her arms wound themselves around her torso and she pouted slightly. “I just want to video call my dearest friend, Akko”

Anna did a quick sign of the cross and muttered a Hail Mary at the mention of Akko’s name. She straightened up and gave Diana a faint smile. “Together we can puzzle through this, Diana. May I offer my assistance?”

Diana gave a tiny nod and quickly moved out of her seat. She wrapped Anna in a quick blink-and-you-miss-it sort of hug, and then flashed back into her seat. Anna let out a nearly inaudible chuckle at her young charge’s affection. Diana didn’t often like to be vulnerable. Weakness was easily taken advantage of in high society. Diana had caught on that regrettably quickly after the passing of her mother, Bernadette. Anna had done her best for her young mistress in a house absent of love. Seeing Diana smile more and act like a child was refreshing, even if it was improper. Anna crouched down and picked up the manual. “Now let’s take a crack at this together. Please eat while I go over and see what you could’ve missed.”

It took a full two hours, one and a half pots of tea, and at least ten cookies before the two had finally figured out the problem. As soon as the proper window had finally popped up, Diana let out a joyful cry and latched onto Anna, giggling. Anna couldn’t help but smile, and she indulged a minute or two in her almost adoptive daughter’s embrace. All too soon she extricated herself from Diana’s grip. “I’ll bring a fresh plate of cookies, Diana. Why don’t you call your friend?” Diana’s eyes lit up even further.

“That would be acceptable. I shall call Akko right now.” Diana practically wiggled in her seat. She then froze as if coming to a realization. Frantically she tidied her desk area and clothes. She took out her ponytail and grabbed her wand once more to cast a spell to neaten her hair. She had to look her best for Akko. A quick look to the wall clock told Diana it was about 9:25PM in Japan. Surely Akko would still be up. Anna hid a smile and quickly exited the room. Diana still had some cookies on her plate, and Anna wanted to leave the two girls alone for a bit.

Diana hastily booted up the program and went through the steps to call Akko. She waited with bated breath as the dots loaded across the screen. She looked as if she was in a silent prayer, hands clasped as she chewed on her lip.

“Konbanwa….” A messy haired Akko filled Diana’s screen. The hair that usually was stowed away in her little pigtail was practically sitting straight up. “Oh! Diana!” Akko’s accent had gotten even thicker during the few days she had been at home. The brunette rambled a few more words in her native tongue until she caught herself. “So!” Akko ran a hair through her adorably spiked hair. “Finally got the webcam up, huh, Diana?”

Diana blinked. She had been caught up in memorizing Akko’s cute bedhead. “Yes, it was quite a simple matter once I figured the instructions out. Took merely minutes to install.” Diana flicked her hair away from her face and stared Akko right in the eyes.

“Diana~ Your teeth are gonna rot from telling lies! You only ever do that hair thingie when you’re not being honest! I bet it took you hours. Did someone help you?” Akko flicked her screen and her picture flipped. “Oops.” The brunette deftly righted the mistake and began teasing Diana with that little smirk of hers.

“I’ll have you know-” Akko spun around in her chair, stopping mid spin to pull a face at Diana. “Confound it, Akko!” Diana dissolved into giggles. Akko looked on utterly smitten as Diana laughed. She missed this. Akko was so carefree, truly a breath of fresh air in Diana’s stagnant life. The rapid shutdown of the school due to the virus had sent Akko on a one way plane back home. Away from Diana.

 After Diana managed to compose herself, she noticed Akko had switched positions. Her hand rested her cheek, supporting her head as she looked at Diana in a dreamy manner. The slight knocking noise in the background clued Diana into the fact that Akko was swinging her legs under her desk. It was just like Akko during classes at Luna Nova. She could never truly sit still. Quarantine had made them both a little stir crazy. Seeing each other like this made things seem okay again.

“Atsuko, I truly missed you.” Diana’s eyes had a melty quality to them as she said this. Akko thought they kinda looked like the water in the Fountain of Polaris. Except while the waters in the fountain were cold, Diana’s were warm. Akko wanted nothing more than to give Diana a hug.

“I missed you too ,Diana. But! Guess what, you can finally see my room!” Akko slid her rolling chair away from the computer with a flourish, she gestured to her room. It was smaller than Diana imagined, and quite messy. The bed hadn’t been made and clothes were strewn about. The empty chip bag poking out from under Akko’s bed was especially incriminating. Of course, Diana also saw Shiny Chariot posters and collectibles littering the walls and bookshelves of the room. She noticed some other unknown cartoon characters, and made a mental note to look them up later. Akko’s birthday was coming in three months, and Diana wanted to send a care package to her.  The room was overall warm and lived in, just like Akko herself.

“It’s just as messy as I figured, Akko.” Akko let out a squawk and jerked her head to actually give her room a good look. Scrambling up from her chair, she jerked her sheets over the messiest bits of her bed and kicked her clothes out of view.

“Look, it doesn’t normally look like this,” Akko began to make a gaggle of excuses, each word coming out faster than the last one. She had turned back towards Diana, and was standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh? Now who is the one lying, Atsuko?”  Diana teased gently, a small giggle bubbling forth from her lips.  Akko paused in the middle of her wild gestures.

“I like it when you say my name, Diana.” Akko’s eyes gave a quick blink as her brain caught up with her mouth. Diana began to slowly turn red as she too processed what Akko had said. “I mean-what I want to say is-uh, etto, I really like the sound of your voice.” Akko covered her face and curled in on herself, wiggling from side to side.

“Akko,” Diana said softly, “I like it when you call my name too. I love your voice as well.”

Akko let out a muffled scream and wiggled harder. Her feet stomped lightly on the floor, tiny thuds accompanying her shriek. Diana felt her hands cover her face as well. She wasn’t usually as honest with her feelings as she was now. Akko tended to make Diana do crazy things, like venturing to the top of the stratosphere to stop a giant missile. Or like telling her things she swore never to say. Or actually giving people physical affection.

Akko peeked out from her hands, only to see Diana practically mirroring her embarrassment. “You’re cute, you know?” she blurted out. If Akko was going to die tonight, she might as well make sure she’d be six feet all the way under. It was Diana’s turn to let out a little squeak, so adorably uncharacteristic. “When this is all over, can I take you out to Blytonbury sometime?” Akko crossed her fingers, practically praying whoever was up there to let this work.

Diana peeled her hands from her face and took a deep breath. Looking a nervous Akko in the eyes, she gave her answer. “I suppose I would not be remiss in indulging on an outing with you at a later date. However, perhaps we can do something sooner? I’ve heard marvelous things about the internet.”

Akko let out a cheer and jumped into the air, only to scream as her foot slipped on some discarded shorts she had missed in her mad dash to ‘tidy’ her room. “Daijobu” a weak groan came from the floor as Diana let out a guffaw that evolved into full blown laughter. Akko watched happily from the floor. She would make Diana laugh more in the coming video calls, she hoped.

“So, how about a movie?”

[xfandomwritingsx]

The Long Road - Jesse Pinkman - Part Two

-gif source unknown-

Description: Set after El Camino. You can’t handle never seeing Jesse again so you go after him.

Warnings/Labels:  Fluff. Warm, soft Jesse Pinkman fluff.

Approx. Word Count: 1,700

A/N: I need more Jesse in my life. I just need it, okay?

Part One

-

Your phone rings early the next morning, before the sun has even had proper time to get set in the sky. The caller ID reads a number that you know isn’t his. You’d done your research on him before approaching. You had his cell number. This isn’t it.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously. There’s a long silence on the other end.

“Is this… Ashley Adams?” It’s Jesse’s voice for sure and you smile at him trying to recall the name you’d given.

“Aarons,” you correct him. “Ashley Aarons.”

“Right.” Another short pause. “This is Paul Driscoll. Your uhh, neighbor, I guess.” You’re not sure whether you want to laugh or cry at the classic sound of his voice. It fills you with a warmth that has been absent in you for far too long.

“Are you on a secure line?” Not the most tactful way to phrase the question, but your patience is running low and frankly, for what you both paid to get here, it shouldn’t matter if it was a secure line or not.

“Payphone,” he confirms. “About three miles outside of town by a gas station. You?”

“Burner phone.” You sit down on your cheap hotel bed and finally feel yourself relax.

“What the fuck is going on?” he snaps. “What the fuck are you doing here? Are you okay?” You suspect if the payphone wasn’t bolted to the ground, he’d probably be pacing like mad right now. You can just picture him spinning in circles in the booth, free hand swinging around wildly. Honestly, you’re having a hard time not laughing in sheer relief. It’s been years you’ve been trying to get to him and you’re finally hearing him. You’ve seen him. You’re talking to him. “I didn’t sleep last night! I’m supposed to be at work in thirty minutes and I’m going out of my mind!” It’s such a foreign thing to hear Jesse mention work. It just reminds you that he has a life now. A real one. “Are you fucking okay or not?”

“Calm down,” you say gently. “I’m alright, I promise.” It’s not even him and his new life he’s worried about unraveling right now. His only concern is you and that makes you feel like you’re floating. You’ve never been more alright than you are right now.

“And what the hell kind of name is Ashley Aarons?” The laugh bubbles out. Out of all the questions he has tumbling through his head, that’s one of his firsts?

“I didn’t pick it!” you defend, stopping yourself from flopping back on the bed like a teenage girl. “I pissed off the vacuum guy, alright?” You expect a chuckle or maybe a scoff, anything. Instead he goes silent for a moment.

“You went to the vacuum guy?”

“Well, yeah. I couldn’t find you unless I was clean.” You state is like it’s obvious because to you it is, but Jesse hadn’t fully realized what you being here meant or what it took to get you here. The air shifts around you.

“Why did you need to find me?” The question hits you hard and sharp. What the hell kind of answer is there to that question?

“Jesse, I…” Words fail you, but he waits on the other end. “I just had to see you.” The silence on the other end is painful. Did you make a mistake? “Can I… Can I see you?” Your words tremble and there’s a desperation in them. You’ve never been one to beg, but after everything you’d gone through to get to him, to may actually kill you if he said no.

“Meet me at my place in twenty minutes,” he finally says, easing the squeeze around your chest for the moment at least.

“What about work?” He scoffs on the other end.

“I got vacation time. They’ll fucking live.”

---

Standing at his front door the second time is somehow even more daunting than the first. His door swings open much faster and he’s pulling you into his living room before you even have a chance to say hello. He closes the door and puts his eye up to the peephole, presumably checking for anyone following you.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” he asks when he looks back to you.

“No,” you assure him. “Kind of the whole point of the vacuum asshole, but honestly I lost contact with everyone over a year ago anyways.”

“How did you find me?” His bafflement is shown in a scrunched expression and you think back, trying to come up with a simple, easy answer.

“By not sleeping for two years?” is the best you can do. His face evens out and he motions to the couch next to you.

“Have a seat,” he offers. “I can go make us some coffee.”

“You drink coffee now?” He cracks a smile at you.

“Yeah well, I learned drinking beer this early is frowned upon by upstanding people so coffee it is.” You both chuckle and you nod to him, accepting his offer. You carefully move around to the front of the couch as he walked towards what you assume to be the kitchen. “You still take it the same way?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, surprised and humbled that he remembers how you like your coffee.

Jesse’s home is something you hadn’t expected. It’s large, but modest and made to look and feel like a log cabin. His furniture is covered in a soft brown leather placed around a glass coffee table in front of a working fireplace that fills the room with a warm glow. You’re able to shake the cold out of your bones and shed your thick coat, draping it over the armrest next to you.

If his house is anything to judge by, Jesse has done damn good for himself. While that makes you feel happy and proud even, there’s a small part of you that fills with fear. Good house, a job, friends… what if he doesn’t want you in his life anymore? What if all you do is ruin what he has?

Jesse interrupts your thoughts, coming back into the room and hands you a white mug with Alaskan mountains painted on the side. You smile up at him and gently blow into the mug as he sits down next to you and drinks from his own cup. He shifts to bring his leg up onto the couch and face you, throwing one of his arms over the back of the couch.

“Never thought I’d see you in a white cable knit sweater,” you tease, reaching over to pluck at the sleeve of his attire. He looks down at it and laughs.

“Yeah, I’m wearing all kinda goofy shit now.”  He leans in and lowers his voice just a little. “You should see me in the hat with the fucking earmuffs.” You can’t help but laugh. You have no doubt that he owns such a hat nowadays and the idea of him wearing it is just so wholesome and humorous.

“You look good,” you tell him when the chuckling dies down. He doesn’t say much, but makes a noncommittal noise. Your hand reaches out to him without thinking, your thumb brushing the skin above his eye where a faint scar dips into his eyebrow. Your fingers trace down to the more prominent scar on his cheek and you almost melt into his couch when he leans his face into the palm of your hand and closes his eyes.

“Story goes I used to box in college,” he shares. “The guys joke I must not have been very good if I couldn’t protect my face.” He turns his face and presses his lips to the heel of your palm.

“You would make a shitty boxer,” you agree lightheartedly, pulling a smile to his face. He leans away from you and steals the mug out of your hands, reaching to place both cups on the coffee table before coming back to you, sitting just a little bit closer.

“So you’re telling me,” he starts in a more serious tone. “That you took two years, left everything, and came all the way out here to bumfuck Alaska to find me?” The disbelief, the reluctance to accept there’s not some hidden meaning that he’s missing is just so innocent that all you can do is nod. “Why?”

“Jesse,” you sigh. The sound of his name on your tongue has him leaning towards you, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck and pull your forehead to his. “Do you really have to ask?” you whisper. Your own hands running up the front of his sweater, looking for something to hold onto.

Your name is a soft murmur from his lips before he’s tilting his head and your eyes are fluttering shut. You both lean into the kiss, leveraging yourselves on your hips and legs to lift up closer to one another. It’s a hard, needy kiss with your fingers twisting into the knitted fabric on his chest and both his hands lifting to hold your face carefully as though you might disappear if he held on too tightly.

Heart so full that your chest feels heavy and constricted, you open your mouth beneath his for air. While he allows you to break for just that moment, he comes back with a heated passion that you’re all too happy to return. His arms slip down around your waist, pulling you across the small bit of couch left remaining between you and nearly onto his lap.

When you finally pull away from each other, he looks up at you with something you haven’t seen from him in years. Hope.

“You have a place yet?” he asks, breathing heavily and you can tell by the way his eyes keep darting to your lips that he’s having a hard time focusing. You shake your head.

“Not yet.”

“Good. You can stay here.” His fingers at your back graze your skin where your shirt shifted up and a shiver goes through your spine. He wants you. All your worrying was for nothing.

“Won’t your friends ask questions?” He shrugs.

“Probably.” A hand grips behind your thigh, tugging. You follow his pull and let him lift that thigh over his hips so that you’re straddling him as he leans onto the couch back. “Just gotta get our stories straight.” A cocky smile sits on his lips that you hadn’t realized you missed so badly. “Means we should get reacquainted, Ms. Adams.” He leans up to kiss you again, but you pull away.

“Aarons,” you correct him again. He shakes his head at you and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he says. “C’mere.”

You can worry about names later.

~~~

That’s it! Just imagine Jesse living a happy, criminal free life in Alaska. It gives me the warm fuzzies everywhere. Anyways... I hope you enjoyed! Like, comment, reblog to let me know!

Feeling super sweet and generous? Buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

Keep up with my progress on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/

[okk--maaan]

"Exactly how drunk was I?" (For Charlie) -🦕

Hellooo Lil Foot! Here’s a lil somethin somethin for ya with Drunk Charlie™. I went lighthearted and fun with this one so I hope you like it!

Word Count: ~1.2k

CW: alcohol consumption, otherwise SFW, maaaajooorrr fluff, Charlie got a little too turnt, an appearance by baby Hannah

Charlie rolls away from the sun shining through the curtains and directly onto his face. Fuck. Why was it so fucking bright and why did his head hurt so bad?

“Honey,” he grumbles, sliding his hand over the cool sheets, searching for you. He squints one eye open to see you’re not in your usual spot next to him, still peacefully sleeping. What time was it? Unwillingly, he rolls back over to glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand.

Two thirty-six.

Wait.

Two thirty-six in the morning? Is this clock broken?

No.

Two thirty-six in the afternoon.

Dragging his hands down his face, Charlie groans to himself and forces his body up and out of bed.

What happened last night?

The whole house is quiet and seems frozen in time as he makes his way through, room to room. He checks Hannah’s room. Nothing. Henry’s room. No one. The kitchen, then the living room. Empty. As he walks back through the kitchen to put on the coffee he desperately needs, a faint sound of laughter drifts past his ears. He looks up through the window over the sink and spots you, Henry, and Hannah playing in the grass of the backyard. A smile dances across his face, his chest swells with love, and he forgets about his massive hangover for a moment.

He turns and reaches for the coffee pot, only to realize it’s already full, still hot. “Hmm,” he mumbles, going to the cabinet for his mug. It’s missing. That small smile morphes into a full toothy grin. You’ve already poured a cup for him. And customized it in that precise way you always do. Just for him.

Charlie leaves the kitchen for the garden. There, Henry’s playing heroes and villains with action figures, Hanna’s waddling through the plush grass giggling, and you’re sitting. But not just sitting. Nothing you ever do is “just”. You’re perched on one hip, legs bent to the side. Rays of warm light streak through your hair and over your soft skin. You look like a true angel. Sent to Earth just for him. His chest fills again. You notice him and your face radiates with beauty.

“Morning sweetheart,” you say loud enough for him to hear from the brick patio. “Your coffee’s on the table,” you nod in that direction with a wink. You know he needs it.

After grabbing his cure-all-in-a-cup, he joins you and your little family on the lawn. He’s still in his sleep uniform: a crisp white v-neck and plaid pajama bottoms. He’s barefoot. The grass feels cool underneath his soles. Lowering himself to the ground, he pecks your cheek and you place a hand on his, lean into it.

“How are you feeling?” you ask with a sly smirk.

“Like shit,” he chuckles, not caring if Henry or Hannah hear him. He’s always honest like that.

“Well you did have quite the night,”

“Exactly how drunk was I?”

“Umm…” you recall the previous evening.

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

Charlie may have signed the divorce papers almost a year ago, but now all the lawyers were paid, and there would be no more meetings, and he had primary custody of Henry. On top of that, he finally had a successful full run of his play on Broadway.

Celebration was in order.

Someone popped an expensive bottle of champagne right after curtain call, so Charlie was already a couple of drinks in when you told him you would meet him at the bar. With a quick kiss, you left him to his own devices. Probably not your best idea.

He must’ve gotten to the bar before you thought. Way before. When you finally noticed him across the room, he was already wobbly on his feet. But you tried not to worry too much. He rarely got to let loose like this. So you wanted him to have this.

You were chatting with some of the cast when he sauntered over, wrapped his arms around your middle, and rested his chin on your shoulder. His words were barely understandable when he slurred, “Baby I love you. We did it! You’re all mine now!”

You weren’t really sure what exactly he was referring to.

He was definitely drunk. Definitely way past the point of just drunk.

He almost tipped over as he stumbled to the nearest table. He threw one long leg up, planted his foot on the tabletop, and hoisted himself up. Towering far above everyone else in the room. You smacked your palm over your now burning face. Yes you were embarrassed. But you were more embarrassed for him, thinking about all the stories that would come out of this.

Swinging his nearly empty glass - mostly ice at that point - Charlie proclaimed, “I love you baby!” clearly directed toward you. “Guys,” he turned his attention to his amused audience, “We fucking did it! Fucking Broadway! I am so proud of us. Thank you so much for all your hard work. I love each and every one of you.” He sniffled a little towards the end of his speech and you could see his eyes getting all misty.

He threw his hands up and nodded a bit to signal he was finished and he was met with cheers and applause. Feeling proud of himself, he hopped off the table, with way too much confidence, considering his current state.

Yeah it was time to go home.

As you made a b-line for your man, all you could think about was how difficult it was going to be to get him on the train and in a cab. You were able to pull him from the party with relative ease. Walking to the subway was a slightly different story though. You attempted to support him, but he was heavy and pulled you all over the sidewalk. At some point, he ended up on his back, on the ground. It was equal parts funny and frustrating. Once you finally made it to the train, you were able to get the rest of the way with little incident.

In the time it took you to check on the kids and pay the babysitter, Charlie passed out on the couch. One leg stretched out, the other hanging off, foot still planted on the floor. With the same powers that miraculously helped you get him home, you convinced him to get up from the sofa and move into the bedroom. You were pretty sure his eyes stayed closed the whole way. He grumbled and grunted to himself as he shuffled around the room, yanked off his shoes, shucked his layers. He was in his pajamas, sprawled out in bed, and snoring again in less than five minutes.

He was going to have a headache in the morning.

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

“Wait. I stood on a table?”

“Yep.”

“I do not remember that.”

“Didn’t think you would,” you chuckle and push up from the grass. “Do you want something for your head?”

“Yes please. Thank you honey,” Charlie looks up at you with big sweet eyes. “I love you.”

You stroke your hand down his hair, smile back at him, “I love you.”

With that, you head back into the house to find some Tylenol.

[obscureoperations]

yeah.....!lol was thinking of patrick fucking martin....

Hold on.. hol on... Hold on! Nah! You cant be doing shit like this. 🤔😂I mean I had no idea how I could make this work. I decided to be an ass and ignore other asks just to see if I could get this going. I did, But it’s shit imo. I tried. and now here we go!😬

Patrick was so livid, he was on the verge of tears by time nine thirty rolled around. They had been waiting for their appetizers for almost an hour. He was at least relieved for the liberal amount of drinks. He had finally swung a reservation to Dorsia, the hottest restaurant around--it only took him a little over two months. The second he entered the place he was slightly underwhelmed. It was nice… but he already preferred the atmosphere of Del Posto.The lighting was dim, a large chandelier hung in the main hall, the music was faint and ambient. It was a reservation for six. Himself, Evelyn, Bryce and his date. Luis Caruthers and Courtney Rawlinson. He swirled the last of his j&b around in his glass before he downs it with a visible wince.

“God Patrick… maybe we should just leave. I’m sure they’ll give you a refund.” Evelyn huffs

“No.. we’re staying. I didn’t stay on that fucking waiting list for two months for us just to up and  leave.”

Bryce began to laugh as he downed the rest of his martini, he was already beginning to go off on one. Patrick almost wanted to pull him aside and demand that he get his shit together. He’ll be damned if he gets them all kicked out. Instead he whistles through his teeth getting the man’s attention. He tapped his left nostril twice, gesturing over to the bathroom. Bryce seemed to immediately sober up.

“Excuse me… I’m going to go find that waiter.” Patrick  said as he rises from the table.

“I’m�� gonna go head to the bathroom…” adds Bryce.

Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Just say the two of you are gonna go do a line. The way you’re acting, it’s like you want to run off together.” She quickly fishes a cigarette from her purse, before turning her attention to Courtney. Patrick briefly runs his fingers through his hair, straightening his tie as he turns to leave. He brushes his hand over his inner jacket pocket to feel the large serrated knife firmly in place. By the time that they left, he would have to find their waiter..Matthew? He couldn’t remember the kid’s name. All he knew was that he had embarrassed him in front of his friends. He would take care of him quickly enough in the alley.

The two men practically power walked their way over to the bathroom, nearly running into someone as they turned the corner. It was that kid.. The waiter, who clutched a menu to his chest--apologizing profusely with wide brown eyes. 

“You…” Patrick sneered.

“I-I’m sorry for the delay sir.. The kitchen is extremely backed up.. W-were short staffed. Feel free to order all the drinks that you need, they’re on the house.” 

“Oh, you can bet that we will…” Patrick growls, stepping in closer. Each syllable is punctuated by a sharp jab to the young man’s chest. 

The boy shrunk away at the blatant abuse, as color rose to his face. He continued to stammer his apologies as he kept his eyes averted and the menu nearly slipped from his grasp. 

Bryce finally pulls Patrick away and into the bathroom, laughing to himself under his breath. “Fuckin kid… he’s practically begging for it.”

“What?” Patrick asks as he absentmindedly eyes his reflection in the mirror-- adjusting his tie and tilting his head. His fingers prod at his jawline. No carbs tonight…

He can hear Bryce snort obnoxiously behind the stall “Ah. god… That’s the shit right there…”

Patrick couldn’t help but roll his eyes. If anything he craved a cigar himself. He began to riffle through his pockets. 

Bryce emerges from the stall looking refreshed although a bit ‘squirrely’. He runs his hands through his already slick hair, adjusting his collar in the mirror. “Alright man… wooh! Lets go…”

“What were you saying about that kid a few minutes ago?” Patrick asks absentmindedly.

“Huh?”

He begins to do a half hearted jig in the mirror, pointing at himself obnoxiously. Yeah that’s right… He was already planning on bagging his date. 

Patrick grits his teeth, as he presses his hand against the knife. This is Bryce...jesus Patrick..calm down.

“You said something about that kid.. The waiter.”

“Oh yeah, he was definitely checking you out. You shoulda saw the way he was leering at you when he replaced your drink.” He shudders dramatically “It was weird man…”

Patrick could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a fine sheen of sweat forms across his brow. He knew he wasn’t imagining the way the young man looked at him as he continued to apologize profusely. He was frightened, that much he could tell. Patrick always tried his best to portray an intimidating image. The fear, for both his physical well being and the security of his job. But still, there was something else. The boy’s eyes darkened just a bit. Martin! His name was Martin. 

“Whatever…” Patrick mumbles as he washes his hands at the sink,the plan already formulating in his head. He had fully intended on getting the kid fired, if not just outright gutting him in the back alley. But now a different sort of idea formed in his brain, one that might be even more rewarding.

It was less than five minutes after the two of them had resumed their seats that Martin returned with another waiter. Martin held the appetizers, the man behind him held the main dishes, the two of them swiftly began to arrange the plates on the table. Not a single mix up, each of the appetizers matched the dish and the owner. As the two waiters began to leave, Martin shot Patrick a final apologetic glance.

~~

He was cagey, he barely  even touched his steak, he only picked around at the kale and arugula salad. His mind was racing, they were all supposed to visit a club nest, how would he be able to politely excuse himself? He still couldn’t decide if he wanted to wait for him in the alley and take his frustrations out the easy way. The large serrated knife felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He bet he was even more beautiful when he was bleeding. 

“So Bateman, you’re gonna tell me, you spent all your money on this shit--and you’re not even going to eat anything?!” Bryce laughed already reaching for his plate.

Patrick grips his wrist like a vice. “Touch any of it, and you’ll draw back a stump.”

Bryce yanks his hand away, quickly loosening his tie. “Hey calm down there buddy… what no Shiatzu this morning?”

“Evelyn… ask for a doggy bag or something… I’ll be right back.”

“Patrick!” Luis calls.

“Excuse me…” 

~~

Patrick managed to slip into the employee area with an ease that he didn’t expect. He grabbed an apron off a rack and tied it around himself accordingly. He even slipped on a spare face mask. In his suit and tie, he could easily be mistaken for a health inspector. He scans the hallways which for the most part appear completely empty. A door swings open and his back presses against the wall. Two large burly men carry a large slab of meat--probably a cow back to a set of double doors. He was about to step forward again, when the doors burst open. Two women wrangle a cage full of live chickens between them, following the men into the back room.

So. this was Dorsia

Patrick was just about to turn back and meet up with his friends at Levels. He should probably just let it go. Evelyn probably had a few too many and decided to take an uber home. He could schmooze with Bryce for about an hour. Get Luis too shitfaced to drive home. Then it would be just him and Courtney. That was his plan after all.

 Any plans or rational thought seemed to slip from his brain the second Martin crashed in through the doors. Large silver plate in hand, it rests right up on his shoulders, he nearly drops it before placing it on the ground. He surveys  The strange man’s appearance. He looks so familiar, his heart starts to race

“A- are you with the health department?” He asks. The hairs already begin to stand at the back of his neck.

“No...silly” Patrick begins to laugh as he simultaneously removes his face mask and draws the blade from his pocket. The large brandished knife seems to glint in the light. For a moment, Martin catches a glimpse of his own reflection. He instantly bolts down the hall, Patrick cusses beneath his breath as he tosses the mask to the ground.

~

 He was quicker than he expected. Patrick was actually winded, he felt like he was nearing the end of his Monday morning aerobics class. The young man seemed to know all the ins and outs of the building,all the hidden doors and staircases. He had no idea how the two of them ended up on the roof on this exceptionally windy night.  

Patrick could feel the smile play across his lips in an almost foreign upturned line. He had to pause for a moment to get himself together in the bathroom. He had just a brief snort just to keep himself up to par. He imagined he looked like a complete psychopath. Cheshire cat grin, sweating profusely all the while he continues to brandish the knife. Martin was crouched down behind the chimney, his cheek resting lightly against the brick. He looked fully resigned, simply watching Patrick as he continued to laugh and babel to himself.

“Wha--What am I doing?!” His head points towards the night sky as the knife falls from his hand. It lands onto the cement with a resounding clatter. Martin eagerly scrambles for it, before tossing it to the far side of the roof.

Patrick turns his back for a moment, quickly snorting another line from his index finger.. At this point, he had no idea how he could get past this. He had actually  chased the young boy onto the roof. He had three options, he could shove him off. He could fuck him (as he previously intended) Or he could finally hurl himself off the roof. All three options began to seem increasingly appealing. Then Martin began to speak.

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you?”

Patrick eyes him almost quizzically. He looks like a frightened cat hiding behind a tree. 

“I-- I- don’t know.”

He was being honest for once, at this point he had no idea what he wanted to do to Martin.

He can hear Martin’s nails scrape against the brick as he stands.He didn’t recall his face looking so pale, almost ghastly. His cheekbones were gaunt and pronounced.“ Well then kill me now or just let me jump…” 

His eyes widen for a moment. 

“Just let me jump…”

~

His entire body was on fire he could do nothing but aimleslessy grasp at the boy’s hair. His knife was lost somewhere in the corner, his dick was buried between two immaculate cheeks. At times a breeze would shift in, reminding him that he was completely nude on the rooftop of Dorsia. His friends were most likely already over at Level’s he didn’t mind. All that mattered were the sounds spewing from the young man beneath him. It was supposed to be torture, the harder he would yank his hair, more lewd noises spilled from his lips. 

Patrick could clearly see the city below him, it would be so easily to simply toss the boy off the edge of the building. The rewarding sound of him spattering across the pavement would be too dull given the height. Various apartment lights flickered on and off like fireflies in the otherwise crisp black sky. He shifts his focus to the sight of his dick plunging into the well worked hole of his former waiter. Glistening in the light, he still couldn't get over how freely the boy offered himself over. Luis would be jealous, this was exactly what he wanted. But Patrick never desired Luis, he desired him.

A strange, sort of  guttural noise alerts him once again to Martin’s existence. He layed limply against the brick, it was obvious that he had just came. His hand reaches beneath them, harshly groping at Martin’s quickly softening and over sensitive member. He ignores the boy’s pleads for him to stop, instead pistoning his hips in full. It wasn’t long before he bottoms out completely, beads of sweat drip against Martin’s back. A strong gust of air once again reminds him that he is completely bare.

He begins to dress as the waiter still lies limply against the brick. Gaping, he can see pearly white seed leaking out of him. For a moment it reminds him of Courtney, so pretty, almost perfect looking.  He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a card. 

He tosses it onto the young man’s back as he turns toward the fire escape.  “Call me if you want. I might answer. Maybe not. I’m at work all the time”

[avinrydarchive]

hallow’s eve, saint’s day

Author: AvinRyd Fandom: The Bartimaeus Sequence Rating: G Pairing: Gen Word Count: ~8500 words

When in Prague...

--

Some lighthearted spooky shenanigans for you this October.

Written for the Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2020. Check out the collection on AO3 to see everyone else’s awesome fics!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Somewhere: Sometime

 22,643

“...”

“Hello, glad to see you’re awake.”

“Um, hello. Where am I? How long was I...asleep?”

“Well, twenty-two thousand, six hundred and forty three spirits have passed by since you arrived, so I’d assume about five days on the mortal plane? Hard to say exactly, but I’ve had a while to put a model together. “As to where you are? Stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Stuck. I have many theories as to where and how, but the fact is that we’re stuck here between the two dimensions known to my people—and yours, I’m assuming, since you came from the same direction I did.”

“Oh…

“You said you’ve been here for a while? Is it permanent, then? This being stuck?”

“In theory? No. I believe it’s possible for us to leave, should the right situation arise. However, in practice? I’ve yet to see a situation that would afford an exit so...it might be permanent, yes.”

“...”

“...”

“How long have you been here?”

“I lost count a few centuries ago.”

 1,962,573

“Hey, the gates haven’t done that before.”

“Oh, that usually means someone on the mortal plane came up with something interesting. What… Oh. That’s  very interesting. I wonder…”

“What? No. No, stop—whatever you’re ‘wondering’ it’s a bad idea.”

“Hmmm, doubtful.”

     4,747,821

    “...”

“Finally! That was way too long, don’t do it again.”

“How long?”

“Thirty thousand, six hundred and fifty seven. I didn’t think you were going to form back up that time.”

“I was  so close though. It closed just a fraction of a second too soon. Next time—”

“Next time?! Did you hear how long I said you were gone? You’re going to get yourself dispelled at this rate, and there’s no guarantee it’ll work!”

“It will.”

“Oh, so when I say stuff like that, it’s arrogant, but when you do it’s just fact?”

“It’s not arrogance when my previous hypotheses have all been correct. It’s based off the same knowledge, there’s every chance I’m right. I  know I’m right. I—

“Wait, there’s another one.”

“Ah, no. Hold on—”

“I’m going to do it. This time for sure.”

“Wait! What if it doesn’t work? What if it  does?  Will you— That is, I’ll be…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll work out the method, then come back for you. I promise, my friend.”

“Friends? Is that what we are? I—wait, no!”

“...”

“...”

“I didn’t even ask his name…”

Chapter 2: Prague: Hallow's Eve

“—so there’s no need to worry about it. Piper and Harold can badger me all they want, send all the nastily worded imp messages they like—it’s not like I’ll run out of 'fuck,no's. I’ve got an unlimited supply.” Kitty sighed and shifted, trying to ease the ache in her back without smudging chalk lines. Sitting on the hardwood floor was murder on her over-taxed body, sending sharp spikes of discomfort up the curve of her spine and into her creaking hip joints, but this circle was so fragile she didn’t dare risk throwing a chair into the mix. The ringing at the base of her skull wasn’t terribly comfortable either, but it was a side effect of this spell they’d been unable to mitigate. Over the slight resonance, Bartimaeus’s voice replied, “Alright, alright. And since you’ve left Bruges they’ll probably have a time finding you for a while, at least. How’s Prague?” “Beautiful. Old. Rainy. A bit spooky, but I suppose that’s to be expected.” The laugh ringing through their connection wasn’t just one voice, but many. That was the interesting thing about this; she was speaking to Bartimaeus, but he was only separated from the Other Place just enough to exist as “Bartimaeus”—the rest of the Other Place was nearly an equal part of their conversation, which had taken some getting used to. “See, that’s the appropriate response. Certain modern magicians I’ve known—particularly young, bratty, British ones—have no appreciation for the old magic that city is steeped in. And speaking of magical detritus from a thousand failed spells, you did bring your instruments with you when you left Belgium, right? This is the longest we’ve ever had the portal open, and—” Kitty sighed again, much put-upon. “Yes, Bartimaeus. I have them and they’re set up and everything is stable. There was a tiny spike a few minutes ago, but everything is normal otherwise. I left Bruges to get away from the hovering protective people, you know. Please don’t you start being one now.” Bartimaeus scoffed, but the humming presence behind him was at least half on Kitty’s side, she was sure. “Fine, far be it from me to care about silly humans doing insane experimental magic with minimal education. I place full faith in your absolute knowledge and will immediately cease worrying that the portal will explode in your face and leave a Kitty-sized crater in one of the oldest standing magical cities of the mortal realm. I wash my metaphorical hands of it.” It was Kitty’s turn to laugh, bright and clear in a way it’d taken years for her to get to. “You do that. Anything in particular I should know about the city: places I should go, things to avoid?” “Eh, just keep your wits.” Kitty got a strong, almost visual impression that, had Bartimaeus been in a material form, he’d be looking on with an unimpressed twist to his mouth. This was such a weird spell. “If you’ve got that aura-viewing skill on tap still, keep a sharp eye out. Avoid any bridges without auras—they’re most likely falling apart internally. And costumed men with ‘distinctive�� candles!” “O-o-okay? That’s highly specific, should I be concerned?” The suggestion of a shrug and his words came through crackled with interference. “Not really, he was just a bit creepy by human standards, and that candle… Not a thing for polite company. Thought you’d prefer to steer clear of anyone similar. Don’t go to graveyards tonight, either.” The ringing at the back of Kitty’s mind was escalating to a high whine and she reached up to massage the base of her skull. One of the glass phials outside the circle, sealed and full of swirling gas, was starting to pulse with a faint glow. “Alright Bartimaeus, we’ve got to stop. The spell’s starting to break up. I’ll try again after I’ve spoken with the print master, okay?” “Good, this was probably too much strain on you anyway. Have fun bullying old men into changing books!” The djinni’s voice sounded further away than before, and before Kitty could reply, the connection snapped off. There was a sharp pop and a flash of sparks in the air above her as the spell collapsed—another issue to work on. She’d love to reach out to Button for ideas on a fix, but that would invite more pleas to return to London and Kitty was so, so tired of those. Government was not for her, not even a little bit. Even her drive for activism had waned, though she suspected it was simply burnout—and as Bartimaeus and Jakob and everyone else had said, this was some well deserved burnout indeed. Standing up was a process for Kitty these days: gingerly uncross legs; wait for the shriek of pain to stop; get knees under herself with careful movements; press up using stiff wrists to stand with popping knees; roll slowly upright, feeling every sore vertebrate slot into place. Painkillers. She had a couple left from the drugstore in Burges, right? She hoped so. She was far too tired to be exploring the city for a drugstore—or an apothecary? Who knew what this place had. Her travel bag lay on the bed, flap sagging open to reveal her essentials. The white plastic of a drugstore bottle peeked out from under the sweater Mrs. Hyrnek had made for her, and she’d just reached for it when— “Did you know that, when a djinni is dismissed, the gates between our world and the Other Place are open for precisely eight-point-five-two seconds?” Kitty whipped around. The room was empty; the disembodied—familiar?—voice already just an echo bouncing off the window panes. Light from streetlamps flickered strangely through wavy glass and water droplets. Somewhere, thunder rolled. “Second—” There it was again, but there was nothing to see, no matter how hard Kitty looked. “—and you must know some of this, having visited the Other Place yourself—but did you know that a human soul is, pardon the pun, in essence the same composition as any spirit? Though with a deep affinity for the earth element that other spirits abhor. And that, if sufficiently stimulated and accustomed to the act, a soul can exit the body—voluntarily or not—and bridge the worlds; even following another spirit on its way away from our earthly plane?” The voice was familiar, and yet...not. Kitty could swear she’d never heard this person speak—a boy with an absolutely unfamiliar accent. And yet? And yet, in her mind she heard an echo… What do you presume…?   “And thirdly: did you know that your absolutely ingenious bit of spellwork holds the Elemental Gates open longer and with more stability than any spell used in the last two thousand years? And that, if a spirit were somehow stuck in a crevice of those gates, your spell provides an opportunity for escape not given in those same two thousand years?" The voice came from behind her now, and this time Kitty turned slowly—mindful of the crick in her neck her last turn had caused, and also not near as fearful. She knew now that there was nothing to fear from this voice. On her bed—or rather, floating slightly above it—sat a teenage boy, visible at last. Yellow lamp light and the watery orange glow of the street lights did not bring up warm highlights on his dark skin as they should have. He was nearly transparent and so washed out the ends of his curly hair faded out of sight. Seemingly unbothered by this, he grinned up at her, flush with the satisfaction of solving a millenia-old conundrum and shining with an emotion Kitty suspected might be gratitude. Cautiously, she returned the smile and—in a very steady voice, thank you very much—quipped, "Ptolemy. Are you aware you're floating three inches above the bedspread?"

Chapter 3: Prague: Hallow's Eve  

“Ptolemy. Are you aware you’re floating three inches above the bedspread?” Ptolemy’s face twisted. “Am I? Irritating. Rekyt made this material form business look so much easier than it is.” “Well,” Kitty said reasonably, moving to sit on the bed as well, “he has had quite a bit more time to practice. And human souls aren’t terribly used to having to keep themselves in a form, are they?” Brows drawn in concentration, Ptolemy drifted downwards about an inch and muttered a distracted, “I suppose so,” before managing to drop the remaining space. Now he was flush with the worn bed quilt, but didn’t make so much as a wrinkle in the fabric. Kitty watched in fascination as, with experimental movements, Ptolemy brought his hand to the bedspread, then pushed it into the bedspread, then waved it in and out a few times. In a sudden flash of mischievous inspiration, she grabbed the drugstore bottle she’d reached for earlier and turned to Ptolemy, lobbing the rattling object with a quip of “Catch!” The boy’s reflexes were not quick—even in the best of circumstances he would have ended up bonked in the nose—but it didn’t matter. The bottle phased through his fingertips, then through his face and chest to land with a clatter on the pillows behind him. Kitty met his unamused stare with a grin, absolutely unrepentant. “Had to check. Scientific method and all that.” Still looking a bit miffed, Ptolemy pulled his foot up to “rest” on the bed and wrapped his arms around the bent-up knee. “If you hadn’t built that spell, I’d be tempted to say you’re the least scientific person I’ve ever known.” Kitty rolled her eyes and leaned back to reach around Ptolemy for the bottle she’d thrown—her joints really did ache after that long conversation’s worth of sitting on the floor. Pulling herself back upright after the extension wasn’t exactly painless either, but she was very sure it would be rude to reach  through her visitor to grab something, especially since she’d been the one to throw it through him in the first place. Deftly, she twisted open the puzzle cap and tapped two tablets into her hand before closing it and trading it for a waterbottle in her travel bag. When she’d done, she met Ptolemy’s interested stare with grin. “You’ve only just met me, but you are pretty close to the truth. I didn’t do much with the technicalities of inventing that spell. It was my idea, and I know how it works and how to monitor it, of course, but the construction was a collaboration between Bartimaeus and two magicians I know back in London. They did most of the actual science.” The water tasted strongly of mineral and metal, filled at the last petrol station her bus had stopped at, but it wasn’t awful and got the job done. The moment also gave her time to consider how the hell to move on from here. There was a boy dead more than two thousand years sitting in her boarding room, and she had no idea how he’d gotten there. He seemed to have minimal purpose other than just...arriving—not indicating he had any message or any particular reason for not being able to move on. If his opening remarks were to be believed, he was back on the mortal plane because of a magical glitch in the system. He’d gotten sucked away before death had fully taken hold. Her musings were interrupted by Ptolemy moving, reaching to pull a book from her bag, then huffing when his fingers slipped right through the corner. “This is not going to work,” he muttered, focus completely on the stubbornly stationary book. He made two more swipes at it before giving up that approach and staring intently at it instead. Nothing happened and he flopped back dramatically to stare at the ceiling, hair falling right through the bed. “This is not at all workable. Kitty, I think I need your help.” “I don’t know why. You seemed to be doing quite well on your own.” “Are you always like this?” Kitty snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Pretty much. Why do you think Bartimaeus likes me so much?” A moment of contemplation, then: “That does make an unfortunate amount of sense. Still, I really would appreciate a moment of sincerity, this is a matter of utmost importance.” “Utmost importance, huh?” Kitty laid back on the bed with a groan. “What’s that, then?” Ptolemy’s face was solemn as he looked over at her. “There’s someone else who’s stuck, and I promised I’d get them out.” “They can’t just...fall through? Same as you did?” Ptolemy snorted a laugh, serious moment broken. “They could, but they won’t. Too unsure of the results. If we’d had physical forms, I’m pretty sure they would have tackled me to keep me from doing something this reckless.” A day’s hard travel and spellwork dragged Kitty’s eyelids down—an inexorable pull. She hummed in exhausted consideration, then said through a yawn, “I don’t suppose a normal summoning would do the trick, would it?” Her jaw cracked mid-yawn, nearly drowning Ptolemy’s reply of, “Probably not…” Then, “I sense we may need to continue this conversation in the morning?” “Mmhm…” She’d given up the fight to keep her eyes open. “Well then.” His laugh was softer, almost fond. “Until the morning, Kitty.” She tugged her feed up onto the bed and shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress. “G’night, Ptolemy.” Kitty’s last thought before slumber was a deep confusion as to if this was not all just some elaborate dream, caused by magical backlash-induced unconsciousness. Quietly, she hoped not.

Chapter 4: Prague: Saint's Day  

Early morning sunlight cutting across her eyes pulled Kitty to consciousness. She’d forgotten to close the curtain before going to bed. Odd. She was usually quite conscientious about that—woe betide wherever woke her up too early, up to and including the sun itself. Still, last night had been quite strange, hadn’t it? Her fuzzy brain struggled to remember. Movement in the room drew her gaze. A boy, crouched next to the circle she’d forgotten to clean up. Habit moved her mouth before her brain caught up; she mumbled, “Bartimaeus, we don’t do magic science early in the morning, remember?” His face turned, familiar in shape but not in expression, and everything clicked back into place. Ptolemy looked rather bemused. “Does Rekyt take my form often? Or are you just so unused to any company other than his?” Oh. Right. “...both.” Kitty scrubbed at her eyes and pushed messy bedhead from her face as she sat up, the last night’s events reordering themselves in her mind. Two thousand years’ death seemed to have little effect on the boy sitting on the dusty floor of her sleepy, second-floor boarding room in the middle of Prague. He looked at her expectantly, fingers sketching circles on the floor and making no trace in the scuffed dust. With a groan, she flopped back onto the bed. Ptolemy’s intent gaze was still trained on her, she could  feel it, but her too-tired brain wasn’t up to meeting it and thinking through the morning’s problems at the same time. She stared at the cracked plaster ceiling for long moments before sighing heavily. “Alright then. We’ve got your business of ‘utmost importance’ to get to, right?” An affirmative sound, so she continued. “Well, I’ve got some business of importance to get to today as well. You’ve obviously been awake, thinking about this. What do you want to do?” A glance over at Ptolemy proved Kitty’s suspicions—the boy was practically shaking with the effort of not simply spilling all the plans he’d made overnight. Ghosts, apparently, didn’t sleep. She quirked an eyebrow and he immediately began: “We need to summon Rekyt. You said he helped design this circle, and I want to use it as the basis for mine, but I don’t understand a good third of how it’s build. Magic has moved on and—oh, but Kitty this is fascinating, I never could have dreamed—” He stopped, catching Kitty’s second raised eyebrow and pulling himself back on track. “Right. Between us and Rekyt and some intensive research, I think I can put together a spell that will do the trick. So. First: Rekyt; second: library.” Pushing upright once more, Kitty shook her head. “Other way around. Library first, Bartimaeus second.” She continued ahead before he could interrupt. “A summoning, a real one like that? That isn’t a small undertaking for me. I’ll be knackered for the rest of the day afterwards so—unless you figured out how to conduct an entire summoning while insubstantial last night?—we’ll go to the library and printers’ first, then come back with your research and summon Bartimaeus. Agreed?” Ptolemy studied her closely, quietly, and she felt a blush threatening to flood her cheeks. Ridiculous, really. He’d barely been able to  stand  after his trip to the Other Place; she had no business being embarrassed by her trip’s cost of physical stamina in front of him. A long, long staredown later, he nodded. “Agreed.” Good. She stretched and swung her legs off the bed to stand at last. There was a washroom just down the hall, communal for the boarders but Kitty was the only guest at present. She was glad of it—sharing washing up space with strangers was  not  something she wanted on top of everything else. After digging out her toothbrush, she turned to Ptolemy. “Stay here. We don’t know if anyone can see you yet. I’ll be back in a second.” Ptolemy looked just the slightest bit abashed. “Actually, I do know. A little after midnight I may have...taken a stroll? No one else can see me, or hear me.” “Oh. Well then. That’s good to know. I’ll...still be back in a second.” And she stepped briskly into the hall.

***

Ten minutes later—longer than her usual habit but hell if she didn’t need a good five minutes of overwhelmed solitude—Kitty returned to her room to find Ptolemy floating cross-legged a foot off the bedspread, exactly level with the windowsill so he could look out. At the creak of the door, he didn’t turn so much as roll backwards, ending upside down with curls falling to and fading through the bed. Inane as it was, she couldn’t help but grin. Bartimaeus held such a reverence for the memory of his old friend; Kitty wondered if that was the source of his gravitas in the guise, or if the new freedom of insubstantial spirithood was breathing new mischief into an otherwise solemn boy. The grin stayed as she moved to pack up her travel sack once more. She saw the grey chill outside the window around Ptolemy’s inverted form and tugged her jumper from the side of the bag where it’d gotten jammed. It was grey-blue wool and knitted by Jakob’s mother—a gift. She saw Ptolemy’s eyes catch on the textured fabric as she finished tugging it on and offered her arm. “Have you figured out how to touch things yet?” He shook his head but reached out anyway. As expected, his fingers swiped right through it. Less expected was the world-wringing sensation of his fingertips passing through her wrist. Early on in their experiments with the communication spell, Kitty had directly touched their “spectral conduit” to the Other Place, as Mr. Button had called it. Before Bartimaeus had snatched her back, she’d felt her self, her essence, tenuously bound to her body at the best of times, begin to be siphoned out and up and away. It felt like that, except in reverse. Connection was made and into the vacuum of her not-quite-full body flowed another gust of person. She felt him for a moment, entranced and inexorably drawn to the lure of earthen control once again before she was able to batten down all hatches and shove the presence away. With a jerk, Kitty yanked her arm back. She could feel her eyes popped wide in panic as she stared at Ptolemy, who was also wide-eyed but in fascinated joy. “Kitty,”  he breathed, wonder under his words, “Kitty, let me try that again. That. It was… I could have— we could have—”   “No!” Her voice was too loud in the quiet room and Ptolemy flinched. “What? Why? I just want to try it. If we were a bit more careful, I might be able to—” “You might be able to do quite a lot! And you won’t be trying, thank you very much.” His brows furrowed in consternation. “Alright, then. I can try it with someone else, I suppose. I wonder if you need their true name to—” “No, Ptolemy.” She didn’t yell that time—her voice was as flat and cold as London pavement. She cut off Ptolemy’s next attempt at speech with a harsh, chopping motion of her hand. “No. That is an invasion of self no commoner can even attempt to consent to, even if you did ask, which it sounds like you weren’t going to do.” Hideous silhouettes danced behind her eyes, though she tried to push them back. Glowing, demonic eyes in the faces of helpless puppets that haunted her nightmares. Breathe. She just had to breathe through it, just like she did all the other times. Through sheer force of will, her heart rate slowed down to something resembling healthy and she was able to bring her vision back into focus. Ptolemy was staring at her—very human, but also not quite. She forced down a shudder. “Come on. We’re going to the library. I’ll explain why you can never, ever do that, but I’ve only got it in me to do it once, so you’ll have to hear it along with the master printer.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned, snatched up her satchel, and headed out the door, closing and locking it behind her. Ptolemy was a ghost, he’d be able to follow just fine. He did. She couldn’t hear him coming behind her, but she now had a disturbingly unerring sense of his location that she hadn’t possessed a moment ago. Possessed. With a shudder, she rubbed the skin of her wrist under the jumper, trying to scrub off the sensation even as she mentally tracked Ptolemy’s progress behind her back. They went in silence like that—Kitty walking at a brisk pace with Ptolemy trailing behind—for nearly ten minutes of winding through dreary streets. Kitty had a map, and directions from the proprietor of the boarding house, which she trusted more. Concentrating on the confusing tangle of twists and turns busied her nervous mind into calm—calm enough that when Ptolemy cleared his throat, her quiet “hmm?” was genuinely amicable once more. “Where is this?” His voice was soft, awed. “I know I’ve...been gone a while, but I’m fairly sure this not Alexandria.” Kitty snorted and replied, “Prague,” before snapping her mouth shut. The street wasn’t busy by any means, but there were still people about who might look sideways at the out-of-place British girl talking to thin air. Quickly, she stepped from the sidewalk to stand under the awning of a cafe. The map made crisp sounds as she unfolded it and brought it up to her face, hiding the movement of her lips as she whispered, “We’re north of Alexandria, by a lot. Across the sea, past Rome, up where we call Eastern Europe, now. I’ll find you a map when we get to the library, yeah? For now, I can’t be talking to myself all the way across the district.” “Right.” He agreed with a quick nod, already distracted by the pastries displayed in the cafe window. Rolling her eyes, Kitty folded the map once more and headed off. The grey above threatened more rain and she quickened her pace. It wasn’t a short walk to the Holy Roman Archive and she’d rather not have to make the last third of the trek getting dripped on. Ptolemy was at her side now, gasping and exclaiming every other second at some new thing he’d glimpsed, and she had to actively suppress a wide smile. Grinning inanely at nothing wasn’t a look she wanted to project either. As they began to emerge from Old Town’s winding alleys, though, the city’s mood began to pick up and match Ptolemy’s joy. They stepped onto the larger, more toured streets around the great Charles Bridge, where tourists and business people alike made their way on foot regardless of the weather. Ahead, the bridge’s towers loomed and, just off to the left, Kitty saw the large buildings of the Klementinum. She made straight for it. The tourist traffic was, thankfully, a bit dimmed by the unpleasant weather and it was only another few minutes walk through ornate, baroque halls and courtyards blanketed in autumn-hued ivy before they reached the Holy Roman Archive. Home of what was left of Prague’s magical lore, it was  also adjacent to the most influential of the Czech Publishing Guild’s members: Petřín Printers. They handled all of the magical texts to come out of Prague; all of the magical knowledge of Eastern Europe flowed through this print house and into the Archive. Kitty stepped past the enticing hush of the Archive, hoping Ptolemy would follow since she couldn’t physically drag him like she was afraid might be necessary. A glance to the side showed the boy’s feet were indeed dragging, eyes gazing with longing at the doors. “Soon. We’ll go there next.” He followed with an insubstantial sigh. “Yes, alright.” Kitty blinked. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. It was so quiet in these halls, anyone could hear. The lobby of Petřín’s was unassumingly quiet, but Kitty wasn’t fooled. The walls hummed with the aura of a spell, most likely a silencing charm to keep the workings of the printers from disturbing the immediately nearby library. At a desk just inside, a man sat scribbling in a ledger with a fountain pen but he looked up at Kitty’s approach. His cheerful greeting was in Czech—thankfully one of the phrases she’d picked up staying with Jakob and his family. She replied in kind, following up with a somewhat abashed, “English? That was about all the Czech I know.” The man laughed and nodded. “How can I help you?” “I need to speak with Mr. Pavel Vlastislav? I’m here on rather urgent magician’s business, as well as with a delivery from Karel Hyrnek, of Hyrnek and Sons. I think he sent word ahead that I was coming?” “Hmmm, let me take a look.” The clerk flipped through his ledger, then ducked behind his desk to grab another book. As he did, Kitty looked around and saw Ptolemy studying a world map to the left, artistically rendered and nearly as large as the wall it was painted on. She couldn’t see his face, but she had an idea as to what it might look like, and what he was going to sound like in three…two...one… Right on cue, as the clerk popped back up into view, Ptolemy’s voice flooded into her ear as if he were standing right next to her and not ten feet away. “Kitty. Kitty this is— Is this the whole world? The entire globe? Have people truly been to all of these places?” The clerk was chatting at her as he flipped through his notes with Kitty nodding along distractedly, trying to pay attention as Ptolemy continued, “—and this map! It’s nearly as good as the cartographers of Alexandria’s work! Rekyt described many of these places to me, but they were not all in places I could plot on an available map… You said we’re in...Europe? To the east—oh! Yes, this must be it! You’re right, we are much, much further north. I wonder—” “Ptolemy! A minute? I need to focus,” was what Kitty thought to herself in a moment of irritation, mouth clamped tight over the words, but the boy stopped rambling immediately. “Ah, my apologies.” Well, that was fun. Maybe that mishap back at the room had been good for something after all? It was the only thing she could think of that might have caused such a strange phenomenon… Distracted, she had to once again refocus on what the clerk, Radim, was saying. Frankly, she’d missed what he’d last said, but then he was standing and ushering her through a door on the right and chattering about the privilege of being able to see inside the prestigious print house and Kitty was tuning him right back out. She was here on business, not to see the inner workings of yet another magical publishing shop. This was her third one in the past year; they all sort of looked the same at this point. Pavel was in his office when they arrived, Radim knocking a quick rap on the doorway before entering. The man inside stood, head still tilted towards a jet black sparrow perched on his shoulder—the imp’s presence explained ease with which he greeted her, a heavily accented but cheerful “Ms. Jones!” before Radim even had time to speak. He and Radim had a quick exchange in Czech too fast to catch, then Radim stepped out and Pavel gestured her to enter. “Come in, come in, Ms. Jones. You have news and a package from old Karel in London, hm? Please, sit down and tell me why he needs send such a lovely lady friend, rather than this news in the post.” Kitty swallowed. This was the hardest part, always the hardest part, and she’d already done it twice. Out of her bag she pulled a plain book, bound in brown cloth and printed on scrap: a manuscript printed by Mr. Hyrnek. There was also a pamphlet. Assuming today went well and Pavel accepted her request, she would need write her friends back in London and request him to send her another copy before she left Prague. Hands shaking, she set the book on Pavel’s desk and took a deep breath. Ptolemy perched on the edge of the desk, invisible to Pavel and watching her intently. Another deep breath, trying to dislodge the shaking behind her breastbone. Her trimmed down, bare bones narrative of the London Disaster was practically recited by rote now. Only by keeping it clipped, clinical, and precise was she able to get through the worst of the story without stuttering, but she’d told the story before and she’d tell it now. Unfortunately, the shuddering terror of the hybrids needed to be the focus of the tale—that’s why she was here. Magicians, the humans who practiced the enslavement of spirits, needed to know what happened from a first-hand source, told with compassion and urgency, or they would simply take the whole incident as either fairytale, or use it as a way to further demonize both the British Empire and the spirits themselves. If this came out wrong, the enslavement of spirits would worsen, not move closer to eradication. When she’d finished, wrapping up with a quick note of the Interim Council’s formalization of an integrated Parliament and the supposed plans for the country, both members of her audience were silent. Staring. This was a normal reaction, she’d gotten it from the print masters in both Paris and Madrid, and she didn’t blame them or Pavel. It was a lot to hear. It’d been a lot more to live through. Eventually, Pavel spoke. “That is...a harrowing tale. We’d heard of some horror from across the channel when the empire broke two years ago, but to think…” He swallowed. “Yes, this needs to be recorded. I assume this manuscript is the account?” Kitty nodded. “Yes, originally published by Hyrnek and Sons, but we all agreed that something like this should be shared. If nothing else, please, we request you bring this to the Archivist and have it included in the archive. If you are willing to print and distribute it, that is for the best, but I understand—” “I will, of course, do my best to ensure it is placed in the archives. And we will see what can be done about distribution.” Reaching out—just missing Ptolemy, who jumped away before his arm could be brushed—Pavel picked up the pamphlet. “And this?” “A list of the spirits who perished in the disaster, to update the newest editions.” And maybe a few others, but who was to know? Pavel flipped through it and Kitty stood, scooping up her satchel once more. Alarmed, Pavel stood as well. “Ms. Jones! Surely you don’t mean to leave so soon?” Exhaustion weighed her voice, two haunted years dogging her steps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vlastislav, but I need to be going. I’ll leave the address I’m staying at with Radim and I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Find me there if you need anything.” That was the nice thing about her situation—after all the horrors and all the insanity and quite literally visiting another plane of existence, social niceties were near the bottom of her priority list. With a parting nod, she let herself out of the office without another word. Ptolemy was silent as she retraced their steps back to the lobby, still silent as she left her contact information with Radim, silent all the way until they’d reached the Archive once more. He didn’t suggest a book to start with, so Kitty made her way to one of the study tables and pulled another book from her satchel, rather than any of the shelves. Delicate pages with scorched edges crinkled as she turned them, scanning the handwritten translations in the margins. She’d been offered a fresh copy of Ptolemy’s Apocrypha with an English translation printed in, but Button’s book was special, and translating it with Bartimaeus’s help was a good memory. Credit to his perturbation, when Ptolemy finally spoke it wasn’t about the book she held. “I’m sorry. What happened… I can’t imagine. I didn’t realize the kind of trauma what I did would cause you.” “You couldn’t have,” Kitty replied diffidently, blithe tone slicking her thoughts to icy smoothness. “Like I said, it’s something no commoner would be able to understand, and most magicians too. The only ones who could come close are those of us who were there, and even then… The one who would best understand the bond you were trying to attempt is— Well, he’s dead.” Silence again, then: “And you? Would that make you the closest living authority?” “Actually, no.” She was able to look up and smile. “That would be Bartimaeus, so let’s hit the books and then you can ask him yourself, yeah?”

Chapter 5: Somewhere: Sometime 

 4,752,256

Dread emptiness pressed in around him. Is this how his friend had felt, all those years alone? When the spirits passed—back and forth and back and forth—he could sense their movement, know their passing, but there was no sound to hear, no sight to see. Even this place he was stuck, a place he felt should have something of substance to perceive was just...nothing. To stave back the madness, he began to study the passing spirits with whatever senses were available to him. Thousands upon thousands passed before his examination, and on every few he focused his attention. Going one way, they seemed to mournfully coalesce from liquid freedom into a speeding, aerodynamic form to rocket through the other side of the gate; coming the other, solid misery flared and flittered out in joyous reaching for the far bank. Nowhere did the strange, fluid channel appear again. Only cold, clinical, slippery-walled openings to pull the beings to and from. He’d reached out to one once, only to find himself sliding off, lacking whatever was needed to be included in the transference. Probably for the best. Once the temporary madness left him, his logic reasserting itself over the crushing loneliness, he drew away from the traffic in fear. To be loosed in the fearful current without anchor or guide? No, he couldn’t… Or at least he thought that. And thought that. And thought that until he came to the point—singular and horrifying—that he could.   His watching took on a new edge: analytical, searching. Time barely existed here, but some amount of it had passed before something caught his attention. Another direct stretch, calling for a specific being, but something about it was...softer. It was inviting but wary, familiar but fearful, like a stranger singing a long-buried song from childhood. Carefully, not flinging himself with abandon like someone had, he approached. It was tenuous, as all of these were—temporal and not meant to last long, unlike the fluid path they’d seen before—and this one was even more ephemeral than most. Holes in the weave, it could have been described. From one end, movement came, barrelling closer and closer and...familiar. Yes, the being speeding down was definitely a construction of substance he recognized but couldn’t put a name to. Names were hard here. Names were hard, but suddenly decisions were not. As the spirit sped past, he impressed some effort upon the pulling force, imposing himself on the construct until he fell through in a flurry of movement that he could suddenly feel, not just perceive in an abstract sort of way. He could feel it and he still felt it as he tumbled through. The portal did exactly as all the others did. He felt himself being compacted and compressed, separate from the being it was actually meant for thankfully, as he’d hopped in a good moment past it, but the bonds were ill-fitting. A familiar word that wasn’t his word. And so, when both he and the other tumbled out the other side, he felt himself spinning and drifting, formless and dazed as his traveling partner took form in a circle.

Chapter 6: Prague: Saint's Day  

In a brilliant bit of foresight, the first thing Kitty asked Bartimaeus to do once he’d arrived was cast a nexus about her room to silence all noise coming from within. A good move, as her explanation of the situation first garnered her a bemused “what?” Followed by some silence. Then some contemplation of the figure who was making a concentrated effort to appear on the mortal plane to more than just Kitty. Then followed by a roar of the same word that had come before. There was a lot of yelling for a short time. Possibly some crying as well, not that Kitty would ever tell. But when it was done, and all explained and settled and understood, she might have asked Bartimaeus to remove the nexus. Absentmindedly, she forgot. This turned out to be a good thing as, five hours later, both she and Bartimaeus stared at Ptolemy over their sketches of runes, figures, and half-circle diagrams in consternation. Together, their query was definitely loud enough to have been heard by the good matron downstairs. “You don’t have their name?! ” Kitty groaned and set her pencil aside. They’d been at this for hours, and only now did Ptolemy mention he was lacking this key piece of their puzzle? Bartimaeus looked just as crestfallen in his guise of a young, dark skinned man, wearing a traditional desert kilt and bedecked with a necklace of amethyst, but also not terribly surprised. “Ptolemy, my friend. I always knew your disinclination for names would come back to bite us in inconvenient places. Admittedly, this is the furthest situation from what I could have imagined, but still.” The ghostly boy in question was not meeting either of their gazes. He was staring at the bedspread he sat on, stunned silent. Then quietly, obviously not in reaction to what either of them had said, he breathed a word Kitty had never heard in her life. Bartimaeus, however, choked on his non-existent spit, indicating that it was probably something foul. After a few more moments of unintelligible invective that had Bartimaeus’s jaw on the floor, Ptolemy muttered, “I can���t believe I forgot. We were there for what must have been years, how did I not ask? I promised. I’m a magician, I know how important names are. How could I have forgotten?” Kitty winced. They had maybe been a bit harsh. “It’s alright, I’m sure we can figure something out…” Ptolemy stood up and began to pace, making circuit after circuit of the tiny room. Amusingly, every time he turned a corner, he also stepped upwards about an inch, beginning to spiral upwards as he muttered to himself. Kitty glanced over at Bartimaeus, who shrugged, leaned over and whispered, “Don’t look at me, this is new. He didn’t used to pace.” “Hmm…” A ghost pacing was a strange phenomenon in that you couldn’t hear them, the fact that they were pacing of above your head at this point notwithstanding. It was painfully quiet. Kitty and Bartimaeus went back to fiddling with their designs, pencil and quill scratching loudly in the silence, but still working around a glaringly blank space where, in all of them, a name had to be placed. “I need a calendar!” Ptolemy’s voice, loud in the room, had Kitty jumping nearly a foot out of her chair. He was suddenly right next to her, face intent and determined. “I had a formula, I just need to do the calculations and we can figure out when my friend arrived. From there— Well, only a few specific circumstances could cause this, so maybe someone will have heard about it happening?” “Well, it’s somewhere to start…” Bartimaeus hedged, and Kitty agreed with the hesitant tone. How on earth were they going to sus out a single death of magical happenstance, even if they could narrow it down to an exact date? Kitty caught Ptolemy’s gaze again. There was a light, one she felt mirrored in her own past. Hope. And hell if she could ignore that. She’d wrestled demons, ransacked governments, and crossed dimensions for a hope like that, and well—Ptolemy had been the source of a lot of that hopeful vision. It was the least she could do to try and help him in turn. As Ptolemy still hadn’t managed enough substance to actually touch anything, Kitty was the one to walk to her duffel and dig out yet  another   book. She was becoming quite the librarian herself, these days. This one was worn, thick, full of cramped handwriting with a ribbon bookmark between the last few pages. Returning to the small table, she set it down. “Not a calendar, but close. My journal goes back two years, almost. Think your friend showed up in about that timeframe?” Ptolemy nodded firmly. “It couldn’t have been longer than that. Now, let me just…” He trailed off, fingers tracing invisible numbers on the table. With his brows drawn together in a focused frown, Kitty thought privately that he’d never looked less like Bartimaeus’s replication. Similarly, the fond expression Bartimaeus watched him with was a brand new thing to see on the spirit’s face, and something warmed in her. For the span of about an hour, a long time ago, Kitty had cared about a djinni and a boy more than anyone else in her probably-about-to-end life. This wasn’t the same, couldn’t ever be the same, but she liked it anyway. Across the table, Ptolemy was now rattling off numbers to Bartimaeus, who flipped through the journal pages—first in large swaths, then fewer and fewer at a time. Closer and closer to the front cover until— “That’s the end of it.” Both of them were staring down at the first entry on the first page of Kitty’s journal—a date, five words, and a tiny shard of glass taped to the paper. Bartimaeus continued, “How much further back?” “Two days.”   Kitty looked at them blankly. They both looked back—Ptolemy glowing with the triumph of a puzzle solved, Bartimaeus with...something. Probably the same something building somewhere in the pit of Kitty’s stomach. “There’s no way,” she managed eventually, voice hoarse, throat suddenly dust dry. Bartimaeus’s reply was just a nervous chuckle while Ptolemy glanced between them, his high fading into confusion. “What’s the matter?” It took Kitty two tries to clear the lump from her throat. “Erm, well. You remember what I said about the only person who would understand possession by a spirit being dead? And what Bartimaeus said about the Glass Palace?” “Yes?” “That all happened two days before my first journal entry. I didn’t think to start recording events until— I was a right mess, basically, until then.” Understanding dawned on Ptolemy’s face and brought a smile to his face. The smile grew, bit by bit as he looked between his two friends. “Well then, shall we try? It’s our best guess, and the worst that will happen is it doesn’t work.” They both watched as he breezed over to where Kitty and Bartimaeus had left their sketches. A moment of careful study, then he pointed to Bartimaeus’s page—the djinni smirked at Kitty, who stuck out her tongue. “This one. Let’s try this one.” He bounced on his toes, each bounce taking him higher into the air. “Come on! I still can’t hold the chalk, help me draw this!” So they did. The dingy, dusty boarding room was a flurry of activity for long minutes. Bartimaeus did most of the kneeling and drawing while Kitty held the string guides and lit the few candles they needed for the spell. Ptolemy supervised, directing them in drawing a half-circle diagram. Lines stretched out from it in rays, similar to Kitty’s communication spell, but with a few slight adjustments. More geometric than ornate, the completed spell was chalked innocuously on the floor as Bartimaeus scratched out the last few runes. At the apex of the arch, a blank space had been left. Almost reverently they all knelt, Bartimaeus handing Kitty the chalk as she regarded the bare patch of floorboards before bringing the chalk down. Her handwriting was nowhere near as calligraphic as Bartimaeus’s—her chicken scratch legible but not beautiful as she spelled the name out: Nathaniel   Chalk still in hand, she traced under the letters with a finger, the spell still cold and not yet activated. Together, Ptolemy and Bartimaeus reached out as well—and then another transparent finger traced along the top of the word. Glancing up, her gaze met with blue eyes, happy and calm in a way she’d never seen them while he was alive. “That’s what it was. I guess I just needed someone to write it down before I could form up properly. Took your time about it, didn’t you?” Surprise jerked her hand and brought her in contact with all three of the other beings in the room. Her vision spun and everything was very mixed up for a very confusing moment. Kitty was, for seconds or hours, not just Kitty anymore. Four souls rushed around and around in a feedback loop, bringing nausea to a body that wasn’t even really hers to experience it. It was like being back in the Other Place. Actually, it felt exactly like that, and the similarities echoed through their loop loud enough to bring the chaos to a balance. Carefully, they all extracted themselves from the morass—all but Nathaniel at least understanding the mechanics of the feat—and another moment brought Kitty solitude in her mind once more. She had fallen onto her backside, legs twisted awkwardly, and three beings of unearthly substance lay sprawled nearby. On seeing their mess, pushed up on her elbows, a giggle bubbled up from her throat. Then another, and another, until she couldn’t hold them back and collapsed onto the dusty floor, laughing until their was no more breath in her body. Around her, Ptolemy joined in first, then Nathaniel, then Bartimaeus, until they were all cackling like maniacs for long minutes.  Good thing the silencing nexus is still still up, Kitty thought faintly, which sent her and her friends off into more gales of laughter. They laughed until all their surprised energy had been spent in joy. Jittery adrenaline rush settled to a wondrous warmth in Kitty’s chest as she looked at her friends. There was no telling what they would need to do now. But as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter. They were together, no one was dead in the traditional sense of the word, and the world hadn’t tried to end for two whole years. She didn’t get sappy often, but today seemed like the day to try—the most pleasant Hallows Eve and Saints’ Day she’d ever experienced, by far.

[lesetoilesfous]

For the prompts, Anders/Fenris C1 being dared to have sex by someone else.

Hey, thank you so much for the prompt!!

(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet tonight, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: modern AU, college AU, no magic, random frat boys, what happens when the boys aren’t chaperoned for thirty seconds, I’m sorry I’m British what even are american universities, smoking

Rating: Mature

“I think you two should fuck. I dare you.” Jackson has had too much to drink. Everyone has had too much to drink, but Kirkwall U’s champion hockey player has really, really had too much. His fair skin is red and blotched with alcohol, he’s sweating a little, and his pupils are dilated. Anders and Fenris level him with matching unimpressed glares. The rest of the team lolls against the couches, plastic cups gripped loosely in sweating palms.

Anders gets to his feet. Music is thumping through the walls of the house loudly enough to shiver through the carpet, and he’s been too hot for a while anyway. He’d kill for a breath of fresh air, and a cigarette to boot. The hockey captain getting weird was as good an excuse as any. “Not that I haven’t always wanted a sneak peek into the kinky corners of your mind, Jackson, but I haven’t. Ciao.” 

He leaves the loose ring of hockey players without a backwards glance, and finds himself wondering briefly why the hell he’d stayed at all without Kristoff. Anders weaves through the crowd without thinking much of anything, feeling the alcohol in his body slosh warmly through his blood and leaving his head dizzy with its sudden absence. He breathes, and tastes body odour and tequila. By the time he gets to the wide balcony doors he’s nearly gasping for fresh air - and the chlorinated stink of the swimming pool soaked in muffled music is like a brief taste of heaven. 

Anders slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of tobacco and rolling himself a cigarette before fumbling for his lighter. His fingers hit the bottom of his jeans’ cotton pocket and he curses, tucking the cigarette behind his ear, and briefly weighing the value of going back inside or bumming a light off a stranger. His fingers tap against his leg as he thinks about it, full now of nervous energy. 

He hates being alone at these things, and Isabela had dragged off Marian to ‘celebrate her victory’ about two hours ago. Kristoff was...somewhere, and Anders would be more worried about him if he wasn’t sure the man was damn near indestructable. He was probably off being dragged into something stupid by Nate. 

The wind rushes over the trees in a great whispering hush, and the soft splash of people in the pool plays cymbal crashes under the low murmur of conversation. Anders really, really wants a cigarette.

“Need a light?”

Fenris’ voice is as low, rough, and unreasonably attractive as it ever is. Anders barely resists the childish urge to groan out loud, and turns to see Fenris standing quietly, a lighter held up in the air between them like a white flag. Reluctantly, Anders drags the bitter protesting teenager inside himself back under control, and forces himself to give Fenris a polite smile, snatching the lighter out of his hand before he can think better of it. 

“Thanks.”

Fenris nods, and hums softly, his own cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He takes a drag whilst Anders burns his thumb on the lighter and finally, finally gets the little flickering flame between his fingers to catch his cigarette with a scratching snap. Anders breathes in, lets warm smoke fill his lungs, and feels himself relax. He shuts his eyes, and huffs out a cloud of tobacco with a contented sigh. Fenris chuckles, softly. 

“I owe you.” He gestures with one long elegant hand at the open doors. “I’d been searching for an excuse to depart that miserable little gathering for forty five minutes.”

Anders raises an eyebrow at him. He certainly hadn’t consciously been thinking of an out for Fenris when he’d left. “You’re welcome?” He lifts his voice in question, and tries not to think about the tattoos on Fenris’ throat. The corner of Fenris’ mouth pulls into a small smile that Anders desperately wants to read as fond.

“I said I’d come check on you.” Fenris explains. Around them, fairy lights drip down the side of the house, woven haphazardly into the trellis nailed to the bricks. Anders thinks of Jackson’s ‘dare’. His mouth twists.

“They probably think we’re out here engaging in a liberal dose of PDA.”

Fenris shrugs. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans, with a thin silver bracelet Hawke had bought for him years ago. He’s the most handsome man Anders has ever seen. It’s maddening. “I confess that what they think we might be doing matters little to me.”

Anders huffs and takes another drag, savouring the thick bitter taste of tobacco on his tongue. “You say that, you’re not the one who’ll be touted as your latest conquest.” He wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, you sleep with one hockey player and suddenly everyone says you have a thing for them.”

Again, there’s that glimmer of a faint, fond smile at the corner of Fenris’ lips. Anders blinks, and it’s gone. The pool is so bright under the stars it almost glows, rocking like a little ocean between the tiles. “I don’t labour under the impression that you’d sleep with me because I’m a hockey player.”

“That implies you think you know why I would.” The words trip from his tongue before Anders has the chance to think better of them. This was why he shouldn’t attend these events unaccompanied. If Kristoff was here, he’d take this moment to pilot them both back inside to the kitchen, and they’d find some nachos, and he’d listen whilst Anders had a small breakdown about what he just said and what Kristoff thought Fenris thought of it, and Kristoff wouldn’t know but it’d help to talk about it anyway.

Instead, Anders finds himself frozen as Fenris meets and holds his gaze, sucking on his cigarette before he lets go in a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly, the music and the party seem very far away. Fenris says, a little roughly, “I think you like me because you think I’m kind.”

Distantly, Anders knows he’s blushing. With an effort, he wets his lips, and forces himself to speak, trying for humour and ending up somewhere around embarassingly intrigued. “I’m not in the habit of fucking every good samaritan I meet.”

Fenris hums, but there’s a flash of laughter and something like daring in his eyes as he taps his cigarette. Anders watches the ash fall, still burning orange, onto the tiles. He smokes his cigarette. 

“You think I’m intelligent.” Fenris says, softly. 

Anders really, really wants a drink. He looks quickly around the pool, where other students stand in bright colours and neon like a flock of tropical birds. He turns back to Fenris, standing in the shade of one of the garden walls, looking calm and confident and more collected than Anders has ever been. Anders forces a chuckle and tucks his hand into his jean pocket before his fingers start tapping again. “Yeah, Fenris, I have a brain. And I also know what your grades are.”

Fenris finishes his cigarette, and stubs it into an ashtray on a nearby table before stepping closer. Anders imagines he can feel his body heat and knows they aren’t standing close enough together for that to possibly be true. It’s hard to tell out here, where the electric lights of the house blaze into the darkness and fade quickly, but Anders thinks Fenris is blushing. 

Fenris says, quietly, “You think I am attractive.”

Anders looks away, and swallows, and tries to ignore the furious pounding of his heart and the flush burning up the back of his neck. “Again, I have eyes.” He stabs his cigarette butt  into the ashtray with more ferocity than is strictly necessary, and freezes when Fenris very, very gently tucks his hair behind his ear. 

Fenris is shorter than Anders, but it’s always been hard for Anders to think of him as small - and not only because he’s pretty sure the other man could benchpress him. There’s something about Fenris, and the careful way with which he speaks and acts, which demands the same kind of dedicated attention in return. Fenris’ other hand moves to tangle gently with Anders’ fingers. Anders stops breathing. 

Fenris looks at him, “I think you know that in the end, despite our best efforts, you and I are very much alike.”

Anders lets out the breath he’d been holding and it feels like he’s coming up for air. The wind rushes through the trees, and above them, where they’re not hidden by the blaze of artificial light, the stars glimmer in a blue summer sky. “Careful. I might get the wrong idea.”

Fenris’ hand tightens, just a little, around Anders’. There’s something earnest and unguarded in his green eyes that Anders thinks he’s never seen before. When Fenris speaks, his voice is a little uneven, and as he moves the lights of the house brush over his dark skin, and Anders catches the depth of his blush as it spreads over his cheeks. “I am hoping that you will get the right one.”

Anders grins a little, nervous and shaky, and squeezes Fenris’ hand back. “Well, you know me. I’m always a bit slow on the uptake.”

Then he catches the side of Fenris’ face in his free hand, and bends down, and kisses him. He tastes like tequila and cigarettes. Around them twists the warm embrace of a gentle summer breeze.

[hardyshoe]

benefits- a roger Taylor series

part four

warnings- pregnancy and language

a/n; another chapter? yes indeed, I have far too much time on my hands and I enjoy writing this series even though its not any good. 

*phone ringing*

 “hello, is this miss y/l/n?”

“yes it it”

“just calling to confirm your appointment today at 2.”

“uh yeah thats good”

“wonderful we’ll se you later then”

you'd been waiting for the call for the last week, no earlier appointments were available. so in the meantime you'd been alone, well not quite you had the company of the baby but judging by your guesses it could only be about 6 ish weeks old. it felt funny knowing there was a little thing inside of you and found your hands resting on your still flat stomach from time to time.

 mary had promised to come with you to the doctors, she’d been wonderful the last few days and stayed true to her promise of not telling anyone. she came around one thirty to pick you up and the two of you made your way the the hospital on the tube.

 it took everything in you not to hurl at the smell of the cheese and onion crisps the man next to you was eating. your stomach had been awful, not letting you keep a thing down other than plain popcorn and celery. this caused you to loose a bit of weight and you'd fainted the day prior from hunger. it wasn't good for you or the baby but you couldnt keep throwing up four times a day.

 the waiting room of the clinic was full of women with their husbands cradling round stomachs and ultrasound pictures, your heart longed to be like that with roger. you had to stop thinking like that it wasn't doing you any good. a little boy ran up to you and Mary wanting to show off his action figures and you'd normally have played along but for some reason the exited look in his eye made you want to cry. the boys mother came and took him away and apologised to you just as your name was called.

 “miss y/l/n please.”

 smoothing your shirt as you stood up you began to walk over to the exam room where everything would be 100% confirmed, no doubt. 

 “good afternoon miss, I'm doctor Maria. how are you?” she had a smile on her gentle face which calmed you down a little.

“im not great if I'm being honest, I can't keep any food down and I've never Benn more restless”

 “well thats very common, the sickness should subside at about 12 weeks. and is the father here?”

 that question. you knew it would come at some point but you didn't know how to answer. thankfully Mary saw the pained look in your eyes and stepped in, “he actually doesn't know and its not a good time to tell him unfortunately”

“thats alright, no worries. now y/n when was your last period?”

“oh um I actually don't know, id not really keep track. maybe a couple moths ago”

 “well we can probably get a good idea from the scan so take a seat and we’ll take a look”

 you were a little reluctant in your movements but soon eased into the exam table, happy to rest for a bit.

 “cold gel alright?” you nodded and hissed at the coolness on your abdomen.

 it was silent at first but after a minute a sound like a train ripping past filled the room, and a blurry grey image popped up on the monitor. you couldn't tell what was meant to be what and for a while no one said anything, the doctor looked like she was seeing something that neither you or Mary were.

 Mary could see you were panicking a bit and asked the doctor what was wrong “is everything alright? you look worried”

“oh yes everything’s alright, y/n how far along do you think you are?”

“um 6 weeks maybe?” you were going solely of when you and roger last fucked and you'd read somewhere it takes a week or so for the egg to get fertilised and settle, though really you had no idea.

“ right well your actually about 11 weeks along”

“what!?” that seemed impossible. if that were true then you had been pregnant nearly three months and roger had knocked you up a while before he left.

“yeah I'm surprised you haven't started to show yet” 

this confused you as you were under the impression women didn't normally start showing until the second trimester. Mary spoke up and seconded your thoughts.

“well yes that is normally the case but if you look here,” she moves the scanner on your stomach and pointed to something unrecognisable on the screen. “theres actually two babies in there”

 you went blank at her words. sure you could handle one baby on your own, it was an even match but two? there was so much going on in your head. if roger wouldn't accept one how the hell would he want two. how would you afford two babies on your small income. where would two babies and their things fit in you tiny one bedroom flat? and how on earth wo-

“y/n? did you hear me?”

“huh? no I'm sorry I zoned out” your throat was dry and you wanted to cry again.

“I said its too early to tell the genders but they are both healthy and keep eating as much as you can. you should start showing in a few weeks and I’ve booked you in for an appointment at 20 weeks so ill see you then”

that was it, you left the doctors office and went home on the tube with Mary. neither of you said anything, there was nothing to be said. the whole situation just got a hell of a lot more intense; not only were you basically at the end of your first trimester but you were having twins, and roger didn't even know you were pregnant. fuck why couldn't you just stop thinking about him, he didn't care, probably hadn't even crossed his mind.

-a few weeks later-

the doctor was right, you did start showing and rather rapidly. you'd had to go buy new cloths already and sleeping was getting more uncomfortable. on the bright side though your morning sickness had subsided and you'd even felt a few kicks from the babies at about 16 weeks. you were 19 weeks along now and nearing the next appointment, you'd find out the genders of the babies you actually gotten very attached to. you were careful with what you ate and avoided anything dangerous to yourself, this included lifting heavy things so despite the want you couldn't rearrange your flat to make it more homely.

 roger still hadn't called, you resented him for it. he didn't know of course how could he? but you longed to pick up the phone to him cheeky voice again. the radio no longer got played in your flat because every time you turned it on one go queens would play and you'd start crying. they were over half way through the tour and when they got back you be coming up to seven months along, the thought made you shudder. you were already big and by then you be huge. but if everything went to plan he'd still have no idea.

 through it all Mary had been a saint, she brought you groceries and cloths when you continued to outgrow the new ones. you didn't want to leave the house for fear of bumping into someone, having the conversation about the father and how far along you were was just a bit too much, god back on roger again.

it was all a bit much to be honest and soon enough you'd start nesting and then all of what little savings you had would be gone on baby things. in two days you'd be 20 weeks, halfway through and it seemed like you'd never make it. not with the amount of times you doubted yourself or told yourself you wouldn't be a good mother or that you mess up and wouldn't be able to handle it. the time was going a little too fast for you to keep up.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {19}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Fluff,

Word Count: 5K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. 3 years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️ ❤️

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Chapter 19: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

 -Chris-

  Dinner. It was simple. A meal. A simple meal. No big deal. If it wasn’t a big deal, he had no idea why he was standing in his closet not moving. He hadn’t moved in near twenty minutes. He had every intention of moving, that was the plan. He came in here to find something to wear for said dinner, and then he thought about what he should wear, and he froze. He didn’t know if he should just go the jeans and a Henley route, or dress pants and a nice polo, or maybe jeans and a nice polo. There was just too much to choose from. Then he wondered what you’d be wearing.

  “If she’s dressed up and I go looking like a frat guy it’ll give her the wrong impression. What impression is it I want to give off though? What if I go dressed up and she has on jeans and a tank? I’d look like an idiot.”

   He groaned and raked his fingers through his already combed hair. With his hands at the back of his neck, he pounded it as he loudly groaned again.

  “Get a fucking grip, Chris! It’s fucking dinner!” He scanned the clothes in the many wardrobe cabinets and tried to focus on the task at hand.

   “What do you wear to meet your nearly two-year-old daughter for the first time?”

He snorted and laughed though this was no laughing matter. He was trying. He had to try. He always thought the day he’d meet his daughter would be the day she was born. It was ironic he’d wanted his firstborn to be a daughter. There was something about a father and daughter relationship he envisioned to be so precious, so special. He watched how close his father was to his sisters, watched how much he loved them especially during particular points in their lives such as father-daughter dances at school, dance recitals, their wedding day and things of that sort.

 “I have a daughter.” He’d been trying to get used to that fact over the last several weeks, he’d said it out loud to himself now five times, and each time it felt foreign like he were having an out-of-body experience. Each time he said it he felt the nervous ball in his belly tighten.

   “What if she doesn’t like me?” With that very real possibility, his hands stopped. He didn’t know what he’d do if she wailed at the top of her lungs every time he got close.

   “I’m a stranger.” His phone rang, and he quickly grabbed it off the counter in the center of the room and answered without looking to see who it was.

   “It’s been weeks, Chris! are you kidding me!?” Lita’s shrill voice rang out. He held the phone away from his ears and groaned.

   “Shit, Lita.”

   “What the fuck do you mean “shit, Lita?” Did you forget about me? I can’t believe you right now!” He slowly brought the phone back to his ears and sighed out. He’d been so occupied he’d forgotten all about her. She was no doubt still pissed at him for walking out on her at the restaurant.

  “Lita, I’m sorry. I--,”

  “Sorry? For what exactly, leaving me in a restaurant to do god knows what? Or not calling me for weeks? I don’t know what the fuck you want Chris. You reached out to me. You said you wanted to try again. You!”

   Her voice was getting to him. He knew he made a mistake the minute he sent her that text those months ago. His heart wasn’t in it, and now on top of the mess that was currently his life with you, she was now an added stress. He stood there and allowed her to continue; she didn’t give him an opening to talk anyway. After nearly ten minutes he’d had enough.

   “Lita, enough!” Finally, her silence gave him an opening. He sighed before he began.  “I’m sorry for running out on you, that was a shitty thing to do, and I have no excuse for the dick move. I’m also sorry for not reaching out; it’s been a crazy few weeks. I have a lot going on right now and no it’s not an excuse, it’s the truth.”

   Lita sighed before she began again, “What do you want, Chris? I am getting the feeling it’s not me.” He thought about her words. They were true. He didn’t want her. He hadn’t wanted her in a long, long time, and he really didn’t even know if he ever truly did.

   “God, you’re a dick, Chris.”

   He rubbed his forehead once he knew he was going to hurt her. “I’m sorry, Lita.” She released a breathy sigh. “Don’t call me again, Chris.” With that she hung up. He dropped his head to the surface and hit it once, then twice.

   “Don’t beat yourself up too much; you know it was never going to work.” He looked up and saw Anthony there. “I fucked up.” Anthony crossed the room while nodding. “Yeah, you did. Planning on stopping fucking up?” he rolled his eyes and turned back to his clothes and stared at them again.

  “What’re you doing, bruh?”

   “I am trying to figure out what to wear to dinner.” Anthony leaned against one of the cabinets. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll probably just go to one of the usuals. I’m sure they picked some steakhouse.” He closed his eyes and shook his head again. He’d forgotten about the plans he’d already made.

   “Shit, I can’t make it tonight, Mackie.”

   “What do you mean? What dinner are you talking about then?”

   “Vixen. We talked, and I’m having dinner with her to meet—Ella,” he explained. Anthony looked surprised.

  “Wow. The last time we talked, you sounded furious after the meet at the diner.”

   “I was, I am. I’m still furious, but--.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ve already missed so much time man, so many things.” Anthony nodded.

   “I get it. I’m glad you two could be grown-ups, although I didn’t doubt she could be one. I always got the vibe she was a mature one. Not like the birds you see here in LA.” He scoffed, he had to be kidding. You lied to him for damn near three years and hid his child from him. “If you say so, Mackie.” He pulled out a pair of black pants and the white shirt he’d been staring at and walked into his bathroom, deciding a leather jacket would go well.

   “Where’s dinner?” Anthony asked from outside. “Her place.”

   “Okay. You nervous?”

“Man, I stared at my clothes for almost thirty minutes trying to find the right thing,” he informed before he walked back out fully dressed. “Good choice, not too stuffy. You don’t want her to think you’re too desperate.” He snorted and perused the box he held his jewelry. “I’m not desperate.” Anthony patted his back before he walked out. “Whatever you say, man.”

   He stood there second guessing himself for a few moments before he walked back out. “I got a great idea man. I’ll go with you,” Anthony piped up.

   “What? Why?”

   “I’ll be your moral support during this big moment in your life,” Anthony explained. He saw right through the bullshit though.

   “Whatever. You know this is about her sister.” Anthony gasped and gave his best confused look. He rolled his eyes and walked out and downstairs. He had an hour and a half before he was to get there.

   “Her sister? Naw man, this is all about being a good friend to you.” He laughed, unable to contain his amusement anymore. “Wow, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen you hypnotized by a woman.”

   “Ay man, don’t get it twisted, I’m not hypnotized.” He turned as he was picking up his car keys and looked to Anthony, giving him the “who you bullshitting” look. Anthony tried to give his best poker face, but it was a shit one.

   “Fuck, fine, it’s about her sister,” Anthony admitted. “She’s beautiful, stubborn and interesting. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. So, I figured I’ll go with you and maybe while helping you help myself.” He thought about it for a moment; it wasn’t a bad idea. “Fine, but don’t piss her off so she’ll piss Vixen off.” Anthony rose his hands up in surrender.

   The two of them piled in the car and drove through the night to the address you’d given him. As the miles decreased, his nerves increased, and anything Mackie was saying went in one ear and out the other. Thankfully he was sure it wasn’t anything important. Traffic wasn’t bad and what would have taken him forty-five minutes only took him thirty. When he parked in front of your house he had close to fifteen minutes to kill. He stared at the outside of the house and wondered how it looked inside. You looked like you kept a nice home like it was neat and smelled like flowers and candy all the time. The thought made a faint smile decorate his lips.

   “Do you plan on getting out the car and ringing the bell?” He groaned and shook his head.

   “I’m early. I’ll look really desperate if I ring the bell now.” Anthony kissed his teeth, got out the car, and slammed the door extra loud as if to announce himself.

  “Mackie, are you kidding me right now?”

   “Man get your ass out the car. Sitting there like a little punk.” He hit his head on the steering wheel, then reached in the glove compartment and took out the bottle of wine and the bottle of whiskey and the gift-wrapped package then climbed out. Taking a final breath, he walked around and up the walk path to your front door. Once at the door he just stood there. After a few seconds Anthony looked to him and shook his head as he reached for the bell. He quickly slapped Anthony’s hand away.

   “Fuck Mackie, give me a fucking minute.” Anthony raised his hand and stood there quietly. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. This was it. There was no going back, and a lot was riding on tonight. He breathed out and decided he was as ready as he’d ever be. Slowly he rang the bell and said a silent prayer.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

-Vixen-

   “Fuck!” You shouted into the fridge as you heard the doorbell. Nexus snorted loudly and laughed. “Oh my god Vix, what the hell!” You narrowed your eyes at her. Slowly she stopped laughing and walked over to you. Nexus handed you the glass of whiskey she’d just poured for you.

   “Here, psycho. Drink it and let it do its job.” Quickly you took the glass and drank down the half glass of whiskey. It burned like a son of a bitch, but it didn’t take long for the burn in your belly to dissolve the nerves.

   “Better?” You nodded and took a few breaths.

  “It’s just dinner, Vix. One meal. All you have to do is eat and answer any questions he has about Ella. Everything else will be pie.” You nodded and brushed your hands down the front of the dress you wore. “How do I look? Are you sure it’s not too chill?” You looked over yourself in the casual sundress.

   “You look good. It’s not too casual,” Nex assured. “Does it show nipple? Is it too short?” Nexus laughed again just as the bell rang again. “Chill out will you. Deep breath.” You took a few deep breathes and tried to calm yourself. “The past is just that, the present is a gift and the future is yet to come. Mold it.” You smiled at Nex reciting your mantra and felt a lot calmer. You walked to the door, and Nexus walked toward Ella’s bedroom. Taking a final breath, you plastered a political smile on your face and opened the door.

   “Fuck!” Anthony snorted and covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. You closed your eyes; you didn’t mean to say that out loud. You didn’t expect him to look that good. “Eh-em, sorry about that. What I meant was hi.” Anthony laughed again. “You sure? Fuck sounded a lot better. I’m sure that wasn’t geared to me though. It was for this guy right here.” Anthony patted Chris’s abdomen, and your eyes dropped to where he touched. You remembered what that area looked like. “Then again that is what got you two crazy kids in this situation,” Anthony finished.

   “Jesus Anthony,” Chris hissed out before he gave you an apologetic look. He wasn’t wrong. Fucking was what had gotten you here, incredible fucking, mind blowing fucking, hot, sweaty, toe curling, over six orgasms fucking. You had to bite your tongue in order not to moan. Clearing your throat again you smiled again. “What’re you doing here?”

   “That’s a damn good question!” Nex stood beside you crossing her arms. Just like that the slick smile on Anthony’s face fell as he stared at her. All eyes fell to him, and he looked to Chris who gave him a look you couldn’t decipher. Anthony cleared his throat. “Nexus, I’m sorry,” he began.

   “You said you did nothing wrong? Only people who’ve done wrong apologize,” Nex added. “Yes, I didn’t do anything wrong, but you think I did so I can be man enough and apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I am sorry that I did.” You looked over to Nex and saw that he was wearing her down. Interesting, you thought. Usually, it would take a lot more. “Thank you for apologizing.” The four of you stood in the doorway in silence for a few moments. You smiled, sort of relieved their drama had given you a reprieve from yours.

   “All right, I’m going to go now,” Nex began. “What? Go? Go where? I thought you were staying.” Your panic was evident.

   “No, I don’t need to be here. You don’t need a chaperone.” You grabbed her hand when you saw her take a step to walk out. She looked at you and squeezed your hand reassuring you. You slowly let her hand go, and she nodded.

   “I will go with you if it’s okay,” Anthony offered. “So much for that support huh.” Anthony shrugged and gave Chris a toothy grin.

   “Have a good dinner you two,” Nex said as she walked toward her rental car in the driveway. You and Chris stood there and watched the two of them pile in the car and pull off. Once the headlights disappeared Chris turned back to you. Realizing you were still standing in the open doorway you opened the door wider and waved your hand inside.

   “Come in.” He walked inside allowing you to close the door and it was there the two of you stood in the foyer as silent as monks on their vows.

   “Oh, here I brought these.” Chris held up his hands, showing you the goodies. “This for you--.” He held out the bottles to you. Smiling, you took them and felt more relief than you should once you saw the whiskey. “This will come in handy.” Chris snorted and nodded.

   “And this is for—Ella.” You smiled at the pastel pink wrapped package. As if hearing her name, she came barreling down the hall cutting in front of Chris to crash into your legs. “Mama!” You scrunched down, placed the bottles on the floor and hugged her. “Hey baby. All done cleaning up?” She nodded rubbing her face. “Ah duh.”

   Ella turned around, leaning her back against you and looked up to Chris. They stood there staring at each other, him with a look of awe and her just blank assessment. You wondered what she was thinking and if she were confused. She’d never seen you around a man. Never known any other man but your father. You felt guilty.

   “Ooh you,” Ella inquired. Chris may not have understood her, but you did. Ella turned to you and pointed to Chris. “Ooh mama, ooh?” You were speechless again. What did you tell her? Did you just blurt it out and hope for the best or ease into it very, very slowly? Chris then sunk down to her height and stared at her small frame. She looked back at him again and took a step to him but stopped. As if asking for permission she looked back to you.

   Trying desperately to hold back your tears, you cleared your throat and prepared to breach the topic. “I’m Chris.” You were grateful he took the lead, but you noticed he didn’t call himself her father. “Cwis. Wike me,” Ella added looking to you then back to him. Chris smiled. It was a smile you remembered from back then, a real one. “Like you?” Ella nodded her head and took another step to him. “What’s your name?”

   “Cwis Ewa.” The way she said her name made him laugh and that in turn made Ella laugh. They laughed together, and a tear rolled down your cheek. You didn’t realize Chris was looking at you until another tear rolled down. The emotion on his face was evident and it was there the three of you stayed without one word until Ella turned back to you.

   “Mama cwy.” She wiped her small hands across your cheeks, and you smiled and wiped the rest of tears away. “Are you hungry baby? She nodded again and clapped her hands. “Come on.” You scooped her up and began walking away toward the dining room where the table was already set.

   “Wow, it smells incredible.”

   You smiled as you slipped Ella into her highchair. “Thank you.”

   What’s for dinner?”

  Ella banged her hands on her highchair and squealed, “pagetti.” Chris smiled. “You like spaghetti?” Ella nodded her head in response to Chris’ question. As you shared her food into her toddler plate you watched them. Ella traced patterns on the top of her highchair with her finger, and Chris watched on with an amazed look. You set her plate in front of her, and she clapped before she dug in completely ignoring her fork.

   “A little or a lot?”

   Chris leaned back and patted his stomach. “Are you kidding? I love Spaghetti, and it’s not every day renowned chefs cook for me so pile it on please.” You snorted, shook your head and scooped the food onto his plate.

   “I don’t know about renowned, you’re just exaggerating.” Once you’d plated it you walked over to him and leaned over his shoulder to put his plate in front of him. “Thank you.” You nodded and took your seat next to Ella and served yourself.

   Dinner was painfully quiet except for Ella’s babbles and humming and occasional outbursts. The two of you ate in silence and watched her. Every time Ella squealed out or patted the surface of her highchair Chris smiled. He looked completely awestricken. Every time she smiled or did something adorable he smiled, but there were times that even though he smiled he looked sad. You knew you were to blame. You really felt horrible for how everything played out and hoped he knew that. Every once in a while, his eyes met yours before he looked away either back to Ella or his plate or some spot on the table. You wondered what he was thinking because he was next to impossible to read.

   After about an hour and a half the bottle of wine was done, and so was the food. You lifted Ella out her highchair and took the top off, ready to bring it to the kitchen. As you walked you heard Ella’s footsteps behind you and the heavy footfalls of Chris behind her. You kept your back to him and focused on cleaning the top. You felt him come up next to you. Looking beside you he held out the two plates.

   “Thank you.” You felt Ella’s hands on the backs of your thighs.

   “Mama red.” You looked back and at her and saw she still had pasta sauce all over her hands. “Oh no, Ella, tell me you didn’t.” You spun around, trying to get a look at the back fo your dress.

“Ah did,” she said before she laughed. “Uh-oh, she did.” Chris pointed to your dress, and you could see the tiny handprints on you. Groaning you looked to your daughter and scooped her up. You tickled her all over her body. Ella giggled and squealed her delight.

   “No mamma no. Top, top.” Her protests fell on deaf ears, and you continued until you finished off with a barrage of kisses all over her face. “Ha, now who did it?” She laughed again, and you nuzzled her cheek. “Mama siwee.” You smiled and looked across to Chris who was leaned against the island with an uneasy smile on his face. He looked like how one would look if they were constipated on a date but tried to put up a good front.

   You leaned to the sink and washed Ella’s hands before you put her down. “Oovie Cwis?” He looked to you as if asking for a translation. “She’s asking if you want to watch a movie.” He nodded and smiled back to Ella.

  “Yes, movie please.” Ella ran off, and he looked to you. You nodded your head giving your permission for him to proceed. He followed her out the room, and you took the brief moment to take a few breaths.

   When you walked into the living room, Ella was digging through the movie cubbie with several choices already sprawled across the floor. Chris was sitting at the edge of the couch just staring at her.  “What movie honey?” She held up her choice and ran to you.

   Once you looked at the cover you groaned. Fate just wouldn’t give you a break. “Is it a bad one?” You looked to Chris and shook your head. “No, not bad.” You showed him the cover, and his eyes lit up.

   “The Little Mermaid.” Ella jumped up and down. “Momaid, momaid!” Chris smiled widely. “That’s my favorite movie.” Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you looked between him and his tiny replica, both excited for their favorite movie. You scoffed to yourself and put the film in. “My favowit. I wuv wittle momaid.” Chris nodded. “It’s really good,” he agreed.

   Once you sat back on the couch, Ella climbed up and onto your lap then moved your arm so she was cocooned in it. You smiled and kissed the top of her head then gently rustled her sandy blond hair. Chancing a look at Chris the butterflies in your belly sped up when you realized he was already watching the two of you. He looked away when the movie started.

   Throughout the movie Ella talked to the tv and sang along to the songs as they were being sung. A lot of times she even stood in your lap bringing Chris’s attention and smiles. You wondered if his heart was melting as yours always did when you watched her. Did he feel the connection to her that you did?

   From the tv you heard the beginning of “Kiss the girl,” and you fought with everything in you to keep your eyes glued to the tv. You could feel Chris’ eyes on you no doubt remembering your wedding and you walking down the aisle to it. Ella perfectly and on cue imitated the sounds of the animals and you lost your shit at the irony. You busted out laughing and no matter how you tried to stop you couldn’t. Ella laughed too, and it was then you looked at him. He looked amused but as if he were trying to hold it in. When Skuttle squawked again to the tune Ella imitated him, and you buried your face in your hands as your laughing fit ensued. It wasn’t until the scene ended were you able to return to normal.

   Once the movie finished, Ella was asleep on the couch. Her head was on your lap, but her legs were stretched toward Chris. The crescendo of the closing credits filled the room, and both of you just stared at her small sleeping body. Neither of you made any moves, so you sat there in silence watching your daughter. After another thirty or so minutes passed, you shifted. Ella flinched but moved a little too close to the edge of the couch. Chris’ hand flew out to shield her from falling at the same time yours did. You looked at your touching arms and moved it back until your fingers grazed his in a slow dance. Your fingertips blazed with an electrical current that traveled up your arm. Chris pulled his hand back and looked away.

   “I’m going to put her to bed.” He nodded, and with that, you stood, scooped Ella into your arms and walked toward her room. Once there you undressed her and put her into her jammies and tucked her in. Making sure to turn on the nightlight and take the monitor you closed the door behind you and walked to your bedroom determined to change.

   When you returned, the living room was cleaned away, but Chris wasn’t in it. You looked around and saw the back door was open. Deciding a drink was in order, you walked in the kitchen and opened the whiskey bottle. You then grabbed two glasses and filled a small bowl with ice. Stepping outside you saw him sitting on the deck staring out. You approached and sat in the empty seat close to him. “Figured it was time for a real drink,” you joked putting the things you carried down. Chris looked to you and gave a small smile. While you poured drinks for the both of you he watched you. “To Spaghetti, The Little Mermaid and whiskey.” Chris laughed before he hit your glass and took a sip of his drink. You weren’t so modest; you gulped the entire thing down.

   “Wow, this I good.” He nodded but looked far away.

  “She’s amazing.” You nodded. “Yeah.” He smiled. “So smart and funny and so stinkin’ cute.” He was right on all accounts. “So stinkin’ cute,” you repeated.

   “Wow.” Silence. “We made a good one,” you said without thinking. He looked at you again, and he looked like he had so much to say.

   “I’ve missed so much. I don’t know anything.” After pouring another, you downed it. “What do you want to know?”

   He took a deep breath and tried to wipe the pain off his face. “What were her first words?” You smiled. “Food.” He snorted and laughed. “Hand to God, it was food. Then mama, then yes, then no. After that it was all over she knew all she needed.” Chris laughed again.

  It was a sound you were beginning to love again. “Was she a good baby?” You nodded. “She was. She barely cried, ate well from the beginning. She was a happy baby; I lucked out.” Chris nodded and looked away from you. “This hurts Vixen.” Those words broke you, and the dam broke then your tears flowed.

   “I know. I’m sorry.” You sniffled and tried to dry the tears, but once you did fresh ones came. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.” Hearing him say that hurt more than you thought it would. You’d expected it, prepared for it but hearing it was more than you could handle. “She doesn’t know me. She calls me Chris, and I know it was the right move not to go too fast, but it still hurts.” What did you say to take someone’s pain away from something you did to them? How could you ever come back from this?

   “I know I can’t give the last two or three years back to you. I can’t fix what I did. Yeah, she doesn’t know you now, but she is so chill, so easy going that it won’t take long for her to know you, or like you. I fucked up; I know that and I’m sorry for it, but I can’t change the past.”

   “Would you want to? If you could go back, would you do anything differently?” That was the million dollar question. You knew the outcome of this path, and while it was painful it was still the known versus the unknown. “Who’s to say that if anything would have changed back then if I would have told you when I found out that this situation would have been any different.”

  He looked at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now, Vixen? We were married. Everything could have been different?” The butterflies began again. “How? Would we have shuffled her between San Fran and LA? Jumped her from your multiple movie sets? Called each of your booty calls auntie?” It was unfair to throw that last one at him you knew it. Chris took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

   “I am not the same man I was when you knew me. I haven’t been that man for a long time.” Your head flashed to your last night together and the things he’d said. Was that man who would say those things gone?

   “I was an asshole, a super dick. That night with us at my house--.” He paused as if trying to find the words. After a few moments, he didn’t speak again, and you decided it was best just to leave it alone. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know what you’re talking about. It doesn’t matter.” Chris searched your face then looked down and nodded. “How do we do this?”

   “One day at a time I guess,” you responded. “I don’t want to take her from you, Vix. I just want to be in her life.” The two of you stared, and you knew he meant what he said, and there was no maliciousness behind his words. Sighing you nodded.

   “You will be.” Sitting quietly for a few minutes he snorted and shook his head. “So, for the last three years you’ve been listening to our wedding song on repeat?” You laughed and nodded. “It’s been utter hell and torture; she loves it!” Chris laughed louder, and you joined in.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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[jmeelee]

@chalala This one grew legs & walked away, and is technically a ficlet not a Drabble. Featuring Vampire!Stiles. Warning for mention of Kate Argent and Hale House fire.

95. “There’s no going back if we do this,”

“...and the marriage was celebrated the very next day with the utmost splendor, and Beauty and the Beast, who was now a prince, lived happily ever after. The end.” Talia Hale gently closed the tattered cover of the old book. Derek followed along, translating the French in his head as best he could while his mother read aloud. His younger sister, Cora, tucked herself tight under their mother’s arm. His older sister, Laura, had grown too old for children’s stories, and Derek’s time to give them up was coming soon, but for now he enjoyed the familial comfort of their bedtime ritual.

“It’s so romantic,” Cora sighed. Derek fought the urge to pucker his mouth at her saccharine tone. “The idea that someone beautiful could fall in love with a monster.” And then, because nine-years-olds don’t understand the world—not like twelve-years-olds do—Cora whispered, “Do you think anyone could ever love the monster downstairs?”

Derek’s mother stiffened between them. She reached over, placed the heavy tome on Cora’s nightstand, giving her youngest child her undivided attention. “Cora, baby, you must never go into the cellar. That creature is dangerous.”

“But mom,” Cora mewled. “What if he just wants a friend, like the Beast in the story? What if he just wants someone to read to him?”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek spat. “It’s not some prince in disguise. It’s a blood-sucking monster. An abomination.”

“Derek!” Talka admonished. “Don’t speak to your sister that way.” She turned back to Cora, sweeping brown fly-away hairs off her forehead when Derek lowered his eyes in submission, picking imaginary lint from his flannel pajama pants. “You must remember: we are all monsters and abominations in the eyes of Hunters. It’s peaceful now, but it wasn’t always, and peace never lasts. This isn’t a fairytale. The creature is in the basement for protection, and none of you are to go down there. Ever.”

***

“Don’t you think it’s wrong?” Cora asked one evening two years later. They sat doing homework at the kitchen table, her voice pitched so low it was a growl. She stared at the cellar door. On the other side of the house, their parents sat watching a comedy show and laughing periodically, so Derek answered in the same tone to ensure they wouldn’t hear.

“What?”

She gestured toward the door, with its padlock and key code. “That we keep him locked down there?”

The basement had been built into cells with spelled iron bars, serving to keep young wolves contained during their first transformations. Derek and Cora hadn’t needed the cells in years, but they’d both spent full-moon nights there as children, and while the cells weren’t luxury suites, Derek could think up a lot worse places to be.

“It has clothes,” he shrugged. “Mom and Dad bring it food.”

Cora grimaced. “Yeah, bags of blood from the hospital.” Wide brown eyes beseeched: Agree with me. Understand.

“Whatever, Cora.” Derek flipped the page in his math textbook, avoiding her gaze. The whole conversation felt like a raised palm, poised and ready to slap his parents, his Alpha, in the face. “Mom told us it’s down there for protection. Leave it alone.”

“Our protection, Derek,” she hissed. “Not his. He’s kept down there because he’s a bargaining chip.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Cora’s lips pulled back in disgust. “In the supernatural hierarchy, a Vampire is more dangerous than a Werewolf. Everyone knows that.” Derek raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “In case something ever happens to one of us, mom and dad can pull him out and wave him around like a white flag, cut a deal; our lives for his.”

“No. Mom and Dad are good people. They’d never…” A niggle of doubt, and the blow was struck.

At Derek’s wide-eyed expression she huffed, scrapping the legs of her chair across the tile floor when she shot up and snatched her backpack off the table. “God, Derek. Even good people do shitty stuff. Open your eyes and grow up.”

She stormed out, leaving him staring at the basement door.

***

It happened the weekend of his parent’s twentieth wedding anniversary. They’d gone away for a romantic weekend, leaving seventeen-year-old Laura in charge. Uncle Peter was slated to stop over Saturday evening to bring the creature in basement blood. Something about Uncle Peter’s face when he’d leave the cells always unnerved Derek, so he hid in his room all night.

“I’m running into town to pick up pizzas,” Laura told him, poking her head around the door jamb. “Will you and Cora be okay for an hour?”

“I’m fifteen, Laura. We’ll be fine.”

Laura rolled her eyes and flipped him off, then bounded down the staircase. Thirty seconds later gravel crunched and sprayed under the spinning tires of her new black Camaro.

Fifteen minutes later, when he realized he couldn’t detect another heartbeat in the house, he launched out into the hallway, yelling Cora’s name. When she didn’t answer, he flew onto the front porch, howling into the night. No answer.

“She wouldn’t. She didn’t,” he mumbled. She may have.

He marched back to the basement door, popped his claws, and ripped the padlock off. The faint smell of must assaulted his nose as he jumped down the rickety wooden stairs, puffing up his shoulders and shifting to beta form as soon as his toes touched the cement floor.

It stood in the corner of its cell, arms crossed, staring up at a small rectangular window covered with an iron grate and framed with black out curtains. A sliver of moonlight streamed in, spilling across the floor, bleeding into the shadows like ink on a page. In the opposite corner a cot sat piled high with blankets and sheets. Derek was stunned to recognize a red blanket that formerly graced the bottom of his own bed.

He’d given the creature some thought, though not nearly as much as Cora, but when he envisioned a Vampire he’d imagined the old Hollywood version—a wrinkled old man with frizzy white hair talking in a contrived Transylvanian accent, who turned into a bat.

Instead he discovered someone downright alluring.

Tall and sleek. An old flannel shirt—Derek remembered his dad wearing it years ago—was buttoned across his thin chest, too-long sleeves rolled up to reveal wiry arms and long, strong fingers on large hands.

He appeared to be the same age as Derek, maybe a little older. Milk-white skin was dotted with dark moles, a reversed mirror image of the world glimpsed through his cell window: black sky littered with ivory constellations. He was so quiet and still; if he’d hid in the shadows Derek might have unknowingly passed him by. As it was, Derek flashed beta-gold eyes and growled menacingly. “Where is my sister?”

The Vampire didn’t glance at him, didn’t speak. Derek stalked closer to the bars and growled louder. “Where the fuck is my sister?”

“Which one?” The creature asked, and Derek took a step back. No over-the-top accent, just the soft voice of a young man.

After a beat of silence with no answer from Derek, the Vampire flicked over hypnotizing brown eyes, almost the same beta gold as Derek’s. “I asked you a question, pup. Which sister have you lost? The one who stomped her boots down the stairs and drove off half an hour ago? Or the one who ran into the preserve ten minutes before you started squealing like a pig?”

Derek bristled. “She’s not out there. I called her and she didn't answer. What have you done with her? Did you lure her down here?”

The Vampire cocked his head, listened, never took his eyes off Derek. “She is out there, pup. Practicing. She masked her scent, as your mother was teaching you both to do.”

It listens to us. Derek was unnerved and fascinated. “Then tell me where she went.”

“She’s swimming.”

“Swimming?” Disbelieving laughter echoed between them. “It’s the end of September. The reservoir is freezing.”

“I have no reason to lie, pup. Go see.”

He wasn’t taking orders. He was making sure his little sister was safe.

Derek sprinted from the house, bounded over fallen trees, dashed through underbrush and raced the three miles to the reservoir, skidding to a halt beside the dark, placid water. No ripples. No air bubbles. He cursed himself for a fool to listen to a half-demonic creature, when Cora’s head broke the surface.

“Derek?” She sputtered, spitting out water. “How did you know where I was?”

***

“I don’t like it,” his mother proclaimed, arms crossed. “It’s dangerous.”

“He’s safely locked away and the bars are spelled. I just want to talk to him. Did you know in his culture the word for Vampire is strix? I could learn more, add the information to our library. Be helpful.”

Derek’s mother saw right through him. “You’re already helpful, without having to befriend an apex predator. Once he got out, if he got out, there’d be no getting him back in. We’d have to live with those consequences all our lives. I don’t think you’re old enough to understand that.”

“I get it.” He didn’t get it at all. “It’s like you always say; we’re predators, but we don’t have to be killers.” Derek kept his chin high. “Or were those just pretty words to mask an ugly truth about us.”

“Derek!” His mother admonished, eyes flashing red. But he didn’t back down.

“We have him caged like an animal. How can we say we’re any better than the Hunters?”

She eyed him, weighing his intentions against his merit. “Don’t get attached,” she relented, voice quiet. “And you’re on blood delivery duty from now on.”

***

“I don’t like the girl.” Stiles—as the Vampire preferred to be called—lingered in the corner of his cage. “She smells...wrong.”

“You’re just jealous,” Derek taunted, but he jotted down the new fact in his ever-growing notebook: Vampire’s can smell someone’s skin from twenty feet away.

Such focused attention from a substitute teacher, even one as pretty as Ms. Argent, didn’t settle right in Derek’s chest, but he couldn’t help being flattered. Opposing emotions mixed with guilt, and curdled in his heart. Don’t tell your mom. She wouldn’t understand. Maybe Kate was right. There was a lot his mother didn’t understand. A prime example stood in front of him a homemade prison. “I bet hot older chicks never paid attention to your pale, skinny ass,” Derek deflected.

Not once in the year and a half Derek visited him did Stiles come anywhere near the bars, until that moment.

Derek didn’t have time to stumble back or drop his book before Stiles’ fist knotted in his t-shirt, pulling him flush against the cell. Before his brain screamed run fight run Stiles leaned forward, ran the cold tip of his nose up Derek’s cheek, right where Kate had lovingly stroked him after class.

“Stay away, pup,” Stiles hissed, voice ancient. “Death follows her. I would know.” Derek fell back, scrubbing hard at his face when Stiles released him.

“What the hell?! My mother was right, you’re just a savage, waiting for its moment to strike.” He threw the book at Stiles’ placid face, but it bounced off the bars and fell to the floor. “I thought you deserved to be free. I went against my Alpha. But all you’re good for is hunter bait. I can’t believe I wasted so much time talking to you.” He stomped to the stairs.

“Kate Argent is trouble,” Stiles called, but Derek slammed the basement door and snapped the lock closed.

***

They’re dead. They’re all dead. And it’s his fault.

Laura, bruised and bloody, eyes blazing alpha red, grabbed at his arm when Derek stumbled toward the rectangular window at the back foundation. “Derek, no! There’s no one left!”

“There’s someone,” he answered.

Stiles huddled in the corner of his cell, smothering encroaching orange and blue flames with his ratty hand-me-down blankets. He locked eyes with Derek through the opening.

“I want you to destroy her,” Derek said, pain and grief ripping at his vocal cords. “I want you to tear every hunter limb from limb.”

“There’s no going back if we do this,” Stiles warned, face upturned like the first time Derek saw him; now Derek was the moon. “You’ll be the man who released a monster unto the world; the man who opened Pandora’s box.”

“Kill them all,” Derek commanded, and ripped the iron bars off the window.

A beast with glowing red eyes flew through the small space, into Derek’s lap. “Your wish is my command, pup.” Stiles swiped a thumb over Derek’s lip, gathering up a stray flake of drying blood. He licked the soiled finger, smile filled with too many razor sharp teeth. “We’ll meet again.”

Then, in a flash, the monster was gone.

_______

This is a prequel to THIS piece written for Sterek Week 2018.

[incandescent-creativity]

Camp NaNo: EVERY EXCERPT

That’s right, folks, every excerpt I posted during the month of April can be found here in this post! There would be thirty of them had I not met my goal early and missed a few days of posting, but there’s at least twenty.

Enjoy!

(Oh, and if you’re new here, this is an angel/demon romance. Summary and WIP Page can be found there!)

Day One: Maluka’s POV

I can tell they’re about to dismiss me, so I take one last chance. “Legion, I have a formal request to submit on top of my report.”

“Is it about your fake angel?” the female guesses, a playful, mocking smile on her lips.

“I didn’t make Olufemi up,” I snap. “What reason would I have to lie about this?”

“To get out of a Focus,” the male supplies, slouching back on the couch.

“We’ve heard a lot of bullshit excuses in our time,” the female adds on.

“Never an angel, though,” the non-binary Legion says, that smirk on their face again.

“Honestly, Mal, you couldn’t think of something a bit more realistic?” the female mocks me.

There’s finally a pause in their weird, back-and-forth way of talking, but I have no idea what I could add to this conversation. The three of them wait for me to say something, pleased half-smiles on all of their faces.

When I can’t come up with anything, the male stands up and dusts his hands off. “Maluka of Wrath, your formal request has been denied.”

Day Two: Olufemi’s POV

Rae and I may comment on how everything is planned, but I’m not sure the Lord’s design ever accommodated demons. I mean, I’m sure it must on some level, but He doesn’t have any omniscience over them or us like He does the humans.

Then again, Mal said something about “focusing” on Nora. So if she was somehow tied or connected to my Guarded, maybe she would be in the grand design.

The real question I have is why.

Why me? Why couldn’t this test be given to an older, more experienced Guardian? Or even one of the original archangels? They would be more qualified to handle a demon than I am. I couldn’t even strike out at it.

But I might get another chance tonight, so I have to be prepared.

Day Three: Maluka

I’m mostly just fucking around, but Olufemi takes the question seriously. “What if we… traded?”

The idea would be hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid. “Oh, that’s a bright idea. You can plant the intrusive thoughts, and I’ll use all the Heavenly connection I don’t have to protect her.”

“I didn’t mean trade places!” Olufemi snaps, and my eyes flash to their hands. They’re not glowing, so I’m not in as much danger as I could be. “I meant… trade information. You tell me what a Focus is, and I’ll tell you… something else.”

For a second, I almost can’t believe it. The angel… is suggesting they hand me all the information I need for my reports? I didn’t have to bring that up by myself?

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit. This is too good to be true. 

Day Four: Olufemi

“Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain,” I snap. “For He will not leave you unpunished if you do.”

“Jesus Christ,” she says, laughing at me and ignoring everything I just said. “Leave me unpunished?” she quotes.

I open my mouth to tell her yes, that’s literally what we have been taught, but I’m interrupted by the way Maluka abandons any pretense of laughter. Without warning, her expression drops into something much darker. Glaring at me, she stands up from leaning against a wall and walks toward me.

“Let me tell you something about punishment, angel.” The word is an insult from her mouth. “The very first memory I have is falling through the realms, my wings burning with the aftereffects of the magic that cast me out.

“I don’t even remember what I did to get exiled from Heaven,” she says, fangs poking out over her bottom lip, “but I would do it again, just to see the look on the bastard’s face. So don’t talk to me about punishment, because you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Day Five: Maluka

“Have you ever, like… said something… to someone… that you probably shouldn’t have?”

The smile he gives me is pitying, and I very nearly flip him off. “Oh, sure. I’ve pissed off many a person in my time. And so’ve you, if I recall.”

“I didn’t piss them off,” I criticize, gesturing with the bottle. “I just… it probably wasn’t smart to show my hand so early. You know?”

He waves off another patron, and I know I’ve got his attention. “Show your hand?” he repeats, not letting me look away. “What kind of enemy are you dealing with, Mal?”

Six-foot-five, rich black skin, hair cut close to their skull, lithe fingers that sometimes glow with Heavenly light that’s powering up to burn me to a crisp. “Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell him.

“Uh-huh. You can totally handle it, that’s why you’re sitting here with a half-empty bottle of my vodka in one hand.”

“Fuck you.”

Day Six: Olufemi

“Anyway,” I point out, “I was suggesting you lie, not me.” 

“Me?” she asks, her eyebrows raised high and her hand pressed to her chest in mock misunderstanding. “But Olufemi, I have been nothing but truthful to you this whole time! How could you possibly expect me to lie?”

“Truthful?” I repeat. “What have you been truthful about?”

The mockery slides off her face like water off feathers. “Let’s count, shall we?” she says, back to disdainful. “I told you what a Focus was, and how it worked.” She holds up two fingers.

“That should count as one,” I object.

She ignores me. “I told you about my memories, and how I don’t give a flying fuck about blasphemy.” Okay, that one is true. “And I’ve told you about what will happen if I don’t do my job.”

Waving her now open hand at me, she continues, “So with all of that in mind, I am going to go plant some thoughts so my life doesn’t end up ruined by some liar angel.”

Kissing her middle finger and blowing it towards me, Maluka turns around in the hallway and walks towards Nora’s bedroom.

Day Seven: Maluka

“Uh, hi. Are you done with… whatever you were doing?” I ask, wary of those hands. If they glow again, I’m outta here.

A faint smile lifts one corner of their mouth. “It’s called praying, Maluka,” they tell me, smug and superior. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Oh, duh. Thinking quickly, I reply, “Actually, no. Care to enlighten me?”

I expect them to back off, but Olufemi calls my bluff instead. “Of course. Come and sit down.”

The hundreds of ways this could backfire on me running through my head, I venture into the living room and sit across from an angel.

Day Eight: Olufemi

Glancing over, I notice the Book open to Proverbs. Half of 13:3 is highlighted in pink: but those who speak rashly will come to ruin.

Everything makes sense all at once. Maluka is not an intriguing person with unexpected biblical knowledge, she’s only a deceptive demon who will use anything she learns to her advantage against me.

I almost want to cry. How could I be so stupid? Everything Michael had taught me, I had forgotten everything he ever said. 

Day Nine: Maluka

I’ve never seen their expression stay as cold for as long as it has now. “You have had plenty of opportunities to apologize for arguing and accusing me of being a liar, yet you haven’t. And worse, you’re a hypocrite because you’ve lied to me.”

There is no way I’ll be able to deal with this sort of judgement for a month. Throwing my hands up, I say, “Fine. You win, angel. I apologize.”

Olufemi mirrors my frustrated gesture. “It doesn’t count if it isn’t genuine,” they say.

“It’s completely unrealistic to expect a perfectly genuine apology whenever you decide you want one,” I argue. “You sprang this on me a few minutes ago, and you want me to just roll over and obey you?”

Day Eleven: Olufemi

My point is only proven when I touch down in Nora’s living room and hear a voice coming from down the hall.

Feathers puffing up with anticipation, I call the power of God’s grace into my hands. They start to glow, illuminating the hallway enough for me to see Nora’s door. It’s still shut, which means it isn’t a robber; it’s Maluka.

I’m tempted to burst through the door and scare her, but I resist. It will be more valuable to me to know what she is saying to my Guarded, in order for me to do my job better.

“—it’s just so stupid, you know? Like, how was I supposed to know they wanted an apology. They never said that until they were jumping down my throat for not reading their mind and knowing it automatically. It just feels unfair. 

“Like, I don’t think they know how terrifying that glowing hand shit is, but I still don’t explode on them because they don’t know! And it’s not their fault they don’t know, it’s mine, because I haven’t said anything. You know?”

As expected, Nora says nothing. Which makes sense, as we are in a different realm. And she’s asleep.

I hear Mal sigh. “Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be surprised they don’t like me. Everyone around them must be so pure and holy and whatever, that’s all they know.” She laughs for a single second. “I guess I must have come as quite a shock.”

I let the glow die from my hands and walk through the door. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Mal nearly falls off the bed. “What the fuck,” she exclaims, out of breath in her surprise. “You can’t just do that to someone, angel, Jesus. I thought you left.”

Day Thirteen: Olufemi

“Wait, why are you taking notes?” I ask.

“For my reports,” she says, her tone making it obvious I should have realized this.

I push myself up to my feet, wings spreading to counterbalance. “Wait, what? No, I can’t—you can’t put this kind of stuff in reports.”

Incredibly, she actually asks, “Why not?”

I hold up a finger as I list each item. “You file a report. The report gets read. Demons assemble and execute an assault on Heaven, succeeding because they have had insider information. Angelkind falls. Humanity falls.” Putting my hand down, I meet her eyes and finish, “I will not be responsible for all of that.”

Maluka laughs at me, apparently amused by catastrophe. “Damn, angel, paranoid much?” When I don’t respond in favor of maintaining a serious attitude, she sighs. “Nobody reads Focus reports, especially not from someone like me.”

Day Fourteen: Maluka

“So, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you had a good idea.” This catches their attention, eyes darting up to mine. “We trade information, none of it personal, in order to satisfy our mutual curiosity, until the month is up, and we don’t tell our superiors. Deal?”

I stand up, extending my hand like I’ve done so many times before. Olufemi stands from the floor in one fluid motion, and grasps my pale hand in their dark one.

“It’s a deal,” they announce.

My palm starts to itch, and I pull it back in a hurry. You’ve got to be kidding me. Olufemi takes a step back as I take my hand away, but I’m too busy staring at my right palm to bother comforting a nervous ball of feathers.

Ink blooms in a dark spot in the very center of my palm, and travels across my skin to rest on on the inside of my wrist. It solidifies and sharpens into an elongated T shape—one all too familiar.

When I finally look up at Olufemi, a simple cross tattoo is resting on the inside of my wrist.

They are glancing between my face and my wrist, as if unable to comprehend. “What…” they ask slowly, “just happened?”

I let out a sigh as I process that question for myself. “Well, the long and short of it is that you accidentally made a binding magical deal with a demon.”

Day Fifteen: Maluka

“Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Hanael, Camael, and Kepharel.”

The list is too quick for me, so all I end up doing is staring at them. “I’ll be honest,” I say, “I have no idea how to spell most of those.” As if that’s what my problem is, and not the speed at which they fired them at me.

Sighing, Olufemi leans forward with an open hand. “Let me. I’ll even match them to whatever section they lead for you.”

Score. Names and angelic jobs make for a great foundation for the wealth of information I can provide my superiors at the end of the month. Offering a smile, I watch them carefully scribe the names into my page.

Olufemi seems careful to avoid brushing hands with me when they hand the notebook back to me. It’s a tiny detail that might not even be there, but it pisses me off. Do they think they’ll explode on contact if they touch me? I know I’m not any creature of light or whatever they are, but still. It’s insulting.

Day Sixteen: Maluka

“You’re going to have to cross the street,” I tell her, lacing my voice with magic to ensure that she hears it.

In a brilliant moment of a perfectly executed thought, Nora takes it seamlessly and steps off the curb.

In the blink of an eye, Olufemi is in front of her. “You’ll do no such thing.”

But they’re not talking to me. Their eyes are locked on Nora, and their voice is rich with power. Nora stops in her tracks, blinking as if confronted with a bright light. The instant after they stop, a car races through an intersection. It almost looks like it caught some air on that hill.

Nora stumbles back onto the sidewalk, and I let her walk through me so I can face Olufemi.

There’s a lot of things I could say, but the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Where are your wings?”

(later - Olufemi’s POV)

Jutting her chin out at me, Mal says, “I’m not letting you off the hook so easily. You,” she continues, pointing a finger at me, “are stuck with me.”

I bite my tongue until she lowers her hand, smirking and thinking she has won. Only when she leans back on the heels of her boots do I reply.

“Correction, Maluka: I have been stuck with you.” Her expression lowers into one of confusion at the past tense. “From this day on, you will be stuck with me.”

I didn’t expect the threat to land, but when Maluka asks, “How so?” her voice is purely cautious. There is no hint of superiority anywhere—a welcome change.

Opening myself to God’s grace for the second time in an hour, I channel the power into my hands and my eyes. I step forward, and watch Maluka step away from me. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are wide, glancing between my wings held high and my glowing eyes.

“I have tolerated your presence as best I could,” I say, “and allowed you to survive upon the basis that you will not harm my Guarded. Having shown yourself incapable of even that, you will find her now under my full and active protection, specifically against you and your work.”

Straightening my shoulders, I allow my wings to snap open to their full length. They pass through shelves of potted plants, but the effect still causes Maluka to stagger away from me. “Leave now, Maluka of Hell. Return to whence you came, and know that your continued attachment to Nora would be unwise.”

Day Seventeen - Twenty: Maluka

Oh, who am I kidding. Dealing with an insulted archdemon is intimidating in the way that a human dealing with their manager is intimidating; I could lose a lot if it goes badly, and my entire life would be flipped upside down, but I’d probably survive.

A radiantly nuclear Olufemi is an entirely different thing to deal with, if the shaking in my knees is any indication. I don’t even make it home before my legs decide to go on vacation. Without their support, I’m left to stagger to the building corner and drop onto the sidewalk.

~ ~ ~ later… ~ ~ ~ 

After all, I can’t be the only demon in Hell who’s met an angel before, right? I hope not.

I might be the only one who has survived, though. But I may not be able to hold that title for long if I don’t get more information. I was hoping to get information from the angel themself, but I suspect that getting answers from them will be significantly harder in the coming days.

But, if I’m lucky, it won’t be impossible. If I learn something from the demons around me, I might be able to surprise some conversation out of them.

And I’ll only need one conversation to explain how mandatory the inspector is and how I can’t get around it. If this angel can’t appreciate the inescapable responsibility of a Focus, maybe the urgency of an intruder to our fake peace will light a fire under their feathers.

Day Twenty-One: Olufemi

She pouts, but we’ve lived together long enough for me to remain unaffected. “It was just a rumor,” she explains. “He might not even be coming.”

“Raenel,” I say, her voice a short huff of air from my mouth.

“Aw, come on,” she pleads. “You don’t even want to guess? I could give hints.”

I get up and shuffle my wings to loosen them. I have no time for Rae’s festival plans, I have to get to the Pyramid and review the threads of fate. If I’m lucky, I may even be able to peer farther ahead and discover what the festival day has in store. That’s never guaranteed, of course, but—

“Okay, fine,” Rae calls as I reach her doorway. “It’s Michael.”

I freeze. Refusing to turn around, I ask, “Michael? As in, Head of the Council, Archangel of Justice, the First Ascended, leader of the Original Seven? That Michael?”

“Don’t forget your mentor,” she adds. I can’t see her, of course, but her voice is hesitant. There is no pleasure in the delivery of this news. “That seems like an important title, too.”

Having scared her enough, I let a grin grow as I turn on my heel back into her room. “Rae, why didn’t you lead with that? Of course I’ll come to the festival.”

Her wings sag with relief. “Stars, I don’t know! I didn’t want you to get excited and then have him not show up. I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I lied to you?”

Hearing her speak the same question I’ve been asking myself causes a guilty stabbing in my chest, but I endeavor to keep my smile in place. “A terrible one, but that wouldn’t count as a lie. Jerusalem is a long flight, even for one like him.”

Day Twenty-Three: Maluka

Walking the streets of Pride isn’t something I do often, and I hope it doesn’t show.

The atmosphere is completely different from my hometown of Wrath. Gone are the comfortingly dark and dirty streets, replaced by glistening, tidy pavement and extravagant homes. Gone are the sweet smells of sweat and gasoline; the sprawling city of Pride smells clean. Like rubbing alcohol.

The only similarity is the crowded streets. You can’t walk two blocks at home without encountering a fight of some kind, and I can’t take more than a few steps here without bumping into some human gazing over something fancy.

I don’t find someone like me until I’ve been wandering the city for at least an hour. The demon I do find has gathered a crowd of humans, but I can’t tell for what reason. The only thing they’re doing is standing there, behind an empty table.

Day Twenty-Five: Maluka

In the center of the city is home to a skyscraper that isn’t curved or graceful. Instead, it is formed with straight lines and uniform windows. It’s completely symmetrical until three quarters of the way up, where it starts to narrow until it reaches the spike at the top. The whole thing is manufactured from some sort of dark steel, giving the whole thing a cold, grey look.

Lucy’s tower. Luckily, not my destination today. Turning my head and tilting my body, I manage to veer right and start looking for the columnar structure of the Archive.

When I spot the blinding white stone of the domed building, it looks deserted. Obviously no humans can get to it, but even the demons who can cross the magical wards aren’t on the grounds. Weird.

I very nearly fall onto my knees when I land, but I manage to run forward and catch myself. There’s one benefit to nobody being around. Carrying on as if nothing has happened, I walk up to the building with my shirt gone and my wings out.

Trying to maintain confidence despite my look, I knock on the door.

A window slides open, and a demon with the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen pokes her head out.

“Can I help you?”

Ignoring the way she looks me over, I run a hand through my hair and say, “Yes, I’m looking for any information you have on angels.”

“Angels?” she repeats, unimpressed.

“Specifically how anybody has survived encounters, and anything you have on their weaknesses,” I clarify.

This doesn’t impress her any more than I already have. “And who is asking for this information?”

“Just a curious citizen of Wrath,” I answer. No way I’m going to give her my name. If they want to trace me, they’ll have to go to the Legion first. Who will probably be able to connect the dots between a request about angels and the Focused demon who was just talking about angels, but at least it will be an extra step.

Evidently, my answer doesn’t pass. “We have no such information here,” the archivist says shortly. “Please do not come again.”

The window slides shut, and I’m left standing alone out in front of the Archive with no answers and no plan.

Dang, did you really read all of those? You’re awesome!

If you’d like to see more, I’ll provide these again: Summary / WIP Page / Comic Sans Presentation

And my inbox is always open if you’d like to come and chat or ask stuff!

[demaury]

Game On – High School AU | Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers AU (chap.2)

Ten years after his father shipped him off to boarding school, Jude is back to Los Angeles for his senior year. As it turns out, relinking with his childhood friend isn’t nearly as hard as it is to deal with his almost estranged father.

Zero is the typical high school heartthrob and a basketball prodigy on the way to make a name for himself. Everything should be easy, but years in foster care and physical abuse don’t make for the smoothest reunion with former teen-mom  and her perfect family.

Really. They have a lot on their plate already.

Falling in love was not supposed to be an option. (read on ao3)

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

“You didn’t have to scare that poor kid.”

“He shouldn’t have fucking stared at me.”

“He was peeing.”

“Whatever,” Zero retorted grumpily as they made their way to their usual table.

Today though, he deeply hated that this table was located right in the middle of the Cafeteria. He could feel the glances of people on him as they walked by, and he clutched the water bottle tightly in his hands as a means to keep himself from bursting one way or another.

“Ladies and gents, our resident defendant,” Terrence drawled, sliding an arm around his shoulders as they hovered by their table.

“I’m gonna smash your fucking head, you know that, right?” Zero gritted, shoving him away.

Terrence laughed. It wasn’t his goddamn spot on the Basketball team that had been left hanging for half a week, Zero thought bitterly. He was about to fire off something again when his eyes traveled to the other end of the table, raking over the stranger sitting next to Kyle — who he was practically sure he had never seen around before. It was only when he met a pair of hazel eyes that his certainty vanished.

Hold on.

He knew that face.

He knew that face, and those eyes. Worse, he just knew that subtle ‘I’m-much-better-than-you’ aura emanating from him. It was there, written in the way he cocked an eyebrow, look at him straight in the eye, even to sit at their table like he had always been there.

“Well, well. Isn’t that Kinkade?” Zero said, forcing his voice to sound casual.

Zero could’ve sworn Jude’s eyebrow twitched just a little.

“Wow, you finally got bigger after all,” Kinkade replied simply.

The audacity.

What the hell was he doing here? He had left like, a thousand years ago, for God knows where. His eyes snapped back to Raquel when she started talking, reminding him that there was an actual world around him.

“Jude got transferred here from boarding school,” she said.

Zero smirked triumphantly. “Lemme guess, they got tired of you and kicked you out?”

“Why, is that something you’re familiar with?” Kinkade fired back, casually opening his soda can.

There was a sudden silence around the table as everyone just stared at them. Zero, for his part, was looking right at Kinkade, hoping to look less dumbfounded than he felt. Okay, no. He wasn’t in the mood for this. No way. Not happening.

Zero glared, the bottle crumpling in his hand ever so slightly. “Okay, yeah, that was nice. Anyway, some of us happen to have stuff to do, so I’ll see you guys around,” he articulated coldly.

He spun around and offered his back to his friends calling him out, already striding towards the exit when Kyle’s voice echoed closer. He barely glanced behind his shoulder, and welcomed the cool breeze that hit his face as he walked out with relief.

“Ducky, wait,” she protested, catching up to him. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Zero retorted, and he huffed a groan of protest when she proceeded to drag him towards the football field instead.

“I thought your spot on the team was safe?” she pointed out as they dropped themselves onto the empty bleachers.

“It is.”

“Then what’s the matter with you?” Kyle insisted, crossing her legs carefully as she faced him.

Kyle hadn’t worn anything but skirts since that one freaking day in middle school when Derek, Terrence and he had the genius idea to piss her off by stating that she wasn’t ‘a real girl’, just because she had been hanging out with them ever since third grade. No amount of apologizing could convince her to go back to jeans, and it had made being her male best friend a real pain in the ass when other guys had suddenly started to notice her.

He clenched his jaw and stared into the distance. “People are talking, and I hate that.”

“Maybe you should have avoided turning the Homecoming dance into a boxing match then.”

“First of all, that’s freaking rude coming from the one person who said Abramson deserved it,” Zero snapped.

She shrugged, unapologetic, and it made her blond hair bounce on her shoulders. “He did deserve it. I don’t take it well whenever somebody disrespects my best friend.” Zero snorted. “I’m just saying that it’s probably the most exciting thing most people will see this year. Two hotties fighting over one girl during Homecoming? That’s gold.”

He groaned in response, burying his hands in his jean pockets. “She keeps calling…and texting.”

“Did you talk to her?” Kyle asked carefully.

He shook his head. He hadn’t actually talked to Sadie since the moment she told him she was getting something to drink during the Homecoming night. Five minutes later, realization had hit with the strength of a truck launched at full-speed when he had gathered that the ‘Trav’ that she had been so keen on texting last summer wasn’t actually one of her cousins, but Travis Abramson, one of those no-brainer footballers.

If only they had merely talked.

He wanted to throw up.

“Great,” Kyle said. “I think it’s for the best, actually.”

Zero glanced at her, annoyed.

“For the best?” he deadpanned.

It had never been a mystery that Kyle didn’t like most of the girls he had been dating (she hadn’t liked the ones who had dated Derek and Terrence much either though). But still, It wasn’t like he had been waiting for her approval or he’d have died a virgin before it happened.

“You’ve never liked Sadie,” he retorted.

“Of course not!” Kyle exclaimed. “Look, I don’t mean to tell you ‘I told you so’, but-”

“Don’t you dare,” Zero glared at her, and she shrugged, pouting. “I don’t want to talk to her, and I don’t want to talk about her. Capiche?”

“Fine, fine,” she sighed, raising her hands in surrender.

There was a brief silence and Zero mentally started counting the seconds. She couldn’t keep quiet more than thirty seconds in a row anyway. He was reaching twenty-three when she suddenly turned her face to him and stopped staring at the grass.

“Have you seen Kinkade?” she asked, thoughtfully. “He got big too. I wonder what’s with you guys.”

Zero gave it a thought. Honestly, he had almost forgotten about that not-so-very-pleasant encounter with Jude ‘ever-so-perfect’ Kinkade. Just thinking about it made him frown. “Did you know he was coming back?”

“Nah. We found him this morning, all by himself. He looked totally lost,” Kyle said casually, tugging at her blond hair. “He’s cute, a real hottie now. I think Raquel’s definitely gonna call dibs on him.”

Zero cocked an eyebrow and huffed a laugh. “You’ve hung out way too much with us,” he stated, just as the faint echo of the bell rang for the next period, drowned by Kyle’s offended protests as they made their way back inside.

*

You’d think that being a 6’3” varsity basketball player was enough to deal with an ex-girlfriend, but apparently it was not, because Zero had found himself warily watching his surroundings between each period all morning, in order to avoid the familiar strawberry-blond head of Sadie every time he had to leave a classroom.

The only good thing, so far, was that their schedules hardly matched at all, which had been a real bother for the past month when they were still dating, but was now a sincere relief. Unless she decided to risk being late for her own classes, Zero knew for fact that Sadie was generally on the other side of the school pretty much all day long. That didn’t stop the judgmental looks he received from her various friends with whom he ended up sharing courses, but that he could deal with (he was very, very good at glaring anyway).

Last period ended and he regretted once more that someone, a long time ago, had decided that Basketball was a winter sport. It meant that they wouldn’t start practice for another month at least. Sure, he could practice with Wall and Roman in the meantime, like they had done for months now, but there was something profoundly boring about making shot after shot for two hours straight, every day.

Zero had to head to his coach’s office. He had been summoned, but he knew deep down it wasn’t to talk about the upcoming season.

“You wanted to see me?” Zero asked halfheartedly as he hovered close to his Coach, who was unlocking the door. “Don’t tell me Geyer pulled me off the team after all.”

The Coach gave him a look, the keys jingling against the door.

Jim Robertson was a man in his forties who had stopped being lean and athletic probably a decade ago. He had been his coach for the past three years, had known him since he was twelve, and when he was giving that kind of look, Zero generally knew it wasn’t a good sign.

“No, Principal Geyer did not,” the Coach corrected, then he opened the door and made him sign to get in.

Zero walked in but remained in the doorway, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder to the ground while Robertson rounded his desk. “Well, not yet, at least.”

Zero’s heart skipped a beat. Oh shit, he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

“Look, Zero,” the Coach said, opening the rolling doors of the cupboard behind him to flick through various files. “You’ve got to take care of your academics.”

There was a short pause and Zero stared, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what?”

The Coach looked over his shoulder at him. “The Abramsons wanted you kicked off the Team. Thanks to your left hook, their kid is going to miss the rest of the football season. The fact that you were not, doesn’t mean you will never be. You should probably avoid giving them a good reason now.”

Zero pursed his lips. “I’m doing all I can,” he grumbled. He had never been a freaking genius but he was at least okay. Or at least he thought he was. Just enough to make it onto the team since his freshman year, which was more than enough to him.

“Well, let me tell you,” the Coach said, rapidly going through a file before putting it back, “it’s not going to be enough. Study more. Find a tutor. But don’t let your grades drop any more than that.”

“It’s only October!” Zero protested. “The year’s barely started.”

“Find a tutor. Period,” Robertson said with a pointed stare.

A tutor. Like really.

Did he look like the kind of guy to do extra-homework? Did he? Okay maybe he would be forced to, because it wasn’t like there were a hundred ways out of the shit he had gotten himself into. But it wasn’t like he had a choice, Zero thought bitterly as he made his way out to the parking lot. It was certainly not like he was willing to risk his scholarship, nor the one he was determined to score for next year, for something as stupid as his grades. He’d rather die than end up at the gloomy neighborhood school he would have been forced to attend if Basketball hadn’t helped him out.

He was still sulking when he climbed in Terrence’s car and they headed directly to the Saldanas’, where the rest of the gang would join them. They had developed this habit of hanging out there the year before, when Jelena and Terrence had started dating. Raquel’s mother was a surgeon, her father a reporter, her sister was attending college and her house, located in a fancy neighborhood, was as big as it was empty of living souls.

“Drinks are in the fridge, snacks in the kitchen, bla bla bla,” Raquel said from her spot on the couch when they walked in. “Where’s Kyle?”

“She had to pick up her sister,” Zero shrugged as he dropped himself gloomily on the armchair.

Terrence sat next to Jelena while Derek came back from the kitchen and handed Zero a soda can.

“You didn’t bring Kinkade?” Derek snickered as he perched himself on the armrest of Zero’s seat.

Oh. So he wasn’t the only one who had noticed that she had been all over him all day long, apparently. Seriously, he spotted them together at one point and he had almost felt embarrassed to look at them.

Raquel shrugged. “Nah, he said he had other plans at home. Besides, Mom is supposed to come home early and I’d prefer to tell her about it before she stumbles onto him, herself.”

Zero frowned. “Why on Earth would she care? You’ve got all three of us,” he gestured to himself, Terrence and Derek, “in your living-room on a daily basis.”

“It’s not because he’s a guy, genius,” Raquel rolled her eyes. “It’s because of… you know, all that shit that happened when he left.”

There was silence and Zero was only satisfied by the fact that he wasn’t the only one who looked frankly puzzled. Raquel looked around as well. “You guys are joking right? You don’t know?”

Everybody groaned a ‘no’, except for Jelena who looked like she had already seen the end of the universe and couldn’t be less interested as she scrolled through her phone.

“Okay so... His mom and mine were friends. Then Jude’s mom died and that’s when the real shit began. His dad may or may not have something to do with it,” Raquel said, crossing her legs on the couch. Her voice was literally trembling with the contained excitement of juicy gossip, and frankly, Zero was disgusted.

He had never been exactly Raquel’s favorite person (okay, he had forgotten one date, and okay, it was the first one, but she was the one who decided not to give him another chance, so it was her loss anyway), that was a fact. So, all in all, he had always expected Raquel to talk shit about him behind his back (like he cared, though). But hearing her gossiping like her life depended on it, after acting all ‘besties’ with him five minutes after he got there? Zero didn’t have a lot of principles but it sounded like this one should have been common sense.

Did he tell anyone to fuck off?

No, not really. Because it was either discussing Kinkade’s life like a Showtime movie or having everyone talk about Sadie and him. Did that make him a coward? Maybe… Whatever.

His mind drifted back to the conversation when Derek snorted. “You’re bullshitting.”

Raquel glared. “I’m not,” she retorted dryly. “You can check online if you don’t believe me. It was all over the news when it happened, how come you guys didn’t see it?”

“Parents’ shitty divorce,” Terrence shrugged.

“Didn’t know them,” Jelena said.

“Didn’t watch the news,” Derek added.

“Deadbeat legal guardians,” Zero raised his hand. “I didn’t know the Kinkades were that big of a deal,” he commented again into his soda-can.

“Really? Because Forbes magazine thinks pretty much the contrary,” Jelena said casually.

Zero frowned as she turned her phone for them to see. The network headline was flaunting, in capital letters, a list of the hundred wealthiest families in the country.

Terrence took his girlfriend’s phone and scrolled through the list before handing it back to her. “What is he even doing in a public school? I mean, I thought he was in a private school.”

Just at this moment, the front door closed and a slightly annoyed looking Kyle walked in, a duffle-bag thrown over her shoulder. “You guys don’t know what it’s like to have the most annoying baby sister in the world.”

Jelena looked up with a cocked eyebrow. “You like Taylor.”

“At this point I’m not sure she’s still Taylor,” Kyle grumbled. “Maybe she’s been replaced by a goddamn human-eating alien. Here, I picked up your stuff,” she said, dropping the bag onto Zero’s lap as she rounded the armchair, before plopping down on the couch next to Raquel.

Zero gave her a nod as a thank you and discarded his stuff next to him on the hardwood floor. It wasn’t like he’d have been unable to survive a night without it, but he had packed some random stuff when he left for Kyle’s on Monday morning and at least his history book was in there. The Coach had told him to get better grades, it probably wasn’t the right moment to forget about doing his homework.

“What did I miss?” Kyle asked, looking around.

“Raq’s daily dose of gossip,” Derek shrugged. “Kinkade was on the menu.”

“Really,” Kyle drawled, grinning broadly.

“Quit it, it was about his dead mom.”

“Oh. Nice. You guys know how to have fun,” she snickered. “How about we talk about something else?”

*

Raquel had not lied, her mom came back early, which prompted everyone to leave. It wasn’t that Mama Saldana wasn’t nice, but she remained a parent, and if Raquel indeed planned to give her a heads up on the Kinkade situation, they better be gone.

Zero wondered why the news about a guy he barely knew in the end bothered him so much. Part of him was feeling rather awkward at the thought of his first exchange with Kinkade, but it wasn’t his fault if he happened to have a shitty past as well, nor was he supposed to know the extent of said shitty past.

Their relationship had been based on some sort of constant bickering. They had known each other in second grade, when Zero had moved in with his third foster family. Kinkade was already good at biting back. They weren’t in the same class, but recess was enough for them to find various and creative ways to jump at each other’s throats. ‘Next time you throw that ball at me, I’m gonna kick it out on the road,’ he would yell, to what Zero would reply ‘Not my fault if you’re always in the way, you moron!’

That’s how it had worked. Apparently the fact that they lived on opposite coasts for nearly ten years hadn’t caused them to tune it down, if the Cafeteria was any indication. Zero’s eyes glanced absent-mindedly around the familiar neighborhood, and he considered stopping by the district basketball court for a few seconds, as he hopped off the bus, before begrudgingly walking past it and making his way through the two more blocks separating him from 3174 Virginia Road. It was a one-story house that Zero hated to the core, from the cheap cigarette smell constantly floating over the living-room, to the bedroom he had to share with the most insufferable kid on Earth, and the kitchen from which nothing good ever came out.

He walked in, already riled up at the thought of simply being here. Despite being a foster kid himself, Zero had little to no idea how other kids in his situation lived, if it was any better somewhere else or not. Deep down he was sure it wasn’t, and that’s probably why he had been there for almost ten years. That and, according to nasty rumors, the fact that nobody was willing to take him back — if anybody was still there to do so at all. We aren’t family. Okay? Nobody’s here because they want to be. That’s what Joey (a girl who had lived with the Delucas when he had first arrived) said to him in lieu of a greeting, before pointing back to the couple.  She was slightly older, maybe ten at the time. Trust me, they don’t want it either. Nobody does. Suck it up.

Joey had left the house about two years after that and had gone back to live with her alcoholic mother. Ever since, Zero had been the oldest, aside from those four months where a sixteen-year-old boy called Carter had come around when Zero was fourteen. When the Delucas moved from a somewhat more comfortable-looking house to a much cheaper one, six or seven years ago, the number of kids narrowed down to four. Zero had stayed put, watching other kids come and go ever since.

Zero walked in, not bothering to kick off his shoes in the entrance before he bee-lined through the kitchen to the bedroom. Most people would have referred to it as ‘his bedroom’, but if anything, he wasn’t that optimistic –hence why he wasn’t surprised to find the thirteen-year-old boy, with whom he was forced to share the room, sprawled over his own bed listening to music.

Zero dropped his backpack at the foot of the second bed and his duffle-bag on the mattress. His eyes darted onto the bedside table separating the two beds. There was a binder, with wrinkled papers emerging from it and probably represented Thiago’s backpack and general lack of care; on top of the binder, a phone charger, Axe spray, and various things he didn’t really take the time to examine before he grabbed the whole lot and threw it out the wide open bedroom door. The kid let out an offended screech of protest, dropping both his stupid hood and his earbuds in a single move as he got up.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” he blurted out, standing on his two feet. Zero wasn’t remotely fazed — the kid wasn’t any taller than his collarbones —, and Thiago seemed to realize it too because he backed away with gritted teeth.

“My side,” Zero uttered coldly.

He turned his back to the kid and opened the zipper of his duffle-bag in one swift move.

“Next time you leave, I fucking swear I’ll throw your stuff out,” Thiago raged.

“Have fun trying.”

Zero emptied the bag of the various wrinkled clothes he had worn for the past three days while at Kyle’s, grabbed them and strode out of the room as Thiago was dropping his own stuff on his mattress.

Zero went to the bathroom across the hall to get some laundry done.

“I hope he beats the fucking shit out of you when he gets back,” Thiago spat from the bedroom. 

[vanaera]

The First Dip

Synopsis | All of this is too new for Jungkook - realizing he’s in love with his bestfriend, trying his best to impress a lady, manning up to do the first move - everything is too new and he’s still clueless around these things but he still tries his best.

Genre | Fluff and a very small pinch of angst (football!jk + childhood friend!you)

Words | 3,286

A/N | Okay I can’t get football!jk out of my head so here I go - another installment of this drabble series!

Read more of football!jk drabbles in The Prince and His Rose

     There’s something wrong along the lines. Something aberrant and definitely odd that emphasizes itself in one giant "What the hell" no matter how many times Jungkook adjusts his reading glasses.

    Otor-nim Y/N: Hey can you check this out? What do you think? (8:46 P.M.)

     Yeah, right, Jungkook will always check it out. However the minute he glanced over the text block you sent on Messenger ten minutes ago, Jungkook still doesn’t know why he feels disturbed at the same time giddy-happy. He settles for disturbed. He’ll be forever on his toes when he’s around you.

“Your eyes that held stars, every swirl of the inky black that promised another galaxy waiting to be found.”

     Okay, sounds good but also weird. You have never delved into romantic poetries, as far as he knows, and this is definitely out of his comfort zone too. Jungkook scrolls down, losing himself in sentences you painted with love too surreal until his eyes drink the last words of your prose.

“You make me want to see you even in my dreams.”

“ You’re a world I will forever would want to be lost in.”

     Jungkook fixes his glasses that were slipping on his nose as he strokes your words in ink across the pages you will never know about. At least not yet, he thinks, licking his lips as he finishes the line with a dot and a quotation mark along with your name and today’s date. He smiles wide at the page now marked with another art of yours along with his own little illustration of star-filled eyes and a galaxy boy holding the heart of his muse.  He flips the pages to dwell on the few papers yet to be graced by words he wished was about you and him. You haven’t published anything yet in print but this black little notebook of his might be the first ever collection of your poems and prose. He chuckles, his chest rumbling with songs of the birds in his chest. Just before he could dwell again on the lines that had his heart swelling with affection, he hears a “ding!” that calls him back to his original purpose.

Otor-nim Y/N: What do you think of my drafts? (8:48 P.M.)

     Oh right, he’s supposed to give a feedback. He unknowingly grins, his fingers dancing along the keyboard.

Star Kook: It’s good! No need to edit anything, it doesn’t sound cringey. Just pure admiration and romance. (8:49 P.M.)

     Should he add more? There’s no harm asking right?

Star Kook: It looks like you’ve been eyeing a new inspiration lately huh? Who’s the lucky guy ;) (8:50 P.M.)

Otor-nim Y/N: Some eyecandy I’ve been staring at lately. I just imagined what having a handsome guy fawn over you felt like and I wrote that. There’s no harm daydreaming anyway and the fact that it didn’t sound like just me ‘daydreaming’ based on your feedback, I’m happy with it. Thanks Kookie! (8:50 P.M.)

     Jungkook freezes. Eyecandy? You just saw where? When?  You don’t spend a lot of time with guys other than him - wait. His forehead furrows as he grabs his phone to view his self camera. He doesn’t look that bad, right? Some people have told him he’s cute, so maybe it’s about him. Damn it, his cheeks are already reddening with the thought.

     But then again, you’re a wonderful girl yourself and you have a couple of people orbiting around you and your ideas. He may think of you as his only rose in his garden of you and him but maybe you can’t even see him - just a tiny bud that’s taking too long to bloom - in the fields of flowers you probably collect from everyone that have adored you. The red notification on the name of his med student friend drives him to click it and remember why he’s even trying at all.

Nurse Doc Jimin: Hey, just read your message yesterday about you being emo again on your “unrequited love.” As I have numerously told you before (and I won’t stop telling you this to your blockhead self), you won’t know unless you tell her. So for you to tell her, you don’t have to bombard her with unrestrained feelings. Just up your game and make her notice it little by little. You’ve been toeing the testing waters far too long; try to man up and take a fucking dip, man. (8:53 P.M.)

//

     It’s already one o’clock and he’s starving and you’re still stuck in class. Jungkook paces back and forth in front of the lecture hall, his bag strapped across his chest felt too heavy so he puts it on the chair he abandoned ten minutes ago. He doesn’t want to sit, feeling he will just get too jittery again, and so he sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. He checks his watch - twelve forty-five - okay maybe, he’s just being really impatient, but still your Physics class is taking too long. Jimin already told him in annoyance he could just head out and buy something after he messaged him non-stop about waiting for you too long and that you’re still not done yet with gravitational forces and distances.

Nurse Doc Jimin: Well, you could just text her and tell her to meet you in that café (12:47 PM)

     Jungkook snickers; he still cares for his sappy ass no matter how much he liked annoying him. But he knows with his much-appreciated advice or not, he would shut down such thought with a stubborn "Nope, I’m gonna wait for her.”

     He can’t bring himself to just get up and leave when he’s already waited thirty minutes for you. His effort will go down the drain, and it was well-established between you two even back in grade school that you both have to eat your meals together. He even remembers the pinky promise your seven-year-old chubby fingers sealed along with his own pinky. “No one eats first, no one leaves the other, okay?”

     It was silly at first, but after knowing how you hate eating alone when you’re so used with warmth and hearty meals shared within close-knitted families like yours and his, he made it a point to fulfill his end of the promise whenever your schedules aligned or can be bended in some cases. He even got to the point he rudely nudged Jongin away last year just to get to the seat across yours in the cafeteria when he noticed the university’s top ballet dancer was headed to your direction. He knows he was being mean and irrational, but in his defense, that spot was his to begin with and he refuses to see another guy seated across you in tables for two other than him… well, your dad and brother are excluded from this ridiculous setting he made.

     He just likes to see you talk a storm about another idea you got while eating, delving in things you love, bright eyes and glowing smile directed at nothing but him that the rest of the world seemed like only giant backdrops for him and you. He’s not ready to tell you that yet, so he usually tries to quell the fluttering of bird wings in his rib cage by teasing and playfully annoying you just to temporarily soften the intensity of the songs the birds in his chest sings whenever you’re near.

     Just like now, he could already feel his heart picking up pace when he heard the student’s faint chuckles and chortles getting clearer by the second behind the door. He immediately shrugs off his jacket and shoves it in his bag just so he can stand up and lean on the wall with his elbow looking all suave. It wasn’t really that cold and Seokjin passed by him earlier and said his thin shirt emphasizes the muscles he was working on lately (that you still haven’t noticed, he bitterly thinks). Taehyung remarked after taking a shower from their morning practice that his styled hair looking slightly wet made him look cooler and dare he say, hot. He checked the mirror a thousand times today (a first time ever in his life) and he checks his self camera now for one last time, and yes, he thinks he looks fantastic and so eyecandy.

     The door bursts open and students flock the hallway. Jungkook waved at some of his acquaintances; he also noticed some girls who glanced his way a little longer than necessary and he smiles wider because of the attention. He thinks it’s kind of normal for other students to stare at their university’s star football player whom they saw on printed tarpaulins in school gates, sometimes on television when autumn comes along with the annual university championships. But for today, he wants to be vain a little bit just for a confidence boost and so he thinks, “Maybe I do really look good today,” as he fixes his pose.

     By the time the crowd was thinning a little, Jungkook hears the tinkle of your laughter and he tries to keep himself from grinning too much while setting his elbow firmer against the wall with his other hand settled on his waist. He may or may have not also flexed his biceps for good measure.

     “Yeah and he looked so cute I wanna squeeze his cheeks and just he’s soo eyecandy I swear-“

     Instead of seeing you getting flustered seeing him looking like a snack (like he thinks he is), Jungkook nearly falls back when your head collided with his chest, his arms already wounding around yours to keep you from tumbling. Your hands instantly found purchase on his biceps and he could feel the tender curve of your chest against his abdomen and shit, Jungkook thinks the birds in his chest may start singing so he immediately pries you off to hold you by your hands, an arms-length safe away from his frantic heart, so you could stand on your feet.

     Jungkook’s cheeks heat up the minute you raise your head slowly to meet his eyes, your warmth radiating in his arms as if he was literally holding the sun, his sun. He releases his hold on your hands so fast as if he was burnt. Hands ruffling his hair he spent so much time styling, he breaks the silence, “Hey are you okay?”

     “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you smooth out your skirt and Jungkook really feels the air was knocked out of him along with his confidence. The words to cooly invite you to lunch out with him now dying in his throat when you look so cute in a rose colored knitted sweater and red skirt. You look like a fucking fairy and shit, just so eyecandy. This is too much for his poor heart.

     “Why the hell are you standing so near the door and doing this?” Jungkook looks at you copying his “eyecandy pose”, hand on your waist, elbow propped against the wall. You wear a frown but Jungkook will always recognize the teasing glint in your eyes along with your signature raised brows. Fuck, you’ll never gonna let him off the hook.

     He opts to grab his bag and yell “Nevermind, I’ve been starving already waiting for you,” as he walks away so fast with his ears burning in embarrassment. You called for him to wait for you as you speedwalk to catch up to his long strides and Jungkook laughs just to hide the loud thumping of his heart.

     Opening the door for you like he usually does, Jungkook leads you two to your usual table in Mark’s, the burger place you both frequent whenever one of you was feeling generous to treat the other with a fat wallet. Before you grab your seat, Jungkook zooms to your side to pull your chair for you and now he can see you looking funny at him. This is too strange for him too - doing the first move when he’s used to let you take initiative, him acting like a total gentleman when he’s been such a teasing, annoying ass to you for years – he’s literally not acting like his usual self. But with you muttering "What's gotten into you?", looking a little shaken with a telltale blush on your cheeks, Jungkook feels this kind of weird is something he’ll avidly do everyday just so he can see you grace that soft smile that always knocks out his heart.

     Your order arrived a couple of minutes ago but you keep your hands laced together as you talk to him about a ballad you’re planning to write while waiting for his food.

    “I mean I haven’t experienced love, and the last time I wrote about a romance story was when I was a kid –“

     “The Prince and His Rose,” Jungkook supplies and you nod.

     “Yeah, but today I finally thought of fully dive in the romance genre,“ you eyed Jungkook and you both said aloud, ”the genre - I - you - always avoid like a plague - "

     You sigh, “and just practice how well I can deliver things that I haven’t felt yet. It’s not like I’ll be able to feel everything in this world right now but I think it would be nice to put yourselves in other’s shoes and think about how will such things really feel, right?”

     “It may also be a nice training to be more empathic with your readers,” Jungkook smiles. “Wow, author-nim, you’re really going to the next level, huh,” he smirks and you swat his shoulder to which he cackled.

     His food finally arrives and you start to unwrap your meal. “Anyway, I told you that because there’s a favor I need to ask from you.”

     Jungkook bites his burger and motions you to continue.

     “Can you come to my dorm tonight and help me with the drafts?”

     Jungkook sputters, “What, wait what, you want me to?” He has never been invited by any girl before in their rooms and the last time he agreed to you to do so was when you're both 7-year-olds. It's totally different now, especially when his heart is treading on foreign waters you shouldn't know about yet anytime soon.

    You set your food down before you grab his hands between your tiny ones. “Please, just tonight. My roommate will go back home today and I just need someone to give me advice face to face with the things I’ll write and sorry I know it must inconvenience you a lot but I just hate being alone for tonight and I promise-”

    “Okay, okay, I’ll go.” Jungkook feels excitement and anxiety bubble in his diaphragm, but he hides it with a sigh and a downcast of his eyes to look as if he’s really burdened. He can’t really say no to you especially if he’s free for the whole night and here you are taking the words from his mouth just so he can be close to you. He keeps his dismayed forte, enjoying the way you try your puppy eyes that was effective on tugging the strings of his conscience back when you’re young. It still works today though the effect was centered on the soft muscle of his heart and a little bit on his brain now. God, he’s so whipped.

     “What were you promising again?”

     You sit upright and do the pledge pose you always made fun of because of him in grade school. “I’ll help you with the write ups you have to do because you’re falling behind the lit class due to the games.”

     “Wow, you just have to state my negligence so nonchalantly in public.”

     You make kissy faces at him. “What can I say? Perks of being a bestfriend.”

//

    Later that night, Jungkook and you surround yourself in thousands of papers and words, pens lining and sighing with ink and letters of longing for some lover you never had. Jungkook doesn’t know why you needed him by your side in the first place when you're doing more than okay with your lines. He feels bad when he knows he can’t really help you out without giving away too much of the musings of his heart you don’t need to hear yet so he just suggests things you can tweak like “instead of blazing, write ‘scorching’, it has more feel to it,” or “you can add this to the fourth stanza.”

     It wasn’t until you stood up to make some dinner that your phone rang with a new text message when Jungkook knew why you actually needed him. Another declined manuscript, failed deadlines - Of course you wouldn’t say it aloud to him, but he knows with your sudden workaholic tendency tonight, you’ve been escaping the reality, seeking comfort in your art and maybe in his presence. He doesn’t say anything and just meets your gaze across your counter to see you huffing about making him some french toast with a giggle. You may hide your disappointment in masked happiness so well, but the way your smile won't reach to a full curve will never be ignored by his eyes. Minute details may be surpassed with naked eyes, but after spending years with you playing hide and seek with him between the lines, he already knew the paths and directions your intentions and feelings will usually go.

     After finishing dinner and you deciding not to divulge anything, Jungkook chooses to pull your blanket from your closet and drape it over your heads. The worn galaxies in its star printed fabric blankets you in reassuring comfort, a sanctuary you both found constellations back in high school whenever it just feels too good to leave everything behind. It will always be the closest space you could ever get while living in a suffocating world. 

     The softness of the cloth and the warmth of his arm he caressed your shoulders lulled your breathing to a noiseless slumber, head slumping against his shoulder. It’s far from peaceful when your face is scrunched but Jungkook thinks it’s better than seeing you suffer sleepless nights that have been getting worse when you’re stressed these days.

     Jungkook picks up your limp form and carries you to your bedroom, lithe fingers tucking you under the sheets. With you asleep, he lets the birds in his heart sing in tremendous chorus as he presses a kiss on your forehead that automatically smoothened the tension your brows were holding.

     He grabs the papers you both trailed on and arranges them on your desk when your small voice halts his movements.

    "I'm feeling sad but here you are looking so..."

     "What?"

     “… not my fault you looked so eye candy earlier.”

     It may be a wrong time but Jungkook can’t help but drop a little something when he knows you have a bad habit of blurting things you keep to yourself when you’re asleep. Back then, he used to poke fun at your weird habit but now when everything has changed, he will still tease you about that but he intends to find hope for the thorns of his anxiety poking his heart.

    “Whose fault is it?”

    “…Jeon Jungkook’s.”

     That near-midnight, Jungkook escapes through your window when your RA made her rounds on your floor. He may have almost fallen on his bum but he thinks all his efforts for today are all worth it. He lays on his bed, the birds on his chest singing a ballad he never heard of before.

Epliogue

"So I heard you said I was so eyecandy huh?"

"When was that?!"

"I'm not gonna tell~"

"Jeon Jungkook, come back here!"

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